Leaving Q and Steve outside to talk about whatever they needed to talk about - or decided to talk about first, Dawson followed Laura into the kitchen area of her home. It was exactly what he expected a family home to look like, but also still surprised him a bit cause Clint of all people lived there. Clint, the guy who shot arrows and was friends with an ex-KGB super spy. It was warm and welcoming, like a home should be like. Very unlike the home he grew up in and much different than the beach house he and Q had been living in. Without paying too much attention to the details of the house (he'd leave that to Q) he let Laura lead him to the kitchen area. She talked about there being a shower in the guest room for him to use along with whatever was in the bathroom and how if he needed anything, all he had to do was ask. A nice, welcoming gesture from a woman who knew next to nothing about him.

There were sandwich makings laid out for him to pick at. He thanked her once again, then started to build a healthy sized sandwich out of what was left. Laura got the kids out of his way, herding them into the living room to play with their toys. The only person who didn't leave was Clint.

Too focused on building his sandwich, he didn't notice until he went to take a bite only to have Clint snatch the half out of his hand. He kept his now empty hand in the air, momentarily stunned by the action, before growing annoyed. His eyes flicked to where the archer was sitting on the opposite side of the counter. He took a bite of the sandwich and then gave him a satisfied grin. Dawson let out a huff and then picked up his remaining half, leaning down to meet it so that Clint didn't have the opportunity to steal it.

"You know I never really had an opinion about you before, Starowicz." Clint commented, calling him by his last name - which no one ever did, just like no one ever called him by his first name, "But then, you know, you got involved with Tasha and…" he motioned to him with the half-eaten sandwich, "Again, still no real opinion." Dawson rolled his eyes at the clear jab, "Then you went and broke her heart." Clint sighed, examining the sandwich a bit before his eyes flicked to Dawson's, "So now I have the lowest opinion of you."

"Guess it was good that you didn't have one to begin with." he shot back, unfazed; most people didn't like him to begin with, "Didn't have very far to fall." he raised his eyebrows up and Clint chuckled.

"Yeah, right…" he trailed off and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again with his mouth half full, "You really hurt her, you know." he told him. And for a brief moment, a weird feeling struck Dawson - one he never really felt before but he didn't like it. Didn't like knowing that he had caused Nat any sort of pain. Emotional or otherwise. Even if he had suspected it, Clint confirming it was somehow worse. "And, God, I really want to hurt you too." he laughed a bit as if the threat was in any way funny. Dawson swallowed back a lump in his throat, not liking how this conversation was going, "But my family's in the next room. My kids. My wife. People who love me." he brushed some crumbs from the countertop, "And knowing you'll never have that, never find someone to love you that way again, is enough for me. You don't deserve anything like this and I doubt you'll ever get it." he finished with a serious look. Dawson shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the counter. A rock was beginning to form in his stomach and he glanced down at his half of the sandwich, wondering if it was the food's fault, "That and I just redid the kitchen and really don't feel like destroying it." he made a face as he walked around the corner to toss his crumbs into the trash.

Clapping his hand against Dawson's shoulder, a firmness to the motion to let Dawson know that he was unevenly matched against the archer. That he could take him down if he really wanted. Based on the conversation they just had, Dawson would let him too. He deserved it. Just like Clint said.

Truly alone, Dawson finished the last of his sandwich then cleaned up his mess. It was the least he could do and, while he didn't mind if Clint had such a poor opinion of him, for some reason he didn't want Laura too as well. He wanted to show her he was more than whatever terrible story Clint had told her, even if it was true. There were enough people in the house who hated him, he didn't want more. Though any other time before then, he wouldn't have cared, but now he did. And he wasn't sure why. Maybe because he knew he fucked up and hurt people that he had surprisingly ended up caring about more than he originally thought. Weird. Is that how other people felt all the time when they fucked up? He knew he didn't like it, but he wasn't sure it was going away any time soon.

He avoided the living room, not wanting to face off with Clint again - nor do it in front of his family either. Laura had said there was a guest room upstairs with a bathroom for him to use to a shower. He meandered up the stairs, glancing over the pictures that hung on the wall of Clint and his wife and kids. All while trying to forget the weird sting that came with Clint telling him that he would never have anything like what was on the walls of the house. That was probably true, and Dawson thought he was okay with it, but apparently not.

Not that he ever wanted kids to begin with, but the idea of having someone to grow old with had been a semi-pipe dream for him. He didn't need kids to define his family - hell he could barely take care of himself so why bring a kid into the mix, just someone who loved him. Maybe throw a dog in there or something. But Clint was pretty sure he wouldn't ever get that and hell, maybe he lost his only chance at it when he left Nat like he did.

Entering the room that he assumed was the room Laura referred to as the guest room, he opened the bedroom door at the same time the bathroom door inside the room opened. Nat stepped out in a bathrobe, hair damp from the shower she had so obviously just taken. She glanced over at him, both of them making eye contact with each other.

At the sight of each other, they froze. Dawson immediately wanted to close the door and pretend he had never walked into the room, but his reaction time was slow. She already had three different exit strategies planned, but couldn't execute them. A glimpse of fear mixed with pain flashed over her face, so quick that if he blinked, he'd have missed it. But he didn't, and that made his heart sink to his stomach. He had never seen any sort of emotion like that on her face before, usually hidden under a mask of small smirks and amused glances.

"Sorry, I didn't realize -" he started to explain himself. Of course he knew Nat was there, and he had spent the flight imagining how their conversation would go. The things he would say to her if she said certain things to him, but all of that went out the window the moment he laid eyes on her. God, all he wanted to do was kiss her. Apologize for being such an asshole. Explain to her why he left, why he staged the fight. Tell her where he had been. All of it. He wanted forgiveness. But he knew he didn't deserve it.

"Fancy seeing you here." she commented with a raise of her eyebrows, her usual unbothered expression settling back on her face. He let out a huff of an awkward laugh, hand fiddling with the doorknob.

"Yeah, I…" he trailed off, not even knowing where to begin with his explanation, "Shit, Nat, I don't know." he sighed, gesturing to her, "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here - I mean, I came here to talk to Tony about some computer virus he released and I came up here to get a shower because we've been traveling for it feels like twenty-four hours straight and you're here and I knew you were gonna be here - I had all these things I wanted to say to you, imagined this, us, going a ton of different ways but I just...fuck." he settled on, deciding it was better to shut his mouth now rather than continue babbling. He never got like this. He always knew what he was going to say or never really thought before he spoke either. And while he certainly didn't think before that gibberish came out, it was different than usual. It came from the heart. His fucked up, broken, sad, heart.

"Steve used up the last of the hot water." she finally responded after a moment, sounding like she wanted to add something else but didn't.

"Of course he did." he sighed, leaning on the doorknob a bit, "What a dick." he muttered mainly to himself. Nat tried to hide her smile, ducking her head down a bit before lifting it back up - all traces of the hidden smile gone.

"There's towels in the cabinet above the toilet." she tilted her head back to the bathroom, "Laura said we could use whatever we needed." he nodded, hands falling to his hips.

"Yup, yeah, she told me that too." he licked his lips and glanced at her, "Nice of her to do that." he flashed her a quick grin, hating how awkward and polite the conversation had gotten. Like they were acquaintances rather than exes. Or maybe they were synonymous now; it had been over a year. Nat gave him a half smile, one that he had never seen on her before, and then tightened her bathrobe a bit.

"I'll get out of your way then." she crossed the room, gathering up a pile of clothes that had been laid out for her. He noticed there was no pile for him, but he bit back his complaint. He took in a breath, knowing he needed to say something, but just not knowing what to say.

Nat moved to exit the bedroom, making him push the door back a bit more to give her room to slide by him. She paused as she got in front of him, looking up at him a bit, and he saw how much hurt was in her eyes despite the tight, polite smile on her face. Hurt tinged with...a little bit of fear? He blinked, not knowing if that was really the emotion; Nat was never scared and even if she was, she hid it extremely well. But the small flicker of fear and pain that he saw on her face when he first walked in, danced in the greens of her eyes. She had no reason to be afraid of him. She never had. And it threw him off balance, made him feel a bit differently; since when was the Black Widow afraid of him of all people. Still, his heart yearned for her, wanting to make her feel better - assure her that he wasn't going to hurt her. Not again. Not ever again.

Acting on instinct, he moved his hand up to cup the side of her face, supporting her tilted head. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and he leaned closer to her. Mere centimeters away, he could smell the shampoo and soap she had used. It was different than usual, but definitely not in a bad way. It made him long for what could've been.

Knowing she could easily stop him, he took comfort in the fact that she hadn't yet. Or at least not until he brought his lips down to kiss her. Then did she move away from him, head first, creating space in between them. Space that had existed ever since he left.

"You can't do that anymore." she reminded him with a raised eyebrow, "Remember?" she asked, almost looking amused at his effort even though the sadness and fear behind her eyes didn't go away. He took in a deep breath through his nose and then nodded.

"Right." he moved past her, into the bedroom and leaving her by the door, "No, yeah I remember. Quite clearly." he shoved a hand through his hair, turning in a half circle to end up looking at her again.

"You don't get to be offended by it either." she pointed out, arms crossing over her chest, "You left, remember?"

"Stop reminding me of the things I did or can't do anymore!" he suddenly shouted out, tossing a hand in her direction, "Okay?! Cause I remember! I remember, Nat." he lowered his voice, knowing there were still people in the house who could hear their lovers' quarrel. "Fuck." he breathed out, running a hand through his hair again.

"Was it worth it?" she asked after a moment, perking an eyebrow at him. His eyes flicked from where they were focused on a random spot on the ground to her face, staring at her for a moment before pushing his cheek out with his tongue and shifting his wide stance.

"I don't know yet." he muttered with a slight shake of his head, "Most days, no. Especially recently. I…" he trailed off, knowing he had the perfect opportunity to apologize. But he wasn't one who usually decided to be the bigger person and did such a thing, "I know I regret leaving the way I did. Every day." he admitted, the closest thing to an apology he could get without having to say the actual words. Her face softened for a brief moment before the unbothered expression returned.

"An ever growing list, huh?" she asked knowingly. As if they both had a list of regrets regarding the situation they were in. He wondered if she regretted not forcing him to stay. Sometimes he wished she had.

"Something like that." he fiddled with the edge of his shirt and then sighed.

A quiet slowly filled the room. There was plenty more to say, yet neither one of them wanted to show their hand. Dawson was determined not to let anyone see his emotions - which might of been what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. Nat had been trained to keep calm in stressful situations and not let her emotions get the best of her - something she was trying so hard to do despite being faced with her ex mere hours after the vision she was trapped in.

"Make sure you pull the curtain over when you're finished in the shower." she advised after a moment, "Laura thinks keeping it pushed back lets mold form." she backed up her advice. He sighed and nodded, hands settling back on his hips. Giving him a half smile, she left the room without another word.

The door shut behind Nat and she immediately leaned back against it. A slow, controlled breath exited her while she let her eyes flutter shut. As soon as she did, flashes of the scene she had been stuck inside darted across.

She was sure it had been years since she had been inside the Red Room. But nothing had changed. There was still an eeriness to it that clung to her like a second skin. Her stomach twisted as she walked down the massive grand staircase. The air was heavy, almost like a fog had descended over the Room. The familiar classical tune ignited an involuntary reaction: to fall in line with the rest of her fellow ballerinas. Her fellow sisters.

Stepping off the staircase, the room directly in front of her was filled with a half a dozen ballerinas. All looking exactly the same - a lesson in blending into their environment. The muscles in her body twitched with anticipation of the upcoming movements. The fluid motions that on the surface looked nothing more than a graceful dance, but dig a bit deeper and you'd find the second side of the sword. The use these movements had in a physical fight. Striking with purpose. Defending only to survive. Completing the mission.

She swore she had lived this day before. She remembered this day. It was the day before her graduation. The final tests were starting. Then the ceremony. Taken to the place where they removed the last thing that would keep them from getting distracted. The one thing they couldn't control. Besides their hearts - though some would say they managed a way to turn those into stone.

She didn't want to graduate. She would find a way out of this. This time, she would find a way out of this. Because she wanted a chance. They should've allowed her a chance. But maybe this was her second chance.

"You'll break them." Nat found herself saying, staring into the window of the room where the girls were ordered to go through the already flawless routine again. And again. And again. Perfection was expected, nothing less.

"Only the breakable ones." her Mistress' voice responded without a hint of emotion, only lilted in the familiar Russian accent. Her gaze turned to where there were eight little girls watching from the far wall. All of them dressed in the Red Room uniforms and already sitting as poised as future Widows could be. The Red Room's lessons already beginning, "You are made of marble." her Mistress reminded her in a tone that made Nat's inner alarm go off. She turned to the side to face the older woman, seeing the distaste on her face. Not that that was anything new. Mistress rarely looked pleased. Still, she tilted her head up a bit and raised her eyebrows before she spoke again, "Or at least, you were supposed to be." Confusion grew in the pit of Nat's stomach, right alongside fear. What had she done?

With a tilt of her head, her Mistress indicated that she should follow her down the hall. Glancing one last time at the girls working through their routine again, Nat turned away. She walked like she was supposed to - light on her feet, hands by her sides, alert and ready in case of an attack. She was led down to another room, similar to the area the belladonnas were practicing in. Classic antique furniture dotted the room: a couch there, a few chairs over there, mirrors on the walls, and a baby grand in the corner. A couple of her other sisters were lingering in the room, going over combat moves they had learned earlier in the day to prepare for their final test.

There was a man standing in front of the giant fireplace. His back was to her, dressed in all black with his hands clasped behind his back and long-ish brown hair just brushing the collar of his blazer. None of the other girls even ventured near him but as her Mistress stepped over to him, their eyes begin to flick from Nat, who had been left standing in the center of the room, to the man - all of them looking a little uneasy. The uneasiness slithered its way over to her, engulfing her and making her want to do nothing but run away. She shook the feeling off, knowing not to be affected by her sisters' emotions. She could only trust her own.

Though a part of her wondered why she had been brought here. She had already proved she could kill a man without hesitation. Her eyes flicked over to the chair he had been sitting in when she had; the pool of blood that had dripped out of his head was already cleaned, but there were spots on the cushion. Was she meant to do it again? No, this man looked too close to her Mistress. The way she laid a hand on his shoulder and how he didn't even tense up like some of her other lackeys did.

Then, he turned. And Natasha's heart dropped into her stomach. The back of her neck began to heat up while her hands involuntarily shook. Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall, refused to let them know she was reacting in such a way. But she was. Her entire world was crashing down around her.

Because standing there, with his half pleasantly amused smirk, was Dawson. A man she trusted, loved even. And yet, there he was, standing next to her Mistress. He should've looked out of place, but he fit well with the environment around him. Like he was meant to be there, like he thrived there. Decked out in a form fitting black suit, hair smoothed back and then tucked behind his ears and facial hair trimmed to accentuate his features, he looked like one of those swarmy villains that were in his video games or whatever movie they watched together. He was holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other slipped into his pants' pocket. His eyes were locked on hers, almost like he could tell what she was thinking and feeling.

"Hello, Natalia." his voice was much smoother than it had ever been. And he called her Natalia. It was always Nat with him, she was Nat. She was his Nat.

"What's going on?" she asked back, hands curling into fists while her eyes darted from Dawson to her Mistress. A look of disappointment mixed with casual victory appeared on her face; like she was displeased with Nat but also proud that Nat seemed to lose whatever game she had unknowingly played. Now she had something to hold over Nat's head, force her to do things she didn't want to do anymore. Like the graduation ceremony. Fuck.

"You've failed." Dawson answered simply. He took a step toward her and as much as Nat wanted to step back, she found that she was rooted in the floor beneath her. Forced to let this happen. "You were tested. And you failed, Natalia." he was close enough now where Nat could reach out and touch him.

And by God her head was screaming at her to fight - kick, punch, bite her way out of this because she had failed and she knew there were consequences for it. Betrayal flooded her bloodstream and she wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her. But her heart was reminding her of all the good he had brought into her life - love, compassion, empathy, anger, things she had been missing because of her time in the Red Room. She loved him.

"You fell in love." he voiced her inner thoughts aloud, even though he couldn't read her mind. Tilting his head a bit, almost pouting like he was pitying her, he continued, "And you thought I loved you back." he reached out for her chin, tilting it up a bit. She ground her teeth together, eyes finding his and searching for any signs of the man she loved in there. Any signs that this was a trick or that he was just playing the role to survive like she had. But there was nothing. No emotions, no flicker of amusement, just eyes boring into hers.

"Stupid." her Mistress chimed in disgustedly. Nat's eyes shifted away from Dawson to where she was standing by the fireplace, watching their interaction. His grip on her chin got tighter, forcing her to look back at him.

"Very stupid." he agreed with a slight laugh. She knew then that she had been nothing more than a plaything to him. A game. God, she really was stupid. She never should've let her emotions get the best of her. Let herself believe she could be loved and fall in love.

He let go of her chin rather roughly and shifted back so he could have enough room to take a sip of his whiskey. Her fingernails were digging into the palms of her hands hard enough to break the skin. The edges of her vision were pulsing as he turned and stepped away from her, resettling next to her Mistress. The betrayal beat louder, in tune with her racing heart, as she kept her eyes locked on him.

The room suddenly shifted and a young blonde woman was standing beside Dawson. Yelena. Her sister. Again, confusion returned for a split second; she could've sworn the last time she had seen her sister was ...well she didn't want to think about that time. And she didn't get a chance to really because Yelena had laid a hand on Dawson's shoulder, taking his attention away from Nat.

He gave her a smile that he used to give to Nat. A look that was meant for her too. No one had ever looked at her that way, but apparently it was nothing special. He reached out to tuck a hair behind her ear, then moved to tilt her chin up a bit - touch much softer than how he had touched her.

"There will be punishment for such failure, Natalia." her Mistress spoke, but Nat couldn't bear to tear her eyes away from where Dawson was softly kissing Yelena. A fire lit deep in her stomach, replacing the betrayal with pure anger. How dare he use and toy with her like that? Play her like a violin and reduce her to nothing but an emotional schoolgirl. She was a Widow for fuck's sake.

A shot rang out, echoing around the room they were in. If they were anywhere else, the other girls would scream, run in terror and flee the scene. But these were her sisters. They didn't even flinch. Didn't turn away from their smooth, flawless routines.

Nat's hands immediately went to her abdomen, skating around her stomach and chest in search of the bullet wound. There was nothing but the smoothness of her Red Room uniform. Then she looked over to where Yelena and Dawson were still standing close together. The glass of whiskey slipped out of his hand, shattering into a tiny million little pieces as it smashed against the wood floor. In one fluid motion, he fell to his knees, his hands pressing against the center of his chest. Then the room shifted again.

In her hand was a literal smoking gun.

"No!" Nat found herself gasping, the gun falling from her hands as quickly as it got there. She had failed, not him. She should be punished, not him.

"It is time to take your place in the world, sister." Yelena's voice whispered in her ear. She could feel her presence behind her, hands coming around to steady Nat's shaking hands around the gun. She thought she had dropped it, but it was right back in her hand, aimed directly at Dawson. With Yelena's hand guiding her, she was forced to pull the trigger once again. This time neither of the girls even blinked at the sound or the kickback. Nat kept her eyes on him, feeling a rock settle in her stomach.

"I have no place in the world." Nat responded, knowing it was true. Dawson was bleeding out on the floor, twitching every so often as he died slowly, painfully. Because of her.

Maybe this was her punishment.

A lesson in how emotions can be dangerous and used as a weapon against her.

A/N: Had to do a lil Dawsnat reunion too! Equality! I really loved writing her Wanda vision so I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm going out of town next weekend for a week and a half so I'll try my best to push a chapter out beforehand, but I'm not sure I'll be able to so please don't hold it against me!

ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN ALL THE NEW MARVEL STUFF COMING OUT?! I'M SO HYPE! What are you most looking forward to? Do you have any ideas as to how you think any of the RiM characters can fit in? LMK!

Please don't hesitate to leave a review! I love hearing your thoughts and predictions! I CAN'T BELIEVE WE HIT 600+ REVIEWS TOO LIKE WOW WOW! Thank you to everyone who has read/followed/faved and reviewed so far! I really appreciate it. LOVE YOU ALL!