Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Marvel.

The door clicked open and Natasha pushed her pain to the back of her mind and brought forward the Black Widow. Instantly, she was back in control of her biggest and strongest weapon; her body. She threw herself forward, crashing into General Ross and one of his loyal dogsbodies. Hearing their surprised yelps, she grinned and quickly pulled them into her room. She knew it was sound proof, the entire floor was. If no one heard the screaming, then they couldn't be brought forward to testify should someone be accused of torturing a prisoner.

To be fair, Natasha had never screamed. She had barely winced.

Pulling the guns from their pockets, the assassin pointed one of them at the men while placing the other one at the waistband on the back of her trousers. It didn't matter that she only had one gun in hand – they knew she was quick enough to shoot them both before they could even try to get back on their feet. It was almost funny, how their expressions were so different from their previous times in this room. An almost sadistic thrill went up her spine. She could finish them. No one would know that it was her, Ross had only ever come here with the same two soldiers – they were loyal to him, they would keep his secret. It would probably have been the two of them that would have gotten rid of her body once she succumbed to her injuries. Then, she imagined, in nothing sort of a pure act of coincidence, it would have been Ross and these two men who would come forward to say that she had been killed, likely trying to capture her. She wouldn't surrender, so they had no choice but to kill her.

While there was only one soldier with Ross now, Widow knew that she wouldn't have to worry about the second. He was clearly new to service – he was probably a son of one of Ross' political friends who wanted their son to be "safe" during his time in service. He wouldn't say anything; it would make him complicit, while they could justify her capture, they could not justify her state. She had been tortured, abused by authority for no reason other than the sadistic pleasure of a man who held a grudge that she had no say in creating. He had tried to break her.

She was made of marble. She could not break.

He could.

He should.

Tightening her grip on the gun she looked Ross in the eyes. Years ago, just after New York, Natasha had the privilege of meeting Betty Ross. She was a kind woman, smart, but in her eyes lurked a deep sense of conflict. Having read the history between Betty and Bruce when she had travelled to India to recruit Banner for the team, Natasha could easily deduce that the conflict was of the internal war between her love for her father and her love for Bruce. As she had never really loved anyone in such a way before, Natasha could not emphasise with what Betty was feeling, but she could note that it took a lot to love someone that had done you wrong. She had loved Ivan and Madame B in her own way, in a way that was deep and dark. In a way that went beyond everything they had put her through. It was the same with Betty. Sometimes, you couldn't help but love the people that caused you harm.

It was twisted, but it was also real.

The Black Widow had made many orphans in her career.

She would not make Betty Ross and orphan – no matter how much of a sadistic bastard her father was.

With her mind made up, Natasha struck Ross and his soldier on the temple in a moved quicker than any lightning bolt Thor could conjure.

Deciding, however, that Ross would not come away completely unscathed, the Widow ripped the plyers from his belt and pulled off one of his fingernails, throwing the now useless nail to the side almost immediately. Tilting her head to the side, she looked at the unconscious men once more before she picked up the keycard from where Ross had dropped it and left the room.

Instantly, Natasha pulled forward and moved the Widow into the back of her mind. There was a time to compartmentalise and this was no longer it.

She stood unmoving in the empty hallway and listened carefully. Nothing. That meant that either she was deep enough into the raft that the entire outside was submerged under water – whether it was just this floor or the entire building she did not know yet – or that the walls were too thick to hear anything.

Deciding that this course of action was getting her nowhere, the red-head moved towards the lift and pressed the keycard to the scanner. Instantly she was presented with the sound of the doors snapping open to reveal a small, unmanned lift. Stepping into it cautiously, while also being sure to keep a foot between the doors, Natasha studied the lift. There were only three buttons.

The first one she looked at was labelled "Secure Floor", the second; "Office" and the third "Hanger". So, it looked like General Ross had his own private lift. No wonder no one had discovered his shady activities. They were probably already aware. Natasha sniggered, what a bunch of bastards. Moving her foot from the doors she allowed herself to step fully into the elevator. Pushing the button that said Office, Natasha leant into the wall as black dots appeared before her eyes.

Well, if she was going to die shortly, there might be some fun doing it in General Ross' own office.

Closing her eyes as the elevator lurched to a stop, Natasha took a deep and painful breath before stumbling out of the now open doors. Ross had a very insignificant office, the same as any other long serving military general. A sturdy mahogany desk, a thick leather chair situated just behind it. On the desk lay multiple folders, all manila in colour and undoubtedly filled with thousands of secrets. Natasha barely spared them a glance; she had enough secrets of her own. She didn't need anymore.

One thing that stood out to Natasha was the lack of windows. While there was no appealing view to be found in the raft, Thaddeus Ross had always struck Natasha as a man who liked to be able to see everything and everyone. Although, being as spy – as well as a woman who had lived and worked alongside Tony Stark – Natasha knew that Ross probably used screens to mask as eyes and removed the windows to make himself seem important, fierce and unapproachable.

Leaning back into the, admittedly, comfy chair, Natasha let her gaze wonder to the computer lurking behind the desk. Flicking the mouse, the screen jumped to life and she was rewarded with an email that, in some sorry-for-the-torture-have-an-easy-escape ex-machina, told her everything she needed to know.

Steve had broken out the other Avengers.

It looked like he'd had help too, if the email was anything to go by. Apparently, there had been a huge flaw in the technology department that had led to a massive security failure on all accounts. Once everything had been righted – a matter that took mere minutes – the captured Avengers had gone, and the only thing left behind had been a trial of unconscious guards.

Well, and herself.

She cursed, wondering if it had been her own mind that had kept her from working out that her freedom had been in reach for a brief second – as well as her team. Then again, she also wouldn't have put it past Ross to have her cell on a separate grid and database just in the name of caution.

Thinking about the technology flaw, Natasha's mind leapt back to Tony. Had he helped Steve get the others out? Had they put their differences behind them? She was confused, last, she had known; Tony was angry that she had let Steve and Barnes escape. Still, if they were all back together it made her heart lighter and, for a split second, allowed her to feel like she could breathe freely again.

The ringing of the phone on the edge of the desk startled her back into the present. She had an escape to complete. Getting to her feet, she glanced at the phone with the intent to end the call until she recognised the number.

It was the number for Tony's office at the compound.

Before she could register what it was that she was doing, she answered the phone and pressed the receiver to her ear.

"Finally!" A familiar voice exclaimed, "I almost thought you were doing something important."

Natasha stayed silent, collapsing back into the chair as the air left her lungs.

"Erm, hello? Earth to Thaddeus Thunder-Face? Are you ignoring me? Look, just because I left you on hold for nine hours doesn't mean that you get to- "

"Honestly, Tony, do you ever stop talking?"

The talking on the other end stopped.

"Natasha," he stopped, pausing again before clearing his throat, "– What the hell are you doing there?"

Before she could stop herself, she sobbed and dropped the call. It was too much, she had to stop. She had to leave, now, and never come back. Find somewhere she could die in peace and do just that. Pushing herself out of the chair she ignored the phone as it began ringing again and practically fell back into the elevator.

Slamming her hand on the button for the hanger, she ignored the subsequent pain and focused on controlling her breathing before she could do even more harm to herself. As the doors opened, she was relieved that Ross had his own private hanger. Noticing the quinjet that she had taken to Berlin, she climbed back on board and signed in. Fortunately, this was her jet, so she knew that she could not be traced by Stark – Ross was insignificant, she doubted he had the balls to try and follow her – who was most likely still reeling from their shared phone-call.

Noticing that the raft was, fortunately, above water, Natasha existed her quinjet before limping to the doors and swiping the keycard against the scanner. Allowing the wind to flow through her hair, she looked out into the ocean and threw the keycard out the doors. Hopefully, Ross would be stuck here until someone found him and issued him a new one.

Sitting back down in the jet, Natasha switched on stealth mode and started up the engines. She never even thought about looking back as she flew away from the raft and all it's horrible memories.

Once basking in the silence of the quinjet and the euphoria of her freedom had worn thin, Natasha checked the fuel gage and was irked to discover that there was precious little left. The thinning supply was certainly not enough to get her far from the US and barely enough to keep her from landing anywhere that wouldn't immediately declare her a hostile and send her back to prison. It was an easy decision to make that she would have to bite the bullet and land somewhere she could refuel.

Reaching over to the GPS, she set her location and switched on the autopilot. Fortunately for her, it was doubtful that after their latest conversation Tony would have anyone waiting around there looking for her. As far as he knew, she was still a hostage in need of some serious backup. Knowing that she would be at the compound in just over an hour, whilst also trying to stop herself from falling into a sleep that she didn't know she would be able to come out of, Natasha set about fixing what she could of the damage done to her hand and her leg.

The decision to do her leg first was easy; if all the bones were set in the right place, the healing process would be swift and simple. Taking her leg in her hand she quickly felt for and aligned the bones in the correct places making sure too keep her breathing slow and steady. Once that was done, she grabbed one of the many braces from Bruce's extensive medical kit – something that he insisted should be included on all jets, personal and group owned after a mission where at least two members of the team (read: Clint and Steve) came home with a broken leg – and secured it. She repeated the process for her wrist and allowed the pain to wash over her for a second before she pushed it back away and took another breath.

If she noticed that this breath was both shaky and shallow, Natasha did nothing to take note of it.

Bandaging her ribs would be hard in this state, especially with the currently poor condition of her wrist. Most of her fingers were too swollen and sore to act with any of her usual nimbleness so the spy decided that she would leave them alone for now. Instead, she set about cleaning the wounds where her fingernails should have been while trying to prevent any further infection. If she could stop any more damage being done to her hands then it was worth the stinging irritation that came with the disinfectant.

Like her ribs, her cheekbone and jawline were beyond her help, so she moved past them and into the tiny bathroom attached to the jet. Grabbing a hairbrush from the small cupboard, she ran some water into the tiny sink before gently leaning her head over the bowl and wetting her hair. Tugging the brush through it was a hard job in her current state but she managed to do it with her left hand alone. Eventually, the water was stained red, but her hair was wet and untangled. She had not forgotten about the wound on the back of her head, but that would need the help of someone else and right now she wanted no further reminder of how alone she actually was.

Walking back over to the main section of the jet, Natasha slumped onto the cot and stared at the ceiling. Trying to avoid falling asleep was growing more difficult by the second. The absence of adrenaline in her system had brought her back to the same feeling of tiredness and despair that she had felt in her cell. Tears burned her eyes and a lump grew in her throat. Speaking to Tony on the phone had made her realise how much pain her throat was causing her; her voice had been raw and sore from disuse and the pull of her vocal chords made her throat ache. Deciding that painkillers would do her no more harm than good, Natasha reached into the med-kit and grabbed a bottle.

Aiming for two pills, she shook the bottle and sighed when several fell into her hand. As she was about to put them back in, she stopped and stared at them for a few seconds, turning them over and over in her hand.

Shaking her head and pushing her thoughts away, Natasha poured all the pills back in the bottle and threw it across the quinjet. She had coped with worse pain before, she could survive this.

Sighing, she limped back over to the pilot's seat and gazed into the distance. It was around ten minutes later that she saw the gleam of the Avengers "A" ahead of her. Bathed in the evening sky, strips of orange and red behind it, Natasha lost herself in the memories of what used to be. While Stark tower held numerous memories of the all the original team, the new compound was a place where nearly all her thoughts contained Steve.

She had felt like a new person, leading the team with Steve. With the pressures of her job at SHIELD gone; Natasha had been surprised at how much lighter she had felt. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her time working there, in fact it had been quite the opposite; working with Clint, Coulson, Hill and Fury had changed her – and her life – for the better. Just the thought that she had been making a positive difference to the world using a skillset she had thought could only do bad had made her feel lighter. There had been days when she had stared into the mirror and felt proud of what she had done with her day; a feeling she had never experienced when she was working for the Red Room.

Although, to be fair, when she had worked for the Red Room there was no such thing as a "day before". Only a new mission and an empty past.

However, with her new sense of self-worth came notions of doubt – at least they had with Steve. Natasha had been in total sync with Clint and Coulson; they understood that sometimes their job meant living a less than honourable life and, as a result, they could always be honest with each other if their current job was not necessarily what it appeared to be. Working with Steve was different, he only looked at missions as a small-scale way of saving people from greater harm. Natasha saw them as that too, of course she did, but she also saw them as an order. That meant that if she was given a separate, more specific mission, she would follow it.

Fury hadn't given her separate orders on all her missions, barely any as a matter of fact. Yet each time he had it had meant that she'd have to lie to Steve and the longer they had spent working together, the harder that had become.

Steve was a good man. He was honest, loyal and fierce in his beliefs. While at times she had thought that to be infuriating – and she had seen the looks on Tony's face during heated debates with Steve, so she knew she wasn't the only one – she had also thought of it as admirable. Her occupation functioned by the constantly changing nature and alliances of people who had a lot of power at their feet. If the tide turned, then people turned with it, often allowing weaker swimmers to be left behind. Captain America, fortunately, wasn't like everyone else in her business; his allegiances were to people, not organisations, and his morals where fixed. Lying to him had grown tiring and stressful. She didn't want her partnership with Steve to be tainted like her friendship with Tony had been after she had revealed that Natalie Rushman had been an alias.

But she had been given her orders and she would follow them regardless of her emotions. It didn't matter if Steve was one of the few people who looked at her like he cared about her wellbeing, or if he viewed her as more than just an asset to the team – both the Avengers and SHIELD – but as an actual person. They had spent two years working in close quarters together but to try and spare him from being a bigger casualty to her, she had divulged as little about herself to him as possible, yet he still managed to find something in her worth caring for.

After the incident between them on the Lemurian Star, she had thought that had been the final straw. That he had given up on her.

It appeared that Steve Rogers had a thing for lost causes.

She scoffed, those same feelings of bitterness returning for a moment. He had given up on her now.

Not that she blamed him – she'd have given up on her, too.

She felt a steady decline in the pathway of the jet and pulled herself back into reality. Her musings had distracted her from the pain, but she would have to hurry to get herself in and out of the compound before anyone could find her. There was no doubt that whether Tony had stayed behind or flew off to the Raft to seek answers, Friday was already informing him that something had entered the grounds. It wouldn't be long before he would be back.

As soon as the jet touched the ground Natasha was out the doors and limping to the entrance of Avengers private section in the compound. The closer she got, more and more memories pressed against the back of her mind.

Ignoring them was hard, but crucial.

It was time to get to work.

Author's Note: Thank you to those who left reviews! It means a lot and I hope you know how grateful I am. I'm hoping that this chapter is a worthy successor!

To those of you who may have wanted a more action based fight with Ross, I know Natasha could have kicked his sorry arse six ways to Sunday but I wanted to focus more on her thought process and how she does understand that, while he might have earned it after everything he had done to her, Ross had people who cared about him – such as Betty. It wouldn't be a sign of growth for her to just kill him – or wound/torture him – without considering the consequences of who else might be hurt by her actions. She'll find a way to make Ross face consequences but right now she must focus on getting to a place where she feels safe and comfortable.

I think the chapters will start to get longer now. Natasha is going to be faced with a lot when dealing with the compound, so the next chapter will probably be the place where the story begins to be defined in terms of its timeline – remember, Natasha still doesn't know how long she was held for. She just knows that Steve broke out the other Avengers and that Tony is at the Compound. It's going to be a long and difficult road for her to walk down.