sporadic | avengers

THIRTY-ONE / when black widow was her own hero

"Miss Romanoff, we can either play nice, or play rough. You decide. Where are the Avengers?"

She grit her teeth: "I don't know."

"Take her to solitary."

Two pairs of muscular arms lifted her off her seat and, quite literally, dragged her to solitary confinement. Her socked feet suffered to get traction on the smooth stone floor. She ended up with scrapes and bruises on her knees.

Eventually, they threw her into a block of cement, *kindly* referred to as solitary confinement.

The door closed and, suddenly, the only light came from outside.

Natasha stood and, after a head rush, walked to the slit of a window. She looked out into the lonely city she called home.

The Avengers had been disbanded for a year now, and Natasha worked solely for SHIELD, as an agent. The UN government had broken them up, imprisoning half and telling the other to keep their heads down and their names out of headlines.

Natasha was lucky enough to be able to work for SHIELD. She was lucky enough to keep her apartment and life.

She hadn't even talked to anyone outside of her closest friends - Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Bruce (of course).

She didn't even know if anyone else was alive.

Yet, she was the one being held and tortured and endangered for honestly not knowing. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told them. She would have liked to have the option, though.

Natasha sunk to the floor and began to think.

She didn't want to rely on anyone else to rescue her. She knew they wanted her to be safe, but it would astronomically jeopardize their own safety.

She had to be her own hero.

"Romanoff. Dinner." A bar of light appeared in the middle of the door and a tray was pushed through. It dropped to the floor with a distinct mushing sound.

But there was also a redemptive one:

The sound of silverware falling to the stone ground. Idiots, they are. She moved over and felt a spoon and salad fork. Natasha pocketed the fork.

She abandoned the food and waited for the person to come back to get the tray.

An eternity later, the bar opened again.

"Give it back," they commanded. She was quiet. "Romanoff!"

Without any answer, the door opened and she took the opportunity. She lunged onto an average-size man. After easily overpowering him, and barely grazing him, she ran out and into the hallway.

She looked at the ceiling. Camera. There'll be back up and soon.

Natasha's body acted before her mind could even think, and she was running. She sprinted toward the dead end. The window.

She gathered all her strength and leaped.

The glass shattered and rained around her as she fell through the sky. It hadn't looked so high up from solitary. She wasn't anticipating such a far drop.

It was a number of stories.

Shit, she thought, I'm going to die today.

She closed her eyes. She would have prayed some quick number if she were more religious, but her life didn't afford her much room for faith.

She didn't hit the ground. In fact, an arm latched around her torso and pulled her close.

She looked to see Sam.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered.

"You're welcome."

"No, I had that."

"Uh-huh, right."

"I did!" she lied as they flew through the air.

"We have different dictionaries then."

Minutes went by as he flew through buildings.

"I only needed help with the landing part..."

"I know."

"...Thanks."