Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Stan Lee! I am simply borrowing them for my non-profit story.

10:42 25-AUG-09, SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

A blinding flash of light and the feeling of free falling was what Natasha awoke to. The second she opened her eyes, she regretted it. Down below her, thousands of feet away, was blue water, sparkling in the sunlight. She spread her arms and legs out as to slow her fall. Looking on either side of her, she tried to figure out what had happened.

She remembered that she passed out and had a flashback. Now, she was falling to her death. The Quinjet was nowhere in sight and neither was her partner. Pressing her fingers to her ear, she cried in frustration when she found that she didn't have her earpiece in anymore. There was nothing that she could do but wait for the impact when she hit the water.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her waist and held her tightly.

"Natasha," Clint shouted over the sound of the wind rushing past their ears. "Hold onto me!"

She twisted around and put her arms around his torso. Clint reached to the backpack and pulled the parachute open, slowing them down drastically.

"Shit," Natasha breathed. "Shit. I thought I was going to die."

"I wouldn't let you," Clint said quietly.

As they descended to the water, Clint tried to steer them closer to the land that they could see in the distance. Squat buildings could be seen dotting the land, and there were a few ships sailing to and from the port. They could hear seagulls squawking faintly and the shouting of fishermen.

Minutes later, they landed in the water, less than half-a-mile away from the town. Natasha grimaced as water seeped into her leather cat suit and boots. Clint removed the parachute and balled it up as well as he could, holding it as he swam.

"You alright, Tasha?" he called.

"I'm fine!"

When they reached the docks, a few fishermen looked at them strangely. One of the men helped Natasha and Clint up onto the pier. Not sure where they were, Natasha wasn't sure what language he would start speaking in. The man was dressed in a worn flannel shirt and overalls. His grey hair and beard were scraggly and needed a trim.

Then, the fisherman began to ask them questions in another language. Natasha was pretty sure that it was Italian, but the fisherman switched to English once he saw the confused look on Clint's face.

"You two American?" he said.

"Yes." Natasha pushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. "Is this Naples? Italy?"

"Sì."

Natasha recalled a mission that she had had a couple years ago in Naples. That had been the very first mission that she had gone on without Clint since joining SHIELD. The mission had been successful, her having retrieved information from the source without detection. The only setback was that she jumped off a cliff and into the water because SHIELD had decided to send her a ride on a boat, rather than a helicopter.

The fisherman cleared his throat. "Uh, signorina, signore, what happened? How did you get into the water?"

"Our boat sunk," Clint said. "We were just a mile off the coast, so we swam here."

"Do you need a phone to call someone?"

Natasha shook her head. The last thing that they needed was SHIELD tracking them through a phone call.

"If you could tell us where the nearest motel is, that would be great," she said.

A fisherman told them the directions and Clint and Natasha set off, thanking him. They walked down the street, their clothes still sopping wet. People who passed them gave them a questioning look, but they received no comments. Finally, they reached their destination. Natasha discreetly pulled out her international credit card from her bra which miraculously didn't fall out from their swim.

Waving it to Clint who was checking his pockets for any money, she marched ahead of him and into the lobby of the motel, receiving strange looks from the tourists. As usual, she ignored them and walked straight up to the front desk.

"Welcome," the motel desk clerk said with a small smile. "May I help you?"

"Yes. I'd like to book a room for two, please. Just for one night."

"Certainly," the clerk said. "And your name?"

"Natalie Rushman. R-U-S-H-M-A-N."

Once she was handed the key, Natasha grabbed Clint's hand and led him to their room. Shutting the door behind them, Natasha collapsed on the queen-sized bed. Clint sighed wearily and lay down next to her, closing his eyes, worn out from their fall. Natasha wanted to take a warm shower and change into some dry clothes, but seeing as she didn't have the latter, she decided on resting instead.

But Natasha found it impossible to get comfortable with her wet leather suit rubbing against her skin. Clint sensed her discomfort and turned to face her.

"Go take a bath," he said.

Nodding, Natasha trudged to the bathroom. Immediately pulling off her suit, she tossed it aside with her boots. Once the water was warm enough, she stepped into the tub letting the water stream down her body. Using the shampoo and soap provided, she scrubbed herself clean, but stood in the water for a while longer.

Finally, when Clint asked her if she was alright, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. She stood in front of the fogged- up mirror, staring at her blurred reflection. Slowly, when her reflection became clearer, she continued to stare. When she was a child in Russia, before her parents died, she used to do it all the time. It was as if she expected a different person to appear; one without fire-engine-red hair and less-plump lips. She never liked how pale she was, making her hair colour stand out even more.

It was useless thinking, she realized now. Once she was in the Red Room, the way she looked didn't matter to her anymore. It was valuable to her success, as she wouldn't have been able to seduce and kill as many men, if she didn't look pretty. One of the reasons that she was chosen to be in the Red Room was because of her looks; her big green eyes put a lot of men into a trance right before she slit their throats.

Shaking her head, Natasha pulled on her undergarments which were a bit drier, and wrapped a motel bathrobe around her.

Once again, the thoughts of the Red Room caused her vision to go dark, and once again, she was spiraling down into a memory.

"OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!" Aleksandr Bogrov shouted.

Natalia was thrown out of the room. Her head slammed against the concrete walls and she saw spots in her vision. Another man, a trainer, roughly pulled her to her feet.

"What the hell were you thinking?" James Barnes was glaring at her, but was still holding her up.

"I- I just wanted to-"

"Get yourself killed?"

Shaking her head, Natalia wrenched herself out of James' grip. Sprinting down the endless corridor, she found an empty cubicle. It was a small room, with only enough space for a shabby mattress and a wooden table and chair. Collapsing onto the mattress, with a plume of dust rising around her, Natasha sighed, and then began coughing.

Grabbing the glass of water that was on the table, Natalia gulped the liquid down greedily. When she was done, she sat down on the wooden chair and put her head in her hands. She had broken into Bogrov's office again because she wanted to find the truth out about the Winter Soldier. The last time that she broke in, she'd only had time to read one of his files. She searched through all of them that she could find, but she couldn't find a single file from the Soviet Union. She found that suspicious, as if they didn't want anyone to know that they had anything to do with the Winter Soldier. It was either that, or they really had no idea that he was alive.

The medical details on James Barnes had all said that he was mentally unstable. They suggested that he be kept in solitary confinement whenever he wasn't on missions. He had to abilities to kill as easily as Natasha, but it was said that he couldn't control himself. His kills were generally bloodier and less subtle.

From what Natalia gathered from her time around James, he seemed normal. He sometimes even was kind to her.

Natalia had been called back to do a few jobs for Bogrov; several targets were already dead. Bogrov told her to stay until he was sure there wasn't anyone else he wanted assassinated.

"Romanova," a voice whispered from outside her room.

Natalia whirled around and saw the Winter Soldier himself standing at her door. He had his arms crossed and was looking to his left and right, worried that someone might see him with her.

"Barnes," she replied, walking to him. He didn't let him in yet. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Then talk."

James shook his head. "Not here. Come outside."

Grabbing her tattered coat from her mattress, she stepped out of her room. She found herself feeling wary about James. He didn't look crazy, but for all she knew, he could be bottling it inside of himself. If she did one wrong thing, he could explode.

They were on the roof of the Red Room Academy building. Snow was falling slightly from the grey clouds in the sky. There wasn't anything to see from the roof top except for mountains and forests. Natalia didn't even know where the Academy was located, except that it was somewhere in Russia. Shivering slightly, Natalia pulled her cloak tighter around her. James was looking into the distance, his eyes glazed over.

Just as Natalia was about to call him, he said, "This information that I am about to tell you cannot be repeated, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Aleksandr Bogrov," he said, "is clueless. I am not unstable, nor did Vasily Karpov have to 'reprogram' me in anyway. I know about my past and who I was. I know that Captain America was my friend and comrade back in America. I remember feeling drowning, and feeling the freezing water of the Arctic Ocean as it consumed me.

"I knew I was dying. Then months later, Karpov found me, and revived me. At first, I was worried that they would torture me to find out information, but instead, he trained me to become the Winter Soldier. I couldn't refuse because I didn't want to be killed; I also had no idea that I would become such a dangerous assassin.

"Then one day, Karpov came up to me and told me – threatened me- to act like I was wild like a beast. I later found out that it was to frighten the Americans who had come for a meeting. They registered me as unstable. I escaped solitary confinement in which Karpov was ordered to put me in and made it here. Luckily, Bogrov had no idea who I was."

Natalia didn't say anything, but instead put a hand on his arm.

"How did you find the Red Room?" she asked.

James stayed quiet for a moment. "I was tailing you," he said. "I was ordered to keep an eye on you and if you posed a threat, I was to assassinate you."

Natasha's eyes flew open. She found herself on a soft bed, dressed only in a bathrobe. She looked to her right, seeing Clint sigh in relief.

"Again," he said. She sat up and he put an arm around her shoulder. "If this keeps happening, one day you're going to go unconscious in the middle of a fight." He squeezed her lightly. "I'm scared for you, Tasha."

"I can take care of myself."

"Going unconscious doesn't help your case."

She made a face. She didn't like being so vulnerable. Every time the Red Room was mentioned, she didn't want to collapse. Clint looked concerned for her though, so she couldn't argue with him.

"I know," she said. "Oh, and Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"I may need some clothes. A bathrobe may be a little too revealing when I'm fighting."

12:02 25-AUG-09, NAPLES, ITALY

Dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that Clint bought for her at a shop across the street of their motel, Natasha was using a computer at a café. They were eating their lunch and planning their mission. Usually, they had backups when SHIELD sent them on jobs, but since they were rogue, they were alone.

With a sandwich in one hand, Clint was using his other to type. They were trying to find a way to get to Zurich as quickly as they could, and to not have to check in anywhere along the way. Natasha suggested literally taking a car, but Clint didn't want to attract any unwanted attention. At last, they decided on taking a plane under aliases that SHIELD wouldn't recognize. From then on in the mission, they would be known as Mr. Richard and Mrs. Francesca Berkley.

"Why Francesca?" Natasha asked Clint on the way to the airport.

Clint shrugged. "First name I thought of."

"Hell of a mind you have there, Rick Dick."

"Whatever, Granny Franny."

A/N: Another chappie down :) thanks to all those reviewers, followers and 'favouriters', you're the people that make me want to keep writing! So please keep R&R, but no flames. JM