Loyalties, 2/2.
Title: Loyalties
Series: #6 in The Secrets of the Red Room
(#1 - Bloodlines, #2 - Soldiers, #3 - Memories, #4 - Legends, #5 - Knives)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG (due to language)
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine! Takes place within the MCU with nods toward comic books.
Summary: It was time to come in from the cold. They had better make it worth her while.
Previous chapter: One - Suspicion
Two - Settling
Blinking against the bright sunlight, she walked beside Dr. Tseng as they took a walk on the grounds. "Can you tell me what it was like when you were young?"
Natasha didn't miss her wording, but there was no pad or pen in her hands. They were simply walking at a sedate pace, two guards trailing behind them and ready to take her down if she stepped out of line. "What do you want to know?" she asked quietly.
"Whatever you can tell me," Dr. Tseng said, her voice matching Natasha's in volume and solemn tone. "We have time."
"Today, you mean?"
"As long as it takes you. So if you can't tell me today, that's fine. There's next week or the week after that. I'm not in any rush."
"That's different from most clinics," Natasha observed.
Dr. Tseng actually smiled. "It's a pleasant change. I don't miss dealing with insurance companies for prior auths or justifying why someone still needs treatment."
"Am I in treatment?"
"We haven't even completed your initial assessment."
Natasha looked at her in surprise. "We haven't? The others took an hour each."
Dr. Tseng snorted. "We know what their assessments are worth. I like to be thorough and accurate. I'm not going to saddle you with an incorrect diagnosis."
"Oh? What do you think I'll be diagnosed with?"
"If pressed, I can fall back on PTSD."
"But?" Natasha prompted.
"That doesn't capture it all. There are stories there that need to be told. Letters on a page won't be able to describe your experience."
She let out a long breath. "There's background you'd need to know before I even start describing what it was like when I was young."
"Quite possibly," she agreed. "I've never been to Russia."
Natasha considered what Inside had been like compared to Outside. "You couldn't call where I grew up Russia. I was Russian, it was an influence. But it wasn't where we grew up. We grew up Inside, with watchers and handlers and thousands of eyes ranking and judging us."
Dr. Tseng gazed at her sharply, but didn't say anything. She was a woman that knew the value of well placed silence.
She was still quiet when a tall black man with an eye patch and a trench coat emerged from the building and stalked toward them. Everything in his demeanor indicated his ire, but Dr. Tseng didn't appear perturbed in the slightest. No, wait. When she turned her head, Natasha could see her pulse jump in her throat.
This man was important, then. Natasha paid attention to him without appearing to.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Dr. Tseng?" he snarled, tossing out the doctor's name like a curse.
"Caring for my patient," she replied in a bland tone. It wasn't quite as accomplished as that of Clint's handler, but possibly the best that Dr. Tseng could do. She cared too much.
The thought bothered Natasha.
"This is a psychopathic killer."
"Psychopathy is an antiquated term, Director," Dr. Tseng reported mildly. "You want sociopath. Or antisocial personality disorder. Miss Romanova did not attack anyone since her arrival here. It could be argued that my colleague had asked for a demonstration of her skill level," she said when the Director opened his mouth in anger. "It could very well be that she's biding her time if there were antisocial tendencies, but most are quite arrogant and care nothing for convention or consequences. They simply do as they please and expect others to fall in line simply because of who they are."
Natasha suppressed a grin. Oh, she liked Dr. Tseng.
"Be that as it may, we're not arguing terminology."
"Oh, but I am, Director. In order to accurately plan for her future, we need to understand who she is and what her needs are. The terminology is going to be accurate if you want me to make recommendations."
"Well, then. What's your diagnosis, Doctor?"
"Diagnosis is pending. I'm not going to rush through this. You want accurate, we'll need to do this properly." That pulse was racing in her throat, but Dr. Tseng wasn't going to back down on Natasha's behalf.
It was like watching Natalia with Ivan when she was very young.
"Is it proper to walk around outside the building rather than use your office?"
"It's going to have to be if my office is bugged," Dr. Tseng snapped. "There has to be a therapeutic relationship. There has to be a reason for us to talk. She needs to trust me, and she can't if you're going to break it."
"You're talking about loyalties."
"Perhaps I am," Dr. Tseng replied.
Natasha hadn't moved during the interchange, and she met the Director's gaze head on. He was cold, distant, weighing risks and benefits, calculating if having her on their side was worth the chance she could steal secrets and defect to another party.
"I'm not fooled by you," the Director said, his one eyed stare devoid of softer emotions. "I know what you're capable of. I don't forget that for a second."
"And neither do I," Natasha replied just as coolly.
Their gazes held, and then his eye slid toward the doctor. "You better be on your guard and get me something I can use. You can have your office, but I need something."
"You can see the progress notes. I'll keep my process notes."
He waved his hand as if it was negligible difference, then stalked back into the building.
Dr. Tseng had a wide smile on her face at that, and shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets and began to walk again. Natasha turned and moved to match her stride. "So that means?" she prompted when Dr. Tseng didn't say anything.
"It means I won. I get to treat you like my patient, not a prisoner."
Natasha considered that and nodded her approval. "I like you."
"Well, good," she replied easily. "I like you, too."
Something warm filled her chest, and it took her a few minutes to remember when she had last felt that way. She had been Nicole, and her best friend had been Francesca Drakov.
***
"I think you're moving up in the world."
Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint's statement. "Because I have a window?"
"Well, yeah. And you get to come out of here for range time and rec time besides the therapy sessions." He beamed at her and seemed far too pleased with himself.
"You recommended Dr. Tseng for me, didn't you?"
"Of course I did. The rest of them are assholes, I told you. She actually cares about us as people and not just weapons."
"You've gone through that list, too, haven't you?"
"Yep. Drove 'em all nuts, too." Clint still had that friendly grin on his face, and her dour expression didn't seem to lessen it at all. She would knock it down a notch or two eventually, she was sure. "This is a nicer room."
And it was. The bed wasn't bolted any longer, and was a nice wooden frame with headboard, a more comfortable mattress, soft sheets, thick pillows to rest her head and doll upon, and a fluffy comforter because of the inclement weather. She had a dresser now, and a few changes of clothing to go into it rather than one bland SHIELD issue prisoner jumpsuit in the closet. There was a window that looked out over the grounds, though it was still impossible to tell exactly where in the US they were. SHIELD was trying to encourage her loyalty, but they weren't stupid about it.
"Speaking of range time," Natasha began expectantly.
"Guess what I got clearance for?" he asked, leading her toward the range.
"What good will that do?" she asked in return, frowning.
"You like surprises?"
"No, not really. I've never had good ones."
"I promise, this will be a good one."
At the range, Clint had his recurve bow. He had gotten a pair of Glock 19 pistols for Natasha to use, and beamed at her as if it was a holiday or her birthday. "They might be big for your hands," he said, indicating the pistols he requisitioned. "Try them, though. If you don't like 'em, we'll try out something different next time."
"I can handle any number of weapons."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. But a preference?"
She frowned at him. "I'm allowed to have one?"
At those words, he frowned. No pity in his gaze, which she appreciated. "Sure. And I would think the tech department could get their hands on specialty stuff if they had it."
"I first trained on a Makarov," she told him slowly. "That doesn't make it my favorite, though."
"Bad memories?"
"No, it was simply training. I had no favorites. I used what they gave me to practice on. I had to be equally skilled in a number of different weapons."
Natasha was aware that what she said was likely filed away to be picked apart later. She was the only living Black Widow. For years, SHIELD agents were told to kill her, and here they were, making her comfortable. Quite the change in policy. It made her wonder if there were agents simply biding their time until she was no longer useful so they could kill her.
Clint looked at her and snapped his bow open, looking at her intently. "Why did you come in? You'd said you hated SHIELD."
"I once said I'd never work for them," she agreed.
"What changed things?"
"You," she said simply.
He looked at her in surprise. "Why me?"
"It held your loyalty, and you are not bound by overwhelming ideology. Most Hydra agents spout ridiculous nonsense. Black Spectre brainwashes their agents. The Ten Rings are beholden to their leaders. Vory are familial. Individuals hold little conviction." Natasha turned to the range, put her ear protection on and fired off an entire magazine. Clint watched her the entire time, thoughtful, and only removed his own headgear when she did.
"You're good, without trying, without ulterior motive." He continued to be silent and thoughtful, so she swapped out the magazine for a fresh one and replaced her headgear. She fired again, but stopped after three shots. Lowering the Glock, she looked at him with a vulnerable expression she didn't have to feign. "You saw something worth saving."
"You're a kid."
"You're not that much older than I am."
"You're nineteen. I'm twenty-seven and a lifetime of shit older than you are." His mouth twisted in distaste, and he yanked the headgear off his own head. "I know you're legal, but that just feels all kinds of wrong."
"I didn't mean it in a sexual sense. I don't like that, anyway," she admitted.
"Sex?"
"Yes. I've had to use my body as a weapon in all kinds of ways. They put sexualized overlays into my mind. They made me want a target. Or someone close to a target. Whatever the parameters were that most likely would get the job done."
Clint gave her a sour look. "Shit. You were loose for a couple of years, right? They prostituted a child in order to kill people?"
Natasha shrugged and fired off the rest of the rounds. "I did as directed. We all did."
"We again."
Lowering the Glock, she put it down on the shelf at the lane, then took off the ear protection and put it down as well. "You're the one that suggested Dr. Tseng. Because you see me as a child."
"The others were losers. I thought she'd be a better fit for you."
Nodding, Natasha clasped her hands in front of her. "What do you want from me, then?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I owe you a debt."
"No, you don't."
"You were sent to kill me and made a different call. You were disciplined for it. You have suggested things to make my life easier. Yet you don't want my body. So what do you want? What can I give you?"
Clint frowned. "Not everything is an exchange."
"Isn't it?"
"No, it isn't. Maybe it was just wrong to leave you out there, Natasha. Killing shouldn't be something you want to do, or done just to survive. There are better ways to take care of yourself, better ways to use the training you've got. You're worth more than that."
"Yes, I know. My life has been sustained at the cost of over a thousand souls."
He let out a slow breath. "You kept track."
"It was suggested that I view it as a ledger."
"A ledger. Like checks and balances."
"Yes," Natasha replied simply. "Exactly."
"Life doesn't work that way."
"Mine has. Sacrifices to keep me alive. Debts to repay."
"You don't owe me a debt."
"Yes, I do."
Clint heaved an irritated sigh. "I want you to have a life. To live the life you should've had if you were an ordinary girl."
"I never would have been ordinary. Where I was born, who I was born to? I never would have been allowed to be ordinary. They saw to that."
"So what do you want?"
She'd thought about that off and on since the Red Room burned down. Sometimes it had seemed like an exercise in futility. This was all she knew. What was the point in dreaming of something more? Why wish to be something different?
"There isn't any point to dreaming about anything."
Putting down his bow and giving her intense look, he shook his head. "What's the point if you can't dream anymore? You have to want something."
There were any number of things she could wish for, all of which would be painful. "Wishes like that hurt, Clint. I came here so that things would stop hurting."
Given that there was that troubled look on his face with the entire direction this conversation had gone, there was no warning for the sudden, intense embrace Natasha found herself in. She struggled with her instinct to hurt him, to push him away, to say something cutting. And like with the doll, Natasha found herself holding on tight and sobbing as if her dead heart was breaking to pieces. "I can't. I can't wish for anything. I don't deserve it."
Clint merely held her tightly. "Yes, you do," he said quietly. "And if you think you don't, then maybe you should find some way to fix it so that you'll think you can."
"Like balancing my ledger?" she asked, pulling away from him and wiping at her eyes. She couldn't meet his gaze.
"If you have to think of it that way." He touched her shoulder, and unbidden, she thought of Alian touching her as he sought to steady her against bad news. "I didn't bring you here so you would owe me a debt. I didn't try to help you with an ulterior motive in mind. You're not who you think you are, Natasha. You're more than just training and fractured memories and debts and whatever else they did to you. You don't owe me a damn thing."
She wondered at him, that he would believe such a thing despite the death toll and everyone else's suspicion. "I'm not good."
"I think you were. Someone thought you were worth saving when the Red Room was burned down, right?" Natasha flinched at that, she couldn't help it. Clint grasped her hand tightly. "Well, I think you're worth saving, too."
"You might be the only one."
He shook his head. "They're waiting for the other shoe to drop. They don't think they can trust you. The rumors out there don't paint you in a flattering light."
"They're not supposed to."
Now he grinned, and Natasha was wondering if he had some kind of an emotional disorder. "I have an idea," he told her, and she was starting to think that it was going to be a terrible idea to do whatever he thought was appropriate. He had thought she would fit in here, after all.
"Should I even ask?"
Clint snorted. "Let's stow the gear and head out. Like I said, I have an idea."
It turned out to be sitting in Agent Coulson's office, earnest expression on his face as he requested having Natasha be his partner on an upcoming mission into Estonia. She shot him an incredulous look, but Coulson simply sat there.
"You seem... less than enthusiastic, Miss Romanova," he drawled.
"He's crazy. Absolutely mental. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have come in."
"Why did you?" Coulson asked, a thread of curiosity in his tone.
Natasha glared at him instead of answering, but Coulson didn't seem to be bothered by that. If she had to guess, he was glared at all too often. If he was anything like Clint, he reveled in getting under others' skin.
"It was time to do something different," Natasha replied. Clint had gotten her thinking, and he was good, and he had never harmed her despite opportunities to do so.
"Let's see what Dr. Tseng thinks. She hasn't finished her evaluation yet."
"It's been almost two months!" Clint cried.
"She won't rush things, you know that," Coulson told him. "But Estonia is not a time sensitive mission. It can wait if you can."
Clint gave Natasha a sidelong glance. "Yeah. I think I can."
***
Natasha arrived early for her session as she usually did, and sat in one of the chairs facing Dr. Tseng's office. She sat perfectly still, aware of the guards in the hallway. They seemed nervous to be watching over her, making her wonder what level agent they were. Clint was Level Seven, and her own secrets warranted at least Level Nine. If she had given them all away, would she have warranted Ten?
She blinked in surprise when the door opened and Clint stepped out ahead of Dr. Tseng. He was looking down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, a pained expression on his face. Dressed in ordinary blue jeans, tight gray T shirt and boots, he didn't seem to be the poised agent she was used to seeing. "I'll remember that," he was telling Dr. Tseng as he looked up. He stopped when he saw Natasha, then grinned. "Hey."
"I suppose I should have realized you saw her, too," Natasha murmured.
Dr. Tseng had a bit of a smirk as she opened the door to her office wider. "Patient confidentiality is very important."
Clint kept the grin on his face as he started strolling down the hallway, past Natasha's guards. "Play nice, okay? We got bad guys that need shooting badly."
"If they need it that bad, Barton, why not go without me?" Natasha asked his retreating back.
"Some things just aren't as much fun alone," he said, not turning around. He waved his arm and then continued down the hallway.
Natasha sat in one of the chairs across from Dr. Tseng's, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. The doctor perched her laptop in her lap; she was capable of taking notes without looking at the keys or screen, and never once lost the thread of what Natasha told her. For some reason, Natasha didn't wonder what she was writing. These were her notes, and Dr. Tseng had her best interest in mind. Natasha could trust in that much. The Director was a different story, but she could trust in Clint and Dr. Tseng, maybe Coulson. He was at least straightforward.
"What you told me last time," Dr. Tseng said in opening, changing things from her usual "How was your week?" opener, "is that they had to drug you into compliance for the later tests and the memory overlays. How do you know for certain?"
"I suppose I don't. But it happened the first time. And there were the tools and syringes, the blackouts and missing time... It must have happened."
They painstakingly tried to piece together her timeline of events. Natasha left out Alian's contribution, which made for an odd overlap when the Red Room burned down. Dr. Tseng frowned at what she had written, but put her laptop aside. "We have a good start," she said, shrugging. "It's a work in progress."
"Why does it matter?"
"Don't you want to know?"
Yes. No. Why did it matter?
"You won't be able to move on until you can own your past," Dr. Tseng said when she remained silent. "The fragments of memory need to make sense."
"I've pieced it together already. I know why it happened."
"But you don't know what they did to you. Not for sure. And you weren't safe, not by a long shot. That much trauma... It has its effects, even if you don't recognize it." Her gaze fell significantly on the white knuckles of Natasha's hands. She had grabbed the armrests of the chair and held on for dear life, and hadn't even realized it. "We'll work through it."
"Why?"
"Because you need to feel safe. It's the only way you can begin to heal."
Natasha mulled that over, and was startled when Dr. Tseng plugged in the laptop and moved to escort her back to her room. "You don't have to do this."
"I know."
"So why are you?"
"I'm done for the day. So it's a good time to check in on your accommodations."
The guards tried to discourage her from coming with them, but Dr. Tseng was stubborn. She kept up a one sided commentary about her observations on different kinds of living spaces, and didn't seem to mind Natasha's silence.
But Natasha wasn't silent because of the conversation. The guards were taking a different direction to her room. "This isn't right," she murmured.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Tseng asked, stopping in her commentary.
"This is a different route."
Dr. Tseng didn't usually go with her, so she hadn't noticed the difference. "Why is that?" she asked the guards.
"Orders came in," one said reluctantly. He looked around. "You need to wait here," he told Natasha, appearing nervous. Her hackles rose.
"Orders?" Dr. Tseng was asking, glaring at the guard. "What orders? There aren't supposed to be any orders. This is the medical wing. I didn't authorize any pre-mission physical."
Natasha edged away from the guards. "I don't like this."
"You're right. This is ridiculous. I'm not okaying anything-"
The guard that hadn't spoken pulled out a gun and pointed it at Dr. Tseng. "You really shouldn't have come along, doc."
Her eyes were large, and Natasha knew she'd never been in a combat situation before. The training Natasha had since birth kicked in, and it felt almost good to have a purpose again. She moved with eerie grace to take the guard down, but the second was still there, and he had a grenade in his hand. He was standing next to the door of a medical bay, looking sickly as he took in the unconscious mass that was his partner. "You shouldn't have done that. It wasn't supposed to end this way. But you have to die."
Before anything else could be said, he pulled the pin.
The explosion was larger than expected, and likely meant that the grenade was one of the ones that the science division was experimenting with. The guard was blown apart immediately, and the unconscious guard was grievously wounded. The explosion also blew through the wall next to them, which ignited medical equipment and the oxygen lines in the wall. Natasha was thrown across the hall, burns across her arms and left leg. She could hear someone in the medical wing screaming, but she had been trained not to react to pain.
But she couldn't hear Dr. Tseng.
Natasha pushed past the dizziness and nausea, ignoring the pain from her wounds. There were the black pants and vivid red of Dr. Tseng's blouse, her shoes knocked off of her feet. No, wait. A foot was missing, and she was unnaturally still.
Suddenly, Natasha was screaming, trying to crawl toward Dr. Tseng. The doctor couldn't be dead, not because of her. Pounding footsteps approached, but it didn't matter. She had to see if Dr. Tseng was okay, because it didn't matter if there was smoke and fire and klaxons blaring in the aftermath of the blast. SHIELD would have to take care of that, but Dr. Tseng had been standing to Natasha's left, had been closer to the grenade-
She was being lifted to her feet, and instinct had her fighting and spitting out anatomical improbabilities in Russian. It was the Director himself, grim faced and taking every punch she landed. "You have to help her," Natasha gasped, ignoring the way the world swam. "She-You have to help her. The others in the med bays. She can't-Dr. Tseng's not moving."
"We're going to take care of them. We're going to do everything we can. You need-"
"No, no, I don't need anything. I've had worse, this is nothing, just a concussion and burns, it'll be fine. Dr. Tseng needs the attention. She's no fighter, she doesn't have training-"
Someone was carrying her away, and her limbs flopped gracelessly. Her hair was singed, her glasses were gone, and there were deep, jagged cuts in her face. Natasha flailed against the Director, wild and desperately needing to check on her. "You're going the wrong way!" she screeched, realizing that the rescuers were bringing her away from the checkup rooms. Sure, there were three of then blasted all to hell, but they would be able to use another one. "You're going the wrong way!" she repeated, trying to push herself away from the Director.
"Natalia Alianovna," the Director said, catching hold of her hands. "They're going the right way. That's the way to the morgue."
Her chest seized, and Natasha let out a heart wrenching scream, the kind she would have made in the Red Room after Natalia's death if she had felt safe to. The Director held her tightly as she shook, as her world ended yet again.
***
Coulson sat down next to Natasha's bed in the hospital wing two days later. "We were infiltrated," he told her quietly. "They were paid to kill you. If they failed, their families would be killed as a warning to them for failure."
"So either way, I was dead and she was collateral damage."
"Yes." Coulson paused, expression downcast. "I'm sorry."
"Who was it that ordered the hit?"
"A syndicate based out of Austria-"
"Are you going after them?" she asked coldly.
Coulson paused. "Not officially, no. Legalities, extradition treaties..." He handed her a slim manila folder, lips compressed into a grim line. "But if you're in medical for the next two weeks, no one around here would notice if a special strike team disappeared for a few days to take care of that pesky problem."
"I didn't think SHIELD was that kind."
"We don't make it a habit of letting one of ours be gunned down or blown up. Retaliation is messy, but sometimes it's necessary." Coulson gave her an even look. "This is necessary, Miss Romanova. She was one of the good ones."
Natasha had difficulty swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Yes, she was."
"Unofficial authorization comes from the top," Coulson murmured.
Dimly, Natasha remembered the Director telling medical personnel to check the damaged rooms first, to tend to the screaming and injured. He had held onto Natasha the entire time, keeping her upright and alert when she started shaking. Opening the folder, Natasha saw the name Director Nicholas Fury scrawled on the bottom.
"Who am I going with?"
"Who else?" Coulson replied, a trace of irritation in his tone. "This one asked to be paired with you specifically. And he has his own axe to grind." Coulson cleared his throat. "If you're amenable to the situation, of course. The two of you likely will make a very effective strike team. You can think of this as your practice run before Estonia."
"I thought I wasn't going to be allowed to go."
"Whitney was putting off authorization. She wanted you on site to process the past. She said you needed to work on the trauma first, not add to it."
Natasha turned away from Coulson and the folder, letting her eyes slide shut to hide the burning tears that threatened to fall. How could she answer something like that?
He touched the back of her hand lightly when she didn't answer. "Welcome to Strike Team Delta. I'll be back with Clint, and we'll go over our mission objective in detail."
Now she turned toward him. "Mission objective?"
"Revenge, of course. I liked Whitney. We all did." Coulson stood, and she could see the tired, dark circles under his eyes. "I think we can trust you on this, Miss Romanova. You cared about her as much as we did."
She looked at him, feeling a gaping maw open up inside of her. Too much pain, too much grief, too many ghosts following closely behind her. "I promise you, they will pay, and they will wish they never heard of us."
Coulson smiled, and it wasn't warm or friendly at all. "Good."
The End
Series: #6 in The Secrets of the Red Room
(#1 - Bloodlines, #2 - Soldiers, #3 - Memories, #4 - Legends, #5 - Knives)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG (due to language)
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine! Takes place within the MCU with nods toward comic books.
Summary: It was time to come in from the cold. They had better make it worth her while.
Previous chapter: One - Suspicion
Two - Settling
Blinking against the bright sunlight, she walked beside Dr. Tseng as they took a walk on the grounds. "Can you tell me what it was like when you were young?"
Natasha didn't miss her wording, but there was no pad or pen in her hands. They were simply walking at a sedate pace, two guards trailing behind them and ready to take her down if she stepped out of line. "What do you want to know?" she asked quietly.
"Whatever you can tell me," Dr. Tseng said, her voice matching Natasha's in volume and solemn tone. "We have time."
"Today, you mean?"
"As long as it takes you. So if you can't tell me today, that's fine. There's next week or the week after that. I'm not in any rush."
"That's different from most clinics," Natasha observed.
Dr. Tseng actually smiled. "It's a pleasant change. I don't miss dealing with insurance companies for prior auths or justifying why someone still needs treatment."
"Am I in treatment?"
"We haven't even completed your initial assessment."
Natasha looked at her in surprise. "We haven't? The others took an hour each."
Dr. Tseng snorted. "We know what their assessments are worth. I like to be thorough and accurate. I'm not going to saddle you with an incorrect diagnosis."
"Oh? What do you think I'll be diagnosed with?"
"If pressed, I can fall back on PTSD."
"But?" Natasha prompted.
"That doesn't capture it all. There are stories there that need to be told. Letters on a page won't be able to describe your experience."
She let out a long breath. "There's background you'd need to know before I even start describing what it was like when I was young."
"Quite possibly," she agreed. "I've never been to Russia."
Natasha considered what Inside had been like compared to Outside. "You couldn't call where I grew up Russia. I was Russian, it was an influence. But it wasn't where we grew up. We grew up Inside, with watchers and handlers and thousands of eyes ranking and judging us."
Dr. Tseng gazed at her sharply, but didn't say anything. She was a woman that knew the value of well placed silence.
She was still quiet when a tall black man with an eye patch and a trench coat emerged from the building and stalked toward them. Everything in his demeanor indicated his ire, but Dr. Tseng didn't appear perturbed in the slightest. No, wait. When she turned her head, Natasha could see her pulse jump in her throat.
This man was important, then. Natasha paid attention to him without appearing to.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Dr. Tseng?" he snarled, tossing out the doctor's name like a curse.
"Caring for my patient," she replied in a bland tone. It wasn't quite as accomplished as that of Clint's handler, but possibly the best that Dr. Tseng could do. She cared too much.
The thought bothered Natasha.
"This is a psychopathic killer."
"Psychopathy is an antiquated term, Director," Dr. Tseng reported mildly. "You want sociopath. Or antisocial personality disorder. Miss Romanova did not attack anyone since her arrival here. It could be argued that my colleague had asked for a demonstration of her skill level," she said when the Director opened his mouth in anger. "It could very well be that she's biding her time if there were antisocial tendencies, but most are quite arrogant and care nothing for convention or consequences. They simply do as they please and expect others to fall in line simply because of who they are."
Natasha suppressed a grin. Oh, she liked Dr. Tseng.
"Be that as it may, we're not arguing terminology."
"Oh, but I am, Director. In order to accurately plan for her future, we need to understand who she is and what her needs are. The terminology is going to be accurate if you want me to make recommendations."
"Well, then. What's your diagnosis, Doctor?"
"Diagnosis is pending. I'm not going to rush through this. You want accurate, we'll need to do this properly." That pulse was racing in her throat, but Dr. Tseng wasn't going to back down on Natasha's behalf.
It was like watching Natalia with Ivan when she was very young.
"Is it proper to walk around outside the building rather than use your office?"
"It's going to have to be if my office is bugged," Dr. Tseng snapped. "There has to be a therapeutic relationship. There has to be a reason for us to talk. She needs to trust me, and she can't if you're going to break it."
"You're talking about loyalties."
"Perhaps I am," Dr. Tseng replied.
Natasha hadn't moved during the interchange, and she met the Director's gaze head on. He was cold, distant, weighing risks and benefits, calculating if having her on their side was worth the chance she could steal secrets and defect to another party.
"I'm not fooled by you," the Director said, his one eyed stare devoid of softer emotions. "I know what you're capable of. I don't forget that for a second."
"And neither do I," Natasha replied just as coolly.
Their gazes held, and then his eye slid toward the doctor. "You better be on your guard and get me something I can use. You can have your office, but I need something."
"You can see the progress notes. I'll keep my process notes."
He waved his hand as if it was negligible difference, then stalked back into the building.
Dr. Tseng had a wide smile on her face at that, and shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets and began to walk again. Natasha turned and moved to match her stride. "So that means?" she prompted when Dr. Tseng didn't say anything.
"It means I won. I get to treat you like my patient, not a prisoner."
Natasha considered that and nodded her approval. "I like you."
"Well, good," she replied easily. "I like you, too."
Something warm filled her chest, and it took her a few minutes to remember when she had last felt that way. She had been Nicole, and her best friend had been Francesca Drakov.
***
"I think you're moving up in the world."
Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint's statement. "Because I have a window?"
"Well, yeah. And you get to come out of here for range time and rec time besides the therapy sessions." He beamed at her and seemed far too pleased with himself.
"You recommended Dr. Tseng for me, didn't you?"
"Of course I did. The rest of them are assholes, I told you. She actually cares about us as people and not just weapons."
"You've gone through that list, too, haven't you?"
"Yep. Drove 'em all nuts, too." Clint still had that friendly grin on his face, and her dour expression didn't seem to lessen it at all. She would knock it down a notch or two eventually, she was sure. "This is a nicer room."
And it was. The bed wasn't bolted any longer, and was a nice wooden frame with headboard, a more comfortable mattress, soft sheets, thick pillows to rest her head and doll upon, and a fluffy comforter because of the inclement weather. She had a dresser now, and a few changes of clothing to go into it rather than one bland SHIELD issue prisoner jumpsuit in the closet. There was a window that looked out over the grounds, though it was still impossible to tell exactly where in the US they were. SHIELD was trying to encourage her loyalty, but they weren't stupid about it.
"Speaking of range time," Natasha began expectantly.
"Guess what I got clearance for?" he asked, leading her toward the range.
"What good will that do?" she asked in return, frowning.
"You like surprises?"
"No, not really. I've never had good ones."
"I promise, this will be a good one."
At the range, Clint had his recurve bow. He had gotten a pair of Glock 19 pistols for Natasha to use, and beamed at her as if it was a holiday or her birthday. "They might be big for your hands," he said, indicating the pistols he requisitioned. "Try them, though. If you don't like 'em, we'll try out something different next time."
"I can handle any number of weapons."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. But a preference?"
She frowned at him. "I'm allowed to have one?"
At those words, he frowned. No pity in his gaze, which she appreciated. "Sure. And I would think the tech department could get their hands on specialty stuff if they had it."
"I first trained on a Makarov," she told him slowly. "That doesn't make it my favorite, though."
"Bad memories?"
"No, it was simply training. I had no favorites. I used what they gave me to practice on. I had to be equally skilled in a number of different weapons."
Natasha was aware that what she said was likely filed away to be picked apart later. She was the only living Black Widow. For years, SHIELD agents were told to kill her, and here they were, making her comfortable. Quite the change in policy. It made her wonder if there were agents simply biding their time until she was no longer useful so they could kill her.
Clint looked at her and snapped his bow open, looking at her intently. "Why did you come in? You'd said you hated SHIELD."
"I once said I'd never work for them," she agreed.
"What changed things?"
"You," she said simply.
He looked at her in surprise. "Why me?"
"It held your loyalty, and you are not bound by overwhelming ideology. Most Hydra agents spout ridiculous nonsense. Black Spectre brainwashes their agents. The Ten Rings are beholden to their leaders. Vory are familial. Individuals hold little conviction." Natasha turned to the range, put her ear protection on and fired off an entire magazine. Clint watched her the entire time, thoughtful, and only removed his own headgear when she did.
"You're good, without trying, without ulterior motive." He continued to be silent and thoughtful, so she swapped out the magazine for a fresh one and replaced her headgear. She fired again, but stopped after three shots. Lowering the Glock, she looked at him with a vulnerable expression she didn't have to feign. "You saw something worth saving."
"You're a kid."
"You're not that much older than I am."
"You're nineteen. I'm twenty-seven and a lifetime of shit older than you are." His mouth twisted in distaste, and he yanked the headgear off his own head. "I know you're legal, but that just feels all kinds of wrong."
"I didn't mean it in a sexual sense. I don't like that, anyway," she admitted.
"Sex?"
"Yes. I've had to use my body as a weapon in all kinds of ways. They put sexualized overlays into my mind. They made me want a target. Or someone close to a target. Whatever the parameters were that most likely would get the job done."
Clint gave her a sour look. "Shit. You were loose for a couple of years, right? They prostituted a child in order to kill people?"
Natasha shrugged and fired off the rest of the rounds. "I did as directed. We all did."
"We again."
Lowering the Glock, she put it down on the shelf at the lane, then took off the ear protection and put it down as well. "You're the one that suggested Dr. Tseng. Because you see me as a child."
"The others were losers. I thought she'd be a better fit for you."
Nodding, Natasha clasped her hands in front of her. "What do you want from me, then?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I owe you a debt."
"No, you don't."
"You were sent to kill me and made a different call. You were disciplined for it. You have suggested things to make my life easier. Yet you don't want my body. So what do you want? What can I give you?"
Clint frowned. "Not everything is an exchange."
"Isn't it?"
"No, it isn't. Maybe it was just wrong to leave you out there, Natasha. Killing shouldn't be something you want to do, or done just to survive. There are better ways to take care of yourself, better ways to use the training you've got. You're worth more than that."
"Yes, I know. My life has been sustained at the cost of over a thousand souls."
He let out a slow breath. "You kept track."
"It was suggested that I view it as a ledger."
"A ledger. Like checks and balances."
"Yes," Natasha replied simply. "Exactly."
"Life doesn't work that way."
"Mine has. Sacrifices to keep me alive. Debts to repay."
"You don't owe me a debt."
"Yes, I do."
Clint heaved an irritated sigh. "I want you to have a life. To live the life you should've had if you were an ordinary girl."
"I never would have been ordinary. Where I was born, who I was born to? I never would have been allowed to be ordinary. They saw to that."
"So what do you want?"
She'd thought about that off and on since the Red Room burned down. Sometimes it had seemed like an exercise in futility. This was all she knew. What was the point in dreaming of something more? Why wish to be something different?
"There isn't any point to dreaming about anything."
Putting down his bow and giving her intense look, he shook his head. "What's the point if you can't dream anymore? You have to want something."
There were any number of things she could wish for, all of which would be painful. "Wishes like that hurt, Clint. I came here so that things would stop hurting."
Given that there was that troubled look on his face with the entire direction this conversation had gone, there was no warning for the sudden, intense embrace Natasha found herself in. She struggled with her instinct to hurt him, to push him away, to say something cutting. And like with the doll, Natasha found herself holding on tight and sobbing as if her dead heart was breaking to pieces. "I can't. I can't wish for anything. I don't deserve it."
Clint merely held her tightly. "Yes, you do," he said quietly. "And if you think you don't, then maybe you should find some way to fix it so that you'll think you can."
"Like balancing my ledger?" she asked, pulling away from him and wiping at her eyes. She couldn't meet his gaze.
"If you have to think of it that way." He touched her shoulder, and unbidden, she thought of Alian touching her as he sought to steady her against bad news. "I didn't bring you here so you would owe me a debt. I didn't try to help you with an ulterior motive in mind. You're not who you think you are, Natasha. You're more than just training and fractured memories and debts and whatever else they did to you. You don't owe me a damn thing."
She wondered at him, that he would believe such a thing despite the death toll and everyone else's suspicion. "I'm not good."
"I think you were. Someone thought you were worth saving when the Red Room was burned down, right?" Natasha flinched at that, she couldn't help it. Clint grasped her hand tightly. "Well, I think you're worth saving, too."
"You might be the only one."
He shook his head. "They're waiting for the other shoe to drop. They don't think they can trust you. The rumors out there don't paint you in a flattering light."
"They're not supposed to."
Now he grinned, and Natasha was wondering if he had some kind of an emotional disorder. "I have an idea," he told her, and she was starting to think that it was going to be a terrible idea to do whatever he thought was appropriate. He had thought she would fit in here, after all.
"Should I even ask?"
Clint snorted. "Let's stow the gear and head out. Like I said, I have an idea."
It turned out to be sitting in Agent Coulson's office, earnest expression on his face as he requested having Natasha be his partner on an upcoming mission into Estonia. She shot him an incredulous look, but Coulson simply sat there.
"You seem... less than enthusiastic, Miss Romanova," he drawled.
"He's crazy. Absolutely mental. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have come in."
"Why did you?" Coulson asked, a thread of curiosity in his tone.
Natasha glared at him instead of answering, but Coulson didn't seem to be bothered by that. If she had to guess, he was glared at all too often. If he was anything like Clint, he reveled in getting under others' skin.
"It was time to do something different," Natasha replied. Clint had gotten her thinking, and he was good, and he had never harmed her despite opportunities to do so.
"Let's see what Dr. Tseng thinks. She hasn't finished her evaluation yet."
"It's been almost two months!" Clint cried.
"She won't rush things, you know that," Coulson told him. "But Estonia is not a time sensitive mission. It can wait if you can."
Clint gave Natasha a sidelong glance. "Yeah. I think I can."
***
Natasha arrived early for her session as she usually did, and sat in one of the chairs facing Dr. Tseng's office. She sat perfectly still, aware of the guards in the hallway. They seemed nervous to be watching over her, making her wonder what level agent they were. Clint was Level Seven, and her own secrets warranted at least Level Nine. If she had given them all away, would she have warranted Ten?
She blinked in surprise when the door opened and Clint stepped out ahead of Dr. Tseng. He was looking down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, a pained expression on his face. Dressed in ordinary blue jeans, tight gray T shirt and boots, he didn't seem to be the poised agent she was used to seeing. "I'll remember that," he was telling Dr. Tseng as he looked up. He stopped when he saw Natasha, then grinned. "Hey."
"I suppose I should have realized you saw her, too," Natasha murmured.
Dr. Tseng had a bit of a smirk as she opened the door to her office wider. "Patient confidentiality is very important."
Clint kept the grin on his face as he started strolling down the hallway, past Natasha's guards. "Play nice, okay? We got bad guys that need shooting badly."
"If they need it that bad, Barton, why not go without me?" Natasha asked his retreating back.
"Some things just aren't as much fun alone," he said, not turning around. He waved his arm and then continued down the hallway.
Natasha sat in one of the chairs across from Dr. Tseng's, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. The doctor perched her laptop in her lap; she was capable of taking notes without looking at the keys or screen, and never once lost the thread of what Natasha told her. For some reason, Natasha didn't wonder what she was writing. These were her notes, and Dr. Tseng had her best interest in mind. Natasha could trust in that much. The Director was a different story, but she could trust in Clint and Dr. Tseng, maybe Coulson. He was at least straightforward.
"What you told me last time," Dr. Tseng said in opening, changing things from her usual "How was your week?" opener, "is that they had to drug you into compliance for the later tests and the memory overlays. How do you know for certain?"
"I suppose I don't. But it happened the first time. And there were the tools and syringes, the blackouts and missing time... It must have happened."
They painstakingly tried to piece together her timeline of events. Natasha left out Alian's contribution, which made for an odd overlap when the Red Room burned down. Dr. Tseng frowned at what she had written, but put her laptop aside. "We have a good start," she said, shrugging. "It's a work in progress."
"Why does it matter?"
"Don't you want to know?"
Yes. No. Why did it matter?
"You won't be able to move on until you can own your past," Dr. Tseng said when she remained silent. "The fragments of memory need to make sense."
"I've pieced it together already. I know why it happened."
"But you don't know what they did to you. Not for sure. And you weren't safe, not by a long shot. That much trauma... It has its effects, even if you don't recognize it." Her gaze fell significantly on the white knuckles of Natasha's hands. She had grabbed the armrests of the chair and held on for dear life, and hadn't even realized it. "We'll work through it."
"Why?"
"Because you need to feel safe. It's the only way you can begin to heal."
Natasha mulled that over, and was startled when Dr. Tseng plugged in the laptop and moved to escort her back to her room. "You don't have to do this."
"I know."
"So why are you?"
"I'm done for the day. So it's a good time to check in on your accommodations."
The guards tried to discourage her from coming with them, but Dr. Tseng was stubborn. She kept up a one sided commentary about her observations on different kinds of living spaces, and didn't seem to mind Natasha's silence.
But Natasha wasn't silent because of the conversation. The guards were taking a different direction to her room. "This isn't right," she murmured.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Tseng asked, stopping in her commentary.
"This is a different route."
Dr. Tseng didn't usually go with her, so she hadn't noticed the difference. "Why is that?" she asked the guards.
"Orders came in," one said reluctantly. He looked around. "You need to wait here," he told Natasha, appearing nervous. Her hackles rose.
"Orders?" Dr. Tseng was asking, glaring at the guard. "What orders? There aren't supposed to be any orders. This is the medical wing. I didn't authorize any pre-mission physical."
Natasha edged away from the guards. "I don't like this."
"You're right. This is ridiculous. I'm not okaying anything-"
The guard that hadn't spoken pulled out a gun and pointed it at Dr. Tseng. "You really shouldn't have come along, doc."
Her eyes were large, and Natasha knew she'd never been in a combat situation before. The training Natasha had since birth kicked in, and it felt almost good to have a purpose again. She moved with eerie grace to take the guard down, but the second was still there, and he had a grenade in his hand. He was standing next to the door of a medical bay, looking sickly as he took in the unconscious mass that was his partner. "You shouldn't have done that. It wasn't supposed to end this way. But you have to die."
Before anything else could be said, he pulled the pin.
The explosion was larger than expected, and likely meant that the grenade was one of the ones that the science division was experimenting with. The guard was blown apart immediately, and the unconscious guard was grievously wounded. The explosion also blew through the wall next to them, which ignited medical equipment and the oxygen lines in the wall. Natasha was thrown across the hall, burns across her arms and left leg. She could hear someone in the medical wing screaming, but she had been trained not to react to pain.
But she couldn't hear Dr. Tseng.
Natasha pushed past the dizziness and nausea, ignoring the pain from her wounds. There were the black pants and vivid red of Dr. Tseng's blouse, her shoes knocked off of her feet. No, wait. A foot was missing, and she was unnaturally still.
Suddenly, Natasha was screaming, trying to crawl toward Dr. Tseng. The doctor couldn't be dead, not because of her. Pounding footsteps approached, but it didn't matter. She had to see if Dr. Tseng was okay, because it didn't matter if there was smoke and fire and klaxons blaring in the aftermath of the blast. SHIELD would have to take care of that, but Dr. Tseng had been standing to Natasha's left, had been closer to the grenade-
She was being lifted to her feet, and instinct had her fighting and spitting out anatomical improbabilities in Russian. It was the Director himself, grim faced and taking every punch she landed. "You have to help her," Natasha gasped, ignoring the way the world swam. "She-You have to help her. The others in the med bays. She can't-Dr. Tseng's not moving."
"We're going to take care of them. We're going to do everything we can. You need-"
"No, no, I don't need anything. I've had worse, this is nothing, just a concussion and burns, it'll be fine. Dr. Tseng needs the attention. She's no fighter, she doesn't have training-"
Someone was carrying her away, and her limbs flopped gracelessly. Her hair was singed, her glasses were gone, and there were deep, jagged cuts in her face. Natasha flailed against the Director, wild and desperately needing to check on her. "You're going the wrong way!" she screeched, realizing that the rescuers were bringing her away from the checkup rooms. Sure, there were three of then blasted all to hell, but they would be able to use another one. "You're going the wrong way!" she repeated, trying to push herself away from the Director.
"Natalia Alianovna," the Director said, catching hold of her hands. "They're going the right way. That's the way to the morgue."
Her chest seized, and Natasha let out a heart wrenching scream, the kind she would have made in the Red Room after Natalia's death if she had felt safe to. The Director held her tightly as she shook, as her world ended yet again.
***
Coulson sat down next to Natasha's bed in the hospital wing two days later. "We were infiltrated," he told her quietly. "They were paid to kill you. If they failed, their families would be killed as a warning to them for failure."
"So either way, I was dead and she was collateral damage."
"Yes." Coulson paused, expression downcast. "I'm sorry."
"Who was it that ordered the hit?"
"A syndicate based out of Austria-"
"Are you going after them?" she asked coldly.
Coulson paused. "Not officially, no. Legalities, extradition treaties..." He handed her a slim manila folder, lips compressed into a grim line. "But if you're in medical for the next two weeks, no one around here would notice if a special strike team disappeared for a few days to take care of that pesky problem."
"I didn't think SHIELD was that kind."
"We don't make it a habit of letting one of ours be gunned down or blown up. Retaliation is messy, but sometimes it's necessary." Coulson gave her an even look. "This is necessary, Miss Romanova. She was one of the good ones."
Natasha had difficulty swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Yes, she was."
"Unofficial authorization comes from the top," Coulson murmured.
Dimly, Natasha remembered the Director telling medical personnel to check the damaged rooms first, to tend to the screaming and injured. He had held onto Natasha the entire time, keeping her upright and alert when she started shaking. Opening the folder, Natasha saw the name Director Nicholas Fury scrawled on the bottom.
"Who am I going with?"
"Who else?" Coulson replied, a trace of irritation in his tone. "This one asked to be paired with you specifically. And he has his own axe to grind." Coulson cleared his throat. "If you're amenable to the situation, of course. The two of you likely will make a very effective strike team. You can think of this as your practice run before Estonia."
"I thought I wasn't going to be allowed to go."
"Whitney was putting off authorization. She wanted you on site to process the past. She said you needed to work on the trauma first, not add to it."
Natasha turned away from Coulson and the folder, letting her eyes slide shut to hide the burning tears that threatened to fall. How could she answer something like that?
He touched the back of her hand lightly when she didn't answer. "Welcome to Strike Team Delta. I'll be back with Clint, and we'll go over our mission objective in detail."
Now she turned toward him. "Mission objective?"
"Revenge, of course. I liked Whitney. We all did." Coulson stood, and she could see the tired, dark circles under his eyes. "I think we can trust you on this, Miss Romanova. You cared about her as much as we did."
She looked at him, feeling a gaping maw open up inside of her. Too much pain, too much grief, too many ghosts following closely behind her. "I promise you, they will pay, and they will wish they never heard of us."
Coulson smiled, and it wasn't warm or friendly at all. "Good."
The End