I'm a Hurricane

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 that. the Black Widow was one of the best, even if she had deflected. that didn’t take away from her skills. maybe he would have admired her for it, but every day he went without finding her had made it all the WORSE for him. it took the Asset over a month to find the Widow. but now that he had, he could finally finish the mission.

since HYDRA first created their new Winter Soldier, he had been on mission after mission. training, for something. what? that wasn’t his place to know yet. they were testing him, he knew this. trying to figure out if he was READY. the Asset believed he was, and he proved it. with each success. each time he flew under the radar. their enemy seemed completely unaware of the new threat, and HYDRA seemed intent to keep it that way.

the Soldier had no opinion about it either way, not that it was much of a SURPRISE. the easier a mission could go, with the fewer distractions, the better. being chased down by whatever force decided to rise up against him was not something that he wanted to deal with, or would be TOLERATED. by his standards and his Handler’s.

this mission was different from the other’s he had been on. not just because he was hunting down a traitor, he’d done that before. and it wasn’t even because she was such a high-risk target — he’d done that too. there was something about her FACE, it reminded him of… something. the Handler told him it was nothing. yet they still sent him to the chair after. it wasn’t his place to really question it, no matter how much it nagged at him. thinking was a distraction, he needed to focus.

the Soldier found her at some DUMP motel, spot her through the scope of his rifle, all ready for a fight. it made him wonder if he’d been made, that she was waiting for him. it was why he didn’t engage then, but waited. of course, given her history, she was probably just paranoid. wise decision then, her constant vigilance. he would have WAITED had he not had the deadline — the Black Widow’s head by the first morning light.

which was why as soon as he got movement from the Widow’s room, he wasted no time it pursuing her. fingers TAP against the side of his goggles, an x-ray giving away to night vision mode only so he could focus on her without the extra distractions. he’d been silent in his movements out and away from his hiding spot.

it was clear when she’d finally made him, as she started to walk AWAY from the few civilians, the posture of her body of a different vigilance than what it had held before. slipping the gun from its holster as soon as she turned, his focus became one thing: finish the mission.

she’s talking, but he’s more INTERESTED in what she’s doing. being disarmed does nothing to deter him. shifting his own stance, the Soldier’s right-hand shoots out to grab her wrist, knee coming up into her abdomen.

There’s no time to dwell on the multitude of colors that burst into sharp focus before her vision as the bone of his knee connects with her solar plexus. She exhales (a quick whoosh of air expelled viciously from aching lungs) -- but her grip on the firearm remains fast. Flecks of fury ignite within the molten emerald of her eyes; he’s as strong as should be expected of one of HYDRA’S men, but there’s more to it than that. His style is reminiscent of something she’s seen before...And it has naught to do with a soldier. 

He is primed. Coiled tight like a predator -- no, it’s different -- like a...

Well oiled machine.

“Tony.” It isn’t a question. Natasha knows that this is no fairytale, and there will be no moment of instant recognition in which he stalls his attack and suddenly falls into her arms, recalling her as a comrade; confidante; friend. Still, there’s a split second where she’s overcome with a foolish hope that he might at least recognize her.

Natasha wrenches back, using the grip on her wrist to tug him forward as she slides back. The butt of his confiscated gun collides with his temple in a savage swing. In this moment, they are both more beast than man, and she cannot afford to pull punches. 

     “Well maybe if someone had come in to help a little earlier,         she could have made the situation a little easier to handle.”

@displacedwidow​ liked this

     “I’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t have killed him… but          maybe less time there could be less clean up?”

@heartprccf​

They had all assumed the worst. It’s human nature, flawed as it may be, right? Taking into consideration the lack of contact – mere hours first, stretching into days, and into weeks after that – and his last known location…It’s only natural for one’s thoughts to travel down a dark, disheartening track. And from there? You lose hope. In spite of the search parties you send out, and the desperate press conferences held rewarding any sliver of valid information regarding his whereabouts, it’s a moot point.

And everyone knows it.

Natasha has become a fool, it would seem. And a hypocrite, to boot. In spite of her warnings to Steve, that he should let go of past comrades, she knows that it is not so easy. Working alongside someone for so long, and learning their habits (good and bad – arguably mostly bad, where Stark is concerned), and quirks…You become attached. It’s inevitable; just another unfortunate side-effect of being human. And she is so painfully human, no matter how she may try to hide it, or resist it.

Breaking off from the fractured remnants of the Avengers was the best decision she could have made. Or so she tells herself, at least. It allows her more freedom; that’s how she validates the choice when seated alone in middle-of-the-road hotel rooms, nursing a glass of scotch and staring at the door with a pistol laid on her lap.

She’s restless. Sleep is elusive as ever, if not more so, these days, and Natasha weighs her options before slipping out of her rented suite. To hell with it, she decides, slipping on her leather jacket and locking the door behind herself. Fresh air is what she needs. A walk in the crisp night air will help clear her head – or so she hopes, anyway.

Natasha is aware of the moment a second set of footsteps begin to walk in tandem with her own. The street is relatively quiet, thankfully. It would seem that majority of the night owls have found their destinations, and settled in – the few stragglers wandering the streets are also preoccupied with their phones, or friends/lovers. Still, Natasha intends to take no chances with their lives, and slips down an alleyway out of sight.

The sound of footsteps stops a short distance behind her. When the redhead turns, she’s startled to see a figure donning an eerily familiar uniform to that of the Winter Soldier. And what’s worse…Is the shield she can see strapped to the figure’s back. HYDRA managed to get their hands on Cap’s shield, and they decided to equip it to their latest lab rat. Wonderful.

Staring down the barrel of a gun is nothing new for the Widow. She does, however, feel an odd pull toward this stranger. He’s familiar, though she can’t quite place why she thinks as much.

“I don’t have my purse,” she says, lifting her hands slowly, as if in surrender – only to shift her footing, sliding to the right and out of range of the muzzle as her left wrist catches under his fist, and her right hand snatches the gun, wrenching it from his grip. No doubt he has other weapons at his disposal, but at least she has her own firearm, and one of his.

She has no home, nor any need of one. The Widow is a predator on a short leash; only set ‘free’ for brief periods of time at her master’s command, to seek out and eliminate those deemed a risk to the organization and its goals. Politicians, government officials, state advocates...The odd civilian -- only the children shall be spared the Widow’s deadly venom. These are her conditions, and she stays true to them. Her employers, naturally, are unaware of this. 

It comes as no surprise, then, that they would cross paths; this man with eyes of stormy gray, reflecting a malstrom within. How unfortunate that they should meet under these circumstances...Sharing a target, and a goal, but serving two very different masters. She, a group cloaked in shadow and secrecy; and he -- well, it would seem that he answers only to himself now. 

Is that freedom? 

Or just another form of imprisonment? 

The muzzle of her gun is aimed between his brows. A single twitch is all the cause she needs to fire. No doubt he is aware of her -- what will he do, as a cornered animal? “There seems to be some confusion. That’s my mark.” 

She returns -- to this planet; this atmosphere; her arms -- and it’s always a pleasant surprise. Natasha sees Carol off as often as she can, but there is always work to be done, and more often than not...The two part ways without offering an honest goodbye. Which leaves Natasha in a strange sort of limbo. 

Focus on work til the mission is through. Worry for comrades and those now considered loved ones until they meet once more. There is always a niggling voice in the back of her mind, when left to her own devices, which insists the terms surrounding their reunion could be less than pleasant.

“Welcome back to Earth, Danvers.”