Chapter: 7

The girl's eyes where dark. They were filled with deep concentration and an absolute hatred. Her long black hair was in a braid and she pushed it behind her as the two of them circled around each other like two wild beasts. She had let her own red curls fall loosely around her shoulders. The room around them had gone silent. The others, both the two girls on the side and the instructors, watched them closely. They examined every move that the two fighters made. There was a moment where everything came into focus all at once. She could smell the mustiness of the basement mixed with the strong smell of iron from the blood that had been spilled there over the years. She could hear the buzzing of what she guessed was a nearby fly. The blood rushed through her system from both adrenaline and fear. The two of them could see every move, every twitch, of the other. They continued to circle around each other, a fire burned in each of their eyes. The intensity of it all seemed to come alive in the air. Finally a whistle was blown and the two of them lunged for each other. The other girls watched from the side lines. They studied every move that each girl made. Natasha was the smaller of the two fighters, then again, she was smaller than most of the others as well. She was also one of the youngest among them. She had learned long ago to use this to her advantage. The girl she was fighting was fast, that was her strongest asset. Natasha had a bit of trouble keeping up with her. The girl may have been fast but she knew she was more flexible than her and able to maneuver around better. The girl managed a hit to her stomach that had her toppling to the ground but it didn't take her long to kick the girl's feet out from under her and get to her feet almost in one move. the girl was getting frustrated at this point. The frustration only made her sloppy. She was able to bring the girl down to her back and when the girl tried to rise she knocked her back down with a kick to her chest. An alarm sounded after ten minutes of fighting, the other girl was the one found on the ground. This was not good for today were the elimination fights. Barely any of them flinched when the silence was interrupted by a single gunshot.

"Bravo Natalia," The man had a deep russian accent and a twisted smile on his face. She tried to ignore the pride in his eyes. He didn't think she'd loose. He put his gun back in the holster and motioned for another man to remove the other girl's lifeless body from the arena. Natalia nodded and took a deep breath, she had to win two more fights if she wanted to live another day. The man nodded back and her next opponent stepped forward.

Phil Coulson rushed down the hallway towards the medical unit. He pushed past all the other agents that crowded around from either curiosity or concern. The alarm was loud and only fueled the headache that had grown in the back of his head all day. He cursed under his breath the entire way there. From out of nowhere Agent Barton came up on his right side.

"What the Hell is going on?" Barton yelled and Phil shoved a young-looking agent, probably a new one, out of his way.

"I thought you'd be able to tell me." He shouted back to him.

"My shift ended about twenty minutes ago."

"One things for sure," Coulson said as they reached their destination and heard a loud crash.

"She's awake," Clint finished for him. There was someone yelling on the other side in a language Clint immediately identified as Russian. "And pissed," he added. Another loud crash was heard and the two men approached with caution. Clint was the first to see her. She had ripped out her IV and there was a line of blood down her arm. Coulson had instinctively pulled out his weapon and Clint fought the urge to do the same.

"I told you this would happen," Coulson said under his breath. Clint wasn't listening though. His complete attention was focused on her. She wore nothing but the paper-thin hospital gown, and in some places her hair was a tangled mess that hung around her shoulders. She had backed herself into a corner and now stared them all down with a look of hatred. A closer examination of her eyes however, and Clint could also see traces of what he dared to say was fear. They also had a far away look in them that told Clint all he needed to know. She looked like a wounded beast ready to pounce. Hanging loosely in right hand was the weapon that Clint assumed belonged to the agent who had replaced him. That same agent had a broken nose and was now stumbling out of there as fast as he could. In another corner Clint spotted a man with short black hair, dark terrified eyes, and a pair of scrubs on. He assumed he was a nurse and looked at him until they made eye contact. He motioned for the man to approach slowly.

"She doesn't know where she is," Clint said. "Look at her eyes Phil. They're looking but not seeing anything." He saw the muscles tense in Coulson's arms. He seemed to be debating whether she was faking it or not. The other man continued to move slowly towards Clint. After a moment Coulson cursed under his breath and looked over at Clint. He waited for the man to finally reach them. "Get out of here," the man didn't need to be told twice. Coulson then addressed Clint.

"You got any ideas?" He still hadn't lowered his weapon.

"Not a good one." Clint admitted. "I'm going to need you to leave." Predictably Coulson looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Are you out of your mind Barton," he hissed at him.

"Told you it wasn't a good one." He replied and stepped forward. "I've got this." Coulson sighed in annoyance and lowered his weapon.

"Ten minutes Barton," he said then stepped out of the room. Clint took another slow step forward. She seemed to finally realize he was there and yelled something in russian at him. She raised the gun in her hand, aiming right at his head. He had no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't miss. He raised his hands up and she yelled at him again.

"Hey Natasha," he said in a calm voice. She didn't respond to him. "Do you remember me? Clint Barton, I brought you here to SHEILD remember?" He said and something seemed to click because she looked at him, really looked at him. The gun wavered just slightly. "You collapsed," he said taking another step forward "you've been out for a day and a half now." He slowly inched closer. "You almost died Natasha, twice, but you're ok now." When he was only a few feet away from her he lunged and grabbed the gun. He managed to twist the gun from her hand as she collapsed against the wall under his weight. He threw it across the room and held her wrist in his hands. He tried to place himself so that she wouldn't be able to hurt him. He heard a slight choking sound that sounded almost like a whimper, it sounded foreign coming from her. He then looked into her eyes to see them glazing over with that far off look again. He immediately backed away. He took a step back and held his hands up to show he was unarmed as well. "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't let you keep the gun. You're ok though right? Natasha?" He said in the same calm voice he'd used before. Her eyes slowly cleared and she looked around for a moment, taking in the hole in the wall and the glass on the floor. She then focused her eyes on him and her mask fell back in place.

"Don't touch me." She said with the threat clear in her voice. He nodded with his hands still raised. Her eyes swept the room once more before going back to him. "I want out of here."

"Ok," he said and slowly lowered his hands. "Ok, after the doctor comes in and-"

"Now Barton," she snapped. He studied her for a moment, looking closely there where very subtle signs of genuine fear. Her breathing was slightly heavier, she looked slightly paler, and just this general reaction at all gave it away. Natasha Romanoff didn't just hate hospitals, she was afraid of them. He reckoned that if she hadn't just woken up from nearly dying, twice, and in the grips of what he guessed was a powerful flashback, he would never have seen this fear.

"Ok," he said. He walked over to where the clothes she had worn the night before were folded neatly on the windowsill. He handed them to her with a nod and left the room to allow her to change. He made sure to grab the discarded gun on his way out. About half an hour later, after a long argument with the doctor, Clint had been told to lead Natasha to a spare room on the base. He was told to get her some food and allow her to rest for an hour before brining her to the interrogation room to continue questioning. He had left her in the room, two guards stood outside the door, and ran down to the cafeteria to get her something to eat and drink. The incident from the medical unit had caused a whole other uproar to swarm through the base. some where trying to joke around like they didn't care, but most where on edge. He ignored the whispers and the stares as he grabbed her a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. He quickly returned to the room and handed the small meal over to her. She examined it for a moment before meeting his eyes and he simply pointed down at the food. She shrugged but he didn't leave untill she took a bite out of the sandwich. He told her that he'd be back to get her in an hour and she simply nodded. Once back out in the hallway he kept a cool face until he was away from the guards then leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath.

He didn't make eye contact with anyone as he walked through the hallways. They all talked among each other as he passed by them but he didn't even bother in wondering what they where talking about. He hated them. Every single one of them could drop dead and he wouldn't be able to care less. He hated what they were and the uniform that they wore to represent who they were. It was the same one that seemed to be burning against his skin. He held his head high as he walked. He was above all of them and he knew it. They were little more than scum to him. He hated having to be there, to sleep in the room with the rest of new recruits, to train along with them while knowing his skill far outweighed theirs. His body ached, it longed for some action. He felt his fingers twitch with each agent that he passed. He longed for a fight, for the terror and the bloodshed. There were times where it called out to him with every fiber of his being, but he was a professional. He had his orders and wouldn't make a move until he was finally given his signal. He passed a group off young men, whispering and laughing with each other, and hoped his orders came soon.

And there's chapter 7. So...suggestions? Comments? Love? Hate? Feel free to share. Hope you all enjoyed :)