Chapter Text
Natasha emerges from her room late one night. It's been an entire week since anyone even saw her. She wanders the corridors silently, taking the once-familiar path to Clint's room. She hesitates only slightly before knocking on the door.
Clint opens the door almost immediately, hair tussled from sleep. “Tasha? What are you doing here?”
“I couldn't sleep.” She admits quietly.
Clint steps aside, gesturing for Natasha to enter the room. “Come in, then.”
Natasha does, settling in the armchair in the corner of the room.
The two don't talk much, both falling into sleep once more.
~
The sun is still rising when Tony barges into the room to wake Clint, not noticing Natasha also in the room.
Tony starts to shoot Clint with a water gun, and the younger boy awakens with a startled “What the fuck?!”
The commotion wakes Nat, who stares daggers at Tony when she figures out that all the noise is his fault.
Tony quickly realizes his mistake and backs out of the room, rapidly repeating apologies to Natasha.
Within a few minutes, she and Clint decide to go get breakfast—something Nat hasn't done with anyone in months.
Naturally, everyone is surprised when Natasha enters the kitchen with Clint as she hasn't spoken to any of them in so long.
“Good morning, kids. What would you like to eat?” Peggy decides to continue as normal, not making a big deal out of the situation.
“Waffles, please, Peggy.” Clint replies easily.
Natasha is a lot less certain. “Just a fruit and yoghurt bowl please.”
So, that's what Peggy gives her, not wanting to fight Natasha on anything while the younger girl is still so fragile.
After breakfast, Clint takes Nat to the gym like they used to, teaching each other skills that could be useful in the field—Clint teaches Nat acrobatics from his time in the circus and Nat teaches Clint how to land silently no matter what.
Once they have exhausted themselves, they head to the common room where Tony is sitting with an actual pen and pad of paper, surrounded by discarded attempts.
“Uhh, Tony? What exactly are you doing?” Clint asks.
“Trying to write a confession poem for Pepper but nothing I try is good enough.” Tony answers, clearly frustrated.
“Pepper? I thought the girl you like is called Virginia?” Clint is even more confused.
“Same person. She's just known as Pepper because she's the only one at my school who knows how to make her own pepper spray. And it's far more effective than store bought.” Tony explains.
“Try ‘you're more beautiful than all of the stars, though my love for you outshines them by far’.” Natasha says to Tony.
The two boys look at her in shock. Out of all the people to be poetic, Natasha was not on their lists.
“What? I'm a girl. I know what girls want to hear. Ninety percent of the time, all we want is proof of effort. And maybe some chocolate.”
“Okay. So something simple but thoughtful and chocolate. I can't do chocolate strawberries because she's allergic, so maybe just one of those assortment boxes.” Tony starts talking himself through his plan, so Clint and Nat leave him alone.
~
As soon as Clint is distracted, Natasha sneaks off to the beach where she and Maria once lay.
She sits on the cold sand for who knows how long when a figure steps out of the shadows. She barely has time to make out their features before a dart lands in her thigh and the world goes dark.
~
When Natasha wakes up, it's in a cold, dark, damp cell in a facility that is definitely not the Red Room. She recognizes the insignia on the wall as that of Hydra. Whether they're worse than or on par with the Red Room is yet to be determined.
She's alone for what feels like hours when a figure walks in. He has a muzzle-like mask covering his mouth and nose, so Nat can't even see if she recognizes him from Shield's ghost stories.
The two stare at each other unblinking for several minutes before a Hydra agent walks in, the badge on his chest reading 'asset handler’ as if the man before her was worth less than a rabid animal.
“Well, it seems our Widow is awake. Widow, this is the Winter Soldier. You will train with h or die trying. If you survive, you work for us. We can keep you safe from that General Dreykov.” The agent promises.
The promise was far too tempting for Natasha to resist. She would do anything to avoid going back to the Red Room. So, she accepts.
The agent, satisfied, leaves Natasha and the Winter Soldier alone in the cell with no orders.
“Soooo… You're gonna train me? What does that include? Espionage? Hand-to-hand combat? Weapon handling?” Natasha asks.
“Whatever they tell me to teach you.” The soldier's voice is rough from disuse.
“Wait, so you don't make the decision yourself?”
“Decision? No. I follow orders. Failing to do so results in the chair.” He shudders involuntarily, clearly haunted by memories.
“What chair?”
“It's best if you don't know. Trust me on this.” The soldier's tone leaves no room for argument, so Natasha drops it.
After several minutes of tense silence, the Soldier stands up. “Come on, show me what you know.”
Natasha blinks. “What?”
“Show me what you know fighting-wise. I need to know what I'm working with. If you already have a strong foundation, we can skip straight to more advanced stuff.” The Soldier explains.
So, Natasha spends the next several hours demonstrating what Shield and the Red Room taught her as the Soldier watches, seemingly almost impressed that she knows so much.
Natasha doesn't even realize how torturous this place is. Not yet. In her mind, she's safe. Sure, it's giving morally gray vibes, but they're keeping her safe from Dreykov, so it can't be that bad, right?
If only she realized just how wrong she is. Unfortunately, she's about to learn that lesson very quickly.