I dedicate this chapter to Marvel, who just released a 3rd Age of Ultron trailer. Starting in this chapter, there will be flashbacks. They will be in italics.
Natasha can't forgive herself. She has never ever broken down like that before. The Red Room in her head wasn't an excuse. She had been trained for worse.
It had hurt. The device in her brain had felt like it was trying to burrow its way into her body and take over. It had hurt more than most of the things she had endured during her time working for the KGB.
She lies on an operating table. Strapped down. They told her she needed time to recuperate after brain surgery, but she knows what they are doing. Testing her blood, skin tissues. Wondering how she is what she is. She remembers why.
She's eight years old, young, though she's been in the Red Room for three years already. Her master leads her to the White Room. She follows.
She's been trained to fear nothing but the Red Room and her master. But if she could fear, she would be scared of the White Room. Nobody ever came back from the White Room.
They strap her down on a white gurney in the White Room. Her strong, toned muscles relax. The doctors come close. One of them speaks to her master.
"No one has yet survived it, Petrovich. If she does not, blame no one but yourself for having us attempt it with so young a girl."
Her master nods. "Do it," he says.
The Red Room doesn't believe in unnecessary items that cost money. This includes anaesthetic. So Natalia Romanova has no preliminary injections, nothing to protect her from the pain that she does not yet know, the pain that will come.
They have a beaker full of a crimson colored liquid that far out shadows her brown red hair. They draw it up into eight separate syringes. Then they inject the first one into her small arm.
There is suddenly pain, more than Natalia has ever experienced before, and it brings back a memory of fire and death and a palace and Ivan. She screams, the sensation of lightning and unbearable heat whipping through her veins. The next injection multiplies her suffering tenfold. By the time the serum is gone from the beaker and into her veins, she is numb with pain.
She drifts off, into darkness.
When she wakes, they are zipping her into a body bag. She sits up, and they fall back, surprised. Ivan, who is yelling at the doctor, looks over at her and grins. He shoves the doctor to the side and walks over to her.
"I feel different," she tells him.
She notices a lock of her bangs falling over her eyes. It surprises her. Her hair color has changed; it now matches the color of the serum that has bonded with her body and into her blood.
Natasha has already healed from the surgery. She is glad that that one trace, at least, of the Red Room is gone from her mind. She pulls herself up off of the table, slipping out of her straps, and pads to the doorway. She pulls a hospital shift off of the rack by the door and slips into it. She retraces the steps that led her here back to Fury's office.
She doesn't pay any attention to the shocked stares at the almost see-through shift. She has worn worse. She doesn't even mind Fury's face when she walks into the room, a shocked look that makes his face look comical, especially with his eye patch.
"Your surgery finished ten minutes ago," he says.
"I'm ready to become an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Director," she tells him.
He presses a button on the phone on his desk, then speaks into the phone. "Hill? Postpone all of my appointments today," he says. Then he pulls out a voice recorder and places it on his desk, clicking the red dot. "So, Widow," he says, "Got anything you want to tell us?"
Six hours later, the Widow finished. By this time, Fury was blown away, reclining back in his leather chair. She had given him so many safe houses, double agents, and Red Room passwords he almost felt like crying.
"Jeezus, Widow. If this turns out to be solid intel, thanks. If not, I can't believe you wasted six hours of my precious time."
"It's solid intel, Director," she tells him. Her next words are addressed to the air vent above her head. "You can come out now, Clint."
Clint drops out of the vent, grinning. "Coulson owes me twenty bucks. He bet me you wouldn't hear."
Natasha shakes her head, giving a small laugh. Laughing, just because she wants to laugh and not for a mission, feels foreign. She's still not used to the freedom she's receiving. Even as (technically) a prisoner of S.H.I.E.L.D, she has more freedom than the Red Room ever gave her as their Agent.
Then again, she just happily betrayed them, so maybe they had the right idea.
Director Fury interrupts her thoughts. "Clint. Take the Widow to training room number one and conduct a physical exam," he says. Then he tosses Clint a clipboard, a folder of papers, and a pencil.
Clint groans. Then he nods to Natasha and leaves the room. She follows, a bit shocked. "You're allowed to eavesdrop on the conversations of your Director?"
"He calls it good practice," Clint tells her. "By the way, doesn't it bother you when he calls you Widow? I thought you preferred Natasha."
She sighs. "I have lacked any name but the Black Widow for years, Clint. Natasha isn't even my real name. Don't read into this anything that is not there."
"Wait… it's not your real name? What's your real name?"
She sighs again, though this time, he hears a hint of annoyance in her voice. "You haven't earned my real name, Barton."
He notices the switch from Clint to Barton, the ice that has crept into her voice, but they are almost to the training room. He tries anyways. "When will I have earned it?"
She smiles, then turns her head to look at him. "You have two chances. Earn enough of my respect and trust for me to deem you worthy."
"What's the other chance?" he asks.
Her small smile morphs into a grin. "The second chance? Figure out my real name yourself."
There are six agents sparring in the training room when they enter. Two more run on treadmills. Three more are lifting weights. The instant Natasha enters, all eleven of them stop what they are doing and stare at her.
She rather hates it.
After all, she's been trained her whole life to attract as little attention as possible. And when she does attract attention, it's either purposeful and from her target or from a witness. Either way, anyone who notices her is usually dead.
Clint looks so relaxed. How is he so relaxed? Every nerve in her body is tense. There are eleven plausible and one possible threat here. Any one of them could attack him. Yet his demeanor is so relaxed as he walks in behind her.
Then one of the sparring agents steps towards her, knife still in hand, and Clint becomes tense. His tone goes deadly serious. "You touch her without her permission, you're dead. That goes for all of you. So either leave, resume training, or watch. Your choice."
She turns on him, half angry, half grateful. She gives into the angry half as four of the agents, two of the sparrers and one each of the training groups. "I can protect myself," she hisses at Clint.
He shrugs, and, naturally, ignores her. Then he plops down on the matted floor and looks at his paper. "First you're supposed to do as many pushups as you can," he tells her. Then he addresses the remaining agents, who have set their activities aside and are watching. "No talking. You talk, you leave."
They nod in consent, and Natasha begins.
Her pushups pace is fast. Very fast. She is still going strong at the fifty mark. And the hundred mark. When she hits two hundred, he tells her to switch between arms every fifty. She completes another six hundred pushups, three hundred per arm, before he calls for her to stop.
"Umm… how many can you do?" he asks her.
"Three thousand before I start breathing hard. Eight thousand if I really push it," she tells him.
"Okay," he responds, marking eight thousand onto the paper. "I might just skip you actually doing the stuff and just ask you for it. Might move a little faster that way. Oh, and no lying."
She nods. He begins to list off exercises. She begins to list off absurdly high numbers for each exercise. Finally, he finishes his list.
Every other agent in the room is staring with wide eyes at Natasha.
"We'll finish the information on you in private," he tells her.
He turns on his heels and leaves. She follows.
The door slams shut behind them.
A female agent, Sellson, according to her tag, puts into words what they are all thinking.
"Holy crap."
Hope this chapter was good! Just a few more getting Natasha acquainted with SHIELD and we'll have a mission.