AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters! WinterWidow fluff. Dom/sub dynamic, no lemon.
Natasha was panicking. They watched from the other side of the glass as absolute terror surged in her eyes and she tore through the nurses like tissue paper. Slowly, she receded to the corner, half hidden behind the hospital bed, and let the ones who were still standing drag their fallen out the door. It locked behind her. Coulson emerged beside them, shaking his head.
"She's hysteric. The doctors say it's likely the shock is causing some temporary amnesia but if they can't get her calm they won't be able to stop the bleeding. She has two bullet wounds, still, and they can't tranq her without thinning her blood. Due to her.. unique medical situation anesthesia is not an option. Anyone got any ideas?" Silence. All eyes instinctively went to Clint but he just stared, watching her tremble in the corner.
"How much did she forget?" Coulson shrugged.
"We have no way of knowing. It may just be panic but she didn't know me or any of the doctors." Silence again, thudding against them like the beat of a death march.
"She won't know me, then, will she?" Coulson shook his head that it was unlikely. They all just watched her, so out of character. Her usual confidence and smoothness was gone, now. She sat almost completely still, her back against the wall and a blockade of some kind on either side of her, with her eyes ahead. She stared at the one-way glass. There was no way, realistically, that she could have known they were there but those cold, empty eyes stared them down regardless. Nothing gave away how much pain she was in, or that she was even wounded. She'd ripped the IV from her arm and was currently securing it to one of the drawer handles she'd ripped off, working it into a sort of screw driver like weapon that she could wield. If any of them even tried to go in there, they were as good as dead.
"What does she remember?" Immediately, everyone stared at Bucky. He rarely ever spoke and usually kept to himself, even around Steve, so they were undoubtedly shocked to hear his voice but he kept his eyes on Coulson. No time for an anxiety attack right now.
"We're not sure. She can read, she read her charts a bit ago, but she didn't understand our English. We tried Russian but she refused to comply. Do you have any suggestions?" Bucky clenched his fist at his side. Every part of him screamed not to do this, not to give away any kind of information or reveal anything from his past because he needed to protect himself. And only himself. But a larger part stared at the terrified girl on the linoleum floor and ached to do something.
"Let me go in." Instantly, they were all on him trying to make him see how bad of an idea that was but he'd made up his mind. He started for the door. His mind was set, he was going to do it because if anything could resonate through the panic it would be this. A hand grabbed his arm to stop him. Before he even realized what he was doing, the person was thrown against the wall and Steve's hurt, baby blue eyes stared back at him in utter disbelief. But the man wasn't injured, Bucky had made sure of that, so he hardly felt bad.
"I said let me, Steven." His voice was cold, like ice in the air, and they all flinched away from him. Even Steve. He'd been very, very careful over the past few months he'd been staying at the tower with them to never be a threat, to never put the idea in their heads that he was anything but a friend. Hell, half the time it was him who thought he was dangerous-not them. But something about seeing Natasha so vulnerable shattered every ounce of anxiety he'd ever had. So what if they saw him a threat? He was one. And if he had to prove that to get to Natasha, he would do it in a heartbeat.
They cleared the way for him without another word, and no one tried to touch him. He stopped with his hand on the door and took a deep breath. It'd been years. If this didn't work, he wasn't getting out of that room without a hell of a fight and he prepared himself for that too. Slowly, he breathed. And, when he opened that door, he was completely different.
His gait was confident, in control, and anything but cautious. He walked into the middle of the room without a hint of fear in his face and he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, trying not to look for weapons. He knew exactly where she was, of course, but she didn't move. She hadn't seen him, yet.
"Natalya!" He considered for a moment, watching her stiffen in her shadow, and continued in Russian. "Come. Now." His voice was low and authoritative, anything but scared, and she rose from her hiding place on shaky legs to stand in front of him. She clutched the makeshift weapon in her hand and shifted from foot to foot, as if she hadn't made a decision on whether or not to trust him, but there was clearly something nagging at her because she hadn't killed him yet. It was working. He glared at her, his eyes hard and unforgiving, and her hand faltered on the weapon.
"Kneel." She hesitated, her eyes flicking from him to the door like she thought she might run for it. But she knew better. He could see the familiarity and recognition in her face, right alongside the confusion, and he refused to let himself slip now. She'd blatantly disobeyed a command.
"I said kneel!" It was an order, practically barked at her, but she dropped instantly to her knees. He almost groaned at the sight. Without instruction, she'd fallen into position perfectly. On her knees, her toes tucked under, her legs spread as far as they would go. Her hands lie open on her thighs, palms up, no longer holding any weapon, and she bowed her head to him completely. When he didn't praise her, she tilted her head and bared her throat to him.
Behind the glass, he could both feel and hear various sentiments of what the fuck circulating through the team but he forced himself to focus on her. Solely on her. She was bleeding and the movement had jarred the wounds again, especially the one above her right hip. With one foot, he nudged her knee until she adjusted her position so as not to strain the wound.
"Good girl." She didn't relax or sigh or even breathe at the praise but he felt her tension ease a bit. It was coming back to him faster and faster, like bits of sand through a sieve. He didn't need to see her face or hear her, he could feel her reactions and read her emotions in the air itself because this was his Talya. His. A shiver ran through his body at the thought but he shook it off and focused on her. She was trembling, ever so slightly, on the floor.
"Look at me." She lifted her face and met his eyes, but only for a moment before she darted them back to the floor. She was afraid it would be seen as a challenge. But he reached forward and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger so he could direct her. She avoided his eyes.
"Don't make me repeat myself." She jolted when he raised his voice slightly and he felt fear roll off of her but he refused to back off. She needed this right now, and he wasn't going to let her down. So he held her chin, gently, and waited for obedience. She met his eyes. They were wide with fear and filled with tears but she met his eyes like he'd ordered so he rewarded her with a gentle brush of his fingers over her cheek. She shuddered. He didn't let her look away.
"Natalya, do you know me?" She nodded immediately as tears started down her cheeks. Relief flooded through him-it'd worked!-but he focused. If she knew him, remembered him, then she remembered the rules too and she would notice if he let anything slide.
"I asked you a question, Natalya." She flinched but didn't look away, just swallowed down a few tears and took a deep breath. "Do you know me?"
"Yes Master." He let a small smile flash briefly across his face, just enough for her to see it, and nodded his appreciation at the title. She needed this, this structure and routine right now. He released her chin and ran his hand through her hair instead, gripping it roughly whenever he felt her focus wane. She'd lowered her head again, without being asked.
"If you know me, then you remember that I'm not like the other Masters, right?" She nodded, quick to please him. "And you trust me? Surrender yourself to me? Completely?" Another quick nod, even as she leaned back into his touch. Good, this was good. She'd remembered more than he'd expected her to and he had to wonder if it was because they'd tried so hard to take it from her or if he'd really had that big of an impact. She'd been a child, still. But he risked a glance down at her and her eyes were glazed and lethargic with submission.
"Talya, you're hurt. You're going to lie in that bed and let the doctors tend to you." She nodded immediately, sensing the undertone of a command even if he didn't specifically put it there. There was no reassurance. She didn't ask for any promise, any protection or comfort, she simply took the order for what it was and nodded. Part of him swelled with pride, thinking she trusted him enough to blindly obey. But a much deep part of him churned with hate and anger because he knew-he just knew-that wasn't the case. She wanted to ask, to seek comfort and safety in him the way they used to. But they'd drilled it out of her and poisoned this until she was afraid to ask, to show any kind of weakness or think for a second that she deserved anything more than what he chose to give her.
"Bed. Now." She obeyed, standing and moving towards the hospital bed but keeping her head bowed and her eyes away. She didn't reach for him. Didn't take his hand, didn't whisper that she was scared or that she needed him to promise to protect her. She just laid there, and braced herself.
"Coulson, you can send in the doctors now." He didn't yell or raise his voice, knowing full well they were all still listening intently on the other side of the glass, but she flinched regardless. A minute later the door opened. Three very hesitant, very fearful doctors stepped into the room and he could see the bulge of bullet proof vests beneath their scrubs from where he stood. But Natasha didn't react. As they stepped closer, her only movement was to glance to him for direction. Finally, he thought, beckoning the doctors closer. Finally she was daring to ask, even if it was only for another command. He placed his flesh hand on her shoulder and immediately her entire focus went to him, her face lifting towards him even if her eyes stayed low. It was like she forgot the doctors were even there.
"Good girl, Talya." She almost whimpered at the praise. For a second, the doctors all looked ready to bolt and he couldn't tell if they didn't trust his Russian or the sudden movement of her body. Regardless, he glared them back into place.
"She has two GSWs, one to the abdomen and one to the arm." They hesitated. "Treat her. She won't move or fight you." She understood his English, he could feel it, but she didn't say a word or look away from him. She knew she didn't need to. Whatever happened, he would handle it and he would tell her if she needed to know or do something. Otherwise, she merely faced him.
The doctors began to work, slowly disinfecting and patching up the various wounds she'd sustained. She stiffened with pain but didn't move or speak and he rewarded her by slipping his metal hand beneath her head to grip the back of her neck. Immediately, she relaxed into his hold. It wasn't overly complex or unique-it was a standard sub hold, one he had no doubt other masters had used on her thousands of times-but the way she shuddered and sank into him still made him sigh. It didn't matter if the antiseptics burned or if the stitches felt like thousands of needles in her flesh because he was holding her, claiming her, controlling her. And she fell into that peaceful surrender so easily it was like she'd been drugged.
Coulson joined them very cautiously in the room but Natasha didn't even open her eyes at the sound of the door or of approaching footsteps. To do so would mean she didn't trust him. So she stayed still and pliant as the doctors worked even when Bucky knew she could feel Coulson's presence. He thumbed her pulse point in silent reward, and she hummed in appreciation.
Coulson met his eyes with nothing but confusion and almost concern-as if he was hurting her somehow-but for the first time since meeting any of them, Bucky didn't back down. He didn't shrink in on himself, didn't open his body language, didn't look away. He didn't try to seem like he was neutralized or safe. Instead, he met Coulson's questioning look with steel in his own eyes, sharp enough that the senior agent flinched away. A wave of protectiveness washed over him and he felt Natasha's pulse jump beneath the pad of his thumb in response. She was trusting him. She was his. And he was not going to let anyone hurt her, not even Coulson, no matter how out of character it was for him to be so fiercely protective.
A tray clattered loudly to the floor and they all jumped, even her. But even if her eyes jolted open and she tensed on the bed, she didn't look away from his face for a second. She was waiting, searching. He gave her a little nod and pressed his grip a little harder into her neck. Good, he thought, willing her to understand the message. Good for trusting me. But even if she did trust him the sound sparked anxiety in her chest and he didn't need the machine beside the bed to tell him her heartbeat was quickening. The doctors began to run for the door but he stopped them with a single look.
He locked eyes with her. Her breath came in short little gasps but he just gripped her neck tighter and forced her to look at him, through the fear.
"Safe," he said simply, not bothering to lower his voice or hide what he was saying in the slightest. "Safe. And mine." It was the second part, not the first, that let her relax. He knew that and he felt the questions radiating from Coulson but now wasn't the time. She nodded quickly and took slow, calming breaths. But she never looked away from his face-not once.
"Mine," he repeated, thumbing her pulse point and squeezing her arm in praise. "Mine." The doctors finished their work and looked to Coulson for dismissal, which he gave, but the senior agent stayed. Honestly, Bucky was not in the mood to be interrogated and she needed to rest but Coulson didn't say a word. Didn't ask a single question. He merely took the seat on the other side of the bed, looking as if he was prepared to wait. Natasha noticed, and looked to him for reassurance. Internally, he celebrated. She was leaning on him more and more-trusting him more and more-and he loved it.
"Safe." She nodded, understanding that Coulson fit into his idea of safe and accepting that immediately.
"And yours, Master." He smiled as she said it. The way she lit up, keening into his touch and almost nuzzling his palm, make his chest ache because he knew how eager she was to please. But, for once, it wasn't out of fear of consequences. It was because she wanted to.
"That's right, Talya. And mine." A blush crept up her cheeks at that word, even now, but he just smiled and ran his hand up and down her arm. "Sleep." Her eyes closed, instantly obeying. He had to smile as he watched her quickly succumb, letting the adrenaline and the exhaustion from the mission collide with what had just happened until she had no choice but to sleep. But he kept his hands exactly where they were, leveling his eyes with Coulson. He wasn't going to explain, not now, and Coulson seemed to understand that. That didn't change the fact that he was practically drowning in the need to protect her, to comfort her, to shield her from any potential danger. It felt like years upon years of watching her get hurt finally culminated into this moment. This need.
And as much as he knew and liked Coulson, he didn't trust men around his Talya. Even if that particular man hadn't hurt her-and didn't plan to hurt her-he knew how deep her fear ran and he placed himself between her and Coulson without even thinking. Coulson merely observed his behavior.
"Possessive…" Coulson mused, undoubtedly having understood at least pieces of what he'd said to her before, but Bucky just glared.
"Protective." Coulson held up his hands in mock surrender and pulled out a book, beginning to read. Bucky glared, but turned back to his Talya. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat even more so, and he could feel, for the first time since recognizing her again, the tension melting away. Looking at the now bandaged wounds, he held back a hiss. Someone had hurt her-his Talya. But he focused on her for the time being because he knew she would sense his anger and wake up in a panic. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, he could only manage a single thought through the haze of emotion: his.
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