∆ {3¹⁰} {PEPPERMINT AND ROSES} ∆

AND THEN IT all stopped. It wasn't a fade, a gradual release back into reality, as she would've liked. It simply slammed to a stop, everything, the smell, the feel of the blood, the white light and the heat of the flame, the flicking of her mind, slamming from one image, one scene to another, it crashed to a halt, leaving her shocked and shaking, reeling in its wake.

She was back in reality, whole body trembling and mind still running a million miles an hour. She could just make out the floor of the quinjet through her blurry, swirled vision, and everything came back at once. The pain in her side, the pounding ache in her head, the metal beneath her body, the loud thrum of the quinjet engine, the soft talking voices of her team, it was all amplified by what felt like ten times. She couldn't focus, but a figure arrived in her blurred vision, crouching down so they could be in her line of sight, which was steadily focused on the floor. Someone was speaking to her, but she couldn't make out what they were saying, it was as if their words were being spoken underwater, garbled and tangled, in an unintelligible mess.

She let her face seep into a frown as she tried to make out their words and focus on their face, but she found it impossible. It made her head ache so incredibly painfully that it made her let out a gasp of pain, and she simply couldn't. It was as if her body wouldn't let her, determined to keep her enveloped in the darkest depths of her mind. They wouldn't stop, the harrowing voices, whispering from a miles away, shouting an inch from her face. The flashes of images she hadn't seen in years because she'd buries them so deep in her mind she'd quite literally forgotten them. And then there were the words the voices whispered. They weren't ever soft, nearly always the excruciating anger and brazen words of the houses she'd grown up in. And her name; they kept whispering it, over, and over, and over, as if determined to remind her who she'd once been, cowering in the shadows of her carer's kitchen, terrified to even be seen, and she didn't like being that person. She didn't like hiding away. She didn't like being afraid of people. And yet, here she sat, unable to focus on the world directly in front of her, if anything, more afraid of herself than anyone else. Afraid of what she could do, and what it might bring. She felt someone touch her shoulder, and instinctively flinched away. It could've been anyone, even Natasha, but through the din and the incandescent swirling, it was impossible to tell. At least she knew she was safe, by the sound of the quinjet engine that vibrated through her body. Or at least, with people she knew.

{~}

CLINT HAD NEVER seen anyone in a state like the woman in front of him was in now. It'd taken them a while to get passed her auto-pilot fighting, but eventually, she had stilled, letting out a gasp, and they had been able to take her back to the quinjet. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through in her past and what Wanda might've showed her, but it had clearly affected her. Since the dark-haired woman had been sat down by Clint's careful hands, she'd been completely still, her breathing perfectly regular, almost calm. Except for her eyes - behind the ice was such terror, fear, and guilt that he'd never seen in a person before - it made him want to shrivel up in a corner and contemplate everything that'd ever happened to him, and he wasn't the one experience him first hand. Natasha was almost completely blank too, staring at the floor, a hint of crimson still dancing in her forest green pupils, determined to retain its grip as long as possible. Clint glanced back at Ryder, as it occurred to him to wonder if he'd seen any crimson in her eyes, and was surprised to see the icy blue flash a violent scarlet, and undertone of darker red haunting behind it; one more like blood.

Natasha had started to recover first, vaguely acknowledging her surroundings with misty, wide eyes, gripping the edge of the metal bench she sat on so hard that her fingers were stark white, and in the silence, you could almost hear her bones creaking. And then half an hour later, the black-haired woman jolted backwards in her seat, her back hitting the wall of the quinjet, her breath immediately spiking so fast that her whole body was shaking with the force of it, hyperventilating. Her pupils dilated, most likely with pain, adrenaline and possibly terror. They'd had to take her quarterstaff off of her, because of her fighting back, but that was probably going to make the situation worse. With one glance at Natasha, who was still in such a fugue state that she hadn't caught up with what was happening, and took the duty upon himself, crouching down in front of Ryder, speaking gentle words to try and get her attention.

It wasn't working, and her face showed no form of recognition, her eyes never moving a millimetre from where they'd started, her body language betraying her emotions. She felt trapped, terrified, and even though he didn't know her as well as he would've liked, he felt a sudden, overpowering urge to make her feel better.

He stepped forwards, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to recognise him, to show any sign of knowing what was happening around her. Instead, the action simply prompted her to jerk back, away from his touch, harshly enough that Clint's hand left her shoulder. He simply sighed and backed away, looking between the two women, broken more than almost anyone he'd met, and they still managed to keep up their stone cold defences up, pretending to be put together, to be as perfect as a flower, or sheet of glass. But when you looked close enough, you could see the spiderweb cracks in the glass, the petals falling off of the flower head. And when you applied enough pressure, the glass would shatter into thousands of iridescent, glimmering shards, and if you tried to pick them up, put them back together, all you'd get was a beautiful, shimmering mess that could kill you at any moment. And when all the petals all fell, whether rose or mint, it would only reveal the wicked thorns that wouldn't hesitate to hurt you.

These two women were far more dangerous, beautiful, broken, than anyone or anything that he'd ever known.

{~}

ROXI DIDN'T KNOW when they landed. All she could tell in this continually shifting, changing, swirling world, was that she could no longer hear the thrum of the quinjet engine, and the world around her was suddenly colder - a breeze, most likely. Tony, Thor, Steve, Clint. She could make out each of their voices, but it was still so indistinct, still so impossible to understand, that she couldn't understand what they were saying. Bruce's voice popped up occasionally, but she didn't hear Natasha's once. One of their blurred figures helped Natasha stand, and walked down the ramp with her. Someone else, probably Steve, started to walk towards her, but she moved her hand sideways in her blurry vision against the metal wall, pushing herself up into an unstable standing position. She saw the person in front of her freeze, and shake their head, muttering something, before turning and traipsing out of the jet.

Once she felt stable enough on her feet, she followed, tripping a little when she walked unevenly down the ramp, feeling grass whisper softly at her ankles, and she stopped for a moment. She knew where she was. Even without the huge farmhouse, she'd have recognised the setting. Clint's farm sprawled out before her, the bright sunlight bursting into her eyes and causing black spots at the top of her indecipherable vision. It tied her down slightly, the familiar sight, it seemed to ground her, and she was able to make out more than simple blocks of colours and shapes. Now, she could see that it was in fact Steve who had tried to help her up, and she could make out the figures of Tony, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Steve and Natasha by the door to the farmhouse. Judging by the way that a few songbirds were sitting on top of the house, beaks wide open, and the fact that she couldn't hear any birdsong, her hearing still wasn't quite right either.

Roxi's gait was stumbled and a little lurching as she made her way into the house, at the back of the group, and leaned against the wall in the corridor, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. Laura walked in from the living room, and Roxi let a smile, however small, slide onto her face. She missed Laura, however much she wouldn't admit it, and she considered the woman a friend. She heard Tony mutter something as she stood there, which was taken over by Laura and Clint's happy voices. The smile melted from her face as she stared at the floor, the image of Clint's name in her black book flashing through her mind so fast that she could barely comprehend it, leaving her unable to think of anything else for a few seconds as she tried to recognise it. If she got Clint killed... 

A moment later, Cooper and Lila came bursting into the room, their yells loud enough that Roxi could almost make out their words, but instead of the two bringing comfort and familiarity, she only flinched slightly, still lurking in the hallway. She looked up form the floor, and scanned the scene with her eyes. They were so happy, so calm, so... peaceful. And she would never have this, not with what she'd done, what she might go on to do. All she seemed to do was hurt people, to kill people she didn't want to kill. Her frown came back, deeper than it'd been for a while. She couldn't stay in the hallway, listening to the happy family her friend had. Normally, she'd be able to deal with it, but not today, not after everything. All she could think about was about how she might've had this, if she'd been more careful, if she'd protected the people she needed to keep safe, maybe she would have this. And if she wasn't careful, she might mess up any chance she had with the redhead, who was more damaged than her, but dealt with it far better. 

So Roxi left. She left the hallway, she left the house. She needed to think, and she wouldn't be able to do that here. She needed to be alone. So she left, walked out over the fields, slipping out without anyone noticing as they tried to figure out what was happening. 

Lila was the first to notice, while she hugged Natasha, who had just come out of the trance she'd been in. She'd asked her aunt where her friend was, and the redhead had looked around quickly, trying to find the other woman, her actions repeated by Clint a moment later. Natasha turned her eyes to the man, opened her mouth to say something, although nothing came out. He simply gave her a soft smile and said a gentle

"Go," and with that, Natasha was out of the room, looking for the dark haired woman. She checked both of their rooms, the garden, even the old shed that Clint and Laura kept their tractor in. As Natasha started to worry about not finding her, she remembered one more place that the icy eyed, paranoid woman might be, and made her way there. She went through the fields, the emerald grass tickling her ankles, the birds singing around her and the sun shining down on her, until she reached the small woods at the edge of the farm.

Natasha found Ryder at the spot she'd expected, where a small, crystal-clear stream flowed through the forest, with her fingers and ankles in the water, staring vacantly at the pebbles at the bottom of the river. Natasha sat down beside her on the bank, moving the other woman's discarded shoes out of the way, the forest smell immediately being washed away by the sharp scent of lemon and peppermint that the redhead always smelled around the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D agent.

Neither of them said anything for a while, simply relaxing - or trying to - in the forest. Natasha was the first one to speak, wanting to voice what she had seen to the other woman, trying to let her in, to let her understand what she saw every night, what made her so defensive, even if the other woman wouldn't do the same.

"I was six, I think," she started, causing the other woman's eyes to flicker away from the stream for a moment, to the redhead's face, and then back, but her fingers moved up, out of the stream and onto the grassy bank, dripping slightly in the late afternoon light.

"When they took me. I was an orphan, a young girl with nowhere to go; I was perfect for them. So they did, they took me to-" Natasha faltered for a second, closing her eyes as she tried to stay concentrated, to keep her mind off of what had happened to her, and how to say it in a nice way. She felt the other woman's fingers, still cold and wet from the stream, curl around her own in reassurance. That surprised her slightly, the brunette had never been one to show affection first, only when prompted by the redhead.

"They took me to the Red Room. It's a Soviet program that started a while ago, before the second world war, initially lead by an organisation called Leviathan. When that went down the drain, a guy who goes by the alias 'Taskmaster' took over, and the point of the program is to brainwash little defenceless girls, like I was, into the mindset where they could be highly-trained assassins, like I am. I was part of the Black Widow program, which was the main one they had going. And only the best, would 'graduate'. They'd kill the rest, tell us not to make any friends. And for the ones who survived, they'd put us through the 'ceremony'." 

By this point, Natasha was gripping the other woman's hand hard, her forest green eyes haunted by the ghosts of her past as Roxi finally looked up from the stream, and into the redhead's eyes. She didn't want to see this woman in pain, and she'd been through more than Roxi had ever expected. What could she do to stop this? She contemplated it as the redhead continued speaking, her voice growing weaker with every word.

"The ceremony, was, uh, sterilisation. It's very effective, they claimed it was one less 'distraction', and that it gave us a place in the world that we didn't have. But, in reality, I think they were afraid. Afraid that we'd become anything more than the killers, the murderers they'd brought us up, shaped us to be. I think I'm still afraid that I'm only what they made me, though. That I'll never be anything more," Natasha admitted, finishing in a voice that was barely audible over the quiet trickling of the stream, the rustling of the trees, and the tweeted melodies of carefree songbirds. The redhead suddenly felt the other woman move closer to her, close enough that Natasha was able to rest her head on the brunette's shoulder. For a few more moments, there was silence, as the redhead revelled in the calm she felt in the moment.

And then it came. The first word the brunette had spoken to her since before the mission, the first time she'd said the word in 14 years, the first time that she'd been brave enough to say it. And the one word, that one, single, four-letter word would change her life, and however hard she tried, it would impact Natasha's too. Her voice was quiet, and deadly calm, but it was the firmest she'd used in a while. It was steady, stable, but her mind was not. It was still racing, raring from the experience she'd just had, legs in her the water so that she could try and distract her mind from the memory of the blood, cloying, rushing, the putrid smell filling her nose. But here was Natasha, and with her, vanilla and roses. The scent seemed to help her with her decision. 

It shouldn't have been so hard, to say a single word, but it was. But somehow, she managed to pull herself together, and do it. She put together a few of the shattered pieces of her mind, however temporarily, opened her mouth, and spoke.

"Roxi."

{A/N:} Oop. I'm really glad I got to this, I've been planning it since the beginning. The rest of the chapter is a little rushed and I'm sorry I'm a day late. Let me know what you think, please vote and comment, and I'll see you next week.

2900 Words

Written: 13 / 12 / 2020

Published: 13 / 12 / 2020