natasha romanova | black widow (deadlieststing) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2013-01-28 14:01:00 |
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Hearing voices was never a good sign, especially when those voices were not your own but were in your head. Natasha fought against them for some time, feeling the fine threads of memories snapping back into place. There were things she could remember now, that she had fought so hard to remember before and couldn't, that were so easy to reach. There was the memory of her stillborn child, the "husband" who perished so many years ago. Faces of people long forgotten, she could remember her mother's gentle face, the way Ivan looked when he picked her up in the snow, the warmth of the fire that Natasha did not understand until later when they told her that her family was dead. She wasn't sure how long she was under or how long her mind was finely tuned, but eventually, Natasha Romanova came back and opened her eyes. The room was unfamiliar, though there was something common about it. The light was dim, which was good because her head hurt. She swallowed, throat parched, and cleared her throat. The sound came out raspy and out of breath. For every moment she slept he waited. He had no doubt in Xavier and Rachael’s skills, but he knew what a mess all this could be. There were triggers so well hidden it could take years to find. Even if they secured a perfect recovery, that didn’t make the fallout any easier. His girl had been manipulated and abused in the worst way. He knew the guilt she would feel, the weakness. None of it was on her, but it was hard to forgive yourself for going after the one you loved. He hated every emotion she would have to face because of those bastards. He hated that he once again couldn’t stop it. Her cough had him at her side. They said it had gone well, but he had to be cautious just in case. His jaw was still throbbing and he didn’t feel like adding any pressure to that. “Hey, relax, I’m here.” He grabbed her a cup of water, already ready for the moment she woke up. “Drink Nat, small sips.” The water tasted like the best ambrosia in all of Asgard. Natasha focused for a moment on sitting up, on letting the cool water quench her throat. All of that, of course, left her with nothing but silence in which to fill with regrets. The memories were coming back, and not just one or two: all of them. Killing Jasper, trying to kill Nick, killing all those people on the streets just to get James's attention. Just like that, the guilt crested over her. It was suddenly hard to breath, and Natasha had to force herself to use the breathing techniques they taught in the Red Room when she was a little girl to stop panic attacks. "I killed them. So many people. I tried to kill you," her voice broke and when she finally looked at him, there was nothing but remorse and sorrow. "James, I'm sorry. I am so sorry." “No,” he said sharply, taking the cup from her hands and placing it back on the table beside his bed. “Don’t. This wasn’t your fault.” His hands found hers, practically engulfing them. “It wasn’t you. You hear me? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Not that it changed anything. It was still her hands that brought those people down, even if she wouldn’t have done it on her own. One hand moved to cup her cheek, angling her face up so he could rest his forehead against hers. “You’re going to be okay, Nat. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby, just breathe.” When she belonged to the Red Room, memories were tricky things that need not be counted on. There was nothing to be done about the past, because they could send you to Rodchenko and be done with it. The trick was, you had to make sure they had just enough memories to cover the holes so they didn't question it. With the serum in her veins, those gaps grew larger and larger, and it was harder to control her, until she split with the Red Room and Mother Russia all together. Now, in the dim light of some foreign room with familiar hands on her face, Natasha was faced with a similar question: were her memories real? Was everything in her head all that was in her head? "Don't do that, James. Don't make excuses for me." She forced his hand down, made herself sit up as much as she could with James lingering over her. Her body was fine, but she could remember a crack of his jaw that needed some attention. She reached her hand out to assess the injury. "I could never convince you that it wasn't your fault; you will never convince me that it's not mine. Jasper. I killed him. I liked him." “You did,” he acknowledged, knowing this was a fight he was going to lose. “But not because you wanted to, but because they manipulated you. Don’t worry about that now. There is plenty of time to deal with all of that later on.” The were in a strange world, a world he didn’t entirely trust. He had been too focused on helping Nat that his concerns about this world had to take a back seat. That would quickly be changing. “See? I’m fine. My face not be as pretty as it usually is, but I’m not looking to impress anyone. You’ve never been afraid to look at a few bruises before.” Bucky knew it wasn’t as simple as all of that. Half his face was swollen and tinted an angry blue and yellow. Chewing would be a sore for quite some time and he’d have phantom pains long after that. Jaws were funny like that. Still, she hadn’t managed to knock out a tooth so it wasn’t all bad. “I’m sorry about Jasper. I’m sorry about all of it.” "You're not fine. This is going to hurt for a long time." Natasha knew a thing or two about field doctoring, and his jaw wasn't going to set properly unless it had been popped back into place. Preferably by a trained doctor, but she could do in a pinch if necessary. She could prick someone with a needle and they wouldn't feel it, so when she gently placed her hand against his face, the swelling was the only reason he felt it. Overwhelmed with the need to kiss him, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. Her lips ghosted over his as she nuzzled the side of his face. "I can handle bruises, but I'm not sure that my heart can..." “I’ve had worse. Hell, you’ve given me worse,” he said with a smile, trying in any pathetic way to let her know that it would be okay. He’d never blame her for what she had done and he’d be damned if he would let anyone else. “You let me worry about your heart,” he said softly, the pad of his thumb tracing circles on the warm flesh of her palm. “You have bruises of your own. Sorry about that.” She’d heal quickly, probably well on the way as they spoke. His arm could do some serious damage, no matter how hard he tried to soften the blows. “How are you feeling? Honestly?” "Angry. Ashamed. My head's a little discombobulated, but that's normal after you've had your head played with by fools." Now that she'd named the feeling, the anger was welling inside her. She'd like to get her hands on Novokov and twist her hands around his neck until his eyes popped out of their sockets. She could do it too, and have absolutely no remorse in doing it. Natasha brushed her lips over his, hesitant in a way she wasn't used to. Ordinarily, she was used to being vulnerable, but only with him. There were things she'd recently done that she would consider unforgivable - killing innocents for instance. "Like I haven't seen you in weeks." “I should probably go ahead and warn you, you’ve gone and made pals with another version of me. He also happens to be suffering from some rather impressive brainwashing. We should probably see to that eventually. I’d hate for him to give me a bad name.” There was nothing he could do from stop her from feeling any of those emotions, but maybe he could give her a project to take her mind off things. If nothing else it would be a distraction. “Don’t worry, I plan on making up for all that time and then some.” He could sense she was still off, it wasn’t hard to tell when you knew a person inside and out. He deepened the kiss she started, tongue tracing the pillowy outline of her lower lip. “I love you.” Natasha grabbed the front of his shirt, where she might have just held his face before. Her hands were unrepentant killing machines, but they were shaking now with exhaustion, with the fight to keep back a wall of memories she just wasn't ready to process yet. Her breathing hitched a little as she struggled with herself to keep from abandoning sense. "I love you, too, James. I didn't mean any of the things I said. I hope you know." “I know, Nat. Of course I know.” He leaned over her, peppering kisses all over her face as he ignored the twinge of pain he felt each time he puckered his lips. Their relationship always had some sort of pain associated with it. He covered her hands with his own, easing them from his shirt so that he could link his fingers through hers. “You don’t have to deal with it all now. You have plenty of time and I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky picked himself up, making his way around the bed to lay behind her, curling around her smaller frame. “See? I’m right here.” There was a moment or two of real fear that he was leaving until the other side of the bed sank beneath his weight. When she closed her eyes, she saw Leo's face. Natasha twisted around until she could bury her face against his neck, slip her leg between his - to wrap herself up in him. "Stay with me." “No one could make me leave,” he said into her hair, holding her as tight as he dared. His metal arm secured her close to him while his flesh hand curled in her hair. There has never been a red more beautiful than the color of her hair, he was sure of it. “Just tell me how to help you. I’d do anything you know.” They were never the overly sentimental types and yet he couldn’t stop himself from trying to comfort her. He needed this as much as she did. Needed to know for sure that he had gotten her back. "I just told you," she laughed under her breath, planting a kiss at his throat. She took a deep breath, remembering. Remembering everything that he meant to her, what she'd spent the last few years trying to do for him. She remembered everything Leo tried to take away from her and him, and tried not to let the anger get the best of her. She could save that for later. For now, she just wanted to take comfort in him. She'd sworn a long time ago, she was done letting anyone mess with her mind. Her head was as off-limits as her blood. She'd help the Americans, she'd do the right thing, but that price was always too high. Natasha knew that over the next year, there would be temporary holes. Pieces that she'd have to think about to remember straight. She didn't know when the tears started, but once they started, they wouldn't stop. At least she could control them so they were quiet. "I just want to lay here with you." He didn’t say anything when she started crying. There was nothing to say. At some point he started rocking her, although he couldn’t tell when exactly. If she needed to cry then he would be there until she smiled again. God, he missed her smile. Bucky knew that this was the first step in a long recovery, but he couldn’t help but wonder when they’d have to do this again. There was always someone intent on playing puppet master with their brains, he just prayed it never stuck. He was useless without her. She was the difference between him being a mindless soldier and a man. She was what gave him something to believe in. It took a while for the silence to slowly overcome the room. The front of his shirt was wet, though. For that matter, so was hers. With a conscious effort not to move too much, she pulled back just enough to look at his face. She loved his face, every line, every scar. She'd admit, though, that she wasn't overly fond of the bruise creeping up his jaw. Natasha softly kissed the spot where her foot had collided with his face. That accomplished, she laid her head back down on the pillow. She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "So where are we? I remember some robots from a TV show." “That is a very good question.” He told her what he knew, but that wasn’t very much. “On the brightside, Charles is alive in this world so I had help breaking through that brainwashing. Fine, he and Summers did everything, but at least I got them together. They work fast, I’ll give them that.” A good thing to. There was only so long they’d be able to keep her down, even with telepaths. There was only so much he would have been able to stomach. “We should probably start working on a way out of here. I’m not keen on being here any longer than necessary.” "While we're working on that, we should probably save the other version of you." Natasha remembered bits and pieces of conversations, and there was something very lonely about that Winter Soldier. But then again, wasn't there always? "He could be useful, if he's been here longer than we have, and I think I had as much of his trust as he may be able to give. That's not saying much, but he talked to me." “So long as he doesn’t decide you’re now a traitor worth killing. It might be useful for him to still think you’re loyal to Russia above all else. Just until we can figure out a way to break through to him.” Bucky knew she was right. He had already been thinking about it since Nat was first being worked on. He didn’t like seeing himself in that position again, even if it looked nothing like him. He remembered being under that spell. He remembered what it felt like to realize all that he had done. Bucky didn’t envy the kid, that much was sure. "I'm the Black Widow, James. I know how to spy. Pretending to be loyal to my country will be a piece of cake." She allowed her old accent to filter through her voice, the corner of her mouth curling up in a smirk. Natasha took a hold of his hands, pulling his fingers to her face. She tilted her head to kiss his palm, then his wrist. The lengths that he would go for her were astonishing. She hoped he knew that she'd do the same for him. She would lay waste to the entirety of Russia just to find him in a gulag. She turned his hand over, running her lips across his knuckles before pressing a gentle kiss there as well. "Thank you for saving me." “Point.” The almost smile warmed his heart more than it probably should. It wasn’t a true smile, but he’d take it as a step. She was the embodiment of a spy and could give a belly laugh right now that would convince everyone of its sincerity, but he could see through it. Usually. “You don’t give me a chance to do it often. I appreciated the opportunity,” he teased, his smirk forced as he searched her eyes. If he were a lesser man, or perhaps a more honest one, he would beg her to promise never to scare him like that. To never make him worry that he had lost her. He couldn’t ask her however, not when he knew she could never promise him that. That was the nature of their lives, a reality he had long ago accepted. He didn't have to ask her; she could see it in his eyes. She was glad that he didn't, though, because lying to him - of all people - had always been difficult. The funny thing was just a year ago, it had been her in his place. Skadi had driven her hammer through James's chest, ripped his metal arm out in front of her. She had been so terrified that she was going to lose him - she very nearly had - that she'd actually said the words she hated from others about their romances: it's not fair. Natasha propped her head up with her arm, her elbow digging into the fluffiest pillow in the room. Another point for James Barnes. Her fingers continued to brush his hair away from his face. "You need to shave, and you need a haircut. Would you like me to help you with those in the shower?" That was a change of attitude, he thought, raising his eyebrow as he looked at her. Not a bad one, but certainly different from the crying vulnerable woman she was a moment before. He hoped she wasn’t trying to distract him, or even distract herself from what she was really feeling. “I love it when you tell me how good I look. There’s no better confidence boost. I am looking a bit shaggy, aren’t I? I’m not opposed to a haircut, but let the beard stay for a bit, until my jaw is less sore.” "We should find a healer." At least the Infinity Potion in his system would let him heal faster than a normal human being. Thank Fury for the little things. "They could speed this up a little bit." Natasha knew that she didn't have to be strong, not for James, but brainwashing and mind control had a way of getting under her skin to the point. Sorting through her memories was going to take some time, and without a logical, set plan, there wasn't much for her to do but deal with it. She knew that James didn't expect her to be okay quite so quickly, but it felt as if she hadn't seen him in years. She wanted him to keep talking, to keep looking at her. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her. She didn't want to talk at all. "You didn't get much sleep while I was gone, did you? I wish you would relax, at least a little, James. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." “We will, tomorrow. I’m not letting you out of this room until then.” He’d be happy to hole them up in this room forever. Sure, they’d get stir crazy and try to kill each other, but he was sure it would be worth it. “I do believe I’m supposed to be comforting you,” he teased, kissing the soft spot under her ear, his nose brushing against the length of her cheek. “I’m relaxed, or I’m getting there. You worried me, kid.” Worried him that this would be the time he couldn’t get her back.The brain was a remarkable thing, but even it had its limits. There was still times he didn’t know if his was remembering fact or fiction. “I’ll sleep tonight. I have no doubt about that.” Even if he was sure he would keep waking up to make sure she hadn’t disappeared. |