NO. 8 - WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?
"Don't say goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

~~~

Being captured and sitting in a cell, feeling hopeless, was nothing new to me. In fact, I welcomed it.

Words taken from the Sokovia Accords burned in my mind. I remembered my teammate's faces at the prospect of being monitored and basically stripped of freedom. Of course, Rogers had immediately been skeptical. Maximoff was barely a US citizen, so for her to sign would be a difficult task. Stark was the embodiment of human guilt, being a survivor and the creator of Ultron. Sokovia and Lagos had taken a large toll on all of us — the casualties, destruction, failure in knowing the Avengers hadn't tried hard enough.

"The Sokovia Accords. Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary."

A hundred and seventeen countries. I guess I'll add them to the lists of people that hate my guts, want me dead, or think they need to know about everything I've ever done in my entire life. It's not really like I had anything else to add to the table. Files of my deepest buried secrets were now available for all to see, via the internet.

"For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate."

It's honestly about time the governments tried to control us. Ever since the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D and Nick Fury's 'death', we didn't officially have anyone managing us. We were a dangerous, private, and very dysfunctional family of enhanced individuals (minus Clint and I). I'd never looked twice about crossing borders in whatever continent I'm in. And I'm also talking about the Red Room. It was Fury himself that had originally order my death, supposed to be Clint that did the deed on a dark Budapest night.

Well, he made a different call. Now here I am — clearing the red from my ledger.

Nothing in my past could've prepared me for the feeling of betraying someone I call a friend. Believe me, I saw the raw hurt in Stark's eyes when I let Rogers and Barnes escape. He'd trusted me and opened his walls. We had both shared stories, grinning with a bottle of alcohol being slid across the bar counter. What happened to all those nights when we had been woken up by nightmares and somehow found each other?

"We? Boy... It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, sticks in the DNA."

I saw the hurt in Rogers' eyes when I decided to sign and stand by Stark's side. We'd been through a lot together, and I let my walls begin to crumble. Now, both of ours were higher than ever. I never even got to tell him how much I loved him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone."

I realized how much I wanted a punching bag, or an authorized S.H.I.E.L.D mission to be on. That was always my go-to stress reliever. Things were always so much more simpler — with official orders, classified files in the agency's database, and Coulson and Clint's bickering (not to say it was the opposite way around). I never trusted myself, even after all these years. As a child, I was constantly guilty of self-loathing, suicidal thoughts, and downright hate for anyone and everyone. Failure brought me nothing but thickening the feeling.

As an Avenger, one of earth's mightiest heroes, I thought it was a new chance. What a way to clear off the red! We'd saved New York, and I finally realized: I would eventually drown in the blood. Clint's mind had been torn open and inspected. Loki wanted to use my past against me. For the longest time, I recalled his words and played them in my head at night.

"Can you clear that much red? Drekov's daughter? São Paulo? The hospital fire?"

If Clint and Laura and anybody noticed, they didn't say anything. Sometimes, I curse my ability as a flawless spy.

Betraying people, whether they were friends or not, had always been my whole life and legacy. I lied and thought that for the longest time, I knew whose I was telling. I don't know myself. I'm really just confirming my theory of personal identity issues. My covers and the life of spend so long rebuilding had just blown up in my face. I was only seen as the infamous Black Widow — a killer, someone working with the Soviet Union, and a person unfit for the role of an Avenger.

I thought of what the report I'd once given Stark: Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended.

If I was assessed by anyone in the entire world, it would read: Black Widow, absolutely not. Natalia Alianovna Romanova, dear god no. Then the issue would never be brought up again, but instead scrapped into the point of no return.

Is Ross studying me right now? I mean, I was sitting in a cell somewhere in the Raft right now with my cheek pressed onto the cool tiles of the floor. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep. Escaping my nightmares and constant worries seemed like a great idea. My only hesitation was all the life running through my veins; life sucked, but death was worse. I didn't want to someday be forgotten after not waking up after another torture session. Saying goodbye just wasn't something I could manage. So alas, I continued to stare at the wall and wait for General Ross.

He'd cornered me after T'Challa delivered the news of my actions at Leipzig. I was a good fighter, but still severely under prepared and outnumbered. Eventually, I'd lost consciousness and been locked away in this stupid place. Ironic how I was captured in Budapest, of all places! My second life as S.H.I.E.L.D agent had started there. And now, my third life as an Avenger had just been ended for good. We were at a point of no return.

My cell was white. Y'know the rooms with beige padded squares on the walls and ceiling you'd typically see in a mental institution? Imagine that but without the padding, add a lot of blood and some government officials who specialized in torture. Fun. I could already feel my brain growing stir crazy. If I wasn't already certifiably insane, I can guarantee you that I am now. Ha.

Time evaded me. Ask me what day it was and I wouldn't be able to give you an honest answer. I'd do what I've always done and easily lie something completely believable. The only news I'd heard since my imprisonment was that Rogers had broken the others out. I was kinda glad he didn't know I was here. I didn't want him to have to choose any more unthinkable things and factions.

"Maybe Tony's right. If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—"

"Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?"

"I'm just... I'm reading the terrain. We have made... Some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back."

Did I regret agreeing with Stark? Yes and no. The Sokovia Accords were done wrong, and that created a rift between both factions of Rogers and Stark. I should've been my own party and opened up the option of negotiation. I should've got to Clint first, convinced him that he had to stay out of all of our mess. I should've contained the problem instead of letting it expand and get worse.

Then Barnes happened. The situation got a hell of a lot worse. It was partly my fault, I'll admit it — I had pushed aside the problem of the Winter Soldier and the fact that he murdered Howard and Maria Stark, assuming that Rogers would be the better man and tell Stark exactly what we'd learned. He never did. I never corrected him. Funny how my two biggest regrets revolved around the same man, where usually everything was about him. I've always said he's an arrogant and bigheaded guy, but I never realized how much I'd grown to enjoy his company.

I sat up with a lot more effort involved than you'd think. Blood was dried on my scalp and imbedded between my red strands of hair. Was my jaw broken? I can't feel it over my neverending ache of tiredness and isolation. I was left handed (by birth, because of course I could use my right hand), so typically that was broken and then healed in an incorrect way. I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that at some point it would have to be rebroken and set. What a thrilling idea.

My team was gone. Those who had sided with Rogers were merely a whisper in the wind at this point. Even if I could monitor the biggest news channels right now, they would have already been forgotten. Other countries aside from the US may vary a little, but who knows at this point. My past experience with being on the run put a sickening feeling in my gut about that faction doing the same. Stark's side had agreed to sign the accords, a decision that Ross liked. They weren't forced to flee and 'retire' (his words, not mine).

God, I hoped Clint was with his family. He was practically a brother to me throughout all our years as S.H.I.E.L.D agents and partners, and then eventually Avengers. I'd grown to love visits to his farm and baking cookies with Laura, Lila wanting tips on ballet and showing off her artwork, and Cooper peppering me with questions about my job and all the stupid things his father's done. Honestly, I'm starting to think I'm corrupting Clint's kids to be against him — good or bad thing, you tell me.

Vision swimming with red and black, I tried to blink away the spots. They were stubborn and refused to disappear. It would've been funny if I had the strength to feel anything other than seeing sharp details of my mistakes and clutch onto the pain of everything. Feeling pain was something I'd done my whole life (big surprise there), so it was familiar in a comforting way. It was my last link to truly being alive and giving myself an optimistic boost of thought. How depressing!

My ribs racked with every breath I took, probably broken or even completely shattered. No surprise there when you consider how Ross yearned to break me. I am marble; I do not break. The satisfaction of tearing apart the Avengers is not something I'll give up that easily. But then again, I was so very tired...

I felt guilty when one part of me thought about what the point was. I was fighting a neverending war filled with nothing but death and betrayal and lies. This was merely one battle; I'd been left behind while Rogers and Stark live on. I was a fugitive, and nothing more. It was highly reminiscent of my days as a child within the KGB, followed by my early days at S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm uncertain to how that makes me feel — emotions were and never will be one of my strong suits, unless I'm lying and wearing a mask.

I licked my dry and cracked lips. It really wouldn't help moisturize them any more, but it felt good to be at least trying. Enough effort can cover your mistakes — well, until they can't. I raised a shaky hand to my bleeding nose, blood dripping down and drying as it went. My hands never shake.

I stared at it for the longest time. I had nothing else to do except contemplating my choices throughout my longer than expected lifetime. My hand steadied automatically. Looks like it wasn't my time to go... Yet. I took a deep breath and cleared my head, all except for one thought:

Where did everybody go?