protected || natasha romanoff [DISCONTINUED]

t is for trauma

i lay awake in the dorm. i can hear everyone else sleeping. i roll over to face the wall and close my eyes. i can feel someone behind me. i flip over to see empty air. i press my back to the wall. i can feel hands reaching for me. i tear my blankets off and pull off my handcuffs. my test is soon. and so is my last training session before a mandatory break- thanks, carter. while everyone else gets the practice with each other, i'll be off doing some required "activity". but if i just check... to make sure...

i sneak into the hospital and find the room with all the testing equipment. i glance around- i'm not really sure what the exam will hold, but as long as it's easier than what i did as a kid...

"nat?" clint says, stepping out from behind a cabinet.

"what did i say about calling me that?" i ask my supervising officer.

"natasha, you'll pass the physical," he says, stepping closer. stupid of me to not notice him there.

i know i will. i graduated the black widow program when flying colours. my body is at its peak. "i know," i whisper, "but... what if i don't?"

he crouches in front of me. "it's just your anxiety getting the best of you. i know you're, like, old, but..."

"my life has been all trauma. i get it. i don't want a therapist," i sigh.

"why don't we go for a walk? there's a lot about my past you don't know about."

"fine," i say, rolling my eyes. i guess i can entertain him. even though it's probably still pitch black outside. he takes my hand and helps me to my feet. he locks the door behind us. "so what's with you and morse?" i ask.

"we were a thing," he admits, "before i got- we broke up."

got into an arranged marriage? talked out of the relationship? got smarter? got more reckless? more experienced? the options are endless. "i don't give a shit about your past," i say, "i only care about now." and also if she'd teach me how to use those battle staves.

he sighs, glancing around the hall before continuing. "i've got... an interesting past. we're more similar than you think, nat."

i don't say anything. so that means SHIELD wanted him. "you were married, weren't you?" he asks. he's either trying to hide that he's read my file or he's really perceptive.

i nod. "i was." i don't offer anything else.

"i'm sure they were very lucky," he says reassuringly.

we get outside- it's still dark. i grab his hand. "you don't know half of what i've done." i can feel them reaching for me. the ghosts. they'll haunt me forever.

"do they come back to you at night?" he whispers.

i bite my lip. "yes."

"they follow me, too," he admits. "i killed- i was a mercenary before SHIELD."

that's what happened to melina. "i'm sorry."

"it's not your fault, nat. none of that was. you had to."

"no, you don't understand," i choke, backing into the wall. i take a deep breath, memories resurfacing. i can skin people alive. i know how to keep someone alive just long enough so they can reach for their loved ones before dying at their feet. i used to paralyze people before killing them.

"i'm trained to do anything to complete the mission, clint. that's where we're different. you know when to back off. i've never failed, because i don't let myself rest until i'm done," i finally say. he deserves to know if he's going to associate himself with me, though.

i slide down the wall and curl up on the ground. he crouches next to me, rubbing my back. i let out a shaky breath. "i'm just a tool, clint. no country will ever accept me, no matter how much blind patriotism is drilled into my brain, i know that. they want to use me, sure, but be responsible for the things that i do? no. nobody would bat an eye at my death- one less liability to worry about. i'm worthless, and that's what makes me a good spy. i have no place in the world, which is how i don't exist to civilians."

"nat, people care about you," he says. i don't think it's as comforting as he thinks it is.

"the people i care about die for my mistakes," i mumble. i am loyal to clint- he deserves that. but i am not loyal to america. never again will i blindly follow a country, accepting everything it does. maybe, in another lifetime, i would've been born here, and i would've loved this country, like i used to think i loved russia. but trusting someone- something- is not something i'm used to.

-

"alright, everyone," thompson says, "i know we're all tired, but we still have work to get done." he motions to a shelf with ordinary objects on it. "choose something."

i step over. i can only assume we'll be using these things as weapons, but there isn't anything sharp. fake flowers, a handkerchief- that gets snatched up quickly- a book, a spoon, socks. i take the spoon and get back into line.

"before we start working with more unique weapons, don't you think we should appreciate the equipment we have?"

everyone else shifts and glances down at their items. i roll my eyes.

"romanoff? do you want to go first?" thompson asks me.

"why not," i say with a sigh. i step forwards, tucking the spoon up into my sleeve without even noticing. the curved end fits into my palm. just like-

no. i'm not going there.

-

clint taps my shoulder in the hall. i spin towards him. "as far as i'm concerned, last night never happened," i hiss. "it was a one time thing, and if you ever bring it up again, you'll be deaf in your other ear, too. you don't need to befriend me just because of what happened."

he instinctively reaches for his left ear. "fine."

i catch an agent looking at me out of the corner of my eye. i straighten quickly, tilting my chin up.

"i want you to come have lunch with me again. it's an order."

"'kay." i follow him to the cafeteria, my shoulders back. he heads over to a table in the corner- the same one as last time. morse is sitting there already.

"barton!" she calls, and then sees me. i catch her reaching for her thigh- either because i stabbed her there or because she has a weapon there.

i hold the eye contact. it doesn't break until barton steps between us. he sits down and pats the seat next to me. i sit cross legged, studying morse. she's dressed casually, like she has the day off. her hair is tied back.

barton shifts, seeming to notice that we're eyeing each other. "how was your mission, bobbi?"

"simple," she snorts.

"you know, nat, i bet she could teach you to use battle staves."

he's so unpredictable. but he has got me there- i haven't been trained with those. normally she has them on her, i realize.

"i would be open to it," i say calmly.

"is this your way of saying you don't know something?" morse asks.

i set another wall up. keep them both from poking at things i may not know, keep clint from bringing up my past. "still not over budapest, are you?"

she opens and closes her mouth. "clint, get your pet under control," she hisses, storming off.