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7. Since you have let yourself come in

They were tentative, at first. Neither was accustomed to using their hands for anything besides violence and death. But their sessions began to involve stolen kisses, carefully planned movements to end up close to each other. Until that wasn't enough, and he'd snuck into her room whenever he could. It was addictive, to touch her and talk to her and feel like a human being. So they'd become reckless and were discovered.

The door burst open and men in combat gear rushed into the room, pulling them apart. He'd clung to her as long as he could, but neither of them made a sound as he was dragged away. It wasn't as though they hadn't expected it to end this way, despite their hopeful discussions of escape. Their silence did not stop the men from talking to them, though he ignored the cruel jeers directed at him and Natalia. They didn't understand.

When they brought him to the room with the chair, he balked at the doorway and had to be pushed through. As he was shoved into the apparatus, he heard a sharp gasp, and was upset to see Natalia had been brought along, too. Then he fought, likely killing several of the men before they had successfully restrained him. He met Natalia's gaze, trying to look reassuring, but she stared at him in horror. And then the machine whirred to life and he screamed and screamed.

He remembers waking up on that chair, confused by the anxious group of soldiers standing around him. The sight of a tearful woman staring at him from where she knelt by the door was more perplexing, and he frowned at her, trying to understand. That set her crying more, and he looked around for some explanation. One of the men spoke, snarling, to her in words too soft for him to hear, and they'd dragged her away, leaving him in the chair. Until one of his familiar handlers showed up and began briefing him. He'd tried to forget the woman, but it was so out of his ordinary experience that it stuck in his mind.

They hadn't let him train anyone after that, and he'd spent a long time in cryo, he knows. A few short missions brought him out, but they no longer seemed sure what to do with him. A change in management, perhaps. Things settled back into the routine to which he'd grown accustomed, and the years are blurry again. Until he saw her outside Odessa. Shot her. Finished his mission but not killed her. They'd left him in cryo after that, until they needed him to bring down SHIELD. And Captain America.

He sits up, running his fingers through his hair tiredly. It's apparent he's not going to get any more sleep for a while. Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he is surprised to see that it's not even midnight. The dreams that woke him came earlier than usual. Slowly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs his face. Not being able to sleep is a common problem for him and he heads to the living room to watch television for a while. Well, to have the machine on; he usually doesn't pay much attention to it.

When he opens his door, he immediately presses himself against the wall inside his room as he notices a light on in the kitchen. Steve has a key, he reminds himself, but moves silently toward the room anyway. The refrigerator is open, hiding the intruder behind the door, and he pauses by the counter just in case.

"Can I help you?" he asks quietly.

Glass clinks and the door closes a little, Natalia peering out at him. She smiles. "You could keep more real food around," she suggests.

He smiles slowly at her, still thinking of their past. "Sorry, I – uh, I'm not used to having a lot of food around," he mutters.

A concerned expression crosses her face and she walks over to him, closing the fridge door behind her. "Don't sweat it, James. It's not a big deal," she says gently, watching him closely.

Licking his lips, he looks past her for some explanation of her presence. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, his gaze settles on her face. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Smirking, she leans back against the counter near him. "You want me to leave?"

"No, I just – " he begins.

"I'm kidding, James. Things were… Well, missions were easier before I blew all my covers. Fury sent us back, and Clint said I should find somewhere to hide out. I figured you wouldn't mind," she explains, softening a little during the last sentence.

His brow furrows as she describes the mission. "I'm glad you're back," he says.

"Sorry I woke you," she replies, still looking concerned.

He shakes his head slowly. "I wasn't asleep."

"Nightmares?"

"Not exactly." She waits, watching him carefully. He clears his throat, looking away. "I was remembering things."

"What kinds of things?" She moves almost imperceptibly closer to him, and he turns his gaze back to her.

"The Commandos. The Red Room."

Nodding, she bites her lip. "Are you okay?"

A grim smile crosses his face. "As good as can be expected, I suppose."

Her expression doesn't change significantly, but no longer seems quite so open. She moves away, back to the kitchen, and gets herself a glass of water. "So, what have you been up to while I was gone?" she asks lightly.

"Not much. Went on a mission with Steve," he offers.

Something in his tone must have betrayed his feelings, because she looks at him sharply. "What happened?"

"He was shot. He's fine," he answers shortly.

"But you're not."

Sighing heavily, he inspects his hands as though he'll find some answer there. "The last time… When he got hurt before. It was because of me," he whispers.

Her hands invade his field of vision as she takes his in her own. Even the left one, he thinks. "It wasn't you," she tells him firmly when he looks up at her.

Looking down again, he shakes his head. "Things done with my hands," he replies, voice still soft.

"It wasn't you, James," she repeats, squeezing his fingers. "You'd never hurt Steve."

"But I have. I've hurt you, too," he mumbles painfully.

Dropping his right hand, she gently lifts his chin so he has to look at her. He doesn't move under the warmth of her touch. "What did you remember about the Red Room?" she asks.

His eyes narrow slightly at the question. "I remember everything, Natalia, and you were the one good thing in all of it," he says emphatically.

Her lips twitch toward a smile, but she continues to look at him seriously. "Did you hurt me then?"

He considers. "Sometimes, in training. And at the end."

"You didn't hurt me in our training room. Not any more than I hurt you. You just made me better. How did you hurt me at the end?" she insists.

"They made you watch," he whispers.

Her eyes close and a pained expression passes over her face. Then she looks at him again, gently moving her hand along his cheek. "How was that you hurting me?"

"Because – because, when it was over, I didn't know you."

"James, that was the point. Of course you wouldn't know me, after what they did," she explains, almost exasperated.

He shakes his head slowly, careful not to dislodge her hand. "I've broken through before. I broke through when I saw Steve. I could have – "

She silences him with an insistent kiss, and he loses track of what he was going to say. When she breaks away, she smiles at him gently. "No, James, you couldn't have. Not then. But you're free now. And you can do whatever you want."

"Thank you, Natalia," he answers softly, pulling her hesitantly closer.

"For what?" she asks as she slides into his arms, her fingers resting on his neck and on the small of his back.

He pauses, closing his eyes. "For making me feel human," he says at last.