Narrative: Natasha Romanoff Who: Natasha Romanoff, various NPCs When: Today and o-dark-thirty tomorrow morning Where: Tajikistan > safehouse > her apartment in New York Rating: Medium-High for violence
When the texts came in, Natasha was in the middle of a firefight, and wouldn’t you have guessed it – the arms traffickers had illegal Stark weaponry. Older models, sure – he’d gotten out of the business, even in this world – but his weaponry nonetheless. It made for a very awkward text conversation with James, and by the time she managed to get out of the fight, leaving most of the men dead, Natasha had finished the first part of the conversation. She couldn’t think about the possibility of her having a son – not now, not ever. As the redhead stepped over the bodies of the men she’d just killed, the very thought of her ever reproducing was both ludicrous and insane. Making her way to the weapons storage, she moved quickly, using specially made explosives of SHIELD issue that she wired over the entire area. Five minutes later, she was outside and running fast to make it out before the explosion, but didn’t quite make it out of the blast radius in time. A sound that wasn’t a sound slammed into her body, picked her up and tossed her into a set of trees. In mid-air, Natasha relaxed her body in hopes of achieving the least amount of injuries possible, and when she hit a tree she half wrapped around it, closing her eyes as a branch came dangerously close to puncturing her cheek.
Regaining her breath, she pushed herself off the tree and to her feet, then took off again, heading back towards where her ride was supposed to be meeting her…and walking right into an ambush. It took two hours for them to get around to actually telling her what she needed to know, information gained when she allowed them to take her prisoner and to a warehouse. Sure, they roughed her up a bit, but once she had her information, well, let’s just say they wouldn’t be roughing up anyone else.
Ever again.
Another hour passed before Natasha made it to a small safe house she had secured three weeks earlier while working on putting the intel together for this mission. Despite what she’d told the others, it wasn’t actually given to her by SHIELD. It was personal. Something she did, on occasion, as part of her own meager attempts at redemption. After securing the door, Natasha tossed her small bag onto the middle of the bed and limped her way into the bathroom to check the damage. Split lip already healed, but it had left blood on her chin, which she wiped off. Bruises and scrapes were already beginning to fade somewhat, but she could feel them, deep in the bone, and was just glad she’d gotten out without anything actually fractured or punctured. It was then that she sent the next round of texts to James, questioning him again as she sat on the side of a bathtub she had no intention whatsoever of stepping into.
Two hours of rest and a plane ride later, and Natasha was back in New York at 4 in the morning, Saturday. She made her way across town back to the apartment she’d recently opened to James, and when she stepped in Natasha didn’t even bother checking to see if he was there. Honestly, she simply wanted a hot shower. Maybe some coffee. After locking her front door again, the assassin walked silently towards her bedroom and it’s bathroom, stripping out of her clothes on the way, simply leaving them where they fell. When she’d finally made it into her own bathroom, by this point clothed in only underwear, she narrowed her eyes while checking her bruises, wincing slightly as she turned to glance in the mirror. With a faint sigh, she reached out and turned the shower on, raising the water temperature as high as it would go. It was a habit, one she’d had for as long as she could remember. She didn’t know why, exactly, and briefly as she stripped to her skin and stepped in, Natasha hoped that she’d hear back from Bruce soon about that particular issue. As the water ran over her bumps and scrapes, she closed her eyes and thought again, absently, of this supposed son she had, a frown on her lips.