Okay, so this has been taken from my main story, Rogue Shadow: Chapter 8. There's not much fighting but it is the beginning of a lot more to come in the story.
Slade watched as Natasha ran out of the room and listened to where she went. Downstairs, that would be good for her. He stood up to clear the table and kitchen, washing everything up before checking the security cameras in the training area. Slade was glad to see the kid taking her frustrations out on a punching bag. He closed his phone and left for his room, planning on giving the kid an hour or so to cool off before he went to talk to her again. Her temper was going to become a serious problem is she didn't learn to control herself. This was going to be harder than he expected.
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Nat didn't know where exactly she was running, not away – she didn't even know where the exit was. She found herself descending the spiral staircase into the massive room from the previous day. Swinging under the railing, Nat made her way to the rafters above the room.
With all thought of personal safety gone, Natasha began doing flips on the beams; running, jumping, twisting, and landing perfectly. If she died, then she would finally be released from this living hell. All of this went over her head, however, from the anger that clouded her vision. It seemed as if time slowed down when she dove off a central beam – she could breathe again. Finally, a moment of clarity. Ducking into a role at the last second, Natasha absorbed the shock on the landing, jumping to her feet with a little help from momentum.
A punching bag hanging innocently off to the side caught Nat's eye. The black and orange pattern standing out against the navy training floor. Bounding over to the bag, Nat leapt on top of it, legs hooking either side of the chain, she let herself hang upside down against the gently swaying bag.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she groaned quietly. "What did I ever do to you?" Natasha glared ahead of her, looking at the upside-down entrance of the massive room. Screw it.
When the random blackening and regaining of her vision became too irritating with to the blood rushing to her head, Nat groaned loudly, sliding off the bag upside down, using her hands to take her weight and gently lower herself to the ground.
Her fault.
Everything that had happened was her fault. David, Laura, Giselle, Jacen, Cian; Their blood was on her hands. It was her fault they were dead. Why did everything bad always have to happen to her? Couldn't the fates choose someone else's life to destroy?
Her fault.
Natasha rolled onto her back and screamed out in frustration until her lungs ran out of oxygen; hands clawing at her face to stop them shaking from anger. She laid still while she heaved a few deep breaths, as if that would change anything.
All her fault.
She breathed out a resigned sigh before getting up. What's done is done; it cannot be undone. Rolling over her shoulder backwards, Nat sprung to her feet, attacking the punching bag with rage in her eyes. Every kick and punch connected. Every strike causing her pain, but that only pushed Nat to keep going. It didn't matter that it hurt. She deserved it. It was all her fault.
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Entering the training room without alerting the kid was easier than it should have been. She was so distracted and caught up in the moment that she had blocked everything else out. Slade was mildly surprised to see Natasha still mauling away at the punching bag after two hours, that took a lot of stamina. Eyeing the blood marks on the bag, Slade moved his gave to her hands, tightly balled in fists with blood coating her fingers. That the kid had split her knuckles and either hadn't noticed or was too upset to care.
Detouring slightly to a side of the room where the mini-fridge and medical cabinet sat, Slade grabbed two long rolls of bandages, a cloth and a bottle of water. He walked over to Natasha, still punching away at the bag, dried and fresh blood covering her hands.
"Hey," he called from right behind her. "Hey," Slade put a hand on her shoulder and turned her towards himself. "Kid, stop."
Natasha's chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She kept her gaze locked on the floor. Slade knew that he was not going to get anything out of her, so he pushed his interrogative questions to the back of his mind. He knelt in front of the girl and poured enough water on the cloth to soak it. Slade seized one of her hands and began wiping the blood off her skin, careful not to cause any additional pain.
Nat stood in stunned silence, hatred and frustration gnawing away at her from the inside out. Even after everything she had said to him, here he was helping her without reason nor obligation. Natasha followed with her eyes as the blood-stained rag was discarded on the navy floor. Wilson took hold of one of her wrists again, hooking the starting loop over Nat's left thumb and began methodically wrapping her hand and wrist in a boxing fashion. Going through each finger to protect her knuckles from the brutal force exerted on them. Once both her hands were wrapped, Slade shaped her hands into fists, pressing his palms against her covered hands.
"Better?" he asked. Nat finally lifted her gaze to meet his eye, confusion and anger swirling around inside brown orbs. At the child's uncertain nod, Slade held his hands up an arm's length away from her face. When she didn't move, Slade reached forward with his right hand, guiding her left hand through the proper motion of a strike, twisting her wrist over at the last moment before the hit landed on his open palm.
"Most of the power in a punch comes from your hips." Nat's eyes widened slightly in understanding, Wilson was, well... training her. He reached forward to take control of Natasha's other hand. "Use your stance to move through the strike. Twist-up your hips and let your shoulder go back." Nat did as she was instructed, allowing herself to be led through the movements.
"Flow into the punch, feel the power that comes through the motions. Start with your thumb facing upwards; untwist it at the last second. Have your arm lax until then. You tense as you make contact so you're not wasting energy." Slade moved his hands back as targets and watched in satisfaction as Natasha took in his teachings and produced an almost perfect attack over and over again.
"Good. Now keep that form but hold your hands in guarding. There's not as far to twist, but the principle is the same." He repositioned her guard to protect her face more. The kid was a fast learner who knew what she was doing. But over a year of living in the system had rusted over her skills. Now she would have the chance to flourish. Finally, be who all that she was meant to be.
"Don't over commit to your punches." A raised eyebrow told Slade that he had reached a point that had not been explained. "Doing continuous strikes like this – you need to pull back in time for the next one. If you overcommit it means you're falling through the hit instead of stopping it. You lose your power and your control – hit again," Nat did, and let out a startled cry when her punch was blocked, and she was flipped to the ground. Natasha was left staring at the ceiling, frozen in shock. Slade stood up and then gripped her bandaged hand, hauling her up beside him.
"– and can easily be knocked off balance. Don't punch through your target. Hit it and pull back." Natasha nodded her head in understanding, seemingly eager to continue their lesson. Kneeling in front of the child once more, Slade gestured for Nat to keep going.
"You're doing well, kid. Just punch harder now." Nat complied, putting more force into her fists as she disappeared into her mind to the steady rhythm, the pattern implanted in her head. Jab, jab-punch, punch, punch-jab-punch, repeat.
Slade and Nat worked through techniques and sequences for a while longer. Slade wanted Natasha to work through her anger, not bottle it up. It would do her no good to lose control. She needed stability, not insanity. She would destroy herself given the chance. Punishing herself for things that she had no control over but still felt responsible for. There was only so much she could handle before she lost control.
He only zoned back into Natasha's technique when he felt her punches getting gradually harder. "Kid, calm down," Slade said to her, yet it was as if she couldn't hear him. Blood had soaked through the white bandages, but Nat didn't seem to be able to feel it. She just kept going.
"Tash, stop. That's enough, kid." Slade reached forward and took hold of her shoulders, shaking her lightly to wake her up. "You need to calm down. It's over. Getting angry won't change anything."
Nat took a step away from Slade, easily pulling out of his grip. "I came down here to beat out my frustrations. You're the one teaching me how to fight," she shouted, accusation lacing her voice.
Slade stood up slowly, his towering height looming over Natasha. Behind the emotionless façade, Slade was troubled at the way Natasha retreated slightly as he approached. There was a falter in her step as she moved backwards, creating just over an arm's length in between the two. She was afraid of him. That would make it that much harder to do his job.
Slade doubted that Natasha even realised she had backed away. She seemed to do it instinctively; when he reached out to her before, she was within arm's distance. When she was scared or felt threatened, she moved a safe distance away. Slade recalled it happening more and more now that he knew what he was looking for. When she regained consciousness, leaving the training room and before she had a panic attack and passed out. Dammit, the kid was more skittish than a mouse. Slade didn't move any closer to Natasha, if she needed distance between them to feel safe, then he wasn't about to deny her that. Slade needed her to trust him, not fear him.
"Kid... this isn't about learning how to throw a punch. This is about learning control." At these words, Natasha's fists unfurled, visibly losing tension in her body. Anger has a short fuse; it runs on emotions. When the emotional high runs out, reason takes its place. Slade maintained his calm demeanour as he spoke to her. He couldn't afford to let her lose control.
"Being in control of your emotions is imperative for you, kid. Control over mind and body. Never let emotion cloud your head: never let reason rule your heart." Eventually, Natasha dropped her head and closed her eyes, appearing to finally soak up his words.
"If you aren't careful, people will get hurt. And I know you don't want to hurt anybody. You're a good kid Natasha, but you have to let people in. I can't help you if keep fighting me."
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