Whatever It Takes

Chapter 8 - Where Do We Start?

Unknown Location, 2008

Images are swirling in your mind. At first you remember when you were a little girl, marching through corridors with others, terrified at the surrounding guards with their guns. The memory shifts, showing your mid-teens, fighting other girls; bones breaking, blood spread over your knuckles. You hear screaming and crying: you know some are from your own throat, but mostly they're echoes coming from others. A flash of water, feeling suffocation; pain as your fingers are broken. The squeaky wheels of the gurney as you are ushered to the operating theatre; immense fragility after the surgery only exacerbated by the comforting tones of Madame B reassuring you that you were now 'a real woman.'

There was only one constant in all of these images: Natasha. As you try and focus on her face, reaching out a hand for her to hold, a flash of white enters your mind, leaving behind nothing but darkness. You're not sure how long you've been seeing this emptiness, but slowly you start to hear the echoes of a conversation. Instantly drawn to the noise, you try to focus on it hoping it will pull you out.

"This is non-negotiable Romanoff; I don't want you here when she wakes up."

"She won't trust you. If you want answers then I NEED to be here."

"You think I can't handle it. I've dealt with you, haven't I? Why don't you go and do your job? Trace all the information taken from Hammer Industries, see if there's anyone else coming after Stark."

"Fury..."

"That's an order Romanoff." The voice is firm, but with an edge of compassion mixed in. You fade out again.

***

You know you're awake this time as you open your eyes slightly, easing them in as the light stings. Your mouth is dry, body feeling stiff, but you try to sit up. The clinking sound makes you aware that your hands and feet have been handcuffed, making movement difficult, but thankfully not impossible. You stretch your neck, trying to ease some of your muscles back into movement. When you can finally open your eyes fully you take a sharp intake of breath. This was definitely not what you were expecting to see.

Tony Stark's eyes bore into yours. He doesn't look angry, or defiant, just dazed; almost as if he is just as confused as you are. Sitting next to him is Nick Fury; he's not looking at you, but staring at a file on his lap. "Quite a life you've led Miss Volkova," Fury doesn't look up from the file. "Such a flawless record too, especially in Europe." He lifts up a photograph, turning to show you. "I especially like this part about Zagreb, tricky situation that was. Is the Doctor still alive?" Finally meeting your eyes, you keep your face stoic and calm, meeting his stare.

"I'm guessing not," Stark interrupts a slight chuckle in his voice. You look at him briefly before turning your attention back to Fury.

"Probably," he returns the picture to the file and closes it. "Black Widows rarely miss. That's what they're trained to do isn't it? But not for some greater good or for love of country." You try to keep your breathing calm. "There's a deeper reason why you are so good at what you do. Which is why I'm so confused." he stands up and walks over to a water cooler, pouring a glass of water and placing it on the table next to you. "Tony Stark. Iron Man. The biggest mission of your life, yet somehow your plan seems so half-hearted. I mean, trust me, you'd be doing me a favour getting rid of this arrogant son of a bitch." He laughs as Stark looks at him. "So why didn't you?"

You stare straight ahead at the wall behind Fury. You've never given any information out in any interrogation, you weren't about to start now. This was going to be your life now, constantly quizzed about every facet: your life, your missions and whatever information you could give on the KGB. But they would get nothing. Saying nothing would keep you alive, for now. It was difficult though, now that some memories were coming back to you, mixed with the reunion with Natasha: your emotions were not as strong as you had hoped them to be, a single tear betraying you, escaping to run down your cheek.