There Was A Little Girl, Chapter 7- A Dream To Live (Clint Barton You Idiot II)
Start at the beginning, finish at the end
Everything you'll tell them is true, nothing is pretend
But when you long to come running back, remember
This is now, that was then
Yesterday will find you, where you've been before
Let the past remind you what's done
Now look for something more
There's a place I can almost see before us
Never "if", only "when"
Start another story, tell it as you go
Make a happy ending, or sad
Tell it how you know
Just remember a day gone by is never really gone
If your tale goes on
If your tale goes…
- Start Another Story, Emilie Autumn
She remembers dreaming.
She had dreamt about Papa and Mama, about being that little girl with the pigtails.
She had dreamt about the best day of her life. She was once again clutching the cone of vanilla ice-cream in her tiny hands, seated between her parents, and they all had smiles on their faces.
She could hear the laughter of Papa and Mama, and her very own giggles.
She could taste the cold vanilla as she licked the ice-cream once again.
Come on Natalia, say it again, let Papa and Mama hear you say it again. Mama tickled her, making her laugh and giggle.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova. My name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova. She squealed trying to avoid Mama's hands as she reached to tickle her again.
Mama had laughed, and Papa smiled along with her as they enjoyed the ice-cream.
They were happy.
And they were a family.
She had a family.
She was happy.
The scene faded away, and she was pulled into darkness.
She remembers the darkness that didn't go away.
All around her, emptiness, nothing.
It reminded her of the dark room she was once shut in by the wardens at the Red Room.
The darkness had threatened to drive her mad then. It wasn't any different this time.
She remembered what she had done then to hold on to her sanity, to hold on to herself. Maybe it would work now.
She closed her eyes and started her chant.
My name is Na…
You killed me, didn't you?
Her eyes shot open and she whipped her head around.
She recognized that voice.
You killed my father too.
There was a girl, she had pigtails too.
Kseniya. Drakov's daughter. She remembered.
Why?
This voice was different, it was someone else.
I tried to help you.
It was the man she encountered in São Paulo, and his voice was accusing.
She started to feel the guilt seeping into her.
I had a family! You ruined them.
The sick man from the hospital appeared on her right.
They didn't even have a recognizable body to mourn.
His body started to blacken then, as an unseen fire ate away at him.
She backed away, but not before bumping in yet another body.
Did you? Did you do this to me?
A bloodied body, advancing towards her.
What did I do to deserve this?
A man with a hole in his chest, left from a bullet she once shot.
Do you even remember us?
An old man, with blood slowly seeping through his shirt.
Her chest tightened as the bodies around her closed in on her.
She closed her eyes to escape the nightmare that approached her, but was only met by memories of how she had once ended the lives of each and every one of the bodies that were now looking at her accusingly.
Stop.
She looked up.
Papa?
The bodies now formed a circle, with her curled into a ball in the middle.
With her in the circle on either side of her were Papa and Mama.
Mama reached a hand out, and she took it. It was as soft and gentle as she remembered.
She slowly stood up.
Papa? Mama? Her voice was barely a whisper, but it held the same desperate hope as it did the day she screamed for them in the yard of their destroyed home.
After so many years of killing. She hadn't been prepared for the pain in she could clearly see in Mama's eyes.
This wasn't who we wanted her to be. Papa's eyes only mirrored the agony in Mama's.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Is that you? Mama's hair was just like she remembered. .
It was the name we gave to the little girl that was our daughter. Papa couldn't look her in the eye anymore, avoiding her green eyes that were an exact copy of his own.
Is that still your name? Mama shook her head, her own fiery red hair just brushing her shoulders.
We don't recognize her. Papa had his head down now, giving her a perfect view of his perpetually curly hair.
We don't recognize you. A tear rolled down Mama's cheek.
Did she kill? Papa finally raised her head.
Did you feel? Mama took a step towards her.
Did she die? Papa's voice cracked.
Did you live? Mama's voice softened.
Did she?
I'm sorry. She'd whispered.
A disappointment.
She was the best.
She was the Black Widow.
But…
She killed, she couldn't feel, she didn't let herself feel. The little girl died, and she hadn't lived.
At all.
Yes, she was the Black Widow.
Yes, she was the best.
Did it mean anything?
Was that what she wanted?
Was that all she could be?
But was it your choice?
She whirled around, now looking at the fourth figure standing in the circle formed by the now motionless sea of bodies.
The man with his bow and quiver slung across his back gestured towards the people around him.
Was any of this your choice?
His eyes were deep.
Was it your choice to make when they brought you to the Red Room?
His eyes were gentle.
Was it your choice to make when they made it your nature to kill?
His eyes were kind.
Was it your choice to make when they tore you away from who you are?
His eyes were understanding.
Was it all your choice, when all you could do was to let them think for you?
His eyes were forgiving.
You regret your past.
His eyes were knowing.
But you have a future.
His eyes were blue.
And you have a choice.
They were sapphire blue.
A choice to be free.
The bodies faded, Papa and Mama faded.
You could be free.
He faded.
Darkness took over.
But it wasn't cold anymore.
It wasn't empty anymore.
She remembers opening her eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
She was in a white room, and her limbs were strapped down to metal bars on her sides.
She had panicked, not knowing where she was.
Had the Red Room found her?
Had she been brought back to the white room where she had been taken apart? Where so much of herself had been taken away from her?
She pulled against the restrains that were once again too strong for her, and immediately winced as pain shot through her back and her calf.
How did…
Images of arrows flickered through her mind.
Someone was trying to kill her?
She had been in an alley, it was dark.
Did she run into trouble?
There was a man, he had a bow and a quiver of arrows.
The memory was coming back to her now.
He had sapphire blue eyes.
He'd spared her life.
He'd said she could be free.
But he hadn't answered her questions.
Where was she?
The door had creaked open then, allowing a man to enter. It was him.
You're awake, finally. He grinned like a little boy and came to stand by her bed. How're you feeling?
She stared at him, confused as to how she was supposed to answer.
You uh… You must be wondering where this is. You're at S.H.I.E.L.D.. Stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. A mouthful, I know.
She continued to keep a straight face as he rambled on.
I spoke to the people up there, my uh… superiors, about bringing you in. There were a few… complications, but other than that, you should be fine, though I'm supposed to be responsible for you from now on. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but don't worry, they're all ridiculous about rules here.
Superiors? Rules? Where was this place? Was it like the Red Room? Was it worse?
He must have noticed the look she had on her face.
Hey relax, we're not like where you came from. You get to choose what you want to do here, you're more or less free.
She'd heard those words before.
Here, let me help you up.
He unbuckled the straps around her limbs, freeing her of the restraints. She'd immediately sprung off, ignoring the pain in her back and leg, and put the bed between her and the man.
The man had raised his hands then, showing her that he meant her no harm.
For a while, they'd remained in that position, with her warily taking him in, and him waiting for her to accept his gesture of peace.
Who are you. She'd eventually broken the silence with a low and dangerous voice.
Clint Barton. He slowly lowered his hands and took a step closer to the bed.
You didn't answer my question.
His brows furrowed then. I just did, I told you, my name is…
You said I could be free. From what? And for what?
Comprehension dawned his face. Oh, that. Well…
He'd taken a deep breath and inserted his hands into his pocket.
From your past. So you could live a life.
She eyed the forlorn man rocking on the balls of his feet before her.
What do you know about me?
Just enough to know that's exactly what you need, to be free.
Silence had befallen the room again.
Thank you, Clint Barton.
What? He looked up, drawn from his own deep thoughts.
You spared my life.
Oh uhm, you're welcome, I guess.
Why?
I uh… He fumbled, clearing his throat. She could see his hesitation as he looked around, trying to find an answer. I guess I just felt like it.
Silence.
She knew it wasn't the reason, and she knew he did too, but none of them spoke.
I should leave. You should rest too, sorry about the arrows, he said abruptly, before turning to leave the room.
Wait. Her voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.
Yeah? He'd looked over his shoulder, at her.
My name is Nata… She stopped.
I think I already know, remember? I was sent to…
No. Wait.
She sat down on the bed, her back facing the man. It was a pretty stupid thing to do, considering she barely knew him, but somehow, she knew she was safe.
Moments later, she felt the bed dip slightly as the man sat on the other side of it.
You name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova?
It was a walk down memory lane. Everything Natalia Alianovna Romanova had done, as the little girl with pigtails, as the killer-in-training in the Red Room, as the Black Widow.
It was the name we gave to the little girl that was our daughter. Papa had said that in the dream. We don't recognize her.
Neither do I. She closed her eyes, her thoughts a huge mess. Can she? Can she let go of it? She could let go of Natalia Alianovna Romanova. She'd be letting go of the little girl in pigtails, but she'd be letting go of the soulless and heartless killer. Was it worth it? Could she do it? Was that what she needed?
Natasha Romanoff. Does that sound American enough? She straightened her back, testing the words on her mouth.
He considered the name. Yeah, I suppose so, why?
She bit her lip. It was now her turn to hesitate. Your pronunciation was horrible.
Yeah well your English reeks of Russian. The man smirks as he jumps up from the bed, the earlier tension leaving the two.
No it doesn't. She lifts her chin indignantly.
Whatever you say, he walked to the door with the same skip in his step as when he first entered.
My name is Natasha Romanoff. She watched as his hand rested on the door knob.
Well Natasha, why don't you take a rest, and I'll return with some ice-cream. The food here sucks, trust me, you'll need it. He wrinkled his nose at her before swinging the door open and leaving her alone in the ward.
Except this time, she hadn't felt lonely anymore as the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly at the promise of ice-cream.
Maybe Clint Barton was right. Maybe she could live a life. Maybe she could still be that little girl.
She remembers hoping that he'd bring vanilla.
He did.