The training fight

Avengers HQ, After Age of Ultron

Facing off against the Black Widow across the practise mats, Steve looked at her and realised you could never be sure who Natasha actually was. The red room training had destroyed her ego, making her a blank slate upon which they could build any personality they wanted. Switching between roles, between people, was as easy as breathing for her. But once she was free of their control she'd been able to make her own choices and he was proud of the person she'd chosen to be.

When they were sparring he'd found out quickly and painfully that she was faster and more skilled than him, he was stronger but he always held it back a little as he didn't want to hurt her. Of course she knew he was holding back and it infuriated her, she took it as an insult to her abilities and it made her push him harder, try to get him to use more, to cut loose and really test her.

He had read all the files on her that she'd released to the world. She was the best of a vast countries worth of candidates, trained nonstop since she was 12, given life extension drugs, indoctrination, conditioning and several of the Russian versions of super serum. And that was only what they records said, there were gaps and overlaps where files from different systems were merged. At first he'd thought it was just a product of different agencies speculating but as he got to know her better he recognised her tactics; she couldn't stop some of the truth getting out, so she'd hidden it among a mountain of lies and half-truths that were carefully constructed to be deliberately mundane or highly weird or just wild enough to be true.

Was she born in 1941? Or 1942? Or 1964? or 1984? She had records for all those and more.

Had she really been a ballerina? Married to a test pilot or an astronaut?

Did the Red Room really supply her and other girls as willing playthings to the rich and powerful?

Did they really make her kill one of her classmates as her graduation exam?

Was she a clone or a genetically engineered weapon?

He'd laughed at the idea she was a clone of Lenins wife Nadezhda Krupskaya, but then he'd googled Nadezhda and found Natashas face looking back at him from the Google image page. Was it true? Or just happenstance? Or had someone faked the pictures and spread them over the internet?

He wondered if she even knew the truth any more, the memory of her real history mixed with years of cover stories and implanted memories, conditioning drugs and some sort of mind control from a project only referred to in the files by the codename Epsilon Red. Certainly if she had any doubts she never let them show.

But then she rarely let her guard down. As they'd gotten closer she'd let him in a little, allowed herself to be more open, more vulnerable as she grew to trust him. He knew it wasn't worth pushing, she'd open up to him if she wanted to, at her own pace. But he still remembered the moments he'd held her as she slept, the scent of her hair, the smoothness of her skin.

In the makeshift dojo they'd made in the gym behind their Shield living quarters they could work out in private. They've been sparring for half an hour, slowly building up from basic moves to faster and harder as they get a better measure of where the other currently was both mentally and physically. Both were barefoot, Steve in baggy sweat pants and a vest top, Natasha in tight black yoga pants and a sports bra. Back and forth across the mats they went, practising strikes and blocks, kicks and grapples. He needed to learn new skills to cope with the challenges this world kept throwing at him, she appreciated a chance to kick loose and try all the new moves she'd come up with as she was constantly coming up against people larger and stronger than she was.

He's learnt the hard way to never let her get a hold; even though he was stronger she'd use his size and strength against him. The Russian Special Forces developed the martial arts Sambo and Systema with a lot of the best moves from Judo and European wrestling and she knew how to use them all. He'd been hunting for a way to beat her holds but the only success he'd had was a sudden palm strike used in Sumo, knocking her back off him when she grabbed. The first time he'd used that it had earned a flash of that fierce grin of hers then she'd come back twice as hard.

Now both were sweating hard, even in the cool of the gym, as they pushed past human limits into super human realms. He never really felt fatigue any more, just a faint burn in his muscles as he pushed on. He knew she had an insane level of endurance, willpower and practise coupled with a metabolic change so that her muscles used the fast burn of glucose and the slower metabolism of fats in parallel so she'd never hit a 'wall' in exertion. Back and forth they moved, almost perfectly matched.

She throws a punch and he blocks with a forearm, going for a counter when she glanced over his shoulder, her eyes going wide in surprise for a split second.

It's a classic Widow move, his every instinct says to turn and look. It's not fair, which is also classic Widow, she knew that he trusted her so he'd instinctively react to her looking surprised. He'd learnt to check before his reactions.

But there was a framed picture on the wall behind her. No movement in the reflection.

It's a bluff.

But she knows the picture is there. He knows she saw it as they came in, knows the angles

So she knows he'll see through her bluff. She's probably expecting it. Probably planning her defence against his counter

So what level is she playing on?

Level one – don't see the glance, fight on straight, probably loose

Level two – see the glance, turn to see what she saw, definitely loose

Level three – know it's a bluff, fight on.

Level four – know she knows he knows it's a bluff, fight the counter move

Level five – know she'll block the counter move, counter that.

It all makes his head spin, and she's always two steps ahead of him.

Against the widow the only way to win her game is not to play. Thanks, Wargames.

He gave ground suddenly, Bonetti's defence. a quick step shuffle back and right, just enough to dodge the snap kick she threw up, but lightning fast she reacts and turns the kick into a knee to the side.

He steps into the knee strike, taking the hit without flinching as it's the price you pay to get close; at least it's not full force as she had to switch move. He clamps his arm down, pinning her leg to his side. Uses his strength to turn, pull her off her feet, uses their momentum to slam her to the mat. Too many super strong fighters use a grab to throw people around, she's taught him the wisdom in not letting go. With his free hand he grabs her throat, gripping hard to cut off air and blood to the brain, making her every instinct say to break his grip which means she can't counter the fall.

They hit the mat hard, knocking the wind from her. He expects a flurry of blows, her favourite elbow strike to the top of the head but it doesn't come. He tenses, expecting a stiff jab to his side, going for the nerve that runs from spine to the kidney. He'd had an extra armour plate added to his uniform after the first time she'd hit him with that, a stiff fingered jab that had caused a shock of pain that had winded him.

He grips hard and forces her down as she grips his wrist, frantically struggling but then she just goes limp, all the fight just leaving her body as if it had never been there.

She doesn't even struggle to breathe, just looks up at him as she slowly reaches back and taps the mat three times in surrender.

Steve releases his killer grip but keeps his hand on her throat, wary of this change in her. She's sucker punched him after tapping out a few times, just to teach him to keep his guard up. But she just takes a deep breath and looks up at him, putting her hand on his to keep it on her neck.

"You win" she says in a low whisper and then looks away.

Steve relaxes, releasing her pinned leg. He becomes awkwardly aware how she's pinned beneath him, his full weight bearing down on her so he lifts up off her a little but she doesn't move.

Concerned, he grips her chin and turns her face towards him. She gives a low moan and closes her eyes, her face flushed. Her rapid breathing makes her chest heave against the tight material of her top and he can't help but notice her nipples are hard. She presses her cheek to his hand.

With a start He pulls his hand away and sits up.

She lies there a moment then takes a few deep breathes as if to clear her head and opens her eyes, rubbing her throat and smiling self-consciously.

"Sorry. That was unprofessional of me" She pauses, struggling for words "it was just nice to feel someone's weight on me like that. To feel overpowered by someone but know they're not trying to kill me."

"Did you let me win?"

"No, you won fair and square. You've really come far. That's what set me off, I think. You're strong, powerful, I just felt the need to submit to you" She bites her lip self consciously

"I win and so you just surrender totally? Is this your conditioning talking?"

"Oh no; It's my nature of course. This is why they chose me for the program, we were all classed as submissive who "respond well to power". And many powerful men find that attractive." She half sits up. "They picked the ones who were drawn to submit to the strong, the powerful. We were passed around the Politburo, teenage girls in fur coats and high heels, served the most powerful men in the country. Fucking in ZIL limos and ornate offices, sucking them off under gilded desks and being fucked over map tables of daydream European invasions." Her lip curls in disgust "But for all that power they were still fleshy and soft. Old men who smelt of smoked meats and imported cigars. The rot inside them pickled in vodka."

Steve sits back, frowning at the torrent of repulsive ideas but strangely glad she's opening up a little.

"Most of the other girls were purely recreational, but with me, maybe half the time I'd have to kill them afterwards." She sighs "It was always after, like my handlers wanted to give them a good send off."

She stands, stretching like a cat. He stands as well, wary of this new openness in her.

She steps close, puts her hand on his chest and looks up into his face

"I trust you, Steve. It's just been a long time since I've found someone i can be myself with without worrying they'll try and use me or manipulate me through it. Someone who makes me feel safe. Someone I want to be owned by. So any time you want me, I'm yours. Personally, romantically, sexually, emotionally. A friend, a lover, a casual fuck or a shoulder to cry on. I'll be whoever, whatever you want however, whenever you want it. Just say the word"

His jaw drops as he's sure she's being totally honest with him.

"That's quite an offer" he looks away, blushing "but I don't think I'm ready for anything like that"

"So who do you want me to be?"

"What I need most, a friend and a team mate"

"You've got that already. So think on it. Ok?" She gives a little sigh and her shoulders slump as she picks up her towel and dries the sweat off her neck "I'm going to go hit the showers".

Steve stands dumbfounded, watching her walk to the changing room. She seemed serious about it, almost casual. He really hoped he hadn't hurt her feelings, she'd seemed disappointed but now she was acting like it didn't matter.

He'd had a thousand advances turned down before the serum and had to turn down half the women in the SSR afterwards. It just didn't come naturally to him and what she was offering seemed extreme, insane. But he had to admit the idea wouldn't leave his thoughts now, it made his mouth dry and his pulse race.

He headed into the changing rooms after her, maybe they can talk this though, make sense of it all.

But over the hiss of the shower he can hear her muttering to herself "tupaya devchonka! tupaya devchonka!" He feels a burning need to do something, to take control and make it right. Natasha stood under the shower, still in her work out clothes. Her head was down, her fists clenched, water streaming over her "Stupid girl! Stupid! You've ruined everything now" she muttered to herself. She'd all but thrown herself naked at his feet and he'd just turned her down flat. Now her head was aching and every breath made her chest ache. She wasn't going to cry, she didn't cry or feel or want or need anything. She wanted to punch her hand right through the wall but her conditioning wouldn't let her damage herself for something as petty.

"Natasha!" His voice stings like a whip crack. She snaps her head up, hair plastered to her face. Steve strides up to her, stern and purposeful and pushes her back against the wall as she tries to stammer an explanation.

He orders "Stop!" and she does, dumbfounded.

"I'm willing to give this a try. But on my terms, Understood?"

She nods, shivering in excitement

"This does not interfere with running the Avengers. We go slow, I have a lot to learn. And If either of us says it's over, it's over with no hard feelings. Understood?"

She finds her voice "Yes sir."

He smiles "Good girl." And take a fist full of her hair, forcing her head back as he leans in, kissing her hard on the lips, the two of them entwined under the running water as she joyfully submits to his touch.