Date: June 17, 2022
Words: 1880

~ Author's Note ~

Lyrics belong to Boy Epic, Scars

Hope you enjoy!

Can you see my scars?
Can you feel my heart?
This is all of me, for all of the world to see

.
.
.

Everything's ringing.

She can smell the gas leaking into the air, causing her stomach to turn. Her head feels heavy, while a painful groan slips past her lips. She feels her eyes flutter shut as the black spots pierce their way into her vision. She feels her body dropping forward, failing to hold herself up.

But, her body is not the only thing to fall forward.
Natasha gasps, panic rising through her veins. Her car has broken through the bridge barrier. It rocks forward as its head tilts toward the sea down below. She sees the dark, swirling water as she struggles to control her breathing. She presses her palms along her body and searches for any major injuries.

The redhead does not find anything life-threatening, only tiny cuts from the glass. She notices the seat belt digging into the sensitive skin of her - fuck. Her hand travels down to the base of her belly, her mind racing as her heart pounds wildly through her chest.

The baby.

Natasha freezes, as the sound of a car door slamming reaches her ears. She glances up, as shallow breaths slip past her lips. Panic flooding through her, catching sight of the masked figure stalking her way.

Her hands fly toward the seat belt locking her in place, struggling against the lock. Her instincts take over as her breathing evens out, and she doesn't notice all of the glass shards entering her knuckles. She gasps, as the belt releases from the lock. Gravity sends her into the dashboard, her legs colliding first.

Natasha grips the frame, blood dripping off her palms, but she doesn't care. The car rocks forward, barely on the edge of the bridge as it threatens to fall. She needs to get out of there. Fast.

The redhead grunts, as she throws her body toward the back of the car. Her hands reach out for things to grip for stability. She glances out the back window, as she takes note of the unfamiliar figure closing in. She grabs a Glock off the floor, unlocking the softly with her thumb as she reloads the weapon.

"I'm pretty sure Ross has no jurisdiction here," Natasha yells. The familiar metal weapon sends calming waves through her body, a comforting essence as she aims it forward. "And you should know I'm a better shot when I'm pissed off."

Natasha aims lethally for the masked figure's face, she shoots three shots. Suddenly, the figure brings around a shield, reminding her of Steve, blocking all the shots from their destinations. The redhead quickly replaces her old magazine with a new one, before she cocks the gun and resumes fire. The individual stares her down, its body stiff as it peers her way.

Not a second later, the shield is thrown in her direction, swirling toward her head. Natasha gasps, air struggling to get through her lungs. She barely has time to get her head away from the edge, as the shield lodges itself in the window.

Natasha takes a deep breath, grimacing as her hand travels over her sore stomach. Nausea swirls up her throat, as she glances around the car, hoping to catch sight of the figure. She notices her photo has fallen out of her pocket, and she reaches down, gently grasping the edge of the photo. Smears of blood are showing on the side, but she doesn't notice, shoving the photo into her pocket.

The redhead jumps out of the car, searching around for the unknown figure. She places her gun in front of her, firing her weapon at the figure's Vibranium shield. The bullets collide with the unknown individual's silver and blue shield. She weakly recognizes the symbol shown, but she doesn't allow her mind to trail off into the dark memories threatening to overwhelm her.

The individual tries to kick the gun away, but Natasha acts faster. She drops her useless weapon, before she pushes herself forward, wrapping her legs around its neck. The figure tries to get her off, gripping her neck with one hand, before using the momentum to throw her off.

Natasha struggles to stand her own, using all the tricks she knows. Nothing seems to be working. The figure, somehow, seems to know every move she is going to do before she even starts to move.

It's like it's mimicking her. Perfectly.

The redhead takes a deep breath, laying on her back as the shock travels through her veins. Her ears are ringing again, and her head is pounding. Everything around her is blurry. She knows she needs to find a way off this bridge. And she can't risk getting hurt in the process. Especially now.

The individual walks closer, gazing forward through the mask. It copies her position, every movement perfectly mimicked, even the head tilt. Natasha frowns, quickly throwing her legs out from under her, throwing herself into a squatting position. Not missing a single moment, the figure copies her every move.

Natasha's emerald irises stare at the unknown masked figure. She tries to ignore the panic as it bubbles inside her. Suddenly, the figure moves from its position. She watches as the figure heads in the direction of the pile of her things.

She frowns, commenting lowly as she realizes. "You're not here for me." Natasha reaches back for her knife in her back pocket. She moves closer, finally having the upper hand.

Almost as if the figure has eyes in the back of its head, it turns around suddenly. The figure comes forward, and she tries to land a hit with her knife, but all her attempts end in failure. Nothing she tries is working.

The figure pins her arm against her body, as it places its shoe on her wrist. She grunts, struggling to get free, as the individual grabs a fistful of her hair. Natasha's eyes go wide, as she notices the figure's freehand flying forward. She knows there's nothing she can do to stop it from happening.

The figure's hand plunges into her stomach, sending her flying. Natasha can feel the road burning against her body, as she rolls across the asphalt. Suddenly, she stops, everything around her spinning.

She can't fucking breathe.

Natasha lies on the road, her eyes stinging against the tears threatening to spill. Her hand travels down to the base of her stomach, even though she can still feel the figure watching her closely and knows it's a weakness that shouldn't be shown. She can't stop herself.

God, her stomach hurts. So fucking bad.

The redhead slowly starts to push herself forward, not noticing the figure come up from the side. A kick lands against her throat, pushing her back down. She grunts through the pain, before she wraps her grappling hook around the figure's leg, causing it to fall back.

Natasha pulls herself away from her opponent's grasp, throwing the grappling hook around one of the nearby bridge ties. She watches as it causes the individual to fly backward. The redhead doesn't waste any time, as she runs toward the black box. The one that seems to hold her opponent's attention.

The redhead stuffs the red vials into her jacket, right as the figure cuts itself down from the wire. The individual charges forward, its knife ready to strike. She ducks, barely able to miss the hit, as she grabs the discarded shield.

Natasha struggles against the pain washing through her, as she tries to push on. She manages to hit and kick the figure's armor, but before she could try to do any more damage, the figure strikes.

The individual pushes its foot against her body, forcing her backward. She can feel herself getting submerged in the dark, swirling water below, not even noticing her body hitting her car on the way down.

Natasha feels the water enter her lungs, as they burn from the lack of oxygen. She can't see anything. Only darkness that's swallowing her whole. She tries to push her body forward, fighting her way to the surface, but nothing seems to be working.

She can't tell which way is up or down.

Until finally, she breaks through the surface, her lungs struggling as the air engulfs them. She swims her way to the water's edge, barely able to keep herself on top of the surface. Her hand flows down to her stomach, as she presses gently against her skin. A gasp slips past her lips, pain flowing throughout her body. Everything hurts.

Hurts so fucking bad.

Natasha slowly brings the red vials out of her jacket, taking note of every tiny detail about them. Her eyes travel over them, noticing something clipped on the top of it. She pulls it away gently, her eyes stinging. Even though she will deny it if anyone asks her.

It's a familiar photo strip. Of her and Yelena.

"Oh, shit," she struggles to breathe.

XX

His fingers grasp the photo tightly.

The edge of the black and white image wrinkles under the pressure. His eyes are focused on the video screen in front of him. He watches the video closely, and every single action she takes is carefully studied. His secret weapon will need to watch this later. He catches sight of her hand traveling down to the base of her stomach, as an emotion passes over her face.

Fear.

His Natasha is scared.

Dreykov glances at the photo, taking in one last glance of the child. He places the photo on the table, leaning back in his seat. This situation is interesting, to say the least. It's almost familiar in a way. Déjà vu spreading through him.

His Natasha, pregnant and alone.

Yes. Very familiar.

"Secure the vials," he commands. Dreykov glances up, making eye contact with Ingrid, glaring deeply into the eyes of one of his superior widows. She nods, even as her mind tries to question his order. Though, the familiar chemical haze washes over, immediately vanishing the thoughts.

"Bring her..." he whispers, "Home."

.
.
.

Run, love
I'm the truth that you're afraid of
I'm a fever, that you made up

XX

Next Chapter:

If I don't make sense
Please, forgive me, I can't sleep at night

.
.
.

The redhead stalks toward the apartment door, quickly opening it with a bobby pin. She would have used her key, but well... it's somewhere lost at sea. Besides, it's not like she wants to be back here. Her eyes narrow as she pushes forward, every single movement she does has to be thought out. It needs to be efficient. This isn't an inexperienced individual she's looking for.

She's a widow.

"I know you're out there," a familiar voice calls.

Natasha swallows deeply, stepping forward, while she pulls her gun out of her waistband. She allows herself to soak in the voice that's changed so much. It's lost all the innocent tunes that used to sparkle within. It's now unwavering and perfectly controlled. Cold. Downright terrifying. Exactly how they were trained to be.

"I know you know I'm out here."

XX

What do you think? Ideas?