BLUE FOUNDATION ~ EYES ON FIRE

…

Natalia was bored with the new interrogator, but it didn't show. Nothing showed. She made sure of that. It'd been a complete week of passive silence for her, and she didn't see it going anywhere. At least they fed her well.

The young man sitting across from her was, by all means, professional. He didn't get angry or flustered. He asked the questions calmly, told her different parts of her life as if she needed a recap, showed her the pictures of the surveillance they had on her. Everything was by the books and would probably work on someone less trained than the Black Widow.

The thing was, Natalia didn't know why she just sat here, being bored. She didn't want to accept that it might be her curiosity that kept her here, but she didn't have any other excuses. She'd have a hell of a time trying to get out of the base, but it was habit now to believe that it didn't matter if she could survive and succeed as well. She could just talk; tell them whatever they wanted to hear, even if most of it wouldn't be the truth. It might even give her an opportunity to find out more of what she wanted about this organization and its agents. But talking felt too much like being broken, being weak.

And so, here she sat, hands cuffed to a chain looped through a ring in the floor, staring at the junior agent patiently trying to get under her skin.

The door opened unexpectedly; no one had interrupted the interrogations before now.

Natalia turned to see a plain-faced man in a business suit standing in the door. He looked altogether unimpressive and unintimidating, which made him very interesting.

"I'll take it from here, Ramirez," the man said, nodding to the agent who'd been interrogating her for the better part of the day.

Ramirez stood and saluted to the newcomer, leaving quickly and shutting the door behind him.

"So. The Black Widow," the man said conversationally, sitting where Ramirez used to be. "I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time." He threaded his fingers together and set his hands on the table between them, staring at her with dispassionate eyes and a half-smile. "Why do you think you are here?"

Natalia didn't move. She didn't look it, but she was apprehensive about a man who looked like an American high school teacher, but worked for an agency like this one.

The man's facial expressions didn't change, much like her own, though his looked a lot more relaxed. "Well, in the most literal sense, you're here because Agent Barton brought you in…" the man said.

At the revelation of the archer's name, Natalia had involuntarily breathed in too quickly. She knew that the man had seen it, even if he didn't react.

He went on, "But what I want to know is… why you think you're here, in this room?"

Natalia continued to stare at him, watching his unmoving face carefully.

And he stared back. He didn't even seem slightly uncomfortable, and he was dangerously close to making Natalia respect him.

But not close enough to make her answer his questions.

The man must've seen this in her posture because his smile grew a little. "You know, you're nothing special to an organization like ours. Of course, you don't really think you're special either. I'm not saying that. But I'm telling you this because… the reason we keep you here is because we can't really decide on what to do with you." His eyes became distinctly harder-looking. "The cheapest thing to do is just put a bullet in your head like originally planned and be done with you. The more time-consuming option is to force hallucinogens into your system and see what we could get out of your babbling."

Somehow, his whole appearance had changed from simple-minded to clever without any expression or posture shifts. Natalia felt that she might actually talk with him if she wasn't so curious as to what he would say next… which was a very different problem from before.

The man was still smiling. "But then I think about the fact that you're even here at all. I know about the Brazilians at the house in Rome, and regardless of anything else, you're a powerful force to be reckoned with on the field. You would've had no problem getting away from our agents. And yet…" he shrugged, "you're here. You wouldn't be here if you really didn't want to."

The man moved his folded hands from the table to his lap, leaning back in his chair. "I'm here to give you a choice, and you should know that you'll be on a high priority list, whether you choose to cooperate or not."

Natalia hesitated, then blinked twice to show that she was listening.

"I am aware of your current personal dilemmas," the man said calmly.

Natalia flinched, the chains rattling slightly. It was the biggest reaction they'd seen since she'd been here.

The man continued to smile kindly, knowingly. "It makes you angry that someone would think you have a weakness of any kind… and if you're going to be part of this organization, you're going to have to fix it."

Natalia stopped breathing.

"Listen to me…" the agent leaned forward again. Of course he was an agent; he couldn't be anything else. "There are a limited number of people here who know exactly what you were put through in Red Room, and I'm one of them. I won't pretend to know what you're problems are… but I know that you have them and that they can't be part of a healthy mindset."

Natalia refused to look away from him.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is willing to pay for any kind of treatment necessary to get you fully functioning and independent. And I can say without a doubt that we can do it. We specialize in creating forces of revolution, people that can transform the way the public views the world, destroying the old ways of thinking and building something better. You could say that we create heroes, as silly as it may sound to someone like you."

Natalia held his pale blue gaze as he paused.

"And so, I put the question to you, Natalia."

He was talking to Natalia specifically. She wondered if he knew Natalia and the Black Widow weren't the same person in her head.

"If you could live your life over, knowing exactly what you've become now," he was speaking very carefully, making sure she thought about it, "would you choose to become something better?"

Natalia stared.

The agent smiled simply, and stood. "When you have an answer, ask for Agent Coulson. I'll never be very far away."

Fury tried to keep him busy, but Hawkeye always knew what was happening. He never asked, never drew attention to himself, but he always knew, which was why he was invaluable to S.H.I.E.L.D. and also a great liability. His capabilities during an investigation were basically legend in the spy world, at least when he set his mind to it. That meant if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't keep updating their secrecy protocols, Clint Barton could know things well above his clearance level. He sometimes considered it a curse, but mostly it was a well-earned gift.

After her talk with Coulson, the Black Widow had apparently lost some of her iciness, but she still wasn't talking. Not a sound, according to one of her interrogators. They might as well be questioning a vegetable with a face that could kill with one look. Some thought (correctly, Clint could say) that the Commander was hoping to make her an agent; she had come in willingly, after all. But it'd been weeks without so much as a sneeze from her. That window of hope was closing fast. She wasn't being useful and nothing was being done about her. She was simply there, taking up a high-security holding cell. And now the question was on everybody's mind: Why was she still here?

Clint wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know just why she'd helped him out with those Brazilians, because she must've known he'd been planning his attack; she could've easily foiled it or just ran away and left him to it.

He wanted to know why she wasn't attempting escape or even pitching a fit, because he had a feeling she could pitch quite the fastball at the amateurs in the room with her.

He wanted to know if her decision to come here had anything to do with him or if he was just being arrogant. Because there was no way in hell he could've dragged her all the way from Rome to S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters without her consent.

It was a week and a half after Coulson's offer to Romanoff that Agent Hill came up behind Clint when he was eating in the mess hall, alone at his table in a murmuring crowd of agents.

"Agent Barton," Hill said, making him turn to look over his shoulder in acknowledgement. "The Commander wants to see you," she stated clearly.

Clint didn't get up. "Where?"

"Interrogation. Now," Hill added when Clint made no move, stressing the word the way only she knew how without any change in tone.

Clint smirked and stood, "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me 'ma'am,' Agent Barton. I'm younger than you," she reminded him stoically before striding off.

Clint just continued to smile.

A few of the other agents had glanced up at the exchange, but everyone knew curiosity was pointless in this place, so they went back to their own meals and conversations.

Clint went straight to the interrogation room, finding the Commander standing next to the Glass Box, which the blank-faced Black Widow was currently sitting alone in. A few workers sat at monitors off to one side. A couple agents were going over notes with Coulson in a corner. Romanova wouldn't be able to see anyone outside the Glass Box; the glass would look like walls from her side of things. Clint knew from experience.

"Barton, get over here," Fury called impatiently.

"Yes, Commander."

Fury frowned as Clint stood at attention in front of him with respectful, almost too-calm eyes. "You're going in, Barton. We'd like the Black Widow on our team if at all possible, so… try not to be too much of an annoying asshole," Fury said, his face set in his trademark scowl.

So Clint still wasn't forgiven, huh?

"I'll do my best, sir," Clint said, smiling as he moved passed the Commander towards Coulson.

Fury's eye narrowed as he murmured, "Yes, you're doing a hell of job already."

Clint heard him, of course.

"Agent Barton," Coulson said, "glad you could make it."

Clint nodded in greeting. "Anything specific you want?"

Coulson shook his head, "No script. Just be careful how much information you give her. She's sharper than any tack I've ever sat on."

Clint smirked, "I think I've got it. Thanks, Coulson." He clapped Coulson on the shoulder and opened the door into the fake hallway leading up to the Glass Box.

Natalia had to practically stop breathing to force back her yawn. If they were trying to crack her with some form of a boredom technique, they were getting dangerously close to succeeding. This was something new to her - being absolutely unresponsive. It wasn't like anything that she'd been trained for. But she was doing it; quite well, if she said so herself. She just didn't know how much longer she wanted to do it.

The door opened quietly.

Natalia saw from the corner of her eye that it was a man. The way he was built and the way he held himself told her much more than that.

So they were switching to this technique, were they? Torture was much less boring, but had a shorter time limit. She needed to rethink her objective here… Damn it, she needed to find an objective.

"Hey," the man finally said.

Natalia whipped her head around.

It wasthe archer.

He smiled at her and moved to the table. When he grabbed the whole table and shoved it towards the wall, Natalia straightened up, moving her legs out of the way. She even realized she was doing it, too. She didn't know why she'd given up the 'statue routine' though.

Coulson had said his name was Barton, she remembered.

Barton moved the other chair up right in front of hers and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head barely three feet from her.

Strategy played havoc on Natalia's thoughts; from this position, she could easily incapacitate him with one or two well placed kicks to his head; she could wrap the chain or a leg around his neck in seconds; she could even head-butt him if she wanted to be flashy.

So why the hell would he sit like that?

He waited. Staring at her. He scratched his forehead, he rubbed his chin, he shifted his feet, all completely obvious moves. They both knew he didn't feel the need to do all these things. The actions made him look too normal.

And finally, Natalia talked. "Why didn't you kill me?"

She had no idea why it was so easy now. All of the shit telling her to not talk was instantaneously gone. It felt as if… it wasn't weakness to talk to him… There was no way she was ever going to analyze that.

Barton simply answered her, "I made a different call."

Not even close to the kind of answer she wanted. "Why?"

He exhaled roughly, "Because I'm cursed with a fucking sense of honor. At least, that's the best answer I could come up with."

Natalia stared at him. She might need to brush up on her English, because it sounded like he said the word 'honor.' What would possibly be dishonorable about killing someone like her? She wondered if she should be insulted.

"Now I have a question for you," he said, pointing at her.

Natalia was immediately put on her guard.

Barton must've seen this, but the idiot leaned even closer to her before asking the question, "Why'd you help me?"

She notably frowned.

"You knew I could have handled those three. You had a good read on my skills. I would've gotten away at least. Even if you decided to chase me. So why'd you help me?"

Natalia shook her head, "I don't know."

"Not good enough," he said calmly.

Natalia's eyes narrowed slightly. Barton didn't seem intimidated though. So she told him the first legitimate thing that came to mind. "I didn't want to owe you anything."

One of Barton's eyebrows rose, making his forehead crease.

Why didn't he believe her? Sure, she didn't believe herself either, but she'd been lying professionally since she was seven years old. She should be able to convince him that the sky was blood red.

Natasha shifted under Barton's solid gaze. Why was she uncomfortable?Why was it hard to lie to him? What made him any different from the others? Men like him were a dime a dozen around here.

"Fine," she said tersely after a moment. "Helping you was the only way I'd be able to ask you questions later. I knew I'd regret not knowing why you didn't try to kill me."

Barton chuckled, "Believe me. 'Try' is exactly what I did. I just didn't succeed."

Natalia didn't reply.

"Anymore questions?" Barton asked, lifting his palms in question.

Natalia stared at him, "Why didn't you kill me?"

Barton's eyebrows came down over his eyes and he tilted his head. "Didn't we already do this?"

"You said you have a sense of honor. Not why you didn't kill me," she explained.

Barton reached up to scratch his head, looking at the ground. "You're really gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

Natalia didn't answer.

"Alright, fine," he said, slapping his hands down on his legs. "I saw how young you were."

Natalia saw red. "What does my age have to do with this?" she hissed.

If Barton was concerned by how angry she sounded, he didn't show it. "Don't get all huffy, Romanova, I know you're tough and dangerous and all that shit… but you're… Christ, you're still just a kid!"

Natalia looked down at her hands and saw that she'd clenched them; with a little effort, she was able to relax them.

"Look," he leaned forward again, "you're good at what you do. There's no doubt in my mind that you could kick my ass from here to Florida and then anywhere else on the planet."

Natalia inhaled deeply, trying to get her heart rate back to normal speeds.

"Look at me." The memory of when he'd said that last time was strong behind her eyes. This time, though, his voice was soft… almost tender… Damn him.

Natalia looked up slowly, hesitantly, and felt her heart thump hard once before she could get it under control again. Barton's dark blue eyes were electric with intensity, barely a foot and a half from hers. He didn't try to touch her.

"When you looked at me, back in that house," he said quietly, roughly, "you looked as if you didn't care if you lived. You fucking looked like you didn't even want to. People aren't supposed to look like that when they haven't even been allowed to live yet!"

Natalia was finding it hard to breath now. This was worse than torture. This was playing with her head… making her feel scared for the first time in years…

"I couldn't kill you," Barton looked down at his feet, "and I couldn't just leave you either. So I cuffed you and decided to bring you back with me. I wanted to give you your choices back."

Natalia felt the ground sway.

Danger. His words screamed danger.

"Natalia."

She visibly jumped when he said her name. Memories of another man saying her name the same way he just did… The memories made her melt inside her skin and want to be violently sick at the same time.

She shook her head violently, blinking the images away.

"What's wrong?" Barton whispered, not seeming to really expect an answer.

Natalia bit down on her tongue, swallowing her bile. She couldn't be this weak… she needed to push all of this down, no matter how Barton's words made her feel.

She finally looked at him again.

And she couldn't look away.

He didn't look pitying. He didn't look sad. He didn't look angry. He just looked... like he knew. "Why did you come here?" he asked, his sharp eyes unwavering.

They stared at each other for so long, Natalia began to fear for her soul, the soul that the devil had played with all of her life. She could feel it quaking in her body, shivering against every part of her, as if it wanted to leave her… leave her and be with him.

She violently shoved those thoughts away, and focused on the question he asked. It was obvious that she couldn't lie to him in the current situation, whatever the reason was. So she needed to tell him.

"I wanted to…" Natalia finally said, her voice practically gone. "I wanted to trust you… because…"

He didn't interrupt her, but he wouldn't let her look away either. He still expected an answer.

"Because it seemed like you were trusting me."

Barton smiled at her, a warm smile that seemed to come from his eyes.

She hated that she'd made someone smile like that.