Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Widow and the Witch
Natasha was made for a solitary life. Molded into a one woman killing machine by a program that allowed no room for attachments and punished weakness. In the Red Room the girls were taught to be self sufficient- rely on no one but yourself. Helping or being helped by another was the best way to catch a bullet between the eyes. Natasha had not become the most formidable Black Widow ever produced by making friends. No, Natasha wasn’t exactly what you would call a team player.
But here she was. The great Black Widow, part of a team made of super soldiers, gods, and metal men (annoying metal men). When Clint brought her into S.H.I.E.L.D and vouched for her it had been just the two of them for a long while. It took time, but eventually Natasha got somewhat comfortable with Clint watching her back- even trusting him to not get her killed. The second aliens came raining down from the sky and the Tesseract nearly destroyed the world, things had changed. And then S.H.I.E.L.D fell, and she found out that despite her best efforts to make a change, to lie for the right people, she had been stupid enough to be running missions for HYDRA. After that she disappeared for a while. A Black Widow was no good without covers- espionage is about staying hidden and not dumping all of your secrets onto the internet. But somehow she found herself in Sokovia (well part of it), working with the Avengers to stop Ultron. After, when she went to run again, Steve stopped her. He convinced Natasha that she could still be a force for good, more than the assassin that was born out of the Red Room. She didn’t need to disappear or run anymore. Everyone had dispersed, gone their own ways, but Cap had asked her to stay and help train the new recruits. Now she found herself stuck in a communal lifestyle she was not made for. Luckily Tony had made various floors of the new Avengers facility into living quarters for each occupant.
Now it was up to her and Steve to train the new recruits how work as a team (ironic if Natasha thought about it). Training had been progressing smoothly, but they were still nowhere near ready to save the world from its next disaster. Rhodey and Sam both had military training and knew how to work as a unit. Cap seemed to feel most at home with the two of them. The Vision, well he was an android with infinite knowledge, flight, enhanced strength, and god knew what else- she wasn’t quite sure what, if any, training was required with him. More often she found him regarding everyone with intense curiosity. Often he watched, head tilted, as Sam and Rhodey joked about who was better, taking in and studying their interactions. He had once told Steve he found human beings to be curious creatures, that he enjoyed observing and learning about all the aspects he himself did not possess.
And then there was the girl, Wanda. Natasha had kept her distance-a very large distance. Wanda had turned her mind inside out in Wakanda, reached in and saw things she had no right to see. Since Pietro’s death Wanda’s powers had been erratic, they were tied to her emotions. Natasha saw Wanda was trying to keep herself together, but her intense grief was the cause of her lack of control. Natasha had no desire to get pulled inside out again, that and her anger meant she avoided Wanda whenever possible.
Natasha had been unmade, pulled apart and made anew in the Red Room; her childhood and teenage years full of violence, death, control, and the abuse of her mind. When she voluntary came to S.H.I.E.L.D the Black Widow had agreed to their version of reprogramming. The memories of who she was, what she had done, and who had made her were all still there. But, she had buried them deep and only saw them again in her nightmares.
When Wanda had forced her way inside Natasha’s mind she saw the real Black Widow, the woman who hid behind a fake name and a false personality that was malleable to fit any situation. Natasha was a fiction, a creation of hers, there was very little that was genuine about Natasha Romanoff. Hell, even her hair came from a bottle. Deep down she would always be Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Like she had told Bruce, she had a dream…. a dream that she was an Avenger and that she did good and could maybe wipe out some- even the smallest drop of red that stained her ledger. But really she knew she was kidding herself, that it was all a fantasy- what the witch pulled out of her was the truth; red was her color. From her hair to the blood red painted on her nails, to the brains and blood of countless victims splattered all over the floor- she could never get rid of that much red. All the girl did was remind her of who she really was, who she always would be. There was no running from Natalia and the Red Room. For that she was avoiding the young Sokovian- she didn’t want anywhere near the one person in the facility who knew her better than anyone; who saw what and who she really was and the facade she was trying to hide behind in her cowardice.
But, a girl still has to eat. Which is how Natasha found herself silently trotting to the communal kitchen at 3 in the morning to steal some of Sam’s left over birthday cake. As she rustled through the fridge, moving around its contents in an attempt to get to the platter, Natasha heard a mumble. The noise immediately sent her hand to one of the knives hidden beneath the waistband of her S.H.I.E.L.D issue sweatpants. Not wanting to make anymore noise, she left the fridge door where it was and crouched behind the granite counter top. What she saw when she scanned the area was most definitely a threat. Unfortunately, this threat lived in the facility. Widow sighed internally as her hand reluctantly slid off the handle of the small knife. The kitchen was connected to the common room, a large area artfully arraigned with furniture, paintings, and a bigger television than Natasha had ever seen. She was sure Pepper oversaw most of the aesthetic construction of the compound. In the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room was a small lithe figure who was almost swallowed by her long billowy skirt. Wanda Maximoff, the one person Natasha was actively avoiding, had tucked herself into the chair; curling herself into as small a ball as she could manage as she slept. The book in her lap told Natasha the girl had nodded off, most likely not intending to sleep through the night in the chair. The murmurs Natasha had herd were falling from Wanda’s lips, some in Sokovian others in English. In both languages the girl sounded panicked and afraid. Natasha didn’t understand Sokovian, one of the few languages she hadn’t mastered, but she knew enough to make out Pietro’s name and some of the context with the words the younger woman said when she slipped into English. Steve had told her that Wanda had been having an increasingly hard time; Natasha had seen it too. She was so used to being a half of a whole, depending on her speedster brother for so many things, that without him she was barely keeping her head above water. Cap had said her self -confidence was waning, she had lost her center and was becoming more distracted and erratic. The girl had done well against Ultron, but once her brother died she had lost almost all control. Sometimes it seemed as if she too had died the second Pietro hit the ground.
Natasha had tried to ignore the pain that Wanda felt. It really wasn’t her problem. But it became increasingly hard to ignore what was in front of her, especially since the terror in Wanda’s voice as she slept was so familiar. Natasha had been forced to go to S.H.I.E.L.D issue therapists after her reconditioning; she had lost count after she scared the 7th one out of the room. Those idiots had no clue how to deal with her- much less ease her night terrors or help her delineate implanted memories from those that were truly her own. Wanda’s mumbles were getting slightly louder, filled with sorrow and fear. Natasha rose from behind the counter and silently made her way into the connected common room. From her position she could see the girl’s face was stained with tears, with black streaks running down her cheeks from mascara and heavy eyeliner. The assassin knew better than anyone that to wake someone in the middle of a night terror was dangerous. On missions she refused to sleep in the same bed as Clint, just in case. Not after she broke his arm in two places, rendering him useless in the field for a month. Clint had understood, but the Natasha never allowed it to happen again. She slept alone. No, she knew better, but somehow she didn’t have it in whatever was left in her heart to let the girl suffer the tumult of her own mind. She might not like or trust Wanda, but she knew the girl didn’t deserve to be haunted when she closed her eyes.
Natasha crossed the expanse of the common room slowly, semi unsure of how to wake the distressed girl. She tried calling Wanda’s name, even tried tossing a book in front of her-hoping the loud thump on the floor would wake her. But Wanda’s nightmare persisted, her panic growing louder. Natasha sighed, the girl’s powers were unpredictable; but the assassin was hoping that Wanda’s mind was so preoccupied with other things that a small nudge might help the girl wake up. She was also hoping to not end up as soup for her troubles; or worse. She barely got a fingertip on Wanda before being throw back into the kitchen island forcefully enough that the wood splintered around the indentation of her body and the marble surface crumbled a bit. Natasha had two seconds to be grateful for her enhanced healing and durability before her mind felt like it was being torn apart.
Polished leather shoes flecked with her own blood rained down on her with no reprieve- aiming for her ribs, face, stomach, any bit of her that was vulnerable and open to attack. She had curled herself into a ball, trying to minimize target spots and lessen the damage. She felt a violent tug as she was dragged upwards by her hair, the roots protesting but not giving way. Natasha tried to quickly assess the damage as she was yanked to her feet. She was unsteady, wheezing slightly, and could taste the tang of copper in her mouth. It wouldn’t surprise her if numerous bones in her body were broken severely enough to trip up her expedited healing process. She must have wandered off her in her thoughts because she was slapped hard across the cheek and a large hand roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. The man was hulking, head shaved bald with dark eyes that held no compassion.
“When will you learn to behave little girl?” the question came out in the mother tongue, Natalia proffered no answer. Answering would get her killed, it was better to take her beating, lick her wounds and remain breathing. The large man trailed his other hand almost delicately down the side of her face.
“You’re old enough now Natalia, old enough for a different set of consequences if you don’t behave. You are not a little girl anymore. Your punishments will not be so gentle now” His hand going to his belt buckle was enough to make Natalia attempt to shake her head violently. She broke her rule, she broke the rule to not speak and simply take her punishment. This had never been a part of her punishments. Of all the violent and cruel things that had been done to her this was new. “No please. I won’t- I’ll be good. I won’t fail on purpose. I will do it right.” But the man had already flipped open the button of his dress pants and began to tear at her skirt. “Yes you will Natalia, but you did not do what was asked of you today. But tomorrow, you will do as requested.” He spun her hard enough that her face slammed into the brick wall behind her, more blood pooling into her mouth and dripping from her face.
Before Natalia had any time to prepare herself pain flooded through her. She had never done this, and to be forced into it…. she should have known that once they no longer considered her to physically be a child this punishment would no longer be outside realm of possibility.
“This should prepare you for the real world little girl,” the man laughed in her ear as he continued, his pants pooled at his ankles. It went on like that for several minutes, and the man took great care not to be gentle. Natalia felt it, in every broken bone, every part that shouldn’t have been touched like this- not without her consent, and never with this amount of pain. The man finally stilled, exiting her and wiped himself off on her skirt.
“Remember this next time you want to misbehave little girl. You’ve known this since you were a child. Pain is the result of Madame’s displeasure. Haven’t you seen enough of your fellow students lain bloody at her feet to know better? You may be her favorite, but she will not tolerate failure or disobedience. She has said you will follow through with the exercise tomorrow or I will be back. Remember that I was gentle because she prizes you- but if she requests that I pay you another visit I will not be so nice next time.” The man pet her hair, letting red strands fall through his fingers before quickly gathering a knot of it in his fist. Before she had any time to register it, Natalia’s face collided with the wall and she fell to the floor. Left unconscious in a pool of her own blood.
Natasha came to with a start, fighting the bile that was rapidly rising in her throat. She gripped what was left of the kitchen island as she shook her head trying to clear the memory from her mind before she spilled the contents of her stomach on the floor.
Looking over she saw Wanda was now conscious and standing. The girl made a motion in Natasha’s direction to help her, but all it did was cause the redhead to back peddle away from her. Wanda realized her error and stilled. There were no apologies for this- not again, not ever. She had reached into Natasha’s mind and pulled out things-horrors Wanda couldn’t even conceptualize. She had seen the woman violated. One of the many elements of pain that had shaped and crafted her into one of the most feared assassins in the world.
She saw Natasha’s face contort trying to hide the physical pain and violation she felt. Just as quickly as she saw it, the emotions were gone. The redhead’s face had washed back into an impassive mask meant to hide the things Widow didn’t want seen by anyone. But Wanda had seen, she had felt it in a way. Wanda went to open her mouth, rooted in place. “Don’t.” Natasha said sharply before walking towards the elevator that would take her to her own floor.
Wanda’s face fell as she heard the ding of the elevator door and Friday’s voice asking the Black Widow if she would like to return to her floor. As soon as the doors were closed Natasha scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. The witch kept dredging up memories Natasha had fought to keep buried; pulling them out of her almost as violently as they were put in.
Fury had been right when he told Rogers that she was comfortable in any situation. That seduction, sex, and killing- they were all the same to her. But those kinds of missions were always on her terms. She made the call. She was always in control. This memory was a painful reminder of yet another thing the Red Room had taken from her. And it was taken through force. Natasha opened the door to her room, sitting down her bed heavily. The room was spartan, but she had indulged herself in all black bedding and had Stark engineer numerous hidden compartments around the room for her arsenal of weapons. Swinging her legs onto the bed she laid her head down on her pillow, but she knew sleep wouldn’t come- not tonight. Instead she preoccupied her mind with Wanda. The witch had forced something on Natasha that she was sure she never wanted to remember. Something that was buried deep and had now been brought to the fore. She knew it wasn’t intentional, Rogers had warned her that Wanda was out of control. But with all her understanding of what it was to be damaged and broken, the redhead didn’t know if she had it in her to be near Wanda and not want to put a bullet in between her eyes for all that she’d done.