Chapter Three
Department X, Russia, 1991
The next sixteen years slipped away, a blur of red blood and the faces of her victims before she killed them. Some were frightened, others laughing. Natasha didn’t care to remember their names.
Finally, she was approached by a superior, who told her- and the other men and women they’d lined up- that things had changed, and they were free to go. Truthfully, Natasha didn’t really know what to do now. She’d never known life outside this system, never spent time not following orders or on missions.
As she walked down the front steps of the building, she was approached by another woman, one with golden hair and wide eyes. “Natalia!” she called. “Natalia, wait!” Natasha slowed to a halt, staring at her blankly.
“Yes?” she said, voice sharp.
“Well, I was wondering- do you wanna maybe go somewhere together? We could go back to San Fran, see what Matt’s up to?”
“Sorry, do I know you?” The words coming from the girl’s mouth made no sense to her. The girl’s face changed from an expression of happiness to one of confusion.
“You don’t remember me?” she asked, disbelieving. “Nasha, it’s me, Yelena?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Natasha responded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-” She turned and walked away, leaving the girl- Yelena-behind her, face twisted in horror.
Arles, France, 1993
Natasha’s eyes were wide and staring. The face in the mirror didn’t look like her own. Another night, another terror, another scream in her throat.
Her hands were shaking.
She returned to the bed, trying to ignore the week-old corpse on the opposite side.
Chicago, USA, 1999
His hands were on the gun, and the gun was aimed at her heart.
His fingers were on the trigger, and the trigger controlled the gun.
His eyes stared into hers.
She stared straight back, daring him to shoot her.
She recognised him, of course.
There were missions, years ago, in which she’d met him. They’d been double-booked a number of times. He probably didn’t remember her, and she was surprised at fate for bringing them together again each time.
She didn’t believe in fate.
His hand loosened on the gun, and he lowered his arm. “I can offer you a second chance,” he said, face unreadable. “Come work for SHIELD.”
“I thought you were here to kill me.”
“I will, if you don’t take the offer.”
Natasha thought for a long, long moment. She considered telling him she’d rather die.
Truth was, she’d rather not.
“Alright,” she agreed, just like that.
Moscow, Russia, 2009
“It’s fucking cold,” Clint had complained.
“Welcome to Russia,” she’d replied.
That was the last time she’d seen him.
Now she was stood alone in the darkened room, gun in hand, teeth bared, listening for her assailant. He stepped from the darkness, and her breath caught in her throat. He smiled at her.
“Hello, Natalia.” Alexei Shostakov smiled.
He looked older; hair bleached white, skin wrinkled and back hunched.
Suddenly it all broke; the lies in her mind paled and the realities darkened, and she remembered him, and she remembered Bucky and Matt and- she remembered Yelena. She remembered the seventies and the sixties and suddenly she wants to break something. She wanted to fight, she wanted to scream until her throat bled, but she just stood there, shaking with outrage and betrayal.
He moved forwards, gripped her shoulders, pressed their foreheads together, and she could smell his sour breath as he whispered, “мой Наталия.” Then he kissed her, and Natasha stood stock still, unable to process what was happening fast enough.
When he drew away, nose against hers, she bared her teeth and whispered, “I belong to nobody.” He chuckled, as if she’d just told a joke.
Then there was the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, followed by two more. Alexei jerked; the first bullet caught in his stomach, the second drove it out. The third went straight through him, and into Natasha.
He fell, and Natasha stepped backwards, breath coming in quick gasps, blood blossoming from her stomach. On the other side of the room was Clint, his eyes wide as he stared at her.
“Natasha?”
The world toppled and everything went black.
SHIELD Headquarters, USA, 2009
During the long healing process, Natasha remembered, or at least tried to.
She attempted to piece her life together, using the few shards she could find. There wasn’t much. She was born Stalingrad, Russia, 1940- she knew that much. When she was two, her parents were killed, and she was given to the KGB’s Black Widow program, where they pumped her with serum and destroyed her mind. In the 1970’s, she broke free in the 1970’s and fled to America, where she lived with Daredevil, the Winter Soldier, and Yelena, a fellow Black Widow.
Then she was captured again, and, well, the rest wasn’t so hard to figure out.
She remembered a mission from years back; protecting people with Bobbi, as Clint was in medical that week. She remembered the Winter Soldier, sunlight gleaming on his metal arm, the flash of recognition within her that she couldn’t place.
Her fingers found the scar on her stomach, and she thought of Bucky.
Her fingers traced her scars and she attempted not to cry.
“Romanoff.” Natasha nodded to Fury, sat in the seat opposite him, put her feet up on the desk. Nobody else would dare do that. Good thing Natasha wasn’t anybody else. “You have a mission.”
“Yeah?” He said nothing about the feet. If she had been anybody else, he would have.
He slid her a file. “We need you to infiltrate Stark Industries, consider him for the Avengers Initiative.” Natasha glanced at him, and nodded, flicking through the file.
“On it,” she responded.
Stark Tower, New York, USA, 2010
Natasha had never seen Tony Stark outside of magazines before, and her first glance made her breath catch in her throat.
Dread pooled in her stomach as a face flashed in her mind.
The terrified face of Maria Stark.
“I’m pregnant,” she’d said.
Tony Stark’s eyes lit up.
SHIELD Helicarrier, USA, 2012
“Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?”
“You know I do.”
SHIELD Headquarters, USA, 2014
Natasha was not a hero.
She knew how heroes stories ended; they either got themselves killed or killed themselves. Just like Matt. Just like Alexei (but was he a hero, or a villain?). Just like Stefanya and the other girls in the Red Room.
When she pressed that button (“Are you ready for the world see you as you truly are?”), she felt, for a moment, like she could be one.
Then came the fall out.
Epilogue
“All my covers are blown. I have to figure out a new one.”
Natasha’s every step was haunted, every thought hesitant, hood pulled up so people wouldn’t recognise her on the street. They could do that now; the elusive Black Widow was no longer so elusive.
There was a strange emptiness to being known, like being naked in the himalayas. Her shattered past, her uncertain future, the path she walked on hidden in shadow, yet open for everyone to see.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to get on the next plane out of here and go home. To Russia. To San Fran. To Bucky, to Matt, to Yelena, to Clint. She wanted to disappear, go somewhere no-one would find her.
She did none of these things. She just kept walking.
Because she was the Black Widow. The Girl Who Sees. Natalia Romanova.
(The voice whispered, play the waiting game.)
And she would never give up.
FIN