#dd:de

Even with the pills they gave me, and my existing almost-inhuman tolerance for pain – practice makes perfect, after all – it hurt. I was almost constantly in some state of healing or another, the careful plan I’d crafted with Bruce followed to the letter despite my constant desire to push the limits. He’d designed it with my desire for expediency in mind, as well as a longing to continue with missions as much as possible, whilst keeping me from being fully incapacitated or delirious with pain. It was a hard line, but he’d managed it – though keeping me sticking to it turned out to be a more challenging feat.

“There’s not a lot left; can’t we just get it over with?” A scowl creased my features, and he glanced up from where he was testing my fingers, one eyebrow raised.

“We’ve been over this, Nat,” he replied softly, shaking his head. “It would be too much for you to handle. You’d be bedbound, in incredible pain, and-”

“But we’d be done,” I sighed, scowling. “It’d be the last one! I could handle it.”

“The rehabilitation alone-”

“Please,” I murmured, lowering my eyes demurely, catching his hand where it had been medically probing my own. “Please, Bruce. I’m so tired of this.”

He considered me for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head softly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When I began to wake with a wince and a soft groan, Clint was by my side, his face appearing fuzzy as I blinked blearily.

“Ow,” I mumbled, nose wrinkling. “Ow.”

He fought back a smile, smoothing a delightfully cool hand over my forehead. “Welcome back, sleepyhead.”

I let out a quiet whine through my teeth, jaw clenched, eyes closing once more against the bright light. “Drugs.”

“You can’t have any yet.”

I growled under my breath at the sound of Bruce’s voice, my features setting into a scowl. “Why?”

“Because you’ve still got surgical drugs in your system. You can have a dose in an hour or so, and then-”

“An hour?” I cracked open one eye, glaring at him through the slit in my lashes venomously. He was sat in the seat behind Clint, not daring to look up as he consulted the chart on his lap.

“Yes.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

With a heavy sigh, he finally glanced up, his green eyes weary. “I tried to warn you, Nat,” he replied softly. “I told you it would be a lot to handle.”

“You can do this, Natty,” Clint whispered, squeezing my fingers softly. “You’ve gotten through far worse, right?”

I nodded once, flinching at the pain behind my ear. I’d pulled Bruce aside a few days before my final procedure, quietly informing him about the numbers that had been indelibly embedded into my flesh without my consent. We’d sat with a blacklight the morning of my operation while he silently outlined the marred skin, his voice gentle as he’d explained how he would take a small piece from my thigh when he opened me up, and the tattoo would be removed from my body before I woke. As much as the motion pulling on my stitches stung, I was glad for the conformation that their tag on me was no more. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Get her up.”

I winced as rough hands dragged me upright, spitting blood onto the floor with a growl. “Fuck you.”

My tormentor smiled, his head cocked to one side. “Good. You still have some fight in you.” He paced in front of me, his steps infuriatingly casual. “Do you know why I’m doing this to you, Widow?”

“Because you’re a sadistic bastard?” I quipped, my ribs aching as I spoke from the repeated impact of his boot.

He laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Because you, our special little prodigy, are soon to begin your missions. We need to be sure that if you fail – if you are captured – you will not give away our secrets.” He turned to look at me, pale eyes dancing as he offered me a ghoulish smile. “We need to make sure you can keep that fight.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled, pulling against the hands that restrained me – but in my weakened state, starved and beaten over the course of several days, I had no hope, and they barely moved as I threw my weight into the motion.

“A little too much fight still, it seems,” he mused, glancing at his companions once more. “Put her on the frame.”

My naked body was lifted with little effort, and I winced as the wounds marring the soft skin of my back scraped on rusted metal. I thrashed as my hands were secured overhead, feet kicked apart and tied down.

“Let’s see how tough you really are, hm?”

I woke with a jerk and a soft cry as my stitches pulled, body fighting against me when I moved to throw my legs out of the bed.

Soft hands met my shoulders and I snarled, but the weakness weighed me down, fingers clumsy as I tried to push the assailant away in a drug-induced haze.

“…-easy, Nat… It’s just me. You’re okay.”

I stilled as the voice probed through the fog of my mind, fumbling for a name to match to the tone. “… Bruce.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, gently brushing hair back from my forehead. “I’m here. You’re safe. Please lie back down, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

I let him guide my body back to the sheets, my muscles giving in immediately upon contact with the sheets, and I rubbed at my eyes tiredly. “I fell back asleep?”

“As soon as you got the next dose,” he confirmed, a smile evident in his voice. “I’m not surprised. You spent most of the hour before cursing us out. I bet it was exhausting.”

“Us?” I peeled my lids apart at last, finding myself in the same quiet, neutral room, albeit with the lights turned down low. Only Bruce stood before me, one hand still half-extended.

“Clint’s barely left your side,” he offered softly. “I eventually managed to convince him to get some sleep of his own, despite his protests.” Slowly, he sat himself down on the edge of my bed, his eyes gentle. “… You seemed… Restless. Bad dream?”

I shrugged, fingers coming up to rub lightly at the bandage behind my ear. “No worse than usual.” He frowned, his hand moving to catch my wrist, guiding it away.

“Leave it be,” he murmured, shaking his head. “… You can tell me about it, if you like. I’ve had my share of sleepless nights.”

“Doesn’t anyone sleep easily around here?” I replied dryly, tugging my arm free without venom. “I see Steve in the kitchen at dawn most mornings…”

“When you’ve lived the kind of life most of us have, sleep can be elusive,” he answered, and I blinked, struck by the similarity between his words and the Captain’s, that first morning we spent together.

“Когда видишь то, что видел я, сон не приходит легко,” I murmured, remembering the intensity on Steve’s face as he spoke. Bruce simply blinked in response, and I smiled weakly. “Something similar that Cap said to me once.”

“I didn’t know the Cap spoke Russian,” he replied, one eyebrow arching, “though I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s a smart man.”

“He was a soldier in the second World War,” I replied, echoing the Captain’s own note. “I guess he just kind of… Picked it up.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at the sheets. “I suppose the serum lends itself to increased capacity for knowledge and an accelerated learning process…” he mused under his breath, half to himself. “Interesting. I really should spend more time with him – though God knows I shouldn’t be delving into that particular branch of research again.” No sooner had I frowned than he looked back up, head cocked. “You’re distracting me to avoid the subject.”

“What subject?” I replied smoothly, and he chuckled, wagging a finger.

“You don’t have to tell me about your dreams – not if you don’t want to. But avoidance is a cowardly tactic, Nat.”

I sat up a little further, scowling. “Excuse me?” I snapped, eyes narrowed venomously, but he simply shrugged, seemingly immune to the anger in my gaze.

“Dancing around the subject is a coward’s way out. Distraction and misdirection. I thought you were braver than that; you seem to have no issue speaking your mind the rest of the time. But as soon as the conversation turns to you, you deflect. You twist and wriggle your way out of it without the other party even being aware. But I’ve been watching you.”

“Why am I any of your business?” I spat, glaring. “Why are you so obsessed with me, Bruce? What is it about me that you find so damn fascinating? Why won’t you stop?!”

“Because I know what it is to live as a façade,” he replied cooly, his eyes unwavering on mine. “I don’t want that for you. I want to know who you really are.”

“You want to know who I really am?” I hissed, shifting further up my pillows, fingers curling into fists at my side. “Wait until I can stand up. I’ll show you exactly what I am.”

“You said ‘what’ that time,” he noted softly, and I paused, brow furrowing despite my anger.

“What?”

“You said ‘what’ you are. Not ‘who’.”

“So?” I spat, hostility radiating from me in waves. “‘Who’, ‘what’, why does it matter?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he replied, his voice quiet as he leant a little closer despite my desire to flee. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m an assassin!” I snarled, nails digging into my palms as I fought against my unwilling body, heavy muscles longing only to sink back into the sheets and resign myself to rest. “I’m a murderer. I’m a torturer, I’m a killer, I’m a monster, and you would do well not to bait me, doctor, no matter how injured I may be. I’ve taken down bigger men in worse condition than this.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

It was words he’d said before – soft and comforting at the time, but now they struck me like a slap, and I reached out toward him, intending to wrap my hand around his throat and stop him from speaking, one way or another. But my movements were slow and clumsy, sluggish from the pain medication still coursing through my system and the long line of stitches up my thigh, and he deflected my arm easily, his fingers wrapped around my wrist as he pinned it to the bed gently.

The fight left me with a jolt, the ease with which he’d defended himself draining the scraps of energy from my weak limbs. “Is this it?” I murmured, looking away as my body relaxed instinctively.

Don’t fight. It’s easier if you don’t fight.

“Is this it? Is this how it happens? You bide your time – make me trust you, make me let my guard down?”

He released his grip, watching me quietly as I pulled my arm back in, rubbing at a non-existent ache in my wrist to avoid his gaze. “What is it that you think I’m going to do to you?” he whispered, and I set my jaw tight.

“What they always do, in the end.” Flashes of something – someone – I could have loved, once, danced behind my eyes, half-formed memories pushed away before I could latch onto them, and I frowned, shaking my head. “It’s the way of things.”

“I don’t know how to show you that’s not true, Nat,” he murmured. “Not here.” I looked up in surprise as his voice cracked, finding him gazing at me with tears along his lash line, a depth and intensity in the green depths. “I hope you can see it in time. That all these situations where you’ve thought- where you’ve feared…” He shook his head slowly, a tear breaking off and spilling down his cheek. “I wish I could understand why you’re so sure that’s the case, after all this time.”

“It’s all I’m good for.”

The words came unbidden, surprising us both, and his head snapped up, horror and hope chasing one another across his features before he spoke. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” I replied quietly, shrugging a shoulder, looking down once more, unable to deal with the pity inevitable when he heard my sob story. “I’m a Widow. We… I was trained to handle things. Mostly men. And there’s specific situations in which men are more likely to let their guard down.” He baulked visibly in the corner of my eye, but I ploughed on, seemingly unable to stop now I had started. “And in some situations, it was even less of a choice. The Red Room was created to shatter any notion of autonomy – to rid us of the disillusion that we were anything more than property, a tool, a weapon to be used. However they saw fit.”

“They… Assaulted you?” he clarified softly, and I laughed without humour, meeting his gaze once more.

“They are very good at their job,” I replied flatly. “They made sure that nothing that could be done to me would force me to betray them. They made sure I could withstand everything a target could do to me. Not just withstand – that I wouldn’t even- There had no be nothing. I had to be so desensitised that I would not react. Not to threats, not to torture, and not to being tied down and fucked by strangers. They are very good at their job,” I repeated. “They train us from childhood to be the best. And they succeed.”

“Jesus, Nat…” he breathed, the greenish tinge of his hidden passenger rippling over his skin.

“Are you happy now?” I asked, smiling coldly, my head tilted to one side. “Are you pleased that you know what I am? A product of twisted training from twisted minds – broken and ruined beyond repair?”

He stared at me for a moment longer, throat working silently as he formulated an undoubtedly horrified response. But when he spoke, it was not with anger or disgust, but instead with a voice so gentle it made my heart ache.

“I think that what you are is incredibly brave, Nat,” he murmured, slowly reaching out to place his hand on mine, thumb stroking lightly over the back of my hand. “After everything they did to break you, you kept a part of yourself. The part that wanted a normal life, to be away from that place – it didn’t die in the Red Room. It’s what kept you going. That’s who you are, Natasha – not whatever they tried to make you.”

I could only stare at him in silence for a heartbeat, a lump swelling in my throat – until the dam broke and I hiccupped out a sob, fingers curling into his shirt when he wrapped his arms around me, clinging desperately to the hope that the things I had seen – the things I had done, and had done to me – had not completely destroyed me, even if they had broken my mind into a multitude of pieces.

When my mouth met his through the tears, he didn’t push me away, his hands gentle on my back as I held him tightly to me, desperate for something nameless, something familiar yet different, all at once.

When the door opened, I was too lost in the moment to notice.

He’d been sent after me on a mission, handed down by SHIELD. He was supposed to kill me – eliminate the threat. He made a different call when he found me – a skinny rat of a girl that he felt pity for.

I had my own mission, too. Eliminate the threat.

But the opportunity for escape presented itself. The opportunity for freedom, for surcease from pain and torture.

The first thing that happened to me, after a flurry of talks and paperwork and being forced to make promises of good behaviour, was an examination. The dark-haired doctor, Banner, had a gentler touch than I was used to, fingertips light as he probed my bruised and broken ribs. I didn’t flinch as he felt his way along my fractures, giving nothing away, and his eyes flickered an ominous green as they shifted to mine.

He'd ssat me down afterwards, running through the list of things he’d deemed wrong with me. Along with a litany of scars and bruises, he held up x-rays that showed my entire body, pointing out old fractures that never healed right.

“Most of these don’t pose a significant problem, but I’m concerned about this wrist.” He gestured to the bones of my left arm, a ragged and poorly-fused line across the end of my radius dark in the brightness. “It must be painful, and that’s not to speak of the mechanical limitations.”

I’d winced and looked away, fingers curling around the permanently-aching joint beneath his desk. “It’s fine,” I lied, voice flat and emotionless.

“Well, either way – even if it doesn’t cause problems now, it certainly will later. I’d like to put you under so I can-”

“No,” I interrupted, a snarl creeping into my tone, eyes narrowing with suspicion. I’ve only been here for five minutes, and they think I’m stupid enough to let them perform surgery on me? My eyes closed briefly, flashes of blood and pain passing before my lids, and I swallowed hard before meeting his gaze once more. “No. No surgery.”

He’d simply watched me in silence for a moment, making a note on my chart. “… You know it’s my duty to make sure that you-”

“I’m fit for whatever mission they want to send me on,” I snapped, jaw set, arms crossed across my chest. “I’m not letting you poke around inside me, and that’s that.”

Two weeks later, and here I was, shifting through a salad while they pretended to be happy. Pretended that they weren’t just as trapped as I had been, albeit in a nicer cage. The bowman’s eyes never strayed from me, drawing lines from my sparse portion to the curve of my ribcage hidden by second-hand clothes that hung too loose on my lithe frame. I couldn’t help but draw myself up taller, crossing my legs as I leant back, letting the witch’s skirt fall higher up my thighs, and smirked internally when I saw him gulp.

I know what I am.

I’d been seducing men since my Breaking, using body and skill to lure them in before taking them out. This archer was nothing special, and I could win him over just as easily. I stretched my arms high over my head, chest pressing against the button-down I wore, letting out a soft, sensual sigh as my gaze moved to his.

“See something you like?” I purred, looking up at him through my lashes as my body relaxed. His cheeks were pink, and he seemed unsure as to where he should look, fingers flexing uncertainly against his thigh.

“You wince.”

Surprised, I blinked, recoiling a little in my shock. “I… What?”

His face had already returned to its normal hue as he gestured at my arms now folded tight across my waist. “Your wrist. The one Bruce wanted to fix. Whenever you move it, you wince.”

My mouth moved wordlessly for a moment, stunned into silence, before my expression creased into a scowl as I recovered. “What’s your point?”

“Why won’t you let him fix it?” he asked softly, turning to face me more fully, pale eyes locked on mine in a manner so encompassing I found myself unable to look away. “He just wants to help.”

I snorted, one eyebrow arching. “Sure.”

Silently, he watched me for a moment, thoughtful. “… I don’t know much about where you came from,” he started eventually, head tipped to one side. “Nobody does. There’s rumours, but nothing concrete. But I have a faint idea of the sort of things you’ve been through, and I’m not surprised you don’t trust us. I hope you will, in time. We really do just want to help you.”

“Why?” I pressed, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why do you care? You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

His brow creased in surprise. “You don’t have to matter to us on a personal level for us to want to help you, Natasha. You matter. You’re a person, and you deserve not to be in pain.” He offered me a soft smile, and I looked away from the pity in his eyes.

“… Fine,” I agreed at length, returning to stabbing my lunch vehemently, anger bubbling in my veins for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

It was in this way that I found myself sat on the edge of a medical bed in a gown that made me feel humiliatingly exposed.

“You’re not going to steal my kidneys or anything, are you?” I teased, my voice just a little too terse, treacherously betraying my anxieties.

Bruce’s eyes raised from where he was drawing on my arm, hazel gaze steady and warm. “I won’t make a single movement you haven’t agreed to.”

I nodded stiffly, watching through narrowed eyes as he continued his dotted lines. “… Why are you all like this?” I asked, the words coming soft and quiet despite myself.

He paused once more, but didn’t look up this time, contemplating the question silently. “… We have all done some terrible things,” he murmured after a moment, the hands on my skin gentle. “I suppose one could argue it’s penance. We help to heal the damage we’ve done.”

“What if there’s been too much?” I pressed. “What if I’ve hurt more people than I could ever save?”

“I don’t think that’s true of anyone,” he offered, tipping his head up to meet my gaze once more, the sincerity in his eyes startling me. “I need to believe it isn’t – or else more than one of us is irredeemable.”

I considered him for a moment – this kind, mild-mannered doctor carefully probing at my arm and determined to make me feel as safe as possible – then shook my head once. “I can’t imagine anything you’ve done could even come close to-”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

It wasn’t delivered as a threat, or arrogance; there was a degree of sadness to his tone that hit me square in the chest, breath catching as I shook my head. “No, I… I guess not.”

“I’m only Bruce to those who know me. The media tends to refer to me by a different name.” His eyes lowered, shameful but resigned. “Most people have only heard of the Hulk.”

I frowned for a moment, confused, before comprehension dawned. “The big green guy? That’s you?” I clarified incredulously, one eyebrow arching as he nodded. “But you’re… Not - I mean…”

He flashed me a weak smile, shrugging a shoulder. “I transform, in a way. It’s a long story involving a lot of quite interesting science and gamma radiation, but I’ll spare you the details. Suffice to say, I fell victim to my own hubris. And when I’m him, the green guy, I can’t… I can see it all happening, but I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Surprise flickered across my face, and I felt my own sympathetic smile form, slow and hesitant. “That sounds… Horrible,” I murmured, mind flashing through all the times my training had taken over while I screamed in the background – flashing through all the times before my training when I’d watched the people I cared about suffer, powerless to stop it. “It sounds like hell.”

He nodded once, sitting back in his seat. “It is. But doing this, just being a scientist, helping people… It goes some way to paying off my karmic debt, I think. I hope so, at least.”

My head cocked thoughtfully, assessing the man before me. “… I think so,” I agreed softly, nodding. He seemed too tortured by the things he’d done to be damned for them, after all.

It wasn’t his fault. He had no choice.

When I woke in an unfamiliar bed, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling through hazy eyes, dressed in an unfamiliar gown, my heart rate spiked and I struggled upright, my movements clumsy and sluggish. There were wires protruding from under my clothing, and a heavy cast encasing my left arm. The sight of the plaster calmed me, memories flooding back into my clouded mind. My gaze trailed along the edge of the bed and up the curve of my feet beneath the sheet, a frown creasing my forehead. I hadn’t any idea what I was searching for, only that I hadn’t found it yet.

A sound beside me startled me from my investigation, and I turned tooslownotfastenoughnotsafe, wide-eyed, toward it.

The archer was snoring in a chair beside my bed, his head back and jaw slack. My eyebrows rose in surprise, and I cleared my throat pointedly, biting back a laugh when he jerked awake. “You’re here,” I noted, my tone carefully neutral. He yawned and nodded, stretching his arms high overhead.

“Didn’t want you to wake up alone,” he grunted, pushing a hand through sleep-mussed hair. I hummed an acknowledgement, picking at the cotton appearing from the edge of the cast. My refusal to let him see how slow and lethargic I was had me sitting further upright, shaking my head to clear it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I replied, the words coming harsher than I intended, but he simply shrugged.

“I know.”

My lips parted to tell him that he was free to leave, but the sound of the door opening interrupted me, muscles tensing. I relaxed infinitesimally as the doctor stepped inside, a gentle smile crossing his face. “Welcome back, Ms. Romanoff. Surgery went well.” He moved to the end of my bed, eyes assessing my expression carefully. “It’ll take a few weeks for you to recover, and it may take a little while for your grip strength to be back up to the standard you’re used to, but you’ll get there in time – better, most likely.”

I nodded once, my eyes still on the archer. “What do I have to do?” I asked automatically, unthinkingly, and Clint frowned.

“‘Do?’”

“For this,” I clarified, raising my encased arm and the wires hooked up to me. Clint’s eyebrows dropped further, confusion flickering across his expression.

“You don’t have to do anything. We told you… We just want to help.” He spoke softly, his tone sincere, but I snorted, my inhibitions lowered by the anaesthetic still coursing through my system.

“Is that why I’m in this little gown, hm?” I probed, my voice light and innocent as I pushed back the blankets to reveal my bare legs, marred with scars as they were. “Because I don’t have to do anything?”

Clint blushed heavily, averting his eyes, but Bruce moved closer, frowning. “It- It’s standard medical procedure, Natasha. We talked before your surgery, remember? If you had any concerns, I asked you to tell me… You seemed to consent quite readily.”

“Where does consent ever come into it?” I snapped back, jaw set. “Just do what you have to do, okay? I won’t fight. I’m too tired.” My body sank willingly back against the sheets, and I closed my eyes against the silence around me, resigned to my fate.

My body has always been used for payment. At least this time it’s benefited, too.

“Natasha… Nobody’s going to… We’re not…” Bruce’s stammer trailed off with a helpless sigh, and I winced at the sound of Clint getting to his feet, muscles stiffening pre-emptively.

His hand in mine startled me, surprisingly soft and gentle, and my lids snapped open once more in surprise. “What are you-”

“We didn’t do this for any form of payment, or gratitude, or quid pro quo,” Clint interrupted quietly, azure gaze locked on mine. “We did this because you were hurting, and you shouldn’t have been. Nobody here will ever expect that from you, Nat. Never.”

I watched him in silence for a moment, eyes narrowed as I assessed his open, honest face. “They don’t?”

He shook his head firmly, glancing at Bruce, who echoed a confirmation. “See? You’re safe here.”

The lump forming in my throat was beginning to make it difficult to speak, so I simply nodded, letting him pull the sheets back up until they sat around my waist, his other hand never leaving mine.

Bruce allowed me to head back to my room – third floor, two doors down from Clint and with an empty space either side of me – late in the evening, my bare feet padding almost noiselessly on the hard tile. I still couldn’t get used to having my own space; the only time I was alone at the Academy was when I was in Isolation. It was strange to try and sleep without the breathing, snoring and sounds of pain from a dozen other girls – to not wake to sobbing from a nightmare muffled by a thin blanket that did little to keep out the chill.

They never lasted long, those girls.

Widows don’t cry.

But now I had more space than I knew what to do with – and the permission to do with it as I wished. After two weeks it still sat exactly as I’d found it, the bed made with military precision and the dishes unused, with almost no sign of life save a pillow ferreted away from a sofa downstairs and hidden under the small table.

I liked it under there. The bed was too exposed, too open – there was too much to look for and too many places to guard at once. But under the table, the four chairs, carefully positioned, could act as a barricade in three directions, providing a moment’s warning against attack.

A moment can be the difference between life and death.

No sooner had I shut the door behind me lockedboltedchainedsafenotsafeneversafe than a soft rapping sounded on the wood, making me tense.

“FRIDAY?” I called uncertainly, still unused to speaking to the bodiless entity.

“Yes?” replied the dulcet tones, intended to be soothing – but I only found it creepy and unnatural.

“Who’s at my door?”

“Agent Barton, Ms. Romanoff.”

I blinked in surprise, turning back to stare at the wood hesitantly. The chain was still on as I cracked the door open, finding the pale blue staring back at me and accompanied by a soft smile. “Hey. Uh… I just wanted to see if you need anything. You know… Painkillers, or…”

“I’m good. Bruce has it handled,” I replied shortly, surprised and thrown off by his arrival. He nodded once, still hesitating at my door.

“Okay, I, uh… I guess I’ll leave you to it. Wake me if you need anything, yeah?” I nodded back, but still he didn’t move, his eyes flickering between my face and the room behind me. “How’s the room? Comfortable, or…?”

Another curt nod, flexing my fingers at the end of the cast. The sling was uncomfortable and disarming, and the longer Clint kept me talking, the longer it would be until I could disobey the doctor’s orders in private and remove it. “It’s fine.”

His head bobbed jerkily, and he stepped back, reluctance evident.

… Maybe I don’t owe him anything, but maybe he still expects…

I leant against the doorframe, head cocked, smiling softly. “Did you wanna come in, Barton?”

His eyes widened in something akin to alarm, and he swallowed. “I- Uh… I…”

“We can talk some more. Or we don’t have to talk at all, not if you don’t want to…” I added, peering up at him demurely through my lashes as I offered him my free hand.

His jaw twitched, and he took another, stumbling step back. “I-I should… I… I should get to bed. And you need your rest, too.”

I blinked in surprise, standing stiffly upright. “I- Oh. Sure.”

“Goodnight, Natasha.” He half-turned, and I baulked, brow furrowing.

“… Are you really just going to walk away?” I clarified incredulously, unimpeded arm curling protectively around my waist. Is it me? “What’s wrong with you?”  His eyebrow raised, and I scowled. “Nobody walks away.”

He shrugged a shoulder, offering me a weak smile. “I don’t want that,” he replied gently. “I just want to be your friend, Natasha.”

“But this is how it is,” I countered hotly, an edge of judgement creeping into my tone. “This is how it works. This is how good things happen, and how we avoid the worse things.”

His eyes softened as he considered me, head tipped slightly to one side, thoughtful. “… I can’t imagine what those worse things were,” he murmured, grimacing, “but I can promise that you never have to do anything you don’t want to in order to avoid punishment.”

My eyes narrowed, suspicious and uncertain, and I watched him for a moment, considering his open,  honest expression. “… Whatever you say,” I conceded eventually, stepping back into my room a little. His face lit up, and I scowled, unimpressed by the joy he found in the beginnings of my trust.

Why is he so eager for me to trust him?

“Goodnight, Nat,” he said again, more brightly this time, and I offered him a curt nod before I closed the door.

It wasn’t until I stood staring at the wood, processing what had transpired in the corridor, that his words sunk in, and I blinked in surprise.

He called me ‘Nat’. … He did that earlier, too.

… I’ve never had a nickname before.

Sentience came slowly.

Bright.

White.

Pain in my wrists.

Unable to move, think, feel, breathe.

Tubes in my arms, tubes in my nose, tickling the back of my throat.

I coughed, and hands found mine, gentle and reassuring.

No. Back to sleep. Take me back to sleep.

But our body would not comply. Our eyes cracked open, squinting and recoiling against a violent, vibrant light.

“Natasha.”

No. God, no. Anything but this, anything but this.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?” I whispered, voice cracking, aching with screams I didn’t remember.

Fingers brushed my wrists, pausing just long enough to offer a warning growl to an unseen intervener before my cuffs were removed, gently steering me into his chest. “Never. You didn’t let me die on that rooftop, Nat – I’m not going to let you die now.”

I sighed, leaning against his broad, strong torso. “Please. It hurts. Everything… Everything hurts.”

“I know, but-”

“You don’t. You can’t ever understand this. You will never understand this, Clint. I love you, but I can’t keep going. I can’t keep falling.” It should have been me it should have been me. “It should have been me.”

There was a pause, heavy and painful. “That got shot?”

I nodded slowly, far too tired. “It was my fault. You wanted to get back to work, and I stopped you. If I hadn’t… The least I could have done was take the bullet for you.”

“You heard what Stephen said, Nat. You’d have died.”

“For all the shame that would be, huh?”

He sighed, kissing my hair. “… Do you want to know what I’ve been saying to y’all while you’ve been asleep?”

“I want you to get this tube out of my nose and let me die.”

“Nope. Now – you said you told me about the farm, and about the chickens. Well, I wondered… Maybe there could be a couple of dogs, or even a cat. And a few… Less furry footsteps running around.”

I smiled weakly, shaking my head. “I can’t have kids, Clint.”

“Our closest friends are scientists. I’m sure if it was something you really wanted to pursue, they’d know better than anyone else. Or there’s the adopted, rough-start-in-life kind.”

“That sounds nice,” I sighed, settling closer into his skin, wanting more than anything for this to be how I left the world.

But it wasn’t.

Clint told me stories of our future every day, as I slowly got more and more coherent.

It was a private facility just outside the state, he explained. Just four weeks, if I proved I could gain weight and I wasn’t a danger to myself.

Are we a danger to ourselves?

I sighed, glancing at the ever-present guard. Not while we’re here.

The day they let me out of my room, I was fed dry fish and mushy peas, the substance choking me as it went down.

But every morning we woke up clearer. More horrified. More disappointed in what we had done.

And every afternoon we saw Luna, who helped us to understand.

“Y’all have this idea of your recovery, and it’s intrinsically linked to Clint. When y’all thought you might lose him – and even after, when y’all felt responsible – you had no motivation to recover. Why would you? Either he died, and then what’s the point of living, or he lives with a permenant reminder of what happened – and what if he blames y’all? Isn’t it just easier to walk away before that happens – before he grows to hate you? But of course, y’all love him. You couldn’t just walk away. So you did the next, and arguably more painful, thing.”

We had simply blinked in response, stunned into silence as the nail was hit so squarely on the head. When we relayed this idea to Clint, he opened his mouth to object, to tell us he would never have blamed us, but we cut him off.

“I know, logically, you would never resent us for what happened. We both made a choice; I didn’t force you into it. It wasn’t my fault.” I winced as I spoke, still not used to saying it out loud, but Luna had assured me that it was important for me to hear. “But… We couldn’t face it. The idea that you could hate us, even if you never said anything, and never showed it.”

I swallowed dryly. It was the day before we were due to be discharged, and we were finally trusted to be alone with him.  Now or never.

“And we’re scared. You… You have this thing now, that we don’t understand, and what if… What if…”

His jaw twitched, and he looked away. “What if you aren’t attracted to me anymore?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and winced. “Luna said it was normal to have this fear, y’know? And this… It’s a badge of honour, for what you survived. It kept you in my life. And I know all that. I do. And I don’t want to have this fear, because it feels so goddamn selfish, and rediculous. And if you could love us, even when we look like this, then how do we have the right to think like that?”

My breathing hitched, and he wrapped me in his arms, tight against his chest.

“I’m scared of it, too,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I… I still haven’t looked. It gets changed a couple of times a day, and they… The nurses offered to show me how to do it, but I just couldn’t. Bruce does it for me, now they’ve stopped coming.” He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “It’s been nearly six weeks since I woke up and I still haven’t seen my wounds. You think your fear is ridiculous? Well… I win.”

I held him close as we sobbed, united in our uncertainty and our fear. “I… I never even noticed,” I admitted quietly, ashamed of myself once more. “I was too wrapped up in punishing myself to see you were struggling.”

“I still don’t regret the bag – or even hate it. Hell, I’m ecstatic it gave me more time with you. But… I guess I’m a little egotistical. I don’t… I’m not ready to break that mental image of what I look like. I’m not… I’m not ready to not be the man y’all fell for.”

I couldn’t help but cry harder, my own concerns melting in sympathetic kisses pressed to his cheek. “Clint… We will always love you. And you’ll always be our Little Hawk, okay? Bag or no bag. You’ll always be you, and that’s all we need.”

It was Clint’s fear that drove me to take his hand, that first night back at the compound. To lead him through to the bathroom, facing the mirror. He winced, but he didn’t try to stop my hands as I slowly removed his clothes – all of them.

He’s not half a man. He should see himself completely, as we did.

He watched me through watery eyes as I helped him out of his jeans and boxers, but held my wrists gently as I grasped the hem of his t-shirt between trembling fingers. “Nat… I’m afraid.”

I placed a gentle kiss to his shoulder through the fabric, and offered him a weak smile. “Close your eyes. We won’t look until you’re ready.”

He obliged immediately, and I kept my gaze on his face as I pulled his shirt over his head, skin raising in anxious goosebumps. My own lids closed as I went to stand beside him, fingers wrapped tightly with his, our mingled heartbeats racing in sweating palms.

I couldn’t say how long we stood there, the heat radiating from our anxious bodies warming the room, heart breaking as he sobbed quietly. But eventually he subsided into soft sniffles, then silence.

“…Can you count us down?”

I swallowed dryly, using my free hand to hurriedly wipe the tears from my cheeks. Do it for him. Be strong for him. “Three… Two… One… Open.”

My eyes opened a heartbeat before his, the cerulean retracting as his pupils reacted to the light. I couldn’t look away from his reflected face, enraptured, watching every emotion display across his features in quick succession.

He gulped, gaze finding mine. “…Well?”

My arm wrapped around his waist, face impassive as I flicked my eyes over his wounds – the numerous surgical scars where fragments of bullet had been dug from his abdominal cavity, the still-fading bruises from bleeding, and the undeniably obvious bag hanging from his left side, tan material just brushing the top of his thigh.

I squeezed him gently, resting my head on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

He smiled weakly, recognising this routine. “I think… It’s a terrible thing, what happened to me. I didn’t deserve it. And I think…” He inhaled deeply, steadily, at the same place I had only a few months before. “I think I must be really strong to survive all this. Stronger than I realise.”

I grinned warmly, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I agree… But there’s something you forgot.”

He frowned half-heartedly, fully aware of what was coming as he turned to face me, hands resting lightly on my hips. “What’s that?” My hand found his jaw, lips brushing his, sweet and loving. “As I believe we’ve said many times before… You’re beautiful, Clint. You will always be beautiful to us.” I smiled, thumb skirting his cheek, catching a tear shed unconsciously before kissing the damp spot.

“Now… Let’s get you to bed, Little Hawk.”

Unlike my tentative sleep following our similar encounter, when Clint dragged me to bed, it was to clamber on top of him, my mouth finding his in the semi-darkness. He’d gone to turn on the light, but I’d shook my head instinctively, followed by rapid apologies and explanations – it wasn’t him I didn’t want to look at.

He isn’t the only one who hasn’t seen himself since the accident.

Fingertips brushed healing wounds and barely-covered ribs, each shy in our turn, but my blood sung at his touch.

“God, Nat… I’ve waited so long. Please, please fuck me.”

I shook my head, lips brushing his once more. “I’d rather make love to you,” I whispered, and he groaned as his hands found my hair, my own lowering to my shirt. He quickly patted me away, his rough palms skirting the skin tenderly, removing my clothes as he lay me down.

“I… I’ll… I’ll try not to let it touch you,” he murmured shamefully into the darkness, and I winced, pulling his body flush against mine.

“Clint, I don’t think I’ve ever been so attracted to anyone in my life. Don’t you dare keep your distance.”

He sighed with satisfaction as he entered me, his pace slow and deep, rocking against me as his lips pressed to my face over and over, murmuring his devotion and attraction.

Our sex was prolonged and thoughtful, interspersed with tears and muttered confessions, and when we reached our climax together, it was amidst declarations of love and hope.

Clint was snoring in the bed when I rose, the sheet only just preserving his modesty. I trailed his exposed body with my eyes, and sighed.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

I stole to the bathroom in just my underwear, my own lids snapping shut before I dared to face myself, deep, tentative breaths echoing in the space.

My eyes opened to a form I was unfamiliar with. I was still slender, of that there was no doubt, but gone were the gaunt angles and lanugo, red hair back to a healthy sheen and skin clear.

I smiled, my eyes tracking the old scars. “Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff?”

“Can you tell me my current weight? Override code – 2 1 14 14 5 18.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. That override code is no longer in use.” My face fell, and I groaned. “Come on, Friday. I’m really trying here. I want to feel okay about myself. I-”

“Override code – 2 12 1 3 11 8 1 23 11.”

Oh.

That's his?

That's...

Beautiful. Painful.

Exquisite.

I turned to find Clint stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched me steadily.

“Please clarify instruction, Mr. Barton.”

He glanced at me, and my cheeks heated lightly. “I... I was checking my weight. But it’s not what you think.”

There was a brief hesitation, then he nodded, bravely trusting.

“Please tell us Ms. Romanoff’s current weight.”

“Ms. Romanoff currently weighs 103lbs.”

He met my eyes evenly, and my god, I love him my god, I love him I couldn’t help but think again how beautiful he was, still entirely naked, and sculpted like a God. And so innocent, and trusting, and loving. “How do you feel?”

I shook my distracted head to clear it, turning back to the mirror, staring at the hipbones that no longer protruded so sharply. “I… I think I feel… Okay. I was violently against it, but… I think going away for a little while was the best thing for me. I’ve learned that I don’t have to punish myself for things that weren’t… That weren’t my fault.” His arms found my waist from behind, chin on my shoulder affectionately. “Do you believe that?”

I sighed, tipping my head back beside his. “I’m trying to.”

Lips brushing my throat, he held me closer, firm and unyielding. “It wasn’t your fault, Natasha.” I swallowed dryly, nodding. “None of it was your fault. You aren’t to blame for the things that happened to you.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I wiped them hurriedly, laughing shakily. “Goddammit, Barton. It’s too late in the day for this.”

He smirked, kissing my cheek once more. “Come on, beautiful. Back to bed.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

His smirk turned soft at the edges, tender and affectionate. “I’d rather be awake with you at two am than asleep alone, Nat.”

Fall turned to winter, and with it, came my birthday.

“You know I hate surprises, don’t even think about it,” I’d warned for weeks beforehand, watching the band around my wrist slowly progress from orange to yellow.

Level Three.

Again.

110lb.

Yeah.

I feel… Good.

… Yeah. Me too.

But waking up with his hand caressing my thigh and his arousal in my hip was a pretty good birthday present.

“Mmm… Morning,” I murmured, pushing back gently. A soft growl escaped him, tongue leaving a trail across the side of my throat.

“I was going to wake you up with my tongue in… other places, but I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate it.”

I purred as I rolled in his arms, brushing my lips across his lightly. “I hope you intend to fulfil that intention, Barton.”

He smirked, fingers caressing my sides as he carefully climbed atop me – still worried, after all this time, about breaking me -  kissing his way down my body. “Your wish is my command, birthday girl.”

When his mouth found me, I shuddered and gasped, head tipping back in ecstasy. “God, Clint… I could spend my life right here.”

He hummed his agreement, vibrating my core, and I shivered in delight, his talented tongue dipping briefly to enter me.

“I thought the convention was that I have the birthday meal?” I stammered, knees falling further apart with a wanton moan.

He drew back just long enough to meet my gaze, smirking. “The convention is to eat out. Nobody ever specified the direction.”

I laughed at that, tapping his head playfully. “Clint Barton, you crude little- fuck.”

Any thoughts or clever insults were pushed out of my mind by his fingertips sliding inside me, other arm looped around my thigh to pull me closer.

I loved it when he did this. I especially loved watching him do this – like I was an oasis and he was dying of thirst, there was an almost desperate note to his ministrations, pleading for me to reward him with my climax. He’d told me many times that he couldn’t get enough of me, but it was at times like this, watching his fingers dig into my hip as he held me close, that I could truly believe it.

“You know what I want, little one,” he whispered, barely audible above the lustful sounds of his digits inside my wetness. “It’s your birthday – you’re allowed to be messy.”

I bit my lip, uncertain. We both knew why I’d been holding back lately – it was the same reason that I found myself compulsively cleaning our rooms for several hours a day. I lived in constant terror of him getting some kind of infection in his stoma, despite the assurances that the red ring was actually pretty hardy, the only real risk coming from improper skin care.

Clint had started changing his bag himself the day after we looked at him, and I couldn’t help but wince at how angry the flesh looked – but Bruce assured us it looked completely normal, and that he was at peak health once more.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admitted quietly, flinching. He pulled back once more, his profoundly Clint eyes on mine.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take a shower after. Well… Another shower,” he added, grinning as his fingers twitched inside me. “I’ll even take you with me.”

I groaned and nodded once, surrendering myself to his desires and ever-impressive talents as his enthusiastic mouth found me once more, licking and nibbling and- “Fuck, Clint…”

He hummed encouragingly, a soft groan of pleasure escaping him as my fingers grasped desperately at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, urging him on. He only worked harder in response, fucking me deeply, the nails embedded in the soft skin of my thigh betraying his desire and excitement.

Do it. God, you know I love it. Please.

“I want you to come for me, Nat… Please,” he begged, his voice husky and needy. A shudder of pleasure travelled through my body, hips jerking desperately as I raked at his hair, trying without success to somehow make him be even closer to me. I moaned aloud as my walls contracted, his fingers darting away so he could drop his face and swallow me whole.

“Fuck- Clint, yes, that’s so fucking hot,” I whimpered, his digits sliding in just long enough to prolong my orgasm and give him another hit, a low groan of pleasure escaping him.

When I lay spent and panting, jerking as he swiped his tongue across me gently, he looked up at me, grinning broadly. “I missed this,” he admitted, reaching for his cast-off shirt to wipe his – embarrassingly wet – face.

I only cocked an eyebrow, flushing a little with the fading adrenaline making me realise what he’d done. “I… Sorry. I know there was… I mean, you didn’t have to swallow-“

He silenced me with his lips on mine, and I hummed in pleasure at the taste of my own release. “My dear, sweet Nat… Shut up.”

I watched from a respectful distance as Clint reapplied a fresh bag after our shower. He still didn’t like me getting too close to his uncovered stoma – he’d admitted, only once, his voice quiet and shameful, that he was worried about the smell. That he didn’t want to repulse me.

I’d simply kissed his cheek and tried to reassure him, but I knew he was still profoundly uncomfortable about it, and so I stayed away, but I couldn’t help myself from glancing at the angry, red ring.

“… Does it hurt?” I asked quietly from my spot on the sofa, watching him through the bathroom door he'd only just begun to feel comfortable enough to leave open.

Clint paused, fingers stilling as he pressed the adhesive ring to his skin, the crimson protrusion half-hidden by the new bag. “I can’t feel anything,” he answered eventually, his voice low. “Physically, at least.”

I winced, resisting the urge to bundle him in my arms. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder, finishing the application and pulling a fresh shirt over his head. “I’ve told y’all before, Nat. I still… Struggle, sometimes, but I’m absolutely ecstatic to have this bag. It means I’ll get to have many more mornings like this with you. Speaking of which,” he added, moving into the lounge and beginning to rifle through some drawers thoughtfully. I cocked my head curiously, and he grinned as he turned back, hands hidden behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

Eyes rolling, I groaned playfully as I obliged, wriggling excitedly in my seat. Gifts weren’t given in the Red Room – hell, I didn’t know if my birthday was actually my birthday – and it still felt foreign to me, but Clint had consistently excelled, even before we were dating.

His hands found mine, a small box nestled into my palms. “Okay… Take a look.”

Rather than the object in my hands, my gaze focused on his sweet, uncharacteristically nervous face. Clint had never been nervous to give me a present before, and my heart fluttered lightly with concern, turning my attention to the box and slowly lifting the lid.

I let out a short, wonderous laugh, lifting the delicate silver chain to finger the tiny arrow lightly. “Clint…”

“I actually got it before we had our tattoos. Years ago. When I first realised I loved you,” he confessed, his voice soft and reverent. “I intended to tell y’all how I felt, and then this would be my gift to you – my reassurance that I’d always be there, even when you couldn’t see me.”

I wept lightly, the necklace clasped to my chest. “I wish you’d told us. We could have had so much longer.”

He smiled weakly, pressing his forehead to mine. “I wish I had, too. But what matters is we’re here now. Together.”

“Together.”

Together.

I pivoted in my spot, raising the damp hair from my neck. “Could you put it on for me?”

His fingers brushed mine as he took the chain, placing a gentle kiss to the ink on my spine as he fumbled with the catch. I turned back to face him when he was done, glancing down with pride and joy.

“We love it, Clint. We love you.”

He grinned, then indicated toward the box still in my lap. “There’s actually two parts to this.”

My head cocked curiously, and I picked up the seemingly empty container, feeling something shift beneath the foam. Pulling it out did nothing to ease my understanding – at the bottom of the box was just a brass key, unexpected and unobtrusive.

“Clint… We use tech locks,” I offered in my perplexity, gesturing over my shoulder at the door behind us. He laughed once, shaking his head.

“It’s not for here, Nat.”

“Then what…?”

He simply smiled, soft and mysterious. “How about we take a drive?”

‘A drive’ turned out to a two hour trip, this time to the north, crossing state lines first into Massachusetts, then Vermont, the scenery becoming more and more beautiful the further we got.

You know what this is, right?

I have an idea.

And? What do you think?

I… Have no idea. You?

No clue.

Clint drove mostly in silence, his hands trembling infinitesimally on the wheel, interspersed only with desperate attempts at conversation when he realised he hadn’t spoke for a while. My fingers found my cheek unconsciously, the narrow scar cutting across the bone, recalling the last time we took a recreational road trip, and I flinched.

The tyres of the cherry Challenger skidded as he turned down a dirt road, the uneven track jostling me in my seat. “If you wanted to take us into the woods to kill us, you didn’t need to drive so far,” I laughed, trying to calm the frantic fluttering of our heart.

He smiled wanly, pulling up outside the building at the end of the trail.

My eyes raised slowly, hesitantly, widening as they took in the grand, but in dire need of refurbishment, farmhouse. “Clint-”

“I bought it while you were in hospital,” he explained quietly. “I… I’m not going back to active duty, Nat. I was so close to losing you, and I can’t risk that again. I have to be around for as long as you need me. I’ll be there if there’s an emergency, but… As of next week, I’ll no longer be an Avenger.”

“I want you to come with me. It’s not an ultimatium – I’ll love you wherever, and whoever, y’all are. But you’re burning out, Natasha, and I think it’s time for you to rest. You need to stop giving more of yourself than you have. You’re doing so, so well – but recovery is a long road, and I think this would be a good place to do it.” He sighed, and I could hear the sound of skin on stubble as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “But I’d be lying if I said I only wanted this for you. Largely, I’m just selfish. I want you around me, all the time. I want to know you’re safe, and I can’t do that if we’re not together – but I can’t stay there. Even if – and it’s a pretty big ‘if’, given how strict they are – I get cleared for duty again, I don’t want to do it. I’m getting old, Natasha. I want to stop risking my life for the greater good on a daily basis, and actually enjoy some of it, before the next bullet ends it.”

His fingers found ours, interlacing tightly. “I understand if you don’t want this – or if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. I just… Can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Our gaze stayed settled on the farmhouse, tears pricking in our eyes. “Ask the question, Clint.”

He inhaled sharply at our level tone, swallowing audibly. “Natasha Romanoff… Will you run away with me?”

Tears leaked unbidden from my eyes as we turned to face him.

It was never really a question, was it?

No… It wasn’t.

“Yes, Clint. A thousand, million times - yes.”

He paused beside a heavy door, and we trembled in unison at the bitterly cold wind that swirled around us when he cracked it open.

“I’m not going out there,” he muttered, eyeing the flakes flowing readily through the gap and picking up a shovel to press it into my hand. “Find a spot. Dig a hole. Drop him in. Make sure you cover it over, else there’ll be wolves and bears and all sorts hanging around. I’d hate to have to find something else to feed them to draw them away,” he added pointedly. I simply nodded, skin erupting in goosebumps as he opened the door wider and pushed me out.

The snow piled into my boots with the first step, freezing my toes and soaking the thin socks I’d been provided with. I struggled on through the knee-high drifts, almost floundering under the uneven weight of my load and the lack of hands available to hold both shovel and corpse.

Perhaps a hundred yards from the facility, I came to a stop beside a rocky outcrop offering a relatively sheltered spot at which to dig. Pausing, I looked up, peering through the swirling snow. Even with my enhanced eyes, I could barely make out any details of the building – it was unlikely I could be seen by anyone attempting to watch me.

Glancing in the other direction, I gazed out over the blank emptiness, a barely-perceptible, soft haze in the distance the only indication of any break in the endless tundra – a copse of trees, perhaps, or the beginning of an attempt at civilization in this frozen wasteland?

I could run.

I might get shot before I get fifty yards, but at least I’d die out here, as a free man. Not in the endless, eternal agony of being their lab rat, their attack dog on a chain.

I took one step away from the outcrop, then another, shivering violently as the snow soaked quickly through my already damp clothes.

I could run.

I could escape this apocalyptic cult. The torture. The abuse.

I could…

My muscles faltered on the third step, then froze entirely on the fourth.

What the Hell is wrong with you? This is your chance! It doesn’t matter if you die out here! It’s better than staying here! Run!

Despite the voice screaming in my head, I couldn’t take another step, my body rigid with fear the further I strayed from my orders.

My eyes strayed to the body still resting on the ground, coated by now with a layer of thick, fluffy flakes.

I… I should bury him, at least. Nobody deserves to be left to the elements and the wildlife like that.

With a soft sigh of relief at having a clear path before me, I picked up the shovel once more, turning to assess the frozen ground obediently.

The hole was just about deep enough when I came across a sight that sent me sprawling from the grave as my stomach churned.

I was experienced enough in life – and in death – to have recognised what lay beneath the frozen ground immediately, and the off-white bone dotted with residual scraps of partially decomposed flesh was tattooed to the inside of my eyelids as I knelt in the snow, retching. My body, so accustomed by now to emptying on command, acquiesced willingly to the rhythmic gagging, the sparse contents of my stomach steaming as it met the sub-zero ground. My fingers curled desperately as I heaved, breaking through powder and frost easily.

There were others.

How many people like these two – people like me?

When my futile retching finally ceased, I dropped quickly back into the freshly dug grave with hardened nerves and a sense of purpose, kneeling carefully to ease a little more dirt away, revealing thin remnants of dark, shoulder-length hair. My eyes closed in pain, and I diverted my face as I tenderly covered the man over once more, shaking my head the distinct similarities, muttering a hushed apology to my fallen comrade for disturbing his hard-won rest.

Shaking violently from cold and horror, my hand was careful as I lifted the body I’d been sent to bury against my chest, letting his temple fall briefly to my shoulder as I knelt once more to settle him on the ground. His head rested not five inches from our predecessor, and I brushed a thumb gently over the bruising on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I whispered softly. I wished I could remember a poem, a profound quote about death to send him on his way peacefully – but the only thing that came to mind was pieces of the Lord’s Prayer, courtesy of Steve’s soft utterances unconsciously invading my mind. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all I could offer in a stammering, faltering voice, tears staining my cheeks when I eventually stood once more.

I didn’t dare look to the horizon again until my task was complete, fresh snow quickly falling to obscure the disturbed earth.

Only then did I finally glance up once more, finding myself immediately struck once again by an intense, disabling terror as I found that hazy spot on the skyline. But this time I glanced back down, eyes skimming the last remaining signs that I’d ever been here at all.

This is what will happen if I stay here. Will anybody bother to bury me, or will I just lay under the open sky, finding flesh and bone at the mercy of the animals?

My muscles were more willing this time.

Five steps.

Ten.

Fifteen, and my pace increased – first to a lope, then a jog, and then I was sprinting, flying across the ground, malnourished body screaming in protest as I tore over the open tundra, but there was no way in hell I was slowing, not before I was sheltered by the cluster of trees at last identifiable. My feet churned up the powder as I ran, and-

I felt it before the sound registered in my mind.

My legs immediately crumbled beneath me as I yelped, thigh on fire where the bullet had torn through muscle and flesh. The aim was true, bypassing the femoral artery, but that didn’t stop blood from pumping freely onto the snow, staining the pure white with violent red in a macabre echo of the past.

Glancing back, I could see the figures swarming from the facility, moving quickly as they descended upon me as if a storm cloud. My heart pounded in terror, and I attempted to scrabble to my feet – then cried out in shocked pain, raising my hand to touch tentatively at the stinging wound at the top of my ear. Another bullet had grazed the soft skin there, barely breaking the surface – but the intent here was not harm.

No… This is a warning.

I stared at the trees standing stark against the white, finally close enough to distinguish branch from trunk, fingers curling with my grief. I knew I should stand – should force myself forward once more, choosing freedom over captivity in whatever form it came. But the survival instinct within me was a muscle well-honed over recent months, and no matter how hard I fought against myself, I couldn’t force my legs to move in much more than a tremor as I knelt in the snow. My own body simply disobeyed me, choosing longevity by any means.

I didn’t look up as I was dragged back through the snow, staggering and stumbling with a hand under my armpit to keep me going. I’d have simply laid down, but a cattle prod to the ribs made sure I moved forward, body jerking at the voltage shot through me each time I slowed.

The Lieutenant was whistling tunelessly between his teeth when I was released unceremoniously in the middle of his office, legs crumbling beneath me from cold, blood loss and exhaustion. I hardly dared raise my eyes, but he said nothing as I looked to him fearfully, his eyes still on the rifle in his hands as he wiped it down.

“You were a sniper too, once upon a time,” he noted softly, and I trembled ever more at the sound of his voice, stomach clenching in anticipation of punishment as I nodded silently. “Before Hydra, I was a sniper. And then I came here. Now I only shoot wolves, for fun. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to keep my skills sharp, you understand.” He glanced at me at last, his smile almost apologetic as he jerked his head by way of indication. “I’ll clean that up for you. Lie down.”

Moving where he directed me, I shivered with cold and fear, wincing in pain as my back pressed to frigid metal and he moved closer. My feet, wrist and throat were secured beneath heavy steel, earning me another sorry grin. “Can’t have you wriggling around too much. I might end up hitting something important! I’d so hate for you to lose your leg, too…”

I winced, eyes closing automatically as he bent over me, gulping in air at the feeling of scissors slicing through the thin, drenched fabric of my pants. He hummed under his breath as he exposed my wound, blood still flowing freely from the hole in my thigh, the gory stickiness pooling beneath me and filling the air with the scent of dirty pennies as he stepped back. The sound of his small stack of drawers containing his tools rattling as he searched through them made my skin crawl, and I jerked in surprise at a hand on my knee, lids snapping open despite myself to find him peering at the bullet wound. “A clean shot,” he murmured, gently poking at the skin around the macabre sight. “In and out. You’ll be fine – I’ll just stitch you up, and you’ll be on your way.” I nodded stiffly, mistrustful, and he shot me a broad grin. “Didn’t anybody teach you any manners? Say please.”

“Please,” I whispered immediately, flicking my gaze to the ceiling, desperately wishing I could leave my body. “Please, Sir.”

With a quiet chuckle of delight, he began, and I clenched my teeth minutely at the feel of needle passing through skin, knitting together the ragged edges of my wound in a silence punctuated only by the stomach-churning sounds of squelching and sticking produced by parts of me not normally exposed to the outside world.

It took only a matter of minutes for him to secure the site – albeit only at a surface level and in the most basic way possible, leaving my body to do most of the hard work. I blinked in surprise when he released my bindings, sitting up with a soft utterance of gratitude, uncertainty and distrust heavy as I glanced at him.

It was when I went to move to my feet that his hand found my chest, his smile turning just a little cold around the edges. “That was only the exit would, Asset. I need to stitch up the back, too. Lie down on your chest, if you would.”

I could feel my heart hammering as I obeyed weakly, the trials of the day leaving me in no position to fight. Corpses flickered before my eyes, haunting me as my body met the table once more and my already-cut pants were shredded once more, the material pooling uselessly either side of my leg. His hand was high on my thigh, skirting the underpants I’d be given. The touch was almost delicate, fingertips skimming gently under the very edge of the material. His grip tightened minutely to pull the skin taut, earning a hiss of pain that he quietly shushed away. He hummed under his breath as he slowly stitched me up, fingers brushing between my thighs to swipe away the blood.

The hand below my ass relaxed as the tugging stopped, thumb brushing tenderly over my skin. “Good. All done…”

I nodded once more, eyes focused on the long window opposite, the winter sun already beginning to set after a few short hours of daylight. My muscles twitched, ready to move, to be out of this position of vulnerability – but neither his hands nor the restraints lifted. “… Sir?” I breathed, hardly daring to speak as he continued to caress my leg.

“You broke the rules,” he purred, a smile in his voice, “and now you gotta pay.”

My eyes closed in a flinch, jaw clenched with resigned terror. I wished more than anything that I could leave my body – just come back when this was over. This punishment, this life…

But my mind stayed firmly where it was, focused on his hand on my thigh, and the touch of metal to skin. The sound of scissors closing slowly, cold air breathing over my exposed ass, set my stomach churning – a feeling that only intensified as the pointed edge pricked the skin at the base of my spine as he began to methodically remove my shirt.

His free hand trailed almost tenderly over waist, keeping pace with the first until my entire back exposed, the sleeve still wrapped around my arm offering very little comfort in my nudity.

Then he was gone, stepping away from the table seeking unknown instructions of torture. The restraint around my neck held my head fast, no matter how I wriggled and strained, offering no insight into the punishment I was about to receive.

A violent buzzing, intermittent, almost tentative, gave me pause, the pitch wavering minutely as the Lieutenant whistled tunelessly through his teeth. I distantly recognized the sound – there was a sense of faint familiarity, of something passed by on occasion, but never personally pertinent.

It wasn’t until his hand rested lightly on my back and the sharp, dragging pain began that the image of a tattoo parlour Steve and I had walked past frequently flickered behind my eyelids, sending them snapping open in shock.

A tattoo?

… Why?

I dared not ask the question aloud, settling instead into the mild discomfort of the needles between my shoulder blades; the pain was minimal compared to what I was used to, and I’d take his defacing my skin over torture any day.

After all, I was already a monster – there was nothing he could stain me with that could make it any worse.

He’d finished the work with a line that brushed against one of the puckered, tactile scars trailing away from my shoulder. The action caused searing pain to extend along fingers that no longer existed, and I clamped my jaw tighter, refusing to utter a sound at the unexpected intensity.

It was a relief when he stopped, a clammy sweat gathering beneath me at the discomfort. He ran a fingertip over the stinging skin of my back, eliciting a minute wince as he hummed contentedly. “Beautiful… Would you like to see?”

I struggled briefly, desperately trying to figure out which answer was the correct one – which would prevent further punishment. Eventually, stiffly, I nodded, and he stepped into my eyeline as his face broke into a grin. With the edge of something predatory tugging at his lips, he squatted close to my face, mint-infused breath washing over my skin, mingling with the scent of his bodywash and the odour of blood and ink.

He shouldn’t smell good, I noted abruptly, the bizarre thought taking me by surprise. He shouldn’t smell… Pleasant. Not this monster. It’s not right.

He angled a hand mirror over us, showing a quick flash of a delighted gaze and sick pleasure, before revealing the words imprinted across my shoulders.

Hail HYDRA.

Indelible, forever tarnishing my skin, marking me as one of them. As their attack dog. As their Asset.

I swallowed dryly, my stomach churning, as he chuckled softly, lips skimming over my cheek with something close to affection.

“Maybe now you won’t forget who you belong to.”

I could only nod weakly, terrified to look away before I was told to, but eventually he lowered the mirror and my eyes squeezed closed briefly.

I was wrong.

He unshackled me, but I didn’t move.

This was it.

This was the last thing.

I can’t fight anymore.

He hummed in surprise and delight, fingertips trailing over my spine. “So it seems you can learn… Good boy. Roll.”

I obeyed immediately, the metal too warm to soothe the gentle burn of my skin and slick with my sweat. He didn’t bother to resecure me, trusting in my blind obedience. Distantly, I realised that we were alone in the room; I’d never have a better opportunity than this. But I couldn’t even pretend to consider moving. I couldn’t contemplate putting myself into a position of yet another punishment for a slim chance of freedom. It isn’t worth it. He beamed at me, resting a hand gently on my chest. “Look at that! So good. Perhaps you may deserve a reward… Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied immediately, my voice soft and robotic. I had no idea what this ‘reward’ would be, but I didn’t have any capacity left to give anything other than the answer I thought he’d prefer. The smile softened, and his hand travelled down slowly, resting briefly on my abdomen as he leant closer.

My mind was entirely blank when he kissed me, tongue trailing gently over my lower lip, prompting my mouth to open to grant him access. It wasn’t until his teeth tugged tenderly that his fingers his fingers wrapped around my length, caressing slowly. Confusion enveloped me at his gentle touch, the way his free hand cupped my jaw to hold me closer. The combination of the firm pressure of his lips on mine and the expert ministrations on my cock sent spikes of shameful arousal through my body, colouring my cheeks as I began to react to him. “You like that, hm?” he breathed, fingers moving a little more firmly, and I offered an obedient nod.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured, repulsed and humiliated that the statement wasn’t entirely untrue. He purred with delight at my words and my stiffening member, his hand wrapping more thoroughly around me. To my horror, I let out a soft, breathless whine, earning a soft chuckle, his hips pressing lightly against my side to demonstrate his own arousal.

“That’s it. Just relax. Do you see, Asset? When you’re bad, you will be punished. When you’re good, and obey orders… I can be merciful.”

Nausea cramped my stomach as he kissed me again, tongue brushing mine and making me tremble.

At least when he raped me it was simple.

There was no confusion in violent violation, in fighting and wishing it to be over.

But this… The way my body stirred and reacted to a touch that felt almost loving.

In another time, another situation with another man, I could very easily love this feeling of someone else’s fingers wrapped around my length, lips trailing rapturously over my throat – if not for this specific time, this specific situation with this specific man.

But I couldn’t help the way my hips twitched and my back arched, breath coming in desperate, sharp pants as I inched towards the inevitable conclusion I could feel building under my skin. He seemed to notice my increasing desperation, groaning quietly and working me harder, mouth shifting against my skin. “You’re doing so well, Asset. Almost there – let me here you.”

I whimpered through my teeth – too afraid to disobey, reluctant to follow his orders easily. But a sharp nip of his teeth on my pulse and the steadily increasing speed of his hand on me made me cry out breathlessly, hips jerking with frantic need as I came without warning.

By the time I’d finished twitching, my chest coated with my own seed, my face was burning with shame and horror, humiliation cloying in my throat.

“Such a good boy,” he crooned, kissing my cheek softly. “Hail Hydra.”

His eyes shifted to me expectantly as I hesitated, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat, lowering my gaze. “Hail Hydra,” I breathed, the ink across my shoulders burning.

I’d barely seen Zola since he arrived, and that was how I preferred it. Only twice more had he strapped me to that table, poking and prodding at the stump of my shoulder, taking measurement after measurement, fixing me with electrodes and humming under his breath as he drew dotted lines on the warped flesh.

He asked questions as he worked, delving into my history, my life – callously unpicking my every secret and hidden thought, the Lieutenant’s hand on my ankle reminding me that silence or lies were not options with a desirable outcome. I simply followed directions, hoping for the best.

But four weeks after Zola’s return, it was the man himself who sought me out in the morning, accompanied by two men at each shoulder.

He’s expecting a fight…

I swung my feet out of bed silently, hand resting lightly on my thigh, head and gaze lowered as I awaited my orders.

“Come, Asset. It’s ready.”

Memories of the last time I had my shoulder worked on flashed to the forefront of my mind, and my muscles seized involuntarily in a profound, bone-deep fear. Zola simply raised an eyebrow, glancing at one of the men behind him

My stomach dropped as one of the soldiers stepped into the room, light illuminating his familiar features, the fear inside me skyrocketing until every inhalation made my chest burn.

Ivan smirked as he stared down at me, arms crossed over his torso. “Hello, Американский.”

My gaze met his own cold, calculating one, distantly noting the scar that now ran from the corner of his eyebrow to the quirked edge of his lip. Mouth moving wordlessly for a moment, I fought to find words to force out, but before I could make a sound his hand lashed out, lifting me clear into the air by my throat as I kicked and struggled instinctively. My fingernails scrabbled frantically at his skin, gouging into the flesh as I fought to breathe, but he simply turned away from the bed to slam me back into the wall. The air was forced from my body, and I could feel my lungs straining and burning desperately, pleading to inflate, cheeks burning from the asphyxiation.

He finally released me, and my body crumbled to ground as I sucked in one desperate, rattling breath. “How nice to see you again,” he murmured, squatting before as I coughed and gagged. “I’ve missed watching you suffer…”

I snarled around my wheezing, and his hand wrapped in my hair to hoist me to my feet, eliciting a yelp of a pain and surprise. “Try not to damage him further, Ivan,” Zola sighed, sounding bored at the events unfolding before him.

With a reluctant huff, Ivan released me, and I stepped back automatically. “No, Американский. Stay. Hand out.”

My arm shook as I offered it reluctantly – terrified to obey, but too fearful to ignore him. A coarse rope was passed around my wrist and yanked tight, his eyes locked on mine as he grinned maliciously.

I spend too much time strapped to these tables.

The cuffs around my wrist and ankles held me fast, but I didn’t have the strength to fight. Somewhere deep inside me, I hoped that whatever he was going to do would make this endless pain less intense – but I wasn’t holding my breath as he probed gently at the stump of my shoulder. A shudder rippled through my body as he pressed on a particularly tender point, and I growled automatically, recoiling as Ivan warningly stepped closer. Zola simply shushed us both, pale eyes cutting to mine. “The good doctor butchered you, hm?”

I nodded softly, unable to look away from his sympathetic smile. “No anaesthetic,” I offered quietly, and his lip curled.

“Violence for violence sake. How barbaric,” he replied softly, shaking his head. “Worry not; I’m going to put you under before I get to work.”

That, at least, came as a relief – the promise of a sweet oblivion was captivating, and I found myself almost excited at the prospect.

Without warning, I found myself sinking, my body growing heavier by the second. Zola’s light eyes and grinning face were the last thing I saw as unconsciousness wrapped around me, dragging me under.

I woke slowly, forcing my mind through a treacle-thick fog.

The second sensation began to trickle back through my limbs, I jerked violently, crying out at the searing agony radiating through my body. The pain was more intense than I’d ever felt, even with the drugs still thrumming through my veins, and was no longer limited to my shoulder; now, the agony radiated along my collarbone and down my ribcage, sharp and tearing and burning, feeling for all the world as though my body was being ripped apart and rebuilt with every heartbeat. It was… Unfathomable, and all I could do was scream and thrash, my arms straining against their restraints.

The realisation made me freeze, panic briefly overridden as I flexed my fingers experimentally. The movement felt foreign and distant. I had perfect control over the unseen appendage, despite the sensation of disconnect, and as I tugged lightly on the cuff around my wrist, the mental groaned.

“Enough.”

My head snapped around as I released a vicious snarl, feral as a wounded wildcat as Ivan stepped away from the wall. He simply raised an eyebrow, placing a palm on the agonising seam where the feeling of my own flesh ended, offering me an uncharacteristically soft smile as I thrashed, before he applied a light pressure.

The scream that parted my lips tore from my throat violently, ears ringing at the unholy shriek. My fingers dug into the platform beneath me, agony coursing through me blindly at the surprisingly gentle touch. I could only pant for breath when he released me, tears streaming freely down my cheeks while I retched at the pain, and he grinned sadistically down at me through the water in my gaze. “I’m sorry; does that hurt?” he crooned, and I spat out a whimper hatefully, incapable of little more than trembling and crying.

“Ivan, that is enough,” a soft voice interrupted, and I turned my blurry vision toward a shape in the doorway – short and stout, and instantly recognisable not only by his outline and his accent, but also by the atmosphere he brought with him into the space.

“What did you do to me?” I whispered brokenly, still moving restlessly, unable to let myself be still in a frantic, futile attempt to avoid the pain. He came closer, eyes roaming over my shoulder hungrily, and smiled.

“I have made you better,” he breathed, his tone full of reverence at his own work. “I have made you stronger.”

“It hurts…”

“It’s very advanced technology. You should be grateful,” he purred, leaning closer as his eyes flashed. “The pain will make you stronger. Flesh and metal combined, each supporting the other in a beautiful matrix… Would you like to see?”

He ignored the desperate shaking of my head, a hand mirror in his grasp, and he squatted close to my head as he angled it carefully, his pale eyes flashing briefly in the reflection before I saw what he’d done to me.

The scars that once made up the stump marking my missing arm were no longer visible, obscured by shining silver dotted infrequently with smudges and flecks of blood, earning a tut and a rub of his thumb, accompanied by an absent comment about cleaning me up. The site where metal and flesh met was an ugly line of ragged gore, an uneven seam where the foreign appendage had been roughly bonded to my body. I moved my shoulder uncertainly, distantly amazed despite myself as the metal shifted obligingly.

“Each nerve, each muscle, bonded so carefully…” He tipped down the mirror, showing a mass of stitches over my collarbone and ribs, extending over my chest. “Of course, with great power comes sacrifice. Those mere mortal tissues, impressive as the serum has made you, could not support the strength. We had to make a few… Modifications.” He smiled again as he drew back, eyes dancing with delight. “I can’t wait to see what you’re capable of, Asset.”