Author's Notes: Helloooo, we are back again for the next installment. Super pumped. This is where the story (in the past) really sort of kicks off, and I'm excited for you guys' reactions!

Also, thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. You're awesome.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Really. Stop making me repeat myself.

Chapter 6: Past

Natalia had always had the strange thought that if she hadn't chosen to pursue ballet, she would have made a marvelous thief.

The Red Room was very strict in regards to rations. Often they were withheld as punishment, and only once had Natalia ever gone to bed hungry. It had been an awful experience, one that had made her stomach curl with anger and resentment and a deep, burning need to see that it never happened again. So ever since that day, Natalia Romanova had stolen food whenever the opportunity presented itself. She kept it neatly, discreetly out of sight in a small pocket of her mattress that she had painstakingly cut with a nail she'd pried not from the floorboard (far too obvious) but from the baseboard.

Stealing was all about deflection and quick hands. Natalia had both in spades, and so it took little effort for her to concoct a little distraction that gave her the perfect opportunity to snatch an extra apple from the basket sitting so enticingly on the counter. Walking just a bit fast to make Tanya step a bit too far in front of her, Natalia watched as the girl caught her toe on a pesky floorboard that always warped when winter came, and stumbled into Mariska, who had a temper, and then hastily moved out of the way when she instantly turned and attacked.

And as she leapt out of the way, Natalia just so happened to end up right in front of that basket of apples.

She hid the apple in her pant leg, perched precariously between her shin and the tongue of her sneaker, and she had just enough time to hide it in her mattress before it was time for her morning lessons. She was working on her French and her German today, watching old films and searching through newspapers and magazines. She sat quietly and unobtrusively at her desk until it was time to answer questions, and flawlessly answered each question posed to her, allowing herself a prideful smirk where she would not have before, and even once answering out of turn when Mariska, who now spoke whispery English due to a chipped tooth, gave a wrong answer. Natalia dispensed the punishment, and she was just harsh enough to flout the line between strong and sadistic.

It was all a part of getting attention. No more fading into the background to survive. At this stage in the game, with only five Widows left in the program, surviving meant winning. It meant showing herself to be superior in every way. It meant proving that she was sexier, cleverer, wittier, faster, stronger. It meant proving herself to be better.

Natalia Romanova already was the Black Widow.

And she'd woven her web with such ease, such grace, such subtlety, that no one—not the Madame, not Karpov—even realized they'd already been caught.

There was only one variable that she couldn't account for, one person she wasn't sure her web had trapped, and that was the Soldat. And proving that despite all her training, all her experiences, the cruelty and the depravity, Natalia still possessed some measure of innocence, because instead of seeing the Soldat's ambivalence as a problem, she was completely intrigued by him.

Because he didn't fit. He was different. Not just from any man she'd ever known or seen or observed but everyone. He seemed as different as she felt. Like somehow they saw the world the same way, and that thought was intoxicating. Natalia was drunk on it in a way that only a young girl could be.

So when it was time for her private training session with the Soldat, she tucked her stolen apple in her pant leg and carefully walked with her escort to the training room where the Soldat waited. Only when the door shut behind her, leaving them alone, did Natalia finally crack the smile she had begun to reserve especially for the Soldat. It was softer. Genuine.

And she hoped that it would help her stitch together the puzzle that was the Soldat. In many ways, these sparring sessions functioned as an hour of attempts to establish a connection. She wanted to figure him out, to understand what made him so different, as if perhaps doing so would allow her to understand what made her so different. And in a way that only the Soldat could do, his absolute refusal to bend to her charms both infuriated her and enthralled her.

"Where are you from?" she asked in the split second she sat on his shoulders before he threw her to the mats. He deflected a punch, and dealt his own. Natalia barely ducked in time. "I think you're from America," she said before charging him and using his thigh as a springboard, kneeing him sharply in face. "New York, actually." He spat out the blood from his mouth. She flashed him a smile that's as foreign to him as it is to her. "I think I'm getting better."

It only took five seconds before he slammed her into the mats so hard that she lost her breath. She groaned. "Okay, maybe that was too soon."

"Vy govorite slishkom mnogo," he says pointedly in Russian. You talk too much.

Natalia sat up on the mats only to lean back on her hands and smirk at him. "Your Russian is flawless."

"Your English isn't," he fired back.

"Oh, now we both know that's a lie."

"Get up."

"No."

The Soldat blinked, stunned and . . . curious. It was an emotion that he was quickly growing familiar with when it came to Widow Romanova. She was . . . different from the rest. She asked questions. She treated him as if he was more than her instructor. He wasn't sure what more meant, but it was more.

He thought that at first it was some sort of seduction tactic. It wouldn't be the first time a woman had tried to turn his head with her attention. But after days passed without her making any sort of indication of desirous intentions, he realized that perhaps she was simply ambitious. That, he knew to be true.

But the days kept passing, and Widow Romanova kept asking questions.

She was more than ambitious.

And apparently, today, she was bold.

"Get up, Romanova," he repeated, equally angry and intrigued.

Natalia smiled at him, mischief dancing in her eyes, and the Soldat felt something deep within him stir, something warm that nestled in his chest. Amusement? Perhaps. Admiration? Not quite.

"Natalia."

"What?"

"My name. Natalia."

"I don't care about your name."

"And after all this time we've spent getting to know each other," she demurred teasingly, and that warmth in his chest flared brighter.

His fist flexed, but he wasn't containing anger. He was holding back . . . something. Widow Romanova just sat there staring up at him so . . . cute. She was cute. She wasn't supposed to be. Widows were meant to be sexy. Confidant. Dominant. And to be sure, Romanova was all of those things. But she was more. She was cute. Her eyes sparkled in a way the other Widows' eyes didn't. Couldn't.

The Soldat didn't fully grasp that the reason was because Natalia Romanova was being genuine. No angles. No ploys. No covers. No masks.

She was being herself.

But his lips began to twitch as if some part of him did know and that part of him was desperate to reach out. His lips curled. It hurt his cheeks. His whole face felt stiff, but it was the kind of stiffness that came from the relief of using a forgotten muscle.

Natalia's smile only widened in response, and her stomach did something odd. It seemed to flip and flutter. Almost nervous but not. It was a new feeling, unsettling but thrilling in a way that she couldn't name. All she knew was that the Soldat's smile made him look like an entirely new man, and this man intrigued her even more. This man smiled. He smiled for her.

Natalia Romanova vowed in that moment that she would know this man before anyone else. He was hers to discover.

"I suppose you're right, Romanova," he said.

"Natalia," she corrected.

She suddenly needed to hear him say her name.

He nodded his head. "Natalia."

She grinned. "Soldat."

"You still need to get up."

She leapt to her feet but did not assume a defensive position so they could resume their spar. Instead, she darted off to the corner of the room where she had placed an apple he was fairly certain she wasn't supposed to have. He wondered what made her think that he wouldn't report her until he realized that he actually wouldn't. And why would he do that?

Natalia tossed the apple up in the air as she attempted to sashay back him but in reality ended up skipping. "I stole this," she said, tossing it up in the air between them. The Soldat caught it, and she grinned. "Thought we could share it."

The Soldat stared at the apple in his head. "Share?"

Natalia folded her arms. "I worked to get that."

"Then why not keep it for yourself?"

"Friends share."

"Friends?"

Natalia smirked. "Now, who's asking all the questions?"

The Soldat didn't smile, but Natalia could see it in his eyes, and her stomach flipped again. Without a word, he took the apple in both of his hands and split it evenly in two, even if later Natalia will insist that he kept the bigger half for himself. They passed the rest of their session sitting on the mats, eating their apple, each of them consumed with thoughts of each other for the very same reasons.

They were intrigued. They were confused. They were suspicious.

And they were both undoubtedly, unequivocally, falling for each other.

They just didn't know it.

When it came time for someone to come escort Natalia to her room, the apple was gone but something else remained—new and untested and strange—trust. The Soldat watched her leave, his usual blank expression in place, but if anyone had cared to look harder, they would have seen the troubled cloud in his eyes.

But no one looked. Because no one cared.

The Soldat didn't need an escort. He was being granted a measure of freedom whether he realized it or not (and he didn't) since he would be in the Red Room facility for an extended period of time. The Soldat might not realize the passage of time if frozen or wiped, but others would, and Karpov was arrogant enough to put his desire to show off his pet assassin over his common sense and the fact that even after nearly twenty years of brainwashing, Sergeant Barnes inevitably began to fight back.

So the Soldat didn't exactly raise any brows when he was seen on the opposite side of the compound from where his quarters were located. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but he couldn't get the taste of that goddamn apple out of his mouth. It had been so sweet, special, and he didn't understand how that could be. It was just a fruit.

But the feeling in his chest, that strange warmth, was still there, burning softly like a lighthouse on a dark night, and the Soldat was hopeless not to sail straight toward it. So he waited until he had an opportunity and snuck into the kitchens. His eyes trailed over the rations, looking for another apple, but they were gone, and so he settled for something of similar size and took two dark fruits, slipping them into one of the many pockets of his uniform.

The next day, Natalia walked into the training room for their private session nervous to see if the Soldat would act any differently now that they'd established a fragile trust. It was quickly apparent that something had changed, but it wasn't at all what she had hoped. The Soldat was harsh, harsher than he'd ever been. He pushed her as if he wanted nothing more than to see her break, sending her painfully to the mats as if it were a game to see how long it took her to get back up. By the end of the hour, her entire body was screaming.

There was time for one more spar before her escort was due to retrieve her, and Natalia determinedly put up her hands and waited. And that was when, of course, the Soldat's lips twitched and said, "We're done for the day, Natalia. You did well."

Natalia stared blankly at him for a stunned second before she grinned at the sound of her name on his lips. Then she scowled angrily. "Well?" she repeated at his back as he walked toward his jacket laying on a table. "I spent more time on my back than my feet."

"Yes."

"I failed."

"No, you didn't. Not once."

"How?"

"I'm supposed to break you. That is my mission." He tossed up a plum between them, and she caught it without breaking eye contact. "Don't let me break you, Natalia," he said.

Natalia swallowed. Her fingers tightened around the fruit in her hand as she tried to keep her face expressionless. But she wasn't quite there yet, and her eyes gave her away. Then again, perhaps it was because she was looking at the Soldat and he was looking at her and there was such a strange heat buzzing under her skin that she nearly shook with it. "You won't," she promised.

He almost smiled. "Good."

"But you're welcome to keep trying."

"I enjoy a challenge."

She smiled and looked at the plum in her hand and the identical one in his. "How did you manage to take two?"

"I'm better than you."

"Liar."

He shrugged. "Pockets."

"Damn you," she said before taking a bite of the plum and grinning at the sweetness. She wiped the juice from her lips with her tongue. The Soldat followed the movement with his eyes, and the warmth in his chest burned a bit brighter still. No, damn you.

"How do I know you're not working an angle?" he asked.

Natalia smirked. "You don't. I suppose you'll have to trust me."

He hummed. "So a Black Widow wants to be friends with a man?"

"No," she said. "You're the exception."

The Soldat didn't know what he wanted to say, or rather how to say it. It sounded like Natalia thought of him as special. Different. But together. Different together.

"So, it's just . . . you and me," he said, trying to understand.

Natalia smiled, then, really smiled, and that damn light in his chest shone so brightly that for a moment, it nearly hurt. "Yeah," she said. "I like that. You and me."

*collapses with feels*

Ugh, that gets me every time and I wrote the goddamn line.

Anyhoo, we've got plums, people. I'm giving the plums a headcanon.

Alrighty . . . next chapter spoiler comes from . . . Natasha! - "It's different this time. You're different."

See you Friday!

Lots of love,

AC