Black Widow: An Origin Story

Tension

It took days before she decided to talk to me again, let alone look at me for longer than a second.

Clint took over my training in her absence. He told me she'd come around. That it was just rare for someone to actually catch her off guard. It went against all she knew.

That concerned me.

I remembered what she'd told me about the Red Room. How brutal they were and how much they expected of her. And there was her husband, Alexei. I honestly hoped he was long dead.

Had they captured her when I was gone? They would have had to. I remembered Alexei being there in the control room with both Natasha and Peggy. And how I'd thought he'd killed her.
My mistake. Not that I could've changed the outcome.

How much more of her did they destroy?

Most, it seemed.

I signaled him that I was done and he lowered his arms from their raised position with a quirk of his brow. "How much do you know about Natasha's past?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just trying to figure her out," I answered honestly. I almost told him of our past, but refrained. Now was not the time. "I want to understand her. She could use a friend."

His face turned thoughtful. "I don't know much," he finally said. "I brought her in. I'd been ordered to put her down, but I made a different call." My knees nearly buckled at that admission. Thank you for choosing otherwise. "Fury was pissed, but she owed the Red Room no allegiance anymore. That's where she was trained. She was only twenty when I brought her in, in 2004." He grimaced as if the next thought wasn't so kind. "Everyone shied away from her for the longest time. Not that they don't still do that, but it was much different. No one talked to her except for me, Fury and Hill. Coulson became our handlers, and she learned to trust him. You'll meet him soon." He scratched the back of his head. "It's been an adjustment for her, but she's in a much better place than she was. Besides that, she rarely talks of her past. I've only gotten a few admissions, but that's when she was drunk, so I can't tell you if they were true or not."

Oh, they likely were, but I wasn't going to tell him. Not yet. I needed Natasha to trust me first. To take those first steps of friendship.

On the beginning of the eighth day of silence, I was surprised to see her back in the training room, with Clint nowhere in sight. I walked up nervously, hoping she wasn't still pissed.

She revealed no emotion. Not that I was surprised in the least. It had taken some time before she had in the past.

"Agent Romanoff," I finally greeted when it seemed she wouldn't be saying a word.

"Rogers," she replied. "Clint's grown tired of you. I hope you haven't been slacking."

I wanted to argue the point and tell her Clint was a good teacher, and a better friend, but wisely decided against it. She still appeared upset over my surprise attack.

But shouldn't that be what I'm doing if I want to advance?

"Come on, Soldier. Let's see what Clint's ruined," she grumbled from inside the ring.

I didn't dare disobey.

But I also didn't hold back.

We fought ferociously for over an hour, neither seeming to gain the upper hand on the other. I smiled as sweat slid down from her brow line. I was already soaked with it, but being able to break her down a bit was victory enough.
I finally swung my fist toward her stomach, full force, knowing she'd likely slip around it in some form or fashion. And thankfully, I was right. Albeit painfully.