Chelsea Grin (3)
A Friend In Need

"True friends never get in your way unless you happen to be going down."
~Arnold H. Glasow

Joffrey barely looked at the recording device. Steve had never seen someone look so calm, given that he had handcuffs and dried blood all over his face and shirt. "What do you want to talk about, Cap?"

Steve gave the serial killer a steady, unflinching gaze. "First and foremost...how and why did you manage to get S.H.I.E.L.D. property in your possession? I've noticed that those discs contain confidential information. They're also on the papers you've printed."

"That's something you people happened to miss: I'm a killer and a hacker. Besides bargaining with drugs and kids, I also sell information. You could make a big profit from that, ye ken...trading away dangerous information for a high price. I knew something wasn't right the moment news of the Avengers carried over to Scotland. Besides the fab four, I suspected there was more to your dream team than meets the eye. Imagine the money I could've made if I finished compiling and readying my information for the press."

"Not your information. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s." Steve replied firmly. He said nothing more so he wouldn't happen to slip out any more information about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attempts to cover their agents. He was the one asking questions, not giving the answers. He also wasn't keen on sitting through Joffrey rambling about computer jargon, the technical breakdown on how he had extracted the information. The bottom line was that Joffrey did it for money.

"All right, let's get down to recent events." Steve continued. "When we broke into your house and searched the first floor, why did Dr. Banner find two dogs in those trash bags?"

Joffrey put up his cuffed hands in defense. He looked almost sad. "I didn't do it, trust me. Why would I go and kill my two best friends? The ginger gone and stuck knives in their heads. You know how irritating it is? Taking out trash I didn't make?"

Steve exhaled a big sigh. "Why do you do these things, Mr. Angus? What's your motivation? What drives you to commit these crimes and torture Agent Romanoff?"

Joffrey's forlorn expression vanished, with his usual indifference back in place. "I'll let you in on something, Cap...I love to chop up things. Ever since I was a wee tyke in the orphanage, all I did was play with me knife. I went from chopping bugs to chopping meat at a slaughterhouse. Made a fine living as a butcher, I did. Happy for a while, too. But I got bored. Chopping up the same old meat from the same old animal every day...it just wasn't fun anymore, ye ken."

Joffrey's lips began bleeding again as he grinned. "I started doing it to the kids. They're just like meat off of a cow or pig...tender and easy to cut. Just more fun to catch."

Steve suppressed a shudder. It was getting harder to mask his horror and disgust towards the Scottish criminal.

"I must say that the little Russian princess is my most entertaining catch yet! After reading up on what she can do, I honestly didn't think I'd be able to pull off the challenge. It was a bonus and good luck on my part that Cupid didn't show up with her."

"That leads me to another question," Steve interjected. "How did you capture Agent Romanoff so quickly?"

"I did my homework. I also snooped in on my case file. I knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had its eye on me, and I knew they were coming. I knew about those killer thighs of hers...and those Widow Bites on her wrists. While she was busy taking out my pitbulls, I came in from the yard. She must've been so riled up she didn't notice me closing in. I grabbed her from behind and stuffed her face with a rag soaked with chloroform. Not enough to kill her, just enough to do the job. But I know from experience that people with chloroform smothered on their faces tend to kick and struggle. The Widow Bites took care of that problem. I grabbed hold of her arms and made her paralyze herself. After she got knocked out, I broke her ankles and dragged her downstairs. The rest is history."

Steve's eyes widened for a split second. 'He broke her ankles too?'

"Do you have a grudge against Agent Romanoff? I mean..." the Captain was reluctant to say it. "You could have killed her."

"A grudge? No, nothing like that. And what's the fun in killing her so quickly? I like to play with the food I catch."

Steve heard enough. He switched off the recorder. "We'll stop there. Until we arrive in the United States, sit tight and don't try anything funny."

"Yes sir," Joffrey replied dryly.

"One more question, though."

"Sure. Shoot me, Cap."

"Do you care what might happen to you next? After I hand you over to court?"

"I would say...no. My work is done. Your precious Russian princess is broken. I could care less if your country gives me the death penalty. I've been getting awfully bored anyway."

Steve truly couldn't understand the way this guy's mind worked. Joffrey disregarded his own life, along with many other victims that had fallen prey under his knife. Steve hoped to get Joffrey out of his hands as quickly as possible, as soon as the Quinjet reaches the States. He thought of Natasha next, and he sent a silent, fervent prayer to God. He prayed that God would have mercy on her and give her the strength to live. It was all he could do for a time.


Back in Scotland, Thor, Clint and Bruce waited anxiously in the ER of Glasgow's Royal Alexandra Hospital. Some visitors and patients stared, but the three Avengers didn't pay much attention. Bruce leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped together under his forehead. He muttered something in Hindi, some Hindu prayer he picked up from Calcutta. Clint remained rigid, his back straight against his chair, head against the wall and hands close to his sides. He had his eyes closed and didn't move a muscle. Unlike Clint, Thor couldn't bear to sit still. After a few minutes, he exhaled loudly and paced up and down the hallway with wide strides. He never took his eyes off the double doors. After a silent, tense hour, the doors opened to reveal a lone, middle-aged surgeon. The Avengers instantly went over to him. The doctor removed his mask and raised a hand.

"Don't worry...Miss Romanoff is fine. She will live."

The three men made audible sighs of relief. Clint collapsed into a nearby chair and placed shaky hands over his eyes. A choked laugh escaped him. "She's alive...Nat's alive..."

The doctors looked at them curiously. "Who are you to Miss Romanoff, if I may ask?"

The Avengers exchanged momentary glances before Clint spoke up for them. "She's a very good friend of ours. She has no parents and she's all we have."

It was a half truth, because they couldn't afford to tell him that Natasha was a fellow Avenger.

The doctor nodded. "I see. May I speak to whoever is in charge of Miss Romanoff?"

"Of course, Doctor. Hold on." Bruce whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number. As soon as the other line picked up, he spoke. "Tony? This is Bruce. Can you put Director Fury and Captain Rogers on the line as well? The doctor's here to tell us how Natasha's doing."

Bruce put his phone on speaker so they could hear the other two men dialing in.

"This is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. speaking."

"And this is Captain Steve Rogers speaking."

"Natasha Romanoff works for our organization," Fury said. "How is she?"

The doctor began to explain. "She's alive, but still remains under critical condition. She has deep, curved gashes extending from the corners of her mouth. We spent roughly an hour and ten minutes closing the wounds with sutures. The injuries are deep and severe, so we have her on nasogastric intubation. She can't eat solid foods until the wounds seal properly. She has also has broken ankles and had suffered massive hemorrhage from her abdominal area."

"How long will the stitches remain on her face?"

"21 days at most...given that she won't do anything to further injure her mouth and reopen the cuts."

"And how long will she have the scars?"

The doctor sighed. "Most likely for the rest of her life, to be honest. It has also come to our attention that she had been raped. We found seminal fluid in addition to the shards of glass between her legs."

Clint said nothing as he stiffened and looked as if he had been shot in the gut. Thor and Bruce looked at the doctor with wide, horrified eyes. Tony made a quiet curse from the other line.

The surgeon returned their gazes with sympathetic eyes. "I am truly sorry to say this…Sometime later, we might have to run a pregnancy test-"

"Not necessary," Clint interjected quietly.

Everyone, including the doctor, turned to him with skeptic looks. Clint didn't meet their gazes. "Natasha...is sterile, for reasons I can't say because S.H.I.E.L.D. deems it confidential. But I know for certain... Natasha will not get pregnant."

"That's fortunate to hear," the doctor replied. "Then we will cancel the test and leave her under intensive care."

"How long is Natasha staying in Scotland?" Tony asked.

"Until her blood count is stabilized," the doctor said. "At this point, it would be unsafe to have her travel a considerable amount of distance."

"Let me know when she's ready to go home. I can book a private jet to take her and the rest of the Avengers back to the States. You Scots don't have to do a thing."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. I will inform the hospital administration about your offer."

"Are we allowed to see Natasha now?" Clint pressed.

"The nurses are wheeling her to an intensive care unit room as we speak," the doctor replied. "If you'd like, I can escort you."

"Please, and thank you." Thor said.

The doctor navigated them through the labyrinth of hallways and took an elevator to the next level above. Bruce still had Tony, Steve and Fury on the line. They stopped before a door at the end of the hall, where they just caught a pair of nurses exiting the room.

"She's in here," one of the nurses said in a low voice. "You can come in, but keep it quiet. She's unconscious."

The doctor held the door open while Thor, Clint and Bruce filed in silently. The room was still and dark, save for the dim light of the machines that occupied half of the room. A clean, white hospital bed occupied the center, and in that bed occupied its latest patient.

Natasha, dressed in a loose white hospital gown, laid with her upper body slightly propped up by the reclining section of the bed. Her bandaged feet and ankles protruded from the bedside a little awkwardly. A long feeding tube was tapered to her nose. Her wrist bore an IV that connected to a bag of antibiotic. From the pace of the rhythmic machine beeping, the liquid was pumping in at an alarmingly rapid rate.

Natasha herself appeared to be serene and blank. Her eyelids were closed over without any sign of pain. Her chest and nostrils moved in sync as she breathed quietly and peacefully. It was the ghostly pale complexion that gave away her critical condition. Her skin lacked in the normal healthy pink hue to the point that she had the same paleness as the white bedsheets. And most of all…the scars on her face. Looking at them sent chills running down everyone's spine. The stitches and inflamed red skin appeared to emphasize the carved–in grin. But it was certainly nothing to smile about.

Clint stood next to Natasha on one side, with Thor and Bruce on the other. The doctor respectfully closed the door and left them alone with her. No one said anything for a few minutes. The only things heard were the monotone beep of the heart monitor and the hiss of saline pumping through the IV line and into Natasha's body.

Finally, Thor gently broke the silence. "Natasha...you're at a hospital in Glasgow, where it's safe and warm. The doctor said you were going to be all right."

Bruce looked to him with a skeptic expression. "What are you doing, Thor? She can't hear you."

"I know. But this reminds me of the times I talk to my father whenever he is under the Odinsleep. Unlike my father, she probably cannot hear me in her sleep. Nevertheless, talking to her would give me comfort...and possibly to Natasha as well."

Thor reached out to envelop his big, warm hand over Natasha's small and pale one. "We plead you to come back to us. You are like family to me, like a dear little sister. In Asgard and Midgard alike, society does not take kindly to strong and independent women. You had my fullest respect and admiration from the start. During the battle against the Chitauri, you fought with the strength and bravery worthy enough to earn a place in Valhalla. And I say that with earnest truth. It grieves me to see you broken and fallen. Please use your strength to persevere through this difficult time."

Thor said nothing more, but continued to hold Natasha's hand.

"How about I give it a go?" Tony asked from the other line. Bruce extended the phone so that it was close to Natasha's ear.

"Hey, Nat…" Tony said softly. "I'm really sorry I can't be here with you right now…but I just want to let you know that Pepper and I are really worried." He seemed to pause, then his small laugh came through the phone. "I remember that time I saw you in the gym, doing some martial arts…tai chi, I'm guessing? You slipped into this one pose you kept holding for minutes. I sneaked into the gym, and you didn't blink an eye. I decided I wanted to have a little fun. But I couldn't do anything to break your trance. You looked as if you couldn't see me. Hell, I even blew a balloon and popped it in your face! But you didn't do a thing. I figured if I wasn't going to scare or amuse you, I was going to make you say ouch. I grabbed a boxing glove and was going to feint a punch…when you nailed me to the floor in less than five seconds and looked like you were going to roast me for dinner. What I'm trying to say is…your focus and discipline are astounding. When you put your mind to something, you can do anything. I'm willing to bet that if you put your super focus to use, you can get through this. Please get well soon, okay? We're all waiting for our favorite Russian superspy to come home."

Tony sighed and said nothing else for a few seconds. "Bruce? Want a turn to talk?"

"Sure. Thanks, Tony." Bruce looked down at the unconscious woman and said quietly, "I have to admit, Natasha…I'm jealous. You are everything I'm not. I remember you telling me you don't believe in any God." He made a bitter smile. "Funny, isn't it? I've spent two years in India, immersed in the knowledge and practice of spirituality. I bathed in the Ganges River pretty much every day. I passed by temples and holy sanctuaries like I was passing by Starbucks and McDonald's in New York. But I can't even keep on a shirt whenever I get angry. I admire you so much, Natasha. I wish I can achieve the level of self-control and tranquility you have. So please…don't give up. You're too strong for that."

Bruce paused to remove his glasses and wipe a sleeve over his eyes.

"May I speak?" Steve asked. After a brief silence, he continued. "Natasha…you're a soldier and a sister to me. You and I are the same, and yet so different. We grew up as soldiers at opposite ends of the world. We fought for the good of our respective countries. I thought I had it hard…and I was wrong. You told me about your Soviet days. I had friends and loved ones…you didn't have anybody." Steve's steady voice began to waver. "But that's not true anymore. You have teammates who are counting on you to stay strong. Agent Mena also sends his regards. I pray that you recover soon."

After Steve spoke, silence enveloped the room once more. Everyone turned to Clint with expectant eyes. The archer bit his lip. He knew he had to say something. Anything. But just like back then, when Natasha had stormed away from him, he couldn't. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her. It was as if his sin for practically abandoning her was etched on her face. He dared himself to raise his eyes up, and his heart wrenched at the sight. He shook his head numbly.

"I…I don't know what to say…I can't do this…"

Clint turned to leave the room. Thor and Bruce exchanged sympathetic glances. Eventually they too left the room. There was no point in lingering any longer. They said all they could, and Natasha wasn't awake to hear them. It was also late at night, and they needed sleep. As they headed to a nearby motel, they could only hope that they would be heading back to New York soon.

Natasha's blood count elevated to a stable level in 3 days. The Stark private jet arrived with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical personnel, who would take care of Natasha during the flight. She was rushed to the Hellicarrier's medical ward as soon as they arrived home. Tony, Steve and Maria Hill all arrived at once. Everyone crowded the tiny ICU room that held Natasha. Everyone, that is, except for Clint. Too wracked with guilt to even lay his eyes upon her, he remained outside, hunched over and staring at his clenched hands.

Maria stared gloomily at all the tubes and wires stuck in her body. "She's going to be okay, right?" she asked in a small voice.

Tony blinked hard and nodded numbly. "Yeah, she will. She's a tough girl. She's gotta be okay." He tightened his lips and swallowed as emotion threatened to overtake him. He turned away with his phone in hand. "I'm gonna call Pepper," he muttered in a thick voice. "She couldn't be here right now because she's busy with things back at the tower."

Everyone quietly filed outside like a funeral procession. Clint didn't look up to see his teammates joining him. No one said anything for a few minutes.

"I shouldn't have let her go on that mission alone." Clint said lowly through clenched teeth. "I was stupid. So, so stupid. Damn it!" He abruptly hit the wall behind him with his fist.

"Agent Barton, please calm down. Maybe you should step outside and take a breather."

At Steve's orders, Clint let out a shaky sigh and walked down the hallway. "Yeah…guess I better do that," he mumbled.

As soon as Clint left, Tony said in a low voice, "I know what it is. The wound across Natasha's lips, I mean. I used to listen to Chelsea Grin, the death metal band, all the time. They got their name from this torture method that originated in Scotland. One day I was bored. Skimming Wikipedia via JARVIS. I pulled up Chelsea Grin after Iron Maiden. Turns out that most metal bands are named after torture methods." Tony squeezed his eyes shut and he put a hand to them. "You hold down the victim, cut past each corner of the lips with a knife. Then you kick or stab...anything to make the victim scream...and split the wound open."

"Maybe that explains the broken bottle," Bruce said in a hushed voice.

Everyone paused in silence to think the same thing: how the damage done to Natasha was truly horrifying and inhuman.

Pepper arrived in half an hour later. She looked frantic and worried. Maria was still inside the room, with the door partially open. Pepper gave her a hesitant glance before Maria nodded to let her come in. Tony watched Pepper put a hand to her mouth once she saw Natasha. It moved him to see Pepper holding Natasha's hand and doing her best not to cry. After a few minutes, the women too stepped outside.

Tears welled in Pepper's eyes and finally ran down her face. Tony wrapped a comforting arm around her. Pepper rested her head against his chest. She stared numbly at the arc reactor glowing below his black Metallica shirt.

"It hurts to see those stitches on her face. I can't even imagine how she feels now...how she felt back then..."

"I know. It's awful."

Tony wasn't the type to have a way with words, especially words of comfort. Even for his girlfriend. So he continued to hold her to his chest and gently rock her as she quietly cried. It never ceased to amazed him...Pepper always went out of her way to care about people. He could never achieve the level of empathy and compassion she had in her heart. She was good with people just as he was good with machines. Pepper became friends with Natasha before Tony could. It wasn't until later that Natasha warmed up to him after seeing past his hard-headed and egotistic attitude. Natasha was such a battle-hardened woman with a life filled with distrust, deceit and violence. She needed the gentleness, honesty and feminine touch from a good girl-friend like Pepper. Tony heard that even though Natasha didn't want to admit it, the Russian spy really enjoyed going to GNOs with Pepper. Occasionally Agent Hill would join them, and they would have a blast. Tony would never understand all the shopping, fine dining and paying to get manicures and spa treatments, but he knew that it did a world of good for Natasha. Even through this tough time, especially through this tough time, Natasha would need all the help and support she could get. Who else is more fit for the part than Pepper?

"I wish I can do something...anything." Pepper whispered. "I feel so helpless-"

"Don't say that." Tony interjected. "You've done everything you could. Natasha...just needs time. And more of your girl power. Then she'll be fine before you know it. You two will have all those girls' night outs again, going to all the spas and shops till you drop."

Pepper couldn't help but laugh a little. "Oh, Tony...what am I going to do with you? Always trying to be funny even at the worst time."

But that's why you love me, right?"

She smiled. "Right."

No one stayed in the medical ward for long, because the Avengers had to report in to Fury for the usual debriefing session. Thankfully, the Director kept it short and simple. After further questioning from S.H.I.E.L.D. authorities, Joffrey was handed over to the federal bureau of Scotland to determine the final verdict. He was sentenced to death, and executed two days later. When news of this reached the Avengers, they showed no surprise. They could care less for a criminal who deserved death not just for his twisted crimes, but also for inflicting harm on their friend and teammate.

Everyone returned to their normal business, both as Avengers and civilians. But not one day went by without the wellbeing of Natasha on their minds. She finally woke up on the fifth day. Their joy over the end of her comatose state quickly died down as Natasha continued to lay in bed with her eyes open, but looking utterly broken and defeated. She couldn't say a word, due to the horrific memento of her most recent mission. In all those days of Natasha's silence, they kept wondering what she was thinking and feeling. They could only hope that they could be of help to her, rather than worsen her condition. They had no way of knowing for sure.


Natasha had heard everything back in Scotland. She had been too weak to wake up and show them some kind of indication that she heard. Her teammates' words of comfort touched her in ways she had never experienced before. In her mostly isolated and violent life, the only praise she had ever received until now was how well she murdered her enemies and completed her missions. To hear everyone praising her strength, focus, determination and heroism felt strange to her. But in a good way, of course.

She knew that Clint was the only one who didn't talk to her. And she perfectly understood. Just like her, he wasn't one for words. He had always been a loner, living only by the unspoken rule of every man to himself. She could see that she was the closest friend Clint ever had, but he just didn't know what to do to express that. She would do the same if Clint had been in her situation, so she didn't blame him.

Natasha was certainly not the type to feel self-conscious and give a damn about her looks. She had seen wounds much worse than her own. She just hated the way people eyed her with pity. She was the Black Widow, a woman who made a name for herself by killing people in their sleep and trailing blood after her wake. She could never forget what she used to say to herself whenever she went on her murderous missions: "Killing people is easy. Making them suffer is an art."

She never believed in karma, but she felt as if the strife and suffering she had inflicted all those years ago had returned with a vengeance. She felt that she deserved it. That was why she couldn't stand the sympathy and compassion her comrades gave her. Especially from Pepper. She was the worst. All that open and tender compassion made Natasha feel bad.

Every day was a struggle. The wounds on her face, her ankles and between her legs hurt like hell.

Natasha couldn't eat or drink—normally, that is. She had to settle for the tubes that brought liquid through her nose and down to her stomach. It wasn't painful, though it felt uncomfortable and strange. She couldn't open her mouth for anything. She tried parting her mouth once, slowly and steadily. After 2 seconds, she had to shut it closed because of the pain from the stitched wounds. She couldn't move her legs at all either. It would be a while before she could set her feet on the floor and walk. Much as she tried, Natasha couldn't always get her feet to sit still. Sometimes when she shifted in her bed, her ankles would twitch reflexively and she would hiss as bolts of pain lanced through her legs. As for the wounds between her legs…she was too embarrassed to think about the things she was unable to do because of them. She hated whenever the doctors had to check up on her for it.

Sometimes, if she could, she was sorely tempted to say "I've had shards of glass stuck up there. Of course it fucking hurts." Sometimes she could think of nothing else but the pain and how she ended up this way. Sometimes she was so frustrated she could cry. Natasha didn't want the others to see her like this, so eventually she requested to the nurses that no one visit her. Since then, she was by herself from dawn to dusk. Every time any, most of the time all of the Avengers, came to see her, she felt unworthy and undeserving of their time. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the gifts they've been giving her, particularly Steve's hand-drawn get-well cards. But it's not like she hated them. Not at all. In fact, she would do the right thing to return her gratefulness by smiling and saying thank you. Except she couldn't. All she could do was to ignore their sympathetic gazes and bottle up any signs of pain. She didn't mind the loneliness. She would rather give in to her agony than hide it from her friends and ignore them any further.

Worst of all, they wouldn't understand. Not even Clint.


The Avengers had never felt any more hurt and bewildered when the nurse came to them one day, and told them they were unable to see Natasha. They left the hospital and sat together at a nearby café, with cups of coffee they ordered but didn't drink. Not even Thor drank his and demanded for another.

Bruce frowned. "I don't get it…did we do something wrong?"

Tony looked down at his coffee, almost in shame. "Maybe she doesn't like seeing us anymore…"

"No, that cannot be true," Thor insisted. "Perhaps she prefers to be alone. I understand if she wants us to keep our distance."

Clint remained silent as he turned a bag of sugar over and over between his fingers. Somehow it didn't come as a surprise to him. Whenever they took time out of their day to pay Natasha a visit, she looked as if she didn't want them in the room. She hardly met their eyes, which was unusual because Natasha always kept eye contact. It was part of her confidence and capability as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best agents. He was sure that she wasn't ashamed of her injuries. Natasha was a woman who didn't mind getting down and dirty. She would bear the wounds and wear the bandages to prove it. He knew this from experience of previous missions, particularly ones that ended with narrow escapes and close calls. No, it went deeper beyond the physical wounds. Clint just wasn't sure what exactly it could be. The thought of that frustrated him to no end.

Thor finally took a sip of his sugar and cream-filled coffee as he quietly mused to himself. Whenever he searched Natasha's face, he thought he saw resentment in her eyes. Not necessarily resentment towards them…but a resentment towards everyone's gestures of kindness. He also thought he saw uncertainty, as if she wasn't familiar with receiving all the attention she has been getting lately. He recognized that same look from a certain someone…

Someone who was also very dear to him and might just relate to what Natasha was going through.

"My friends, I think I know who can help."

Everyone turned to face Thor. Normally he was used to getting attention. Now he felt slightly uncomfortable as he considered what he was about to tell them. The god of thunder hesitated with reluctance in his eyes. "I doubt you will favor my suggestion, though."

"Well, who do you have in mind?" Steve inquired.

"My brother…Loki."


Yay for Loki's return! I bet you guys are excited for that. :) I wanted to keep the interrogation scene with Joff necessary but short, so I could focus on Nat's trauma. It's to give him a bit of his background and wrap up some loose ends from the first chapter. I removed traces of a Scottish accent from the doctor and Joffrey because one, I don't know much about writing dialogue in that accent and two, from what I've heard and read, it can be hard to understand.

Writing Natasha's hospitalized situation is made possible by mainly my own experiences. I've had my appendix removed and got stitches for cutting my leg on glass. Not at the same time, though...that would've really sucked.

Having Natasha unable to talk and properly communicate opens up a lot of room for me to explore her inner emotional turmoil and feelings towards what she's going through. Everyone else can't really figure her out because she's hard to read. The recent trauma makes it even harder for them to reach out to her. Except for Loki! (Eventually!)