There Was A Little Girl, Chapter 8- (Don't) Let Me Go (Budapest)
And I demand
You put my heart back in my hand
And wipe it clean
From the mess you made of me
And I require
You make me free from this desire
And when you leave, I'd better be the innocent
I used to be
- I Want My Innoncence Back, Emilie Autumn
All these years, she has fiercely kept them locked up, safely away.
No one can see them, no one can feel them.
No one can even sense them, let alone touch them.
Not even her.
And eventually, everyone simply forgot.
They forgot that they were supposed to be innate part of her, just like they were of everyone else.
Sometimes, even she did.
She likes to think that she does it because the Red Room was right about one thing, that they are redundant.
She pushes away the thought that it may be because she needs it.
It is for the best, she tells herself.
She knows it isn't.
But she ignores that, and she ignores them.
She doesn't think about how she may not be able to live with herself if she doesn't.
She doesn't think about how if she doesn't, even for just one second, everything would crumble around her.
She would crumble.
Every single wall she has built around herself to protect herself.
Every single gate to the gallons of tears she has held back over the years.
Every single barrier erected to keep the pain at bay.
They will crumble.
Every single bit of her shield.
Every single bit of her armor.
Every single bit of… her.
She. Will. Crumble.
They will make her crumble.
Shatter.
Bits and pieces.
Scattered.
Littered.
Abandoned.
Lost.
Gone.
And then forgotten.
It scares her.
They scare her, so so much.
And so she had tucked them away, ever so carefully, and ever so forcefully, strictly, viciously.
They call her emotionless, without emotion.
She wished, if only that were true.
They will ruin her.
Emotions will ruin her.
How ironic, that these emotions will tear her down without hesitation, cruelly, callously.
She'd banished them for a reason.
And there they remained, under lock and key.
A key hidden so long ago, hidden so skillfully, hidden with so much resolve.
She didn't think anyone would find it.
She didn't think anyone would bother.
She didn't think anyone would care.
But that was before.
That was before.
Bullets flew past them as they ducked behind a huge garbage bin just large enough to provide cover for the both of them.
They never would have expected this, or maybe she would have, if only she hadn't been so adamant on pushing it out of her mind.
Her past has caught up with her, in the form of Yelena Belova.
Maybe she should have finished her off back then.
The thought did cross her mind.
Give it up, Natasha! The Red Room always gets what they want, and they want you.
Gunshots and profanities in the language of her motherland rang through the air, narrowly missing both her and Clint as they took turns trying to get a shot at the girl who could only wish to be the Black Widow.
Yelena was good, but not good enough.
Not as good as she was.
She pulled the trigger yet again, without needing so much as a second to take aim before taking cover behind the bin again.
The shriek of pain that resounded through the alley only indicated her success in incapacitating the girl from her past.
She made her way towards the crouched figure and kicked the dropped weapon out of reach.
Why are you here.
Her voice shakes as she faces a living reminder of who she used to be.
Clint takes a heavy step forward.
His presence calms her.
The Red Room wants you back. You were a mistake.
Yelena grits her teeth, the amount of red staining the floor doesn't shake her.
Clint clenches his fist.
Not from the anger stirred by the words of the blonde girl before him, but by his memories.
Memories of a red-headed girl, cornered in an alley.
A girl who wasn't ready to die, but would much rather do so than to live the only life she had grown to know.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova, the Red Room is ready to correct their mistake. They will remake you, or they will kill you.
The blonde girl shakes with bitter laughter as she clutches at the gaping injury that isn't the cause of the pain she feels.
You were made to hunt, hurt, kill, that's the only thing you're good for. You actually thought you could live as a human being?
She spits out the words as though they were venom.
Pathetic mistake the Red Room made. I should have been the Black Widow, I would have made Mother Russia glorious instead of being a vile traitor. You're pathetic. What are you to them? They should have killed you. He should have just killed you.
Her head snapped back as Clint's foot connects with her chin.
Her labored breathing is now pained and slow as her lids lower.
It doesn't take long before she breathes her final words.
Mama.
Natasha doesn't speak.
The silence of the night washes over them, yet the deafening words of Yelena ricocheted through her mind.
Natasha doesn't speak.
Clint burst in.
As the bedroom door swung open violently to reveal the scene before him, a glass whizzed past his face and shattered into bits behind him against the polished mahogany walls of the luxurious hotel suite.
Don't even. Her voice was menacing.
Get out. Her voice was dangerous.
Leave me… Her voice was murderous.
She tightened her grip around the bottle of alcohol she had in her hand, like it would help her tighten her hold on the reigns of her feelings… It didn't.
…alone. Her voice was that of a child, tiny, small, heart-breaking.
That was when she let the bottle fall to the glossy marble tiles.
Why?
She cried out in desperation.
This usually works.
She glanced wistfully at the remains of the bottles she had downed.
Why isn't it working? Why?
Tash, stop you're hurting yourself. Forget what she said, c'mon Tash stop, I promi…
She whipped her head in his direction.
You promise? What do you promise? That everything will be okay?
He flinched from her piercing glare, from the venom in her voice.
That everything will be fine? That I can do this? Live?
She wrapped her arms around her as she let her form fall slack against the bed.
I'm a killing machine, Clint. I can't do this, I was made to kill.
She pulled her legs to her shivering body and rested her chin on her knees.
His eyes never left her visage as her mouth opened yet again.
I feel.
His brows furrowed. He'd never heard a voice so broken, so torn, so full of hurt and pain.
I feel and all I feel is pain.
He started towards her.
No Tash, it's okay, you don't have to, just let it go, just…
No don't. He stopped in his tracks. Don't.
He'd rarely seen her eyes give away any bit of her, and yet…
And yet there she was, with eyes deep with sorrow, searching his face for an answer to the haunting thoughts in her mind.
You honestly think I can just forget it all? You honestly think that I… Her face contorted with sadness. That I don't feel a thing?
She shook her head. I do. I do so much, and it hurts. It hurts me and I don't know how to stop it.
She clutches her head. I can't forget it, Clint. It just keeps coming back, I can't…
His heart clenches as though he could feel all of her pain.
Let it out, Tash, just let it all out tonight.
She doesn't answer him as her sobs wreck through her body even harder.
He lowered himself next to her.
Neither of them spoke; their presence was enough comfort for one another.
Her cries finally quietened as fatigue took over her.
When he awakes, she's already left the room.
She doesn't speak of the day before, he doesn't ask.