Doubts
Natasha has been having doubts.
No, not doubts. Closer to full on panic. If she were younger, she would absolutely be having a panic attack because of her choices.
Now, with no family to either chide her for her poor decisions, nor comfort her that her choice is the best she could make with what she has been given, she's more numb than anything.
All the words her family should have had for her swim in her head.
How could you? It's fighting for them that got us killed! That left you alone in the first place! At his mercy!
He's taking advantage of you! He's going to use his status to draw you in, get you to cooperate, then leave you penniless and ruined!
But I'm the one taking advantage of his offer, she would argue. I don't need him, but he does need me.
No nobleman needs a slave. You're their plaything. Never forget that. They have servants for working and slaves for play.
She could see the sneer on her father's face, as cold and disgusted as the last time she had seen it in person.
She would try to persuade them. He opened up to me though. He was vulnerable; it's him who is at my mercy. I could ruin him with what I know. But he's trusting me not to do so.
He had trusted her. It was… a revelation. One she was unsure what to do with.
For so long she had painted him in the role of villain. He had been an untouchable force she was indebted to; one which kept her here and kept her loyal, if grudgingly.
She disagrees with some of his politics, true, but she doubts she could find anyone with whom she agrees on everything. Come to think of it, (as she is just now starting to) she knows very little of his personal beliefs. She has no idea if he shares his family's views and values.
She has no reason to believe he wouldn't, but, clearly, he is full of surprises.
She goes about her day, performing tasks on automatic, laundry, cleaning, running around finding things to do in order to keep her hands busy.
Her mind, though, she has no ability to rein in.
It races ahead, trying to picture what life will become for her as the wife of an Earl. She will be a Countess, she realizes. A Lady. It's terrifying, in an exciting sort of way.
It's not something she wants, never been a thing she has dreamt of, but it can't be worse than her day to day life is now. She will have servants, she realizes. She finds she is uncomfortable with the thought.
Perhaps her new husband will be too busy spurning his wife's attention in preference of his lover that he won't notice if she simply doesn't appoint any.
Then again, any servant working under her could be given a life of ease. She would never be too demanding, not coming from the status of a slave.
In fact, she may be able to elevate some of her fellow slaves in the process. There are several others she is fond of. Would her new husband be open to having ex-slaves directly attending to her and other household matters? Or would he be too scandalized?
His wife as a former slave may be all the sullying of his household he can take.
Then again, would any take her seriously enough to actually serve under her anyway? As a slave, she was the lowest of the low. True, Barton treated his slaves with respect denied them in other households, but probably the majority of people did not share in his apparent belief that slaves were humans and deserve to be treated as such.
Rounding a corner too quickly, she nearly ran directly into a man coming the other way. It was James, she realizes, looking up after catching the basket of dirty rags she was carrying and barely managing to stop it from crashing to the floor.
"Mister Barnes. My apologies, sir." She bows her head slightly. She is already risking getting in trouble for not paying attention, the last thing she needs is someone to see her refusing to afford her superiors their due respect.
"Natasha." He nods his head to her as well, surprising her. She had half expected him to ignore her and go on about his day.
His eyes drift from her face down to the load in her arms as she readjusts the basket on her hip. His brow furrows in confusion. "What are you doing with these?"
She looks down at the basket as well. Feeling uneasy at the question, she answers, "My job?" It was far from respectful, but she was too caught off guard to properly monitor her tone.
He reaches out to take the basket from her. "This is no longer your job."
Seeing the movement and drawing the basket away, out of reach, she turns and sets out on her path again. "I have been assigned nothing else," she argues. "And I am still a slave. Much as the reminder may displease you. And your Master."
She knows the inflection she placed on the word 'master' is an unnecessary threat. It's a reminder of the power she now holds over them both.
Normally she wouldn't be so keen on continuing to do her work. If she had been told in any other way to stop her duties, she would have been more than happy to do so.
But the blatant questioning, the implication that she was doing something wrong, that she had overlooked some aspect of their agreement and was acting foolish, it rankled. So she was reacting a bit more defensively than the situation probably called for.
James follows close behind her. She had started out with several steps of a head start; not much, but enough that he had some catching up to do. It was too soon when he was falling into step beside her. He continues following her all the way into the room where the washing was done.
When she pauses to open the door, he grasps the handles of the basket and pulls them from her hands. She lets out a gasp of frustration as he steps inside ahead of her.
Letting the door fall shut behind them, she reaches out to take the washing back from him. The man had been anticipating her movement and quickly faces his body away from her, effectively blocking her grab.
"Give that back." Natasha is not in the mood for this today. With all the uncertainty their agreement has caused her, this angers her more than it should. She can see the amusement in his eyes as she moves around him to try and grab the basket again, only for it to be spun out of reach once more.
"No." His face holds a challenge Natasha is sure she shouldn't rise to. And yet…
Whirling around him again, she manages to get a hand on the basket. Tugging, she tests his hold on it. It gives just enough that she gets it back into her space. "Yes."
When he yanks it back, she comes with it, arms still locked in the same position, bringing her into his personal space, nearly causing her to lose her balance.
She glares at him, their faces close enough she can see the different shades of blues and greys in his eyes. He is entirely too pleased with himself.
"I said, no." He wrenches the basket from her hands again, with a strength she can't match.
She does her best not to grab onto him, but only manages to break her fall by catching herself with her hands pressed to his chest. He has placed the basket on a work table next to them, just out of reach for her, obviously in an attempt to end the pointless, childish scuffle between the two of them.
Her face is hot as she feels him watching her, worse when she looks up and sees his smile. She hasn't removed herself from where she fell, still leaned against him.
She is breathing hard, more from emotion than exertion. The frustration, the anger, the vulnerability of being told she was doing something wrong...
She looks down at her hands, feeling the muscles of his chest as he moves to place a hand over both of hers, pressing them together, his other hand coming to rest on her waist.
She flexes her fingers, digging in to feel the give of his flesh. Peeking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, she feels the intensity in how he is looking at her.
She allows herself to lean further into his body, the warmth she feels radiating off of him setting her on edge, but not in the way she would have expected.
He shifts his weight to allow her closer, so their bodies touch rather than just their hands. His grip on her waist tightens. She can feel his breathing change the closer she gets to him.
He removes his hand from her waist and she sees it come up behind her, set to land somewhere on her back or shoulder blades, maybe even her neck or head.
She doesn't wait to find out.
She has snuck between his body and the table while his guard was down and grabbed the basket before he even processes her movement. She makes her way to the back of the room, intent on starting the washing now that she has bested him.
She completely ignores the blood pooled in her face, coloring her cheeks as well as the pounding of her heart. Simply explained away by the physical rush that comes with winning, she assures herself.
She hears the low chuckle as she works, and when he speaks, she must be imagining it, but it sounds rougher than his normal speaking voice. "Well played, Natasha. Very clever."
He keeps his distance this time when he approaches her, but she can still feel the way he is looking at her. The intensity hasn't changed. He has conceded the game to her, but only this time.
When she doesn't respond, he finds another work table to perch on, one foot still firmly on the floor while the other dangles a few inches above. He folds his arms and settles in to watch.
When she has finished her task, she turns to look at him. He hasn't moved, using the time she was occupied to study her. Suddenly she feels like it was unwise to remain in this room with him alone.
Shaking herself internally, she squares her shoulders. "Did you need something from me, sir? Or were you merely distracting me as a form of entertainment?"
"Oh, distracting you, was I? And here I thought you were the one distracting me." He smirked at the blood returning to her face.
"Forgive me, sir. But I really do need to be getting back to my duties. You will have to find a different way to try and get me in trouble. Surely there must be some way that doesn't require you to be down here keeping company with the slaves."
James looked hurt by her words, mouth dropped open in shock. "Natasha, that wasn't-"
She turns away from him and strides out of the room. She needs space.
She has no idea where the unkindness had come from. It was very unlike her to be so cruel without cause.
All she knows right now is she feels defenseless in his presence, like she is prey being stalked.
In that room, it had felt like they were almost equals. And that was a dangerous way for her to think. She could just imagine all the ways that would get her in trouble down the road.
Natasha had to be careful to remember, they weren't all on one team. It was her and them. Just as it had always been.
She doesn't hear the door shutting behind her and knows that James is on his way to catch up with her. She hears his footsteps a couple of seconds before she feels him breeze up next to her.
"Natasha, I-"
They round a corner and at the other end of the hall, their master is walking towards them purposefully.
"Barnes." He takes in Natasha next to him and gives James a sly smirk. "Ah. So that's where you snuck off to. Good. You will accompany us, then?"
He is asking, but it is obvious she can't really refuse.
Glancing around to see if others are around to watch, she nods, agreeing. "Yes, Master."
She looks to Barnes to see his reaction. His lips are pressed into a line, but he gestures for her to follow Barton as he marches away. She nods curtly, thankful they wouldn't have the chance to have whatever conversation he was planning.
Now she prepares herself to face the both of them together again, unsure if it's better or worse that way.
When they come to a stop, James steps forward to open the door in front of them. Barton gestures for Natasha to precede them through the door. She does so, curious.
She had been trying to pick apart her interaction with James from moments ago and had let her mind wander, not realizing where she was being led. That had been a mistake.
She recognized it as soon as she crossed the threshold. This was the hall with the Earl's bedchamber.