Date: March 23, 2023
Words: 2710

~ Author's Note ~

Lyrics belong to Luke Hemmings, Starting Line

...Terrible at fight scenes...

...You are gonna hate me...

WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of violence. Normal Red Room Trauma. Dreykov.

Tell me, am I broken? I can never leave
Biting on my tongue and checking if it bleeds

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"Ah...," He whispers, "You're in trouble."

"How are you controlling me?" She struggles.

"I'm not controlling you, Natasha," he admits, "Well, not yet. But there is a pheromonal lock." Dreykov smirks, licking his lips. "Smelling my pheromones prevents you from committing violence against me."

Natasha swallows, lowering her head in defeat. All the painful emotions are raging through her veins, and she uses every ounce of her training to push them down. It is not the time to lose control of herself. She can't allow that big of a risk to slip.

"I'm very upset with Melina," Dreykov complains, "It's a shame I have to kill her." The old man shakes his head tauntingly, "So, this was the big plan, huh? Melina was going to land the Red Room and you are going to hand me over to the authorities?"

No.

Well... yes and no. Melina was planning on landing the Red Room. And based on the alarm going off above them, she's succeeding in her goal. But she isn't going to be the one handing him over to the authorities, it will be Tony.

"So, what now," Natasha asks, forcing the subject in a different direction. "You're gonna fold me into your little pathetic puppeteer act?"

"Pathetic?" Dreykov sneers.

"Yeah," Natasha confirms, a devil's smirk gracing her angelic face. "What would you call it?"

Dreykov shakes his head, "I would call it—."

Natasha interrupts, ignoring the anger growing behind his dark black irises, "When was the last time you had a conversation with somebody that wasn't forced to talk to you?"

"You ran away to fight in the wrong war," Dreykov spits venomously, as the familiar sense of betrayal rages up throughout his soul. "The real war was fought here, in the shadows."

"You didn't fight in the shadows," the assassin insists, growing bold as she continues to disagree. "You hid in the dark."

"Real power comes from undetectable influence."

"If no one's noticed," she whispers, "Then why even do it?" Natasha leans over his desk, as a smirk gleams tauntingly from the corner of her lips. He's close to the edge, she can feel it. He just needs to be pushed a bit farther. "You're nothing," she growls.

Dreykov clenches his jaw, daring her to continue as he stares into her emerald irises. "Hmm."

The anger is smothering. Boiling within his veins. And she knows it. He might have once been a great soldier for Mother Russia— The General Dreykov —and even risen throughout the ranks to command the Red Room, but he's never suffered in the training she has. He has never been taught the skills she has.

"You have nothing," Natasha insists.

"There are 50 people on this planet—,"

"Oh, stop it," Natasha scoffs, commanding sharply.

"Don't tell me to stop!" Dreykov roars, glaring darkly as he moves closer. She forces her body not to shutter as his breath hits her face, and a strong sense of nausea begins to quell within her stomach.

She stubbornly ignores the problem, focusing all of her attention on her abuser. "If I don't tell you when to stop, then how will you know when to shut up?"

Dreykov growls, backhanding her across the face. He relishes in the grunt of pain that slips past his lips, as a red mark stings on her cheek, leaving behind evidence of his temper. But the joy is not long-lived.

He expects the woman before him to be angry.

Or scared.

But she's neither.

"Come on," Natasha gleams, while raising her arms in a mocking offense. "Think I can't take a punch?"

Dreykov glares, raising his fist to punch her across the cheek. The impact burns as she staggers back on her feet. She ignores the tears stinging her emerald irises, as she presses her hand along her nose to feel for any blood.

None.

He can't even make her bleed.

"God, damn it, you're weak!" Natasha exclaims. "I bet it's easier to be tough in front of defenseless little girls, huh?"

"Weak?!" Dreykov growls, "That's enough!"

The General thrusts his fist across the side of her face, and the redhead stumbles, unintentionally allowing the pain to slip across her face. He grins, throwing another right hook across her jaw, before sending the battered and bruised woman to the floor.

"You wouldn't be so glib if you had any notion of the scope of what I've built," Dreykov spat. He shakes his head, gazing at the woman weakly pushing herself up into a sitting position. "I own this world. Me!"

"You seem desperate to impress me."

"I don't need to impress you," Dreykov scoffs, while a hauntingly familiar gaze creeps within his dark irises. "I don't need to impress anyone!"

Natasha swallows, forcing herself to focus on the man gloating before her, instead of the memories emerging from the depths of her mind. He walks towards a large TV across from his desk, before dragging his ring along an alert sensor. Almost immediately, there are a dozen different images appear along his screen.

Young girls' pictures. Widows.

Natasha shakily presses her hand against the edge of the desk for support, stubbornly forcing herself to stand on her feet. Her heart is beating rapidly in her chest, as she takes in the chaotic videos and pictures. Teens are running around as a bomb goes off before them. There are young girls staring are the screen.
Their face's empty. Completely lacking in emotion.

"These world leaders, these great men, they answer to me and my widows," Dreykov exclaims. He glances at Natasha, smirking at the obvious display of fear leaking through her mask. Protectively, she places her hand on her abdomen. "Look at them!" He growls, "These girls were trash. They are thrown out into the street. I recycle the trash. And give them purpose. I give them a life!"

Natasha's bottom lip trembles, as her grip tightens on her belly. Silently swearing to herself that she will never let this baby go through the same tortures she had. Or any other Widow. Or Rose. She's never going to let this baby be abused or terrified like she was.

It's not gonna happen. Not while she's alive.

Dreykov gloats cockily, "It's my network of widows that help me control the scales of power. One command, the oil and stock markets crumble. One command, and a quarter of the planet will starve. My widows can start and end wars. They can make and break kings."

"You control all of that from here?"

He ignores her, oblivious to the true reasoning behind her question, while the screen continues to show all of the results of his Widow's work. "And with you, an Avenger under my control. I can finally come out of the shadows using the only natural resource that the world has too much of... Girls."

Natasha forces her gaze away from the screen, as she turns towards the man. A smirk lingers on the corner of her lips, "All from that little console?"

"Yeah. Oh, you find this amusing?" He asks, confusion threading through his veins. "Why are you smiling?"

"Don't take it personal, but, uh...," the assassin smirks, a dark chuckle slipping past her lips. She moves to the front of his desk, mentally preparing herself for the next phase of the plan. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Dreykov frowns, watching her intently, while he tries to force the words past his lips. But it doesn't matter. She beats him to it.

"You weren't quite strong enough, so...," She pauses, taking a deep breath, watching him closely. "I'll have to finish it myself."

Dreykov chuckles, "What are you going to do?"

Natasha smirks, quickly slamming her face against the hard wooden desk. She grunts, stubbornly ignoring the pain surging through her nose, as red droplets of blood splatter in her wake. The assassin summarizes, "Sever the nerve."

Quickly, she slams her fist across his face, sending him flying behind the desk. And with the same move, she presses her fingers against the panic button. The entire facility lighting up in a red fury.

Dreykov shakes his head, studying the redhead wearily as she approaches. But she narrows her eyes, sending a roundhouse kick to his face. The man groans, weakly falling to the ground. Natasha smirks, quickly releasing her baton from her back.

"Not so talkative now, are you?"

The assassin's grip tightens on her baton, as her anger rises through her veins. Dreykov has been responsible for so much pain and suffering circling the world. And is before her now, cowardly covering his face. But before she gets the chance to finish him off once and for all, a grappling hook glides through the air, piercing itself into her shoulder.

"Ahhh!" Natasha screams, before the device activates, throwing her to the ground. The cowardly man quickly rises to his feet, while he fixes the broken glasses over his eyes. His dark irises settle on the chaos before him, focusing on the individual trapped between his group of widows.

"Steve?" Natasha whispers.

She shakily pushes herself up, stubbornly ignoring the pain burning through her shoulder. The broken man in question struggles to meet her gaze, her emerald irises flooding with tears, as they collide with his bruised and bloody face.

The widows have done a number on him. One super soldier, even Captain America, is not going to match a group of Widows this size. Though it looks like he had managed to get in a few hits, it's nothing compared to what they have done to him.

His face is swollen and bloody, like it was after he had a one-on-one with the Winter Soldier. Only worse. His suit is torn near the chest, and his breathing is shallow and uneven. Probably broken ribs. And the widow near the front has her bite position by his neck, keeping him under control.

At least until he saw her.

Steve grunts her muscles tightening, against the grip of the woman holding him back. His red-rimmed icy blues sweep through the room, carefully studying the images on the wall, the man making his way to his feet— who he assumes to be Dreykov —, until landing on the one who takes his breath away.

"Natasha," he struggles brokenly.

Dreykov chuckles, pulling all eyes in the room to him, studying the couple. "Let him go," he commands softly, reassuring the Widow in charge.

Immediately, Steve crashes to his knees, the weight of his body too much against his legs. He quickly makes his way to Natasha, ignoring the protest his limbs give any time he moves. His hand grasps her arm, gently pulling her closer to his body and farther away from all of the unfamiliar individuals in the room.

"Natasha?" He whispers. His eyes travel up and down her body, trying to find any and every bloody or bruised mark possible. He reaches up to the metal still trapped in her shoulder, "I'm pulling."

The redhead nods, a cry of pain slipping past her lips, as he stays true to his word. Her hand gently travels up the base of his forearm, gripping it like a lifeline, before they help each other to their feet. She feels the weight of everyone's gaze on her skin, finally bringing forth the courage to look at the Widows.

They're all staring at Dreykov, awaiting their next order or mission. And the coward in question is staring at the couple with an amused glint in his eye.

Power radiating off of his stance. He is in control.

And everyone knows it.

"That's cute," Dreykov decides, nodding in the direction of the couple's hands. "We'll look at you two, you make quite a couple. The Captain America, a hero according to some. And one of my elite Widows. Natasha, one of the most deadliest assassins in the world. Just imagine what people would say about you two?"

"She's not yours," Steve growls, "She doesn't belong to anybody."

"Of course," Dreykov scoffs mockingly. He stands over his desk, quickly typing something on the screen of his tablet. "Every Widow belongs to me. I made them into what they are. What they are capable of. It's all thanks to me! They owe me!"

Silently, a group of guards appears behind the Widows, and Dreykov begins to move forward. He smirks, while the crowd separates, immediately creating a path. "And finally, I can take control of the whole world. And you're not going to be around to stop me."

A chill sweeps through the room.

"Subdue her," Dreykov commands the Widows, before sparing a glance at the guards. "And bring her. Nobody leaves this room until he is dead." He sends a glare at the Widows, "Make him suffer."

Immediately the Widows split. Each group follows a separate command. Natasha shakes her head, sharing a glance with Steve, "I don't want to do this. You don't want to hurt us."

They don't have a choice.

Six of the Widows press closer to Natasha. While the other six focus on Steve. They try to cover each other's backs, but there are so many Widows. Natasha grabs her batons, refusing to go down without a fight. But it's no use. One of the Widows manages to slam Natasha against a pillar, and she screams out her limbs fighting in protest.

It's no use.

The Widow doesn't waste any time, aware of the super soldier trying to make his way over. She powers up her electric bites, activating them to full power, and quickly slams them against Natasha's neck. A weak cry slips past her lips, the force of the electricity vibrating within her body. She crashes to the floor, black spots echoing throughout her vision, and she feels one of the guards lifting her into his arms— carrying her away.

Natasha breathes deeply, trying to grasp the edges of consciousness to keep her awake. But it's hard. And it hurts. It hurts so much. She barely makes out Steve's blurry figure, as he tries his best to make his way past the army of Widows.

"No!" He calls. "No!"

Steve uses his weight to throw a widow off his body, praying he can make it to her before they leave behind Dreykov. But it's no use.

The Widows surround him, quickly taking advantage of his moment of weakness. One of them comes from the side, pinning his body to a table, before another Widow slams her batons into his stomach. He attempts to roll out of the way, falling against the ground.

All his attempts fail. The Widows close in.

Natasha swallows, struggling weakly to raise her head, for a better chance to see. At the last moment, with her heart pounding against her ribs, she manages to make out a blurry, blonde muscular figure.

She watches him struggle. She watches them beat him to the ground with no remorse. The man that she loves more than anything. She watches him fall. Watches his head collide with the floor. And then nothing.

He doesn't move.

The Widows continue their beating.

And something inside of Natasha snaps.

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In and out of focus, moments that I keep
Something for the pain and something so I sleep

XX

~ Author's Note ~

Thoughts? Questions?

What's gonna happen with Steve? Natasha?

XX

Next Chapter:

The walls are bleeding red
Blisters for the scars and the damage did

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And finally, she turns her attention to one of the stars from her nightmares. She raises her gaze to meet his dark black irises, and smirks hauntingly, as she recognizes the fear spreading through him as he comes to the sickening realization that there is nothing left standing in between him and her.

"You took everything from me," she growls.

As the fire begins burning through her emerald irises. The blood is staining her face all over, but the tears continue to leak down her cheeks at an uncontrollable pace.