Natasha watched as Isaac stormed out of the room, having been watching from the other side of the interrogation room mirror as soon as she had been told by Steve that he was adamant on speaking to his sister.

She had known it wasn't going to work - Isaac was the last person that was trained to do any form of interrogation let alone handle the negative side of Avery that seemed to be the only version anyone was getting right now. Isaac was also one of the last people that Avery probably would have wanted to see, all things considered.

But who was Natasha to judge him for trying? It was more than she had done yet. 

She was arguably the other person in the establishment that was closest to Avery, yet she was the only one that was yet to even try and have a conversation with the recovered girl. Bucky, Steve, Tony, Clint... heck, even Bruce had tried to get through to her without any success. She knew that the others were starting to get a little impatient with her, especially as they now knew that her and Avery had been more than just friends.

But it wasn't just about Avery not remembering her.

Natasha had never fallen in love with anyone. Love was for children, love was a weakness and only caused more pain and harm. She'd loved Yelena and then had her ripped away from her. She'd loved others like a sister only to watch them killed in front of her for failing Red Room missions. She'd seen the tragedies of love her entire life - from being loved not enough, to people loving too much - it was something she never wanted nor hoped for in her life.

She'd never fallen in love, until she met Avery Winters.

All her life, she'd never understood why people would even want to fall in love. To become so dependant on another person, that you lose all sense and wit when it came to them was akin to being compromised on a mission and needing a rescue. She'd never once called for extraction, and she never wanted to feel that feeling in any form.

And then she watched Avery on a cold Tuesday morning. She had walked into the Barton family living room, wearing just her SHIELD issued sweatpants and sweatshirt, a small ripped-to-pieces bear in her hands as she had leaned down to pass it to a seven-year-old Lila. She'd picked the girl up, twirling her in the air and humming a little pop song that was always on the radio that Christmas, and it was like everything just finally made sense to Natasha.

Natasha's fingers ghosted over the cold glass of the interrogation room window, her breath fogging the surface as she leaned in closer. Avery sat motionless on the other side, her dark braids a stark contrast against the sterile white walls. The sight of her sent a pang through Natasha's chest, a feeling she'd been desperately trying to suppress.

"You can't avoid her forever, you know," a voice came from behind her. Clint. Of course, he'd find her here.

Natasha didn't turn around.

"I'm not avoiding her," she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

"Right," Clint scoffed, coming to stand beside her. "That's why you've been lurking in the shadows for days, watching everyone else try and fail to reach her."

Natasha's jaw clenched. "I'm observing. Gathering intel."

"Bullshit," Clint said, but his tone was gentle. "Nat, I've known you long enough to know when you're scared."

"I'm not-" Natasha started to protest, but the words died in her throat as Avery suddenly looked up, her gaze seeming to pierce right through the one-way glass. For a moment, Natasha forgot how to breathe.

"You love her," Clint said softly. Natasha closed her eyes, feeling the weight of those words settle on her shoulders. "That's the only reason I can give you."

With a sense of resignation, Natasha pushed herself away from the glass and made her way to the door. Her hand hesitated on the handle, a moment of doubt creeping in. But she steeled herself, knowing that she couldn't avoid this confrontation any longer.

The door opened with a soft click, and Avery's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as Natasha entered. The redhead felt her heart clench at the lack of recognition in those once-familiar eyes.

"Hello, Avery," Natasha said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "I'm Natasha."

Avery's lip curled slightly.

Natasha sat down across from her, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm not here to try anything. I just want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Avery replied coldly. "I've told the others, and I'll tell you - I don't know you. I don't know any of you. Even if I have forgotten you all - which I doubt - I do not care to remember. What do you people want from me?"

"I want you to know that you're safe here. That despite what you've been told, we're not your enemies."

Avery scoffed. "Safe? I'm being held prisoner."

"You're being protected," Natasha corrected gently. "From Hydra, from those who would use you as a weapon."

"Hydra protected me," Avery shot back.

Natasha felt a surge of anger at those words, but she kept it carefully controlled.

"They stole your memories, Avery. They took away who you were, and now you're this lifeless, pathetic shell of yourself who isn't even emotionally capable of seeing that you've been manipulated, experimented on and forced into being something and someone that you'd rather have died than turn into."

Silence.

Natasha had stunned herself with that one, and definitely taken it a step too far. She knew Fury would have pulled the interrogation there and then if he'd been there. She knew she wasn't capable of this, that it was too fresh and raw and it was stupid of her to think that this was a good idea.

Natasha watched as emotions warred on Avery's face - doubt, anger, fear. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her, but she knew that would only push Avery further away.

"Well, who was I?"

Natasha blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. For a moment, she simply stared at Avery, searching for any sign of the woman she once knew in those unfamiliar eyes.

"You were... you were good, Avery. Not just in the way people casually throw around the word, but truly, deeply good."

A wistful smile tugged at Natasha's lips as memories flooded her mind.

"You were the one who convinced Steve to try therapy, who taught Wanda how to braid her hair when her powers made it unmanageable. You were the one who'd sit with Bucky during his bad nights, talking about nothing and everything until the sun came up."

Natasha leaned forward, her eyes never leaving Avery's face. 

"You'd wake up at ungodly hours just to make sure everyone had a proper breakfast before missions. You'd spend hours in the lab with Tony and Bruce, not because you understood half of what they were saying, but because you knew how lonely they got sometimes. You were the one who convinced the team to let your brother stay, telling us that family was more important than pride."

Natasha paused, her throat tight with emotion. 

"You were loved, Avery. By your brother, by the team... by me."

As she spoke, memories flooded Natasha's mind. Avery's laughter echoing through the Avengers compound. The way she'd curl up on the couch during movie nights, her head resting on Natasha's shoulder. The determined set of her jaw before a mission, the gentle touch of her hand when Natasha woke from nightmares.

Avery listened silently, her expression unreadable. When Natasha finished, a bitter laugh escaped her lips, and any hope Natasha had was instantly squashed.

"That's how I know you didn't really know me," Avery said, her voice cold and sharp. "Because that's not me. I'm not good, or kind, or any of those things. I'm a weapon, nothing more."

Natasha felt her heart break at those words, but Avery continued before Natasha could say anything else.

"You know what my favourite feeling in the world is? That euphoric feeling right after your blade has severed an artery - when you know in that instant that your face is going to be the last one that someone sees. Do you know the sheer amount of power that comes from that? You can do anything, say anything... and it'll be the last time that person will ever experience anything."

Natasha felt her heart constrict, the pain of Avery's words cutting deeper than any physical wound ever could. She knew the feeling - but the way Avery was describing it... that's the exact opposite of what her Avery would have said. 

"I know that feeling," Natasha said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been there, Avery. I've felt that rush, that power. But it's hollow. It's a lie they've fed you to keep you under control."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know more than you think," Natasha countered. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. "I know because I was you once. The Red Room... they did to me what Hydra did to you. They stripped away everything I was, turned me into a weapon. You were one of the only people who saw me for who I really was when I first joined SHIELD, taught me how to just be me."

Natasha's hands clenched under the table, her nails digging into her palms. 

"But here's the thing about weapons, Avery. They don't feel. They don't question. And you? You're feeling something right now. Anger, confusion, maybe even a hint of doubt."

For a moment, something flickered in Avery's eyes - a hint of confusion, perhaps even recognition. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, hard mask.

"I see it in your eyes, Avery. That spark of the woman I knew. The woman I loved. She's there, fighting to get out."

"You're wasting your time," Avery spat, her voice laced with venom. "I don't know who you think I am, but that isn't me. I don't know any of you people and I certainly don't love you either."

Natasha stood slowly, her heart heavy. She paused at the door, looking back at Avery one last time.

As the door closed behind her, Natasha leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She could feel Clint's presence before he spoke.

"That was... intense," he said quietly.

"We need to try something different," Natasha said, her voice low. "The direct approach isn't working. We need to trigger her memories another way."

"Look, we've been trying to reason with her, to appeal to her emotions," Clint said, and Natasha could tell from the look on his face that he'd been running through the other approaches before she'd even finished her conversation with Avery. If seeing Natasha hadn't helped her memories come back, this approach clearly wasn't going to help. "But what if we need to speak her language?"

"What do you mean?"

Clint's expression turned grim. "She thinks she's a weapon? Let's treat her like one. Put her through her paces, run drills, assessments. Maybe if we engage that part of her, we can find a way to reach the rest."

"It could work," she said slowly. "I don't like it but I also don't like any of this anyway."

Clint nodded. "I'll talk to Steve, Barnes and Tony, see what they think. In the meantime, you should get some rest. You look like hell, Nat."

Natasha managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the compliment."

As Clint walked away, Natasha turned back to the interrogation room window. Avery sat there, still as a statue, her face an unreadable mask.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to keep fighting, to keep hoping. Because Natasha Romanoff had never been one to give up, especially not on the people she loved.

____ 

The Osprey sighed as she stretched out, her arms feeling tight from missing her regular training routines. She was pissed at herself for that, and for the fact she'd somehow allowed herself to get caught by this group of idiots in the first place.

It was honestly pretty embarrassing.

She could only imagine the things that the Hydra operatives were saying about her to Dr Faust, knowing that plenty of them had always despised how she was favoured by him over them. It wasn't her fault that she was simply better. Better at missions, at assassinations, sharp shooting... she had no attachments or morals unlike some of them.

They were jealous of her, and jealousy was an emotional that she knew was pointless. It was a waste of time to spend energy talking and complaining about someone else - those other operatives could have used that energy into training like her and becoming better soldiers. Their lack of choice to better serve their purpose wasn't on her.

She leaned back on the small cot in the interrogation room - since it wasn't like they'd provided her with a proper place to rest. Her toilet breaks had been monitored and she knew fine well that every minute of the day there was someone on the other side of the mirror glass just watching and observing her.

Truth be told, she didn't really care about anything they'd said to her so far. They'd shown her photos of someone that sure as hell looked like her with them, but she would have remembered them if they were real. Dr Faust had told her before that SHIELD and the Avengers used extreme tactics, but deep-faking photos of their enemies with themselves was something she hadn't came across often.

Claiming to be her brother was another bizarre tactic - not that she'd have fallen for it. Avery wasn't interested in being a family or having friends, so she wasn't entirely sure again why they thought she'd be wanting to hold hands and sing peace songs around the fire with them.

Despite her desire to completely block them out, she supposed that it was worth her time to humour them by allowing them to keep making these frivolous attempts to reach someone they thought she was. She'd been in this white padded room for almost four days now with no sign of any extraction yet - and she was sure that her lack of attempts to escape had lulled them into a false sense of security.

Her plan was on day six, when the low-ranked agent that brought her breakfast came in, she'd immobilise and escape that way. Unlike the Avengers, she wasn't afraid to use lethal force to complete a mission and she knew that their strange desire to avoid harming her would be a great asset in that plan. 

Sure, she wouldn't have her weapons, but she herself was a weapon. She wasn't one of the top operatives in Hydra for no reason after all.

Six days was proving to be quite a long time with little to keep herself preoccupied with, however. She was constantly listening to the same versions of the same sob stories over and over again as this irritating team took it in turns to try and "reach the real Avery" that they were adamant was buried in her head somewhere.

While she was certain they were fucked in the head, she did have to admit that the name Avery had a nice ring to it. Maybe she'd take that on for a covert undercover mission in the future. 

It wasn't often she was left to her own thoughts. This was maybe the longest time she could remember that she'd gone without any experiments or tests or physicals being performed on her, and it seemed that her thoughts were more erratic without the distraction. 

The prolonged inactivity was making her restless, her mind wandering to places she typically avoided. Unbidden memories flickered at the edges of her consciousness - fleeting images and sensations that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.

She shook her head sharply, forcing the intrusive thoughts away. This was another of their tricks, she was certain. Some kind of gas or drug they were pumping into the room to make her doubt herself, to weaken her resolve. She wouldn't fall for it.

And yet... the red-haired woman's words echoed in her mind. 

"I know because I was you once." 

The raw emotion in her voice, the pain in her eyes - it had seemed so genuine. For just a moment, the Osprey had felt a flicker of... something. Recognition? Longing? Whatever it was, she refused to acknowledge it.

She was a weapon, nothing more. Weapons didn't feel, didn't question, didn't yearn for connections they couldn't remember. Dr. Faust had made that abundantly clear during her training. Emotions were a liability, memories a distraction from the mission at hand.

As she lay on the cot, staring at the bland white ceiling, she began to run through combat drills in her mind. It was a familiar exercise, one that usually brought her comfort and focus. But now, for the first time she could remember, it felt hollow.

The Osprey's fists clenched at her sides. Two more days. Two more days, and she'd be free of this place, these people, and the uncomfortable feelings they stirred within her. She just had to hold on until then.

Her eyes snapped open as the door to the interrogation room creaked open. She tensed, ready for another round of pointless questioning. But instead of one of the usual Avengers, a tall man with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes entered. He carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, his movements precise and controlled.

Hawkeye, she recalled. 

"Up," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What now?" she asked, her voice dripping with boredom. "Another heartfelt plea for me to remember our supposed friendship?"

"Training," he replied simply, tossing her a pair of workout clothes. "Put these on. You've got five minutes."

She caught the clothes reflexively, surprised by this sudden change in tactics. Part of her was suspicious, wondering if this was some new ploy to trick her into revealing information. But another part - a part she couldn't quite explain - was intrigued.

"And if I refuse?" she challenged, testing the waters.

The man's eyes hardened. "Then you prove you're not half the operative Hydra claims you are. I thought you were supposed to be their best weapon. Or was that all just talk?"

She felt a flare of anger at his words. How dare he question her abilities?

Without a word, Clint turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open and casting one look over his shoulder as if to say to follow him. After a moment's hesitation, the Osprey complied with his demand, curiosity getting the better of her. 

The outfit wasn't much different from the one she'd been captured in and had been wearing since. In fact, she was pretty certain it was almost identical to the training suits that they wore at the Hydra bases - maybe a slightly different colour and material but practicality wise it was the same. She was pretty impressed by how well it fit once she had changed, wondering which one of them had guessed her measurements so accurately.

This was different from the emotional appeals and attempts at triggering memories. This felt... familiar. Like slipping back into a well-worn routine.

As she stepped into the hallway, she noticed two armed guards flanking her. Smart, but ultimately futile if she decided to make her move. Not that she intended to do so - this was an unexpected and perfectly timed aid to her escape plan in less than 48 hours time. 

She'd assumed once she made it past her guard that she'd be navigating the base blind, but now her brain was mapping out the route they were walking now - looking at the exit doors and side corridors and open plan areas to determine the quickest way out of the area. Their need to have lots of natural light in the compound was an advantage too - as she could see just from their short journey that they were located in the countryside, with a lake on one side of the compound. 

They were silent until they entered what she assumed was their training area - and it was pretty impressive, all things considered. She wasn't sure she'd been in a gym space that was quite as large and equipped as this. Her eyes scanned the room, picking up on the small things that she associated with them from the files that she had read on the Avengers - high ledges, beams, rope courses... something for each talent and skill. 

"Here's how this is going to work," Clint said, turning to face the assassin. "You claim to be nothing but a weapon. So prove it. Show us what you can do."

Her eyes narrowed. This was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She'd been itching for some physical activity, but this seemed like a set-up. What could they possibly gain from allowing her to warm-up and regain some muscle memory while in their captivity?

"And what's to stop me from using this chance to escape?" she asked, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Clint shrugged.

"Nothing. But I think you're smarter than that. You want to know why we're so convinced you're not who you think you are. This is your chance to find out."

He wasn't wrong - part of her was curious about their insistence. And besides, she could use this as an opportunity to gather more intel for her eventual escape.

Clint led her to a sparring mat in the centre of the room, her eyes locking with the man that was standing waiting on them to join him. She didn't need to ask who he was - she already knew everything about him.

Once Hydra's best weapon, now just another defector - the infamous Winter Soldier. The arm gave it away.

"Hand-to-hand first. No holds barred." 

She didn't need to be told twice. In a flash, she was on him, her movements a blur of precision and power. The Winter Soldier met her blow for blow, his own training evident in every counter and dodge. The room filled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh, grunts of exertion echoing off the walls.

As they fought, the Osprey felt something stir within her. A sense of familiarity, of déjà vu. The way the Soldier moved, the rhythm of their sparring - it felt like a dance she'd done a thousand times before. But that was impossible. She'd never fought this man before today.

Pushing the unsettling thoughts aside, she redoubled her efforts. She managed to land a solid kick to his midsection, sending him stumbling back.

Just as she was about to attempt to put him into a chokehold, the doors to the training room burst open. The one who had claimed to be her brother - Ian? Isaac? - rushed in, his face flushed and eyes wide with urgency as he shouted out for Clint while crossing the room towards them.

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, the metal-armed man she was fighting with swept her legs out from under her. She hit the mat hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. Before she could recover, he had her pinned, his cold forearm pressed against her throat.

"Not bad," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. "But you're holding back. I know you can do better... unless Hydra's gone soft on your training."

Anger flared in her chest. With a snarl, she bucked her hips, throwing the man off balance. In one fluid motion, she reversed their positions, her knee pressed into his sternum.

"Clint! Buck!" the man called out, his voice strained. "I need to speak with you guys... like immediately. It's crucial."

Clint held up a hand, signaling a pause in the sparring match. He turned to Isaac, his brow furrowed in concern.

"What?"

Isaac glanced nervously at the Osprey, then back to Clint. 

"Not here. Please, it's important." 

Clint hesitated for a moment, then nodded, causing the Soldier to push her off him and rise to his feet without a single glance in her direction. She felt a surge of frustration. She had been so close to... to what? Winning? Was that even the intention here?

As Clint and the Solider stepped out of the room with Isaac, her eyes flickered to the two guards that were standing in the room with her still. One of them was clearly more nervous than the other, and she stared at the lack of callouses on his hands as he rubbed them against his trousers. He clearly was new to this.

The Osprey watched the three men leave, her mind racing. Something was off about this whole situation. The sparring session, the urgency in Isaac's voice, the way the guards seemed on edge. Her instincts, honed by years of training, were screaming at her that something was about to happen.

She didn't have to wait long to find out what.

In a blur of motion that even she struggled to follow, the nervous guard suddenly sprang into action. His hand moved to his holster, drawing his weapon with practiced ease. Before the other guard could react, a muffled shot rang out, the silenced bullet finding its mark with deadly precision. The experienced guard crumpled to the ground, a look of shock frozen on his face.

The Osprey tensed, ready to defend herself, but the nervous guard didn't turn his weapon on her. Instead, he quickly holstered it and moved towards her, his earlier nervousness replaced by a cold efficiency.

"Hail Hydra," the nervous guard whispered, his earlier anxiety evaporating like mist in the morning sun. 

His eyes met the Osprey's, a look of fierce determination replacing his previous uncertainty.

"We don't have much time," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I'm here to extract you. Dr. Faust sends his regards."

She should have known they wouldn't abandon their prized asset.

"What's the plan?" she asked, already moving towards the door.

"There's a quinjet waiting for us just beyond the tree line," the agent explained as they moved swiftly through the corridors - the three Avengers having seemingly stepped out of the corridor and into another location to have their 'urgent' conversation. "We need to move fast before they realise what's happened."

As they navigated the compound, the girl was impressed by the agent's knowledge of the layout. He led them through a series of back hallways and maintenance tunnels, avoiding the main areas where they might encounter resistance. She wondered how long he'd been a sleeper agent here.

They emerged from a side exit, the cool December air a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the compound. The agent produced a small device from his pocket, pressing a button. In the distance, a series of explosions rocked the far side of the compound.

"Diversion," he explained tersely. "It should buy us enough time."

They sprinted across the open ground, the darkness providing cover. Her enhanced senses were on high alert, scanning for any sign of pursuit - not that it was likely. The compound behind them was in chaos, alarms blaring and shouts of confusion echoing in the night.

As they reached the tree line, she could make out the sleek silhouette of a quinjet, its ramp already lowered in anticipation of their arrival. The agent ushered her inside, quickly moving to the cockpit to initiate takeoff procedures.

The Osprey allowed herself one last glance at the compound as they lifted off, watching as tiny figures emerged onto the lawn, weapons raised futilely towards the sky.

"Well done, Agent," a familiar voice crackled over the jet's comm system. "Dr. Faust will be pleased to have his prized asset back."

She was free. She was going home. So why did she feel this strange ache in her chest?

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hi all! are you enjoying the story so far? bit of a slow burner, I know but it wouldn't be realistic for her to see Nat and suddenly be back in love I think! 

please don't be a silent reader, leave a comment and let me know what you think!