Work Text:
Red had always been present in Natasha Romanov's life.
Sometimes she had hated it—
(the Red Room, a little red ribbon at the end of a blond braid that felt like tying a noose—)
And sometimes she had loved it—
(her own hair, the hourglass that now was her symbol, red wings open in the blue sky—)
The red of blood had been costant, before and after. She had hated it and loved it and sometimes it had only been necessary, the only way to ensure her goal.
Now she was definitely enjoying it, the way it was spreading under the bastard's head, mingling with the one already staining the floor and the walls.
A red room. Maybe she never left, after all.
She stands up, making sure not to step on the blood. Leaving footprints wouldn't be ideal.
Looking at her work, it hasn't been her usual mastery. It was messy, made with a knife as her only weapon other than her body.
Oh, well. It wasn't important. Her goal hasn't been to do a clean work, with a plan beforehand. Instead has been quick, dirty, focused more to eliminate the threat.
She is not done though.
Natasha bends down and starts dragging the last body, the boss' one, to the wall. She props him up against it carelessly, then digs in his pockets, fishing out a picture, the same he showed her less than a couple of hours before, when he tried to blackmail her.
She then takes the knife that had been his and uses it to pin the picture on his forehead, feeling satisfied when she heard the quiet crack of his skull.
She steps back, admiring her handiwork. Hopefully, it will suffice to get the message when others will come.
Natasha leaves unseen, unheard, disappearing in the shadows of the night.
Years of training had taught Natasha how to be invisible to human eye, how to avoid cameras, to get into a house and get out without anyone noticing.
But even she had yet to learn how to completely escape the watchful eyes of thousands of birds, so it's hard to sneak up on the one who can hear their whispers. As such, she isn't surprise to see him awake when she steps in the living room, hidden in the shadows a loaded gun trained on the door before he recognizes her and lowers it.
"Natasha" he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make her mouth twitch, to make her want to smile. Such a sweet, sweet sound.
"Didn't mean to wake you" she tells him getting closer until she can finally kiss him. She deepens it, pleased when she hears him moan, one of her hands on the back of his neck, the other moving from his naked chest to his shoulder, along his arm to wrap around his wrist, without reaching for the gun, smearing blood across his skin. Distantly she think this should feel sacrilegious, but she knows better than to believe this. Sam is a soldier after all. Both of them had complied to orders that had ended with death, yet the feeling of tarnishing something sacred, safe, stays. Natasha doesn't dwell on, instead tugs Sam to the couch and pushes him on it, then takes off her jacket and shirt.
"Are you hurt?" he asks —always the one to take care of others, too good for the cruelty they fight in their lives.
"The blood is not mine" she says, because right now this is what matters and this is the truth she can say without having him stop her to tend her injuries.
She rides him on the couch and God, does it feel good, but is even better to hear his quiet gasps and moans —stopping him from biting his bottom lip to silence those heavenly sounds, "let me hear you, Sam, I want to hear you"— and feel his heart beat under her lips pressed against his pulsing point, the warmth of his body, everything that reminds her that he's here, alive, safe in their house, a gun on the cushions next to them should they need it, and even more reminds her he's allowing himself —he trust her enough— to be this vulnerable under her hands.
She touches his jaw with her fingertips, making him open his eyes, another confirmation that he's alive, he's never been in danger tonight.
Natasha smiles at Sam, aware of the softness in her own eyes and of her helplessness to do anything about it, then kisses him. It's slower this time. She could do it forever, it's something she had thought since they had kissed the first time.
"Hey" Sam says when they part, his hands drawing soothing circles on her thighs, unbothered by the harnesses that holds her knives amd that she hadn't cared enough to take off in her rush.
"Rough mission?"
She hums, running her hands along his arms.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks moving his left hand to tangle his fingers with her own.
"No." It has no importance now, what they've said.
She gives Sam another kiss. It feels good.
Sam seems about to say something else then he stops, tilting his head slightly, distracted.
She doesn't distract him, just stares at him with mild curiosity. In the silence, she can hear the birds outside. After a while, Sam's attention is on her again.
"You know, the birds tell interesting stories"
"Oh? Maybe you should tell me about them" shs says, playful. She has an idea of which stories they're telling him now.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam smiles again, relaxed, "but I think we need to shower first."
She chuckles, getting off of him and offering him a hand to get up. For the first time that night, the tension leaves her completely.
"Love is for children."
Something Natasha has heard many times in the Red Room. It doesn't belong to them and it never would.
In their bed with her hair still damp, she wonders about those words, as she has done many times, and about the hundreds ways their meaning could be twisted.
There was too much blood on her hands, blood that couldn't be simply washed away. She stopped being a child a long time ago.
She makes herself more comfortable against Sam's chest, so that her ear is right above his beating heart
As she has done countless times before, she wonders if those words hold any truth. The Room had been a net of lies after all.
Lies she can't forget apparently.
But what matters, she asks herself, whatever she has for Sam, Clint, Nick or Maria, even if different for each of them, is for her and is not important if she's a child or not.
It's for her.
And this is enough.