Aim Straight, 1/2. NC-17.
Title: Aim Straight
Series: #14 in Ready For The Siege
(#1 - Look Over Your Shoulder, #2 - Armed Up To The Teeth, #3 - Misery Inspires, #4 - Broken Underneath, #5 - Change Is Coming Soon, #6 - Lick Your Wounds, #7 - Bitter Sparks, #8 - Father's Will, #9 - To Feel Safe Again, #10 - Hit Your Prime, #11 - Open Your Eyes, #12 - Can't Be Ignored, #13 - Make You Ill)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Loki/Natasha, Natasha/Yelena, Natasha/Winter Soldier
Disclaimer: Not mine! Some comic backstory is incorporated into characterizations, but this is still primarily movieverse.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-Avengers, AU to the rest of MCU. Read the other stories before this one, because it does refer back to events in them. Additional warning for mindfuckery of various flavors (hello, Red Room!) and detailed descriptions of violence and torture.
Title and series title from "The Royal We" by Silversun Pickups
Special thanks to phoenixrising06/
romanovasledger for plotting and characterization discussion. :)
Summary: The Red Room has returned.
One - Knife Edge
Ekaterina Sarkissian had lived in Moscow until her fourteenth birthday. Her parents had died when she was seven in a train accident, so she lived with her cousin Ophelia as well as her aunt, uncle and grandfather in one tiny flat. The cousins had looked alike, more like sisters than cousins, with the same long, straight dark hair, green eyes and flawlessly pale skin. Both had excelled at school, which had made the older Sarkissians proud.
The summer before Ekaterina turned fourteen, her aunt had caught Ophelia kissing the neighbor girl, her hand sliding up beneath her shirt. Ekaterina had thought the two of them were cute together, but it had been a shock for her aunt, who had hoped that Ophelia would marry her friend's son. Ekaterina had known for some time that Ophelia was gay and loved her anyway. Her aunt couldn't deal with the potential shame it would bring them, and urged her uncle to look into moving away. They went to Romania first, then Austria. Ophelia gamely tried to date boys and had even slept with one to make her mother happy, but she felt nothing for them and happily handed them off to Ekaterina to date.
The cousins had always been more like sisters, so it wasn't a surprise that they get involved in similar organizations during their college years. Ophelia rose quickly through Hydra's ranks, while Ekaterina switched to help run AIM as it got off the ground. They loved Vienna, and Ekaterina soon developed a love for Marseilles, which was where her offices were based. She and Ophelia talked frequently, meshing their interests together even if the organizations remained separate. They knew everything about the other's movements, at least until Ophelia disappeared from Vienna.
It was upsetting; the Austrian government wouldn't tell her anything about how Ophelia died or what the investigation was finding. All they were telling her was that Ophelia was dead, and when Ekaterina asked about Yelena, authorities would only tell her that the woman was missing and a person of interest. Did they really think Yelena could have harmed Ophelia? The woman was a lingerie model, for God's sake. She gave it up to be with Ophelia, and they had been together for six years. While it was something of an open relationship, Yelena had never sought any other girlfriends or even boyfriends. Ophelia was the one that wanted to dabble with Emilia on the side, but Yelena was her love. They were married in all but name, which had suited Ophelia just fine. Yelena had never pressed for marriage or any of the gifts that Ophelia heaped upon her head, and had seemed like such a vapid blonde on the occasions that Ekaterina had met her. Running the vibranium mine had been Ophelia's idea to keep the woman busy, but Ekaterina had no doubts that it was really the managers that kept the mine afloat. No, Yelena couldn't have possibly harmed Ophelia. It was more likely that someone had broken into the house, killed Ophelia and abducted Yelena.
She sighed and gave in to the urge to rest her head on her desk. She was tired, and balancing the different divisions of AIM while keeping legitimate appearances were rather trying. AIM's expanded R&D division was still tangentially working with Project Centipede, and had major developments with their nanobot technology.
Ekaterina must have dozed off for a time. She was startled by a hand at her shoulder, and jerked awake, twisting to the side. A familiar voice chuckling stopped her from bodily throwing herself across the room. Her boyfriend Tomas had come in to check on her, and perched on the edge of her chair. He was tall and slender, with a runner's physique, olive skin, curly dark hair and kind dark eyes. It had been sheer accident that led to their meeting, as she normally didn't spend time in the R&D labs. Generally, she only read reports. During a tour of a new facility, one of the experimental engines being tested had overheated. Tomas had thrown her to the ground, covering her body with his. "So," he had said that day with a reckless grin and a twinkle in his eyes, "the engine needs work, obviously."
She had been charmed, and had started meeting for dates. It was a much slower courtship than she had been used to, but very pleasant. They did more than just dinner and movies or plays, and he actually wanted to get to know her. It wasn't just a ploy to lead to sex, but genuine interest; her prior boyfriends had seemed more interested in a physical relationship only.
"Katya," he chided gently. "You work too hard."
"Oh, Tomas," she sighed, nodding. "But there's so much to do before the final report for the quarter is due, and a handful of tours to make."
He chuckled, rising from his perch on her chair. That fateful tour had been almost two years ago, and aside from their meeting, had been an unmitigated disaster. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you, then," he replied playfully. "You can finish your report..."
"Don't you dare," she said with a grin, grasping his arm. "I can write reports anytime. You've been buried in your lab for weeks..."
"Deadlines," he reminded her with a smile, letting his fingers trail over the curve of her jaw.
"You can stay for a bit, can't you?"
"It's why I'm here."
Tomas stood behind her, fingers sliding across her arm suggestively. He gave her a shoulder massage, kneading the tight muscles. "It's so hard being the CEO of a successful research company," he teased.
"It is!" she huffed. "We have to produce something viable on the quarterly report for the investors. Another bad quarter and the market share will drop, funding dries up, and then bright minds like yours go elsewhere..."
Digging further into the tight muscles, Tomas kissed the top of her head. "Katya, I'm not leaving you, okay? Why would I leave? I have everything I want right here."
"Charmer."
"I tell you the truth," Tomas protested with a grin.
Ekaterina half turned in her seat, a smile on her face, intended to tease him. Tomas leaned in and kissed her, mouth open and tongue sweeping across her lips. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, deepening the kiss. She followed his lead when he drew her to her feet. "I could use a break," she said against his mouth, smiling.
Kissing and groping each other, they headed to the bedroom from her home office. They shed their clothes quickly, and Tomas rummaged in her bedside drawer for a condom. He left it in easy reach, then got on the bed beside Ekaterina. His hands were everywhere, caressing her body reverently. Ekaterina's touch was rougher, more insistent and demanding. When she was ready for him, she pushed him onto his back and grabbed the foil packet. She rolled it onto his cock and sank down over him. Tomas grinned up at her when she sighed contentedly, palming her breasts. That let him stroke them and give her a little more balance as she rode him hard and fast, her own hands braced on his thighs behind her.
She draped herself over him afterward, enjoying the feel of him beneath her. it only lasted a minute or two before she had to roll off so Tomas could take the condom off his softening cock and dispose of it. He cuddled her close, and she actually started dozing off until they heard the loud and obnoxiously insistent sound of his cell phone.
"Don't answer it," she groaned, curling further into his warmth.
"It might be the lab. We were working on a new project..."
She covered her face with her hands and groaned as he got up to check his phone. He sighed after seeing the number. "I've got to take this," he said apologetically.
Apparently power surges had ruined some of the equipment in the lab, and he would have to go through it to see if he could salvage some of it. Ekaterina knew it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "Come back when you're done saving the lab," Ekaterina said, stretching and arching her back to put her breasts on full display. Tomas was as entranced as she wanted him to be, and he gave her a last lingering kiss before leaving.
Ekaterina dozed off for a bit, then sat up abruptly when a noise woke her. It wasn't a crash, exactly, but more like a dull thudding sound. Something falling over in her office, perhaps. A quick glance at her clock told her that she had slept for maybe twenty minutes at most. After scrubbing at her eyes, she rose and put on her silk bathrobe. If Tomas was returning, there wasn't much point in getting dressed again. She had high hopes for the rest of her evening.
Except...
Her computer was moved on her desk, various file folders were missing from her desk, including the financials she had been looking at to make her report. "What the hell?"
A sharp blow behind her knees made her collapse to the floor. She fell with a thud, striking her head on the side of her desk. Her vision swam, and eventually refocused as a redheaded woman tied one wrist to her desk and her two ankles together. The woman caught her free wrist in a crushing grip, her expression so eerily blank that it scared Ekaterina more than if it had been lit up with glee. She looked vaguely familiar, and it took Ekaterina a moment to place it.
"You're the Turpin woman. You escaped my guards in Andorra a year and a half ago."
Now the woman smiled, a fearsome thing that made Ekaterina's blood run cold. "Oh, Katya," the woman sneered, using the diminutive without her consent. "You've been a naughty, naughty girl while I've been away." She was dressed in all black, a skintight cat suit that moved with her fluidly. She had a belt slung low around her waist with pouches, as well as thigh holsters for two Glocks, extra magazines and several knives. One of them was in her hand, pointed right below Ekaterina's left eye. "You thought you could get away with it, too."
"What do you want?"
"Did those girls ever know what you were after? Did the boys get a chance to say no?"
The blood drained from Ekaterina's face. "Who are you?" she breathed.
"Your mages are gone, you know. They're dead. They can't save you now." Her eyes were hard and angry. "But then, you're also out of the blood of children, aren't you?"
"Who are you?"
Her teeth looked as sharp as knives. "I'm the Black Widow."
There was no use screaming. The walls of her home were soundproofed and fortified against bullets, impacts up to a military tank striking the walls, and magic assaults. It would prevent others from coming in, but couldn't prevent this woman from doing whatever it was she wanted to do while inside.
"How did you get in?"
"There has yet to be a room I can't get into." The tip of the blade rested against Ekaterina's left cheekbone. "But now, I propose a game." There was no joy in her eyes, no emotion at all. The closest thing to emotion had been anger when she mentioned the dead children. "Don't you want to hear the rules?" she prodded when Ekaterina remained silent.
"Did you kill Ophelia?" Ekaterina asked instead.
The knife dragged down her cheek, from cheekbone to jaw. The Black Widow didn't even move otherwise as Ekaterina gasped in pain. "Don't you want to hear the rules?"
She was going to die. The Black Widow would never let her live if this was a contract. "Who hired you? I can pay you whatever you like. Double, triple..."
A parallel line was etched into her cheek, this time deeper. The Widow looked as though she barely expended any energy at all. Ekaterina cried out as her cheek stung. "What do you want?" Ekaterina cried desperately.
"You almost killed me, you know," the Widow said conversationally. The knife's edge moved to Ekaterina's throat. "You were looking for information I didn't even have at the time. That's all right, though. We're going to fix that mistake." Now there was a deadly glint in her eye. "You're going to tell me what I want to know. And perhaps, I won't make it as painful as you would have for me. How does that sound?"
"You're insane."
The knife skipped along her collarbone. "No. I know what that looks like, I assure you, and I am very far away from that."
"I can give you anything," Ekaterina promised. "I have a powerful organization behind me, and I'm in the running to take over Hydra now. Whatever you want..."
The knife dug into her skin until it met her collarbone. Ekaterina screamed and tried to jerk away, but that only led the Black Widow to crush the delicate bones of her hand in her grip. One line, then two into her skin, then across the parallel lines. Up came the skin flap, exposing the bone there. Ekaterina sobbed and looked at the Black Widow's impassive expression. "What do you want? What can I give you?"
"Information."
Whenever Ekaterina paused, or tried to evade her questions, the Black Widow took her knife and scratched at the exposed bone. The blood stained the robe completely, and Ekaterina didn't even notice when a rib or two were exposed in the same way as her collarbones. She was too busy sobbing to feel the tendons being severed in her left wrist; those hand bones felt crushed already anyway, and she wasn't trying to move the fingers. She told the Black Widow whatever sounded important, throwing everyone under the bus that she could think of. "I just do finances," she tried to insist. "I crunch the numbers, that's it."
"Liar," the Widow hissed, eyes flashing in anger.
Ekaterina was dizzy, and tried to bring her hand to her head. Her right was still tied, and her left was a mangled mess. She screeched, hyperventilating and trying to skitter backward away from the Black Widow. "I told you everything I know!" she wailed.
"No, you haven't," the Widow intoned, her face an expressionless mask. Her death would mean nothing at all, Ekaterina realized. The Widow would feel absolutely nothing, there would be no regret, and Ekaterina would still be dead.
The only question was how much pain would she be in before she died.
Over the next three hours, Ekaterina wracked her brain to give the Black Widow whatever information she could. Before, it had been actual but relatively innocuous information and blame shifting to other AIM personnel. Now she told the Widow about AIM's different research projects, what the mages were needed for, where and why they used the children, the sister agencies' projects that dovetailed with her pet projects, weaponization attempts, the creation of "miracles," how they determine enemy targets to eliminate.
When Tomas returned, Ekaterina's office was a grisly bloodbath, her tortured body lying with limbs splayed at awkward angles. The stench was horrific, and Ekaterina stared at Tomas with empty eye sockets and jaws wrenched open farther than what was humanly possible. He was sick in the hallway, his entire body shaking. It was with great difficulty that he called the authorities to investigate, but he didn't think they would be able to find her killer.
Splashed across the wall in Ekaterina's blood were five chilling words.
The Red Room has returned.
***
Natasha returned to her hotel room and was surprised to find that Yelena wasn't present. "She's looking into our next target," James told her. He was sitting at attention in the chair beside the bed, gun in hand. He lounged a little as her gaze traveled over his body. "I take it you've had a successful mission?"
"Ekaterina Sarkissian is very, very dead. And she so thoughtfully told me everything she knew before she died."
James grinned at her even tone of voice and beckoned her to come closer. "Revenge feels good, doesn't it, Natalia?"
She approached and straddled his waist. He caught her wrist before she could grasp one of his knives. "Perhaps I wanted to know what she does. Prevent her from killing projects."
"Mmm," James murmured noncommittally. He trailed his fingers down her spine. "And do you? Know everything?" he asked slowly. His voice was more like a throaty, sensual purr.
"Everything worth knowing, at any rate," Natasha told him, her lips quirking into a smile. She stood and walked over to the desk, leaning against it for balance to kick off her boots. "As well as the next target, if we can all get to California undetected. Are you jealous you couldn't go out into the field?"
"Oh, I'll be out in the field soon enough," James drawled. "And I'm not jealous. Just eager to show you how much I appreciate you."
Natasha lofted an eyebrow. "And how do you propose to do that?"
Fluidly, James was up and out of the seat, across the room and grasping Natasha in his arms. Her back slammed into the wall hard, but she pushed back so that she could twist and slam him into the wall instead. The tacky painting on the wall fell off. They both ignored it, instead grasping and caressing each other through clothes. It was truly like being back in the Red Room once a mission was finished. There wasn't enough time, never enough time, they would have to report back to their handlers and pretend nothing was going on. But in the meantime, a few sweet hours of stolen oblivion, the ability to pretend that love was real and not simply imagined. Whatever ability to love that they possessed, they had for each other.
James' shirt ripped a little as Natasha yanked it off and tossed it aside. James helped her out of the boots and leather cat suit, and their trajectories knocked over a lamp beside the bed. Her bra and panties were tossed in different directions, and the remainder of James' clothing and boots were scattered along their way to the bed. That didn't matter at this moment. All that mattered was James' mouth on her neck then breast, her hand grasping his cock, and the slide of skin on skin or metal. He pushed her down to the bed, then sank to his knees to bring his mouth between her legs. Natasha stifled her cry with a fist pressed against her mouth.
"No," James said, leaning back a little. "Their spies don't exist any longer. They can't punish us for this now. Let me hear you as I never could before."
Natasha took her hand away and reached down for him. When James settled back between her thighs, she laced her fingers through his soft hair and arched up, moaning as his tongue slid between her folds. Her other hand grasped her breast, palming it and adding to the sensations flooding her. James dragged a throaty groan from her when he added his fingers-flesh only, as he never used the metal hand inside her body, not wanting even the remote risk of harm. He would grab her hips or touch her skin, but it was only his flesh and blood fingers that ever slid inside her slick passage.
When she came, James ignored her insistent tugging at his hair. He turned her over to rest on hands and knees on the bed. Natasha had to grasp the bed sheets, already rumpled and partly pulled off of the bed, and she turned her head to the side to breathe and try to look over her shoulder at James. She panted his name, gasping and moaning as he brought his mouth down to her from behind. At first his tongue delved into her slit, licking into her. Natasha's breath quickened, and she let out a soft mewl as he moved up to lick at her rear entrance. "James," she moaned, a fine tremor running through her. She could feel him smile against her ass, the smug bastard, but moaned and jerked beneath his mouth.
James licked at her lazily, his hands on her hips to keep her from pushing back against him or turning over to lie on her back again. It was a slow tease, until Natasha was panting and cursing at him in Russian to get on with it already, she wanted him so badly and needed his cock inside her now. He started slow, leaning low over her body, entering her from behind while kissing the back of her neck. "Natalia," he murmured, moving slowly to draw out the sensation for her. He growled when she clenched her inner muscles around his cock. "Natasha."
Natasha moaned, her eyes falling shut. I love you, she wanted to say. He might not accept the words, but it didn't make the emotion any less real. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. My Winter Soldier. I love you.
As if he was reading her mind, his growls seemed to resolve into words. I love you, he said in Russian against her spine, lips and teeth grazing her skin. She shivered beneath him, crying out and pulling at the sheets. She called his name as if it was a prayer, begging for more, needing more. They had so much time to make up, so much that had gone unsaid that now they could say. No more watchers, no need to second guess their involvement. No need to wash away his come guiltily, no need to hide her feelings.
They lay among the twisted sheets afterward, sweaty-sticky-sated, grinning at each other like lovesick teenagers. She had been sixteen when she kissed him, just to see if she could, because he didn't force advances upon her, because he was unfailingly fair and committed to the mission, because he never once made her feel less than whole. I choose you, she had said before kissing him, moving slowly and clearly telegraphing her intentions. He could have moved away, but he hadn't. He watched her carefully, gaze shuttered until she faltered, bravado gone and her soul stripped bare for him to see. Am I that awful? she had asked, able to keep from shaking in shame. Madame says I learned my lessons well. She wasn't about to mention Starkovsky and his lecherous gaze, roaming hands and sickening innuendoes. Am I doing something wrong?
He had been sure she was a test of his loyalty, his resolve to do Department X's work. I choose you, she'd had to repeat. This is what I want, not them. They... they don't know this. How I feel. What I want. She had faltered again under his heavy gaze. What I think I want. I... I don't know. They took things, didn't they?
Only then did he reach out and caress her cheek gently. Always, he had murmured.
Years later, with SHIELD's help, she worked out that she had to have been around fourteen when the memory modification and personality overlays began. She had already been training with the Winter Soldier for at least a year or so at that time, had already been running missions after entering the Elites of the Red Room. Natasha had already been a deadly force to be reckoned with, and the Winter Soldier had tempered her ability further. Never once had he made untoward advances, and even after her overture hadn't leapt at the chance.
You're a good man, she had told him, admiration shining in her eyes.
Not really, he had replied. Look at what we do. Look at who we are.
But you aren't like them, she had insisted. You're better than they are. You're more than your programming. Do you- Natasha had gulped nervously. Do you think that maybe I could be, too?
But the Winter Soldier had smiled at her warmly, human fingers sliding down her shoulder, along her arm. You already are.
In the present day, Natasha ran her fingers over his stubbled cheeks, into his hair, along his bare shoulder. "I remember you," she said softly. "I've always remembered you. When I thought... I killed one of the few things that made life bearable there. There was nothing left worth fighting for if you were gone."
"Natasha," he murmured, running his flesh fingers along her jaw.
"Stupid, I know. Everything changes. Nothing does." She gave him a soft smile. "But you're here, you're alive. You're everything I remember."
"I wasn't this man when you weren't around, Natasha," he warned her.
She laughed softly. "Do you think my commenting on your being a good man means that I think you're an innocent? You're even less innocent than I am, and we both know I was never really a child." She let her fingers trail across his chest. "I mean... You didn't let them erase the man underneath it all. For all that they tried to destroy you, they couldn't. While you weren't the Bucky that Steve remembers, you weren't a soulless monster. The Winter Soldier, for all that he was never supposed to be a person, still was capable of more kindness and humanity than any of our handlers at the Red Room."
James let out a sighing breath. "But for a long time, I couldn't be that."
"But the capacity for it was there."
"Something about you touched what was left of my humanity, buried under all that programming," James told Natasha in a soft voice.
Her lips curled into a trembling smile. "I built up my humanity after I destroyed the Red Room. I think I'm losing it. I think I'm falling back into old habits. The lives they gave me are easier to remember now. It's harder to remember why my life as a SHIELD agent mattered so much."
"You're not a SHIELD agent any longer, so it doesn't matter."
But it should have. It should have mattered. She still had her ledger; that belonged to her, not to SHIELD, not the Red Room, nobody else but her. She had worked so hard to get her autonomy, and she could feel it slipping away at the edges.
Natasha pulled up a corner of the sheet to cover herself and burrowed into the pillows. As cheap as the motel room was, it was still comfortable enough to stay in for a while. He let her sleep and watched over her. In her dreams, she was part of the Bolshoi, feet wrapped in ballet slippers, the leotard as tight as a second skin. Natasya danced, fluid grace and endless elegance, gathering glory for her parents and her country. She had a fiancé, Alexei Shostokov, who was highly placed in the military and able to bypass the lists for a suitable apartment. They didn't have to wait years for simple luxuries like a second bathroom, a window box garden, windows large enough to constantly have natural sunlight streaming in. Alexei loved her, and was willing to wait until she was ready to limit her hours or retire from the Bolshoi. He had friends that she met with on occasion; Alexei was important, his position full of secrets and terrible responsibility. So he sometimes was away, and his friends were left to squire her about.
And if she was able to glean a few of those secrets along the way, so be it. That sort of thing happened amongst friends and lovers all the time.
Or maybe she was Tatiana, a real estate agent working out of Estonia, hoping to move to Germany someday. She had access to financial records, addresses, friends of friends of very important businessmen and women. Some of them had very powerful enemies, willing to do just about anything to get ahead. Gleaning information that would serve as the building blocks of political conspiracies was a common exercise; no one ever thought twice about the young woman in a business suit that stayed in the background, content to speak as little as possible and listen to the things people said when they thought they were alone.
Nancy was a teacher, enamored of the elementary school where she worked, as well as the brunet young man that taught in the high school. She took her tea with honey at the local coffee shop, her usual table right next to a man that was a bookkeeper for the Vory. Oh, he never admitted to that, but the truth was inescapable. One by one, his severed fingers went into a little pile, and he broke before his last finger was gone. Nancy smiled amiably, all sugary sweet, eyes a little bit distant as she worked. Cigar cutters worked in the movies, but she liked the old fashioned way the best. Garrote wire, cleavers, paring knives and a hammer were all wonderful tools, especially in the hands of a skilled professional.
James woke her; she startled, flipping across the bed and sinking into a crouch, hands searching for a gun beneath the bed that wasn't there. Loki got in, how did he get in, is he going to burn me again? What if he really puts his mind to killing me?
The world settled in pieces at a time, sharp, glittering fragments that grated and slid around in her mind uncomfortably. She saw James sitting on the bed, knife in hand. "The phone rang," he announced carefully. His hands were loose around the knife, and he finally put it down on the bed. "Natalia. Natasha. Natashenko." His lips quirked into a smile, his voice no longer as condescending on the babyish nickname. He was the only one that would do such a thing; Natasha was too childlike a name for the degree of deadly accuracy she had, and supervisors all called her Cadet or Miss Romanoff. Curious.
Asking who he was would be a disingenuous question and break his heart. "It's a jumble," she said finally. "Everyone got shook loose."
"Your programming is breaking down. We'll find another way."
She wanted to ask him if they had a child, a daughter, with hair as red as hers, his charming smile and bright eyes. She wanted to ask if they really vacationed in Paris, strolling in the rain, hand in hand and not caring who saw them. She wanted to know if it was real, or if any of it had been manufactured by the Red Room; how else could they reward and ultimately punish their agents, than to give the illusion of happiness and then so cruelly yank it away?
But she asked none of those things. She was too afraid of his answers.
When he held out a hand to her, she took it. He didn't remark on her hesitation, and drew her in slowly. Her breath was shaky but his embrace was warm and familiar, comforting her more than words ever could. Perhaps that had happened before. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, and some of the loose memories from the dream settled into place.
She was Natasha Romanoff, former Red Room assassin, possibly former SHIELD agent. Her skill set had sent her all over the world and even to Asgard. She did the jobs that no one else wanted or could do. She sacrificed everything on a regular basis, constantly trying to bring her life's accounting into balance. There was more to her than death and destruction, more than simply following orders to make the kill.
And she loved James more than anyone else in the world. Her friends were like a family to her, Yelena was friend, lover and competitor all at once. Loki was probably going out of his mind with worry, trying to track her down, annoying the everloving shit out of everyone else at Avengers Tower. He had nowhere else to go now, no one else willing to put up with him or even try to understand him. He could be falling apart without her; he loved her the way she loved James, she was sure of it.
"It's my past lives," she murmured. "I remember them, the women I used to be, the ones I never really was. It gets... crowded, I suppose. Hard to remember who I'm supposed to be sometimes," she admitted, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat. That was rock steady, familiar, comforting, something she could rely on.
His hands soothed her back for a while, then he drew her back to the bed. "You always said having too many lives isn't necessarily better than having none at all."
They curled up in each others' arms, and Natasha smiled up at him. "You keep me steady. I've always been amazed by you."
James traced her cheek and lips. "And you amaze me, Natasha... You are the home I didn't realize I needed."
"Then we'll get through this," she murmured. "We have each other."
And Yelena, but her jealousy could be more harm than good.
When Natasha next woke, sprawled across the bed on her stomach, one arm thrown haphazardly across James' shoulders, it was because Yelena was stomping around the room, upset. "Lena?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.
The look Yelena shot her was pure venom. "This room is a mess."
"You weren't here to celebrate when I got back," Natasha said smoothly.
"Celebrate," Yelena echoed, disbelief and scorn in her tone.
"Mm-hm. Sarkissian's dead, and I know who our next target should be."
"I have the next target," Yelena insisted.
Natasha sat up and stretched, suppressing a smirk when Yelena tracked the rise and fall of her breasts. "Dr. Edward Lansing is one of the researchers that the Sarkissians were funding. He was developing a super soldier serum, and supplied AIM with the mental patients he experimented on without their consent."
Yelena's expression darkened. "What?"
"He's a doctor and experimented on long term residents at the facility. Schizophrenics, bipolar patients, developmentally disabled, whoever was there and 'forgotten,'" Natasha replied, complete with air quotes. "They never knew what he was doing, and they were left with the mental capacity of a three year old, only stronger."
"That explains the guards that didn't know who I was," she muttered.
Natasha lay down on her stomach, watching Yelena's expression. "Do you want to know how she died?" she asked.
Blinking a bit, Yelena nodded and approached the bed. Natasha could feel James shift behind her, likely getting up to leave. She reached out behind her, blindly looking for him. After a moment - perhaps he hesitated staying because Yelena's jealous streak made her look murderous just then - but her finally took it and settled back beside her. Natasha rolled onto her back and stretched again, lean and sinuous. She described the blood and the begging and pleading, that secrets spilled as easily from Ekaterina's lips as her blood had.
Yelena looked down at Natasha hungrily, tuning out James sitting quietly next to Natasha and stroking her thigh. Natasha reached out with one arm and tugged on the hem of Yelena's shirt impatiently. "Well?"
She tried to undress quickly, Natasha sliding her hand over the skin as it was exposed. Yelena leaned over Natasha's sprawled form and took a breast into her mouth. Natasha let out a pleased sigh, then let her tongue glide over Yelena's breast as it bobbed near her face. A soft mewling greeted that move, so she repeated it. James continued to stroke her thigh, so Natasha parted her legs, giving him access and tacit permission to go farther.
Yelena propped herself up over Natasha with one hand, licking and sucking at the breast in front of her. Natasha returned the favor, and parted her legs even further when James shifted his weight and knelt between them. Natasha caught Yelena's other breast in one hand and reached around her to stroke her back. Yelena sighed around her breast, a pleased and delighted sound; she obviously thought she would have been forgotten in favor of James. And oh, there was James licking into her again, not to be outdone by Yelena's attention.
It was a tangle of limbs, Yelena being careful not to touch James. She didn't want him that way, never had, never understood the intensity of Natasha's feelings for him. At least she never made Natasha choose between them; Natasha knew that she could never leave James, and that choice would devastate Yelena. James licked until Natasha bucked and squealed, nipping at Yelena's breast as she came. "My turn," she purred, shifting so Natasha could lick into her wet slit. James watched them, his cock already hard and weeping. Natasha rubbed his leg with hers, then hooked her foot around his hip, trying to pull him closer while her hands were occupied with helping Yelena stay balanced.
James slid into Natasha, his hands on her hips. He moved slowly so he wouldn't disrupt her, and Natasha liked the slow slide of his cock inside her. She hummed happily, then sucked at Yelena's clit hard enough to make her come with a sharp, catlike cry. Only then did James move in earnest, thrusts intense enough to move Natasha along the bed, her breasts bobbing with each movement. Yelena couldn't maintain her balance perched above Natasha and had to grasp James' shoulder with one hand when she nearly fell.
The blonde wasn't to be outdone, so she moved to stretch out beside Natasha. She nipped and licked one of Natasha's breasts, her hand sliding down the taut stomach until she reached the tangle of red curls. "Yelena," Natasha gasped even as she reached for James.
Yelena leaned in to nip at Natasha's ear as she flicked her fingers around Natasha's clit. "You're mine," she growled. "Mine. You belong to me, Natasha. I had you first, and I won't let anyone steal you from me."
Before she could answer, another orgasm ripped through her. Natasha gasped and writhed, body clenching down hard. James hissed, unable to last out more than three additional thrusts. He withdrew and watched Yelena use his come as lube to slick up her fingers, rubbing Natasha's clit even through the orgasm, trying to coax out another one on the heels of the first.
The three of them collapsed in a tangled heap on the bed, Natasha in the middle. Yelena tucked her head into Natasha's neck, one hand on her stomach. James used his flesh arm as a pillow beneath his head, and his left arm rested lightly on her hip. Two different lovers, two different directions to be pulled into.
And that didn't even count Loki and the deal involving the Astoria apartment. That felt like a lifetime ago, another persona that kept track of such things. Natasha felt so distant from that now, though she knew he had to be hurting.
Let him, she decided. He'd killed thousands and still didn't seem to care about it. Her concept of a ledger was still an alien one for him, and he didn't really exert effort to balance the columns at all. Loki was selfish, and could only see his own pain or frustration. The outside world usually didn't register at all. He wanted, and that want could make him dangerous.
But for once, Natasha didn't want to sacrifice herself to contain him. For once, she didn't want to keep close watch to be sure he didn't explode like the ticking time bomb he was. There was enough of that to do with Yelena, and keeping track of her own past lives and thoughts was work enough at the moment. For once she wanted something for herself. After everything she had done with and without her consent, didn't she deserve something she wanted? Wasn't it all right to want, to be worthy of having at least one wish fulfilled?
A distant part of her was horrified that she had succumbed to her training with Ekaterina's death, but most of her was satisfied. That was an acceptable death, one smidge of red in her ledger that would prevent countless innocents from being slaughtered. Ekaterina hadn't cared at all about the children sacrificed, or the lost and lonely patients who sought help and essentially lobotomized against their will. The lives lost to Extremis had been acceptable as well, and only deplored Killian's very public display because it drove down AIM stock prices for months.
One death in exchange for the lives of hundreds. That was acceptable. She would do that again in a heartbeat, especially if she didn't have to deal with SHIELD bureaucracy or answer to Sitwell and his judgmental expression. Taking the legal route meant that Ekaterina had several years to collect more deaths, more innocents tortured and used and warped beyond recognition.
There was too much darkness out in the world, too many people willing to abuse others just because they could. Whatever Yelena's plans for the new Red Room, those people had to be eliminated with extreme prejudice.
***
***
Two - Crossing Boundaries
Series: #14 in Ready For The Siege
(#1 - Look Over Your Shoulder, #2 - Armed Up To The Teeth, #3 - Misery Inspires, #4 - Broken Underneath, #5 - Change Is Coming Soon, #6 - Lick Your Wounds, #7 - Bitter Sparks, #8 - Father's Will, #9 - To Feel Safe Again, #10 - Hit Your Prime, #11 - Open Your Eyes, #12 - Can't Be Ignored, #13 - Make You Ill)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Loki/Natasha, Natasha/Yelena, Natasha/Winter Soldier
Disclaimer: Not mine! Some comic backstory is incorporated into characterizations, but this is still primarily movieverse.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-Avengers, AU to the rest of MCU. Read the other stories before this one, because it does refer back to events in them. Additional warning for mindfuckery of various flavors (hello, Red Room!) and detailed descriptions of violence and torture.
Title and series title from "The Royal We" by Silversun Pickups
Special thanks to phoenixrising06/
romanovasledger for plotting and characterization discussion. :)
Summary: The Red Room has returned.
One - Knife Edge
Ekaterina Sarkissian had lived in Moscow until her fourteenth birthday. Her parents had died when she was seven in a train accident, so she lived with her cousin Ophelia as well as her aunt, uncle and grandfather in one tiny flat. The cousins had looked alike, more like sisters than cousins, with the same long, straight dark hair, green eyes and flawlessly pale skin. Both had excelled at school, which had made the older Sarkissians proud.
The summer before Ekaterina turned fourteen, her aunt had caught Ophelia kissing the neighbor girl, her hand sliding up beneath her shirt. Ekaterina had thought the two of them were cute together, but it had been a shock for her aunt, who had hoped that Ophelia would marry her friend's son. Ekaterina had known for some time that Ophelia was gay and loved her anyway. Her aunt couldn't deal with the potential shame it would bring them, and urged her uncle to look into moving away. They went to Romania first, then Austria. Ophelia gamely tried to date boys and had even slept with one to make her mother happy, but she felt nothing for them and happily handed them off to Ekaterina to date.
The cousins had always been more like sisters, so it wasn't a surprise that they get involved in similar organizations during their college years. Ophelia rose quickly through Hydra's ranks, while Ekaterina switched to help run AIM as it got off the ground. They loved Vienna, and Ekaterina soon developed a love for Marseilles, which was where her offices were based. She and Ophelia talked frequently, meshing their interests together even if the organizations remained separate. They knew everything about the other's movements, at least until Ophelia disappeared from Vienna.
It was upsetting; the Austrian government wouldn't tell her anything about how Ophelia died or what the investigation was finding. All they were telling her was that Ophelia was dead, and when Ekaterina asked about Yelena, authorities would only tell her that the woman was missing and a person of interest. Did they really think Yelena could have harmed Ophelia? The woman was a lingerie model, for God's sake. She gave it up to be with Ophelia, and they had been together for six years. While it was something of an open relationship, Yelena had never sought any other girlfriends or even boyfriends. Ophelia was the one that wanted to dabble with Emilia on the side, but Yelena was her love. They were married in all but name, which had suited Ophelia just fine. Yelena had never pressed for marriage or any of the gifts that Ophelia heaped upon her head, and had seemed like such a vapid blonde on the occasions that Ekaterina had met her. Running the vibranium mine had been Ophelia's idea to keep the woman busy, but Ekaterina had no doubts that it was really the managers that kept the mine afloat. No, Yelena couldn't have possibly harmed Ophelia. It was more likely that someone had broken into the house, killed Ophelia and abducted Yelena.
She sighed and gave in to the urge to rest her head on her desk. She was tired, and balancing the different divisions of AIM while keeping legitimate appearances were rather trying. AIM's expanded R&D division was still tangentially working with Project Centipede, and had major developments with their nanobot technology.
Ekaterina must have dozed off for a time. She was startled by a hand at her shoulder, and jerked awake, twisting to the side. A familiar voice chuckling stopped her from bodily throwing herself across the room. Her boyfriend Tomas had come in to check on her, and perched on the edge of her chair. He was tall and slender, with a runner's physique, olive skin, curly dark hair and kind dark eyes. It had been sheer accident that led to their meeting, as she normally didn't spend time in the R&D labs. Generally, she only read reports. During a tour of a new facility, one of the experimental engines being tested had overheated. Tomas had thrown her to the ground, covering her body with his. "So," he had said that day with a reckless grin and a twinkle in his eyes, "the engine needs work, obviously."
She had been charmed, and had started meeting for dates. It was a much slower courtship than she had been used to, but very pleasant. They did more than just dinner and movies or plays, and he actually wanted to get to know her. It wasn't just a ploy to lead to sex, but genuine interest; her prior boyfriends had seemed more interested in a physical relationship only.
"Katya," he chided gently. "You work too hard."
"Oh, Tomas," she sighed, nodding. "But there's so much to do before the final report for the quarter is due, and a handful of tours to make."
He chuckled, rising from his perch on her chair. That fateful tour had been almost two years ago, and aside from their meeting, had been an unmitigated disaster. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you, then," he replied playfully. "You can finish your report..."
"Don't you dare," she said with a grin, grasping his arm. "I can write reports anytime. You've been buried in your lab for weeks..."
"Deadlines," he reminded her with a smile, letting his fingers trail over the curve of her jaw.
"You can stay for a bit, can't you?"
"It's why I'm here."
Tomas stood behind her, fingers sliding across her arm suggestively. He gave her a shoulder massage, kneading the tight muscles. "It's so hard being the CEO of a successful research company," he teased.
"It is!" she huffed. "We have to produce something viable on the quarterly report for the investors. Another bad quarter and the market share will drop, funding dries up, and then bright minds like yours go elsewhere..."
Digging further into the tight muscles, Tomas kissed the top of her head. "Katya, I'm not leaving you, okay? Why would I leave? I have everything I want right here."
"Charmer."
"I tell you the truth," Tomas protested with a grin.
Ekaterina half turned in her seat, a smile on her face, intended to tease him. Tomas leaned in and kissed her, mouth open and tongue sweeping across her lips. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, deepening the kiss. She followed his lead when he drew her to her feet. "I could use a break," she said against his mouth, smiling.
Kissing and groping each other, they headed to the bedroom from her home office. They shed their clothes quickly, and Tomas rummaged in her bedside drawer for a condom. He left it in easy reach, then got on the bed beside Ekaterina. His hands were everywhere, caressing her body reverently. Ekaterina's touch was rougher, more insistent and demanding. When she was ready for him, she pushed him onto his back and grabbed the foil packet. She rolled it onto his cock and sank down over him. Tomas grinned up at her when she sighed contentedly, palming her breasts. That let him stroke them and give her a little more balance as she rode him hard and fast, her own hands braced on his thighs behind her.
She draped herself over him afterward, enjoying the feel of him beneath her. it only lasted a minute or two before she had to roll off so Tomas could take the condom off his softening cock and dispose of it. He cuddled her close, and she actually started dozing off until they heard the loud and obnoxiously insistent sound of his cell phone.
"Don't answer it," she groaned, curling further into his warmth.
"It might be the lab. We were working on a new project..."
She covered her face with her hands and groaned as he got up to check his phone. He sighed after seeing the number. "I've got to take this," he said apologetically.
Apparently power surges had ruined some of the equipment in the lab, and he would have to go through it to see if he could salvage some of it. Ekaterina knew it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "Come back when you're done saving the lab," Ekaterina said, stretching and arching her back to put her breasts on full display. Tomas was as entranced as she wanted him to be, and he gave her a last lingering kiss before leaving.
Ekaterina dozed off for a bit, then sat up abruptly when a noise woke her. It wasn't a crash, exactly, but more like a dull thudding sound. Something falling over in her office, perhaps. A quick glance at her clock told her that she had slept for maybe twenty minutes at most. After scrubbing at her eyes, she rose and put on her silk bathrobe. If Tomas was returning, there wasn't much point in getting dressed again. She had high hopes for the rest of her evening.
Except...
Her computer was moved on her desk, various file folders were missing from her desk, including the financials she had been looking at to make her report. "What the hell?"
A sharp blow behind her knees made her collapse to the floor. She fell with a thud, striking her head on the side of her desk. Her vision swam, and eventually refocused as a redheaded woman tied one wrist to her desk and her two ankles together. The woman caught her free wrist in a crushing grip, her expression so eerily blank that it scared Ekaterina more than if it had been lit up with glee. She looked vaguely familiar, and it took Ekaterina a moment to place it.
"You're the Turpin woman. You escaped my guards in Andorra a year and a half ago."
Now the woman smiled, a fearsome thing that made Ekaterina's blood run cold. "Oh, Katya," the woman sneered, using the diminutive without her consent. "You've been a naughty, naughty girl while I've been away." She was dressed in all black, a skintight cat suit that moved with her fluidly. She had a belt slung low around her waist with pouches, as well as thigh holsters for two Glocks, extra magazines and several knives. One of them was in her hand, pointed right below Ekaterina's left eye. "You thought you could get away with it, too."
"What do you want?"
"Did those girls ever know what you were after? Did the boys get a chance to say no?"
The blood drained from Ekaterina's face. "Who are you?" she breathed.
"Your mages are gone, you know. They're dead. They can't save you now." Her eyes were hard and angry. "But then, you're also out of the blood of children, aren't you?"
"Who are you?"
Her teeth looked as sharp as knives. "I'm the Black Widow."
There was no use screaming. The walls of her home were soundproofed and fortified against bullets, impacts up to a military tank striking the walls, and magic assaults. It would prevent others from coming in, but couldn't prevent this woman from doing whatever it was she wanted to do while inside.
"How did you get in?"
"There has yet to be a room I can't get into." The tip of the blade rested against Ekaterina's left cheekbone. "But now, I propose a game." There was no joy in her eyes, no emotion at all. The closest thing to emotion had been anger when she mentioned the dead children. "Don't you want to hear the rules?" she prodded when Ekaterina remained silent.
"Did you kill Ophelia?" Ekaterina asked instead.
The knife dragged down her cheek, from cheekbone to jaw. The Black Widow didn't even move otherwise as Ekaterina gasped in pain. "Don't you want to hear the rules?"
She was going to die. The Black Widow would never let her live if this was a contract. "Who hired you? I can pay you whatever you like. Double, triple..."
A parallel line was etched into her cheek, this time deeper. The Widow looked as though she barely expended any energy at all. Ekaterina cried out as her cheek stung. "What do you want?" Ekaterina cried desperately.
"You almost killed me, you know," the Widow said conversationally. The knife's edge moved to Ekaterina's throat. "You were looking for information I didn't even have at the time. That's all right, though. We're going to fix that mistake." Now there was a deadly glint in her eye. "You're going to tell me what I want to know. And perhaps, I won't make it as painful as you would have for me. How does that sound?"
"You're insane."
The knife skipped along her collarbone. "No. I know what that looks like, I assure you, and I am very far away from that."
"I can give you anything," Ekaterina promised. "I have a powerful organization behind me, and I'm in the running to take over Hydra now. Whatever you want..."
The knife dug into her skin until it met her collarbone. Ekaterina screamed and tried to jerk away, but that only led the Black Widow to crush the delicate bones of her hand in her grip. One line, then two into her skin, then across the parallel lines. Up came the skin flap, exposing the bone there. Ekaterina sobbed and looked at the Black Widow's impassive expression. "What do you want? What can I give you?"
"Information."
Whenever Ekaterina paused, or tried to evade her questions, the Black Widow took her knife and scratched at the exposed bone. The blood stained the robe completely, and Ekaterina didn't even notice when a rib or two were exposed in the same way as her collarbones. She was too busy sobbing to feel the tendons being severed in her left wrist; those hand bones felt crushed already anyway, and she wasn't trying to move the fingers. She told the Black Widow whatever sounded important, throwing everyone under the bus that she could think of. "I just do finances," she tried to insist. "I crunch the numbers, that's it."
"Liar," the Widow hissed, eyes flashing in anger.
Ekaterina was dizzy, and tried to bring her hand to her head. Her right was still tied, and her left was a mangled mess. She screeched, hyperventilating and trying to skitter backward away from the Black Widow. "I told you everything I know!" she wailed.
"No, you haven't," the Widow intoned, her face an expressionless mask. Her death would mean nothing at all, Ekaterina realized. The Widow would feel absolutely nothing, there would be no regret, and Ekaterina would still be dead.
The only question was how much pain would she be in before she died.
Over the next three hours, Ekaterina wracked her brain to give the Black Widow whatever information she could. Before, it had been actual but relatively innocuous information and blame shifting to other AIM personnel. Now she told the Widow about AIM's different research projects, what the mages were needed for, where and why they used the children, the sister agencies' projects that dovetailed with her pet projects, weaponization attempts, the creation of "miracles," how they determine enemy targets to eliminate.
When Tomas returned, Ekaterina's office was a grisly bloodbath, her tortured body lying with limbs splayed at awkward angles. The stench was horrific, and Ekaterina stared at Tomas with empty eye sockets and jaws wrenched open farther than what was humanly possible. He was sick in the hallway, his entire body shaking. It was with great difficulty that he called the authorities to investigate, but he didn't think they would be able to find her killer.
Splashed across the wall in Ekaterina's blood were five chilling words.
The Red Room has returned.
***
Natasha returned to her hotel room and was surprised to find that Yelena wasn't present. "She's looking into our next target," James told her. He was sitting at attention in the chair beside the bed, gun in hand. He lounged a little as her gaze traveled over his body. "I take it you've had a successful mission?"
"Ekaterina Sarkissian is very, very dead. And she so thoughtfully told me everything she knew before she died."
James grinned at her even tone of voice and beckoned her to come closer. "Revenge feels good, doesn't it, Natalia?"
She approached and straddled his waist. He caught her wrist before she could grasp one of his knives. "Perhaps I wanted to know what she does. Prevent her from killing projects."
"Mmm," James murmured noncommittally. He trailed his fingers down her spine. "And do you? Know everything?" he asked slowly. His voice was more like a throaty, sensual purr.
"Everything worth knowing, at any rate," Natasha told him, her lips quirking into a smile. She stood and walked over to the desk, leaning against it for balance to kick off her boots. "As well as the next target, if we can all get to California undetected. Are you jealous you couldn't go out into the field?"
"Oh, I'll be out in the field soon enough," James drawled. "And I'm not jealous. Just eager to show you how much I appreciate you."
Natasha lofted an eyebrow. "And how do you propose to do that?"
Fluidly, James was up and out of the seat, across the room and grasping Natasha in his arms. Her back slammed into the wall hard, but she pushed back so that she could twist and slam him into the wall instead. The tacky painting on the wall fell off. They both ignored it, instead grasping and caressing each other through clothes. It was truly like being back in the Red Room once a mission was finished. There wasn't enough time, never enough time, they would have to report back to their handlers and pretend nothing was going on. But in the meantime, a few sweet hours of stolen oblivion, the ability to pretend that love was real and not simply imagined. Whatever ability to love that they possessed, they had for each other.
James' shirt ripped a little as Natasha yanked it off and tossed it aside. James helped her out of the boots and leather cat suit, and their trajectories knocked over a lamp beside the bed. Her bra and panties were tossed in different directions, and the remainder of James' clothing and boots were scattered along their way to the bed. That didn't matter at this moment. All that mattered was James' mouth on her neck then breast, her hand grasping his cock, and the slide of skin on skin or metal. He pushed her down to the bed, then sank to his knees to bring his mouth between her legs. Natasha stifled her cry with a fist pressed against her mouth.
"No," James said, leaning back a little. "Their spies don't exist any longer. They can't punish us for this now. Let me hear you as I never could before."
Natasha took her hand away and reached down for him. When James settled back between her thighs, she laced her fingers through his soft hair and arched up, moaning as his tongue slid between her folds. Her other hand grasped her breast, palming it and adding to the sensations flooding her. James dragged a throaty groan from her when he added his fingers-flesh only, as he never used the metal hand inside her body, not wanting even the remote risk of harm. He would grab her hips or touch her skin, but it was only his flesh and blood fingers that ever slid inside her slick passage.
When she came, James ignored her insistent tugging at his hair. He turned her over to rest on hands and knees on the bed. Natasha had to grasp the bed sheets, already rumpled and partly pulled off of the bed, and she turned her head to the side to breathe and try to look over her shoulder at James. She panted his name, gasping and moaning as he brought his mouth down to her from behind. At first his tongue delved into her slit, licking into her. Natasha's breath quickened, and she let out a soft mewl as he moved up to lick at her rear entrance. "James," she moaned, a fine tremor running through her. She could feel him smile against her ass, the smug bastard, but moaned and jerked beneath his mouth.
James licked at her lazily, his hands on her hips to keep her from pushing back against him or turning over to lie on her back again. It was a slow tease, until Natasha was panting and cursing at him in Russian to get on with it already, she wanted him so badly and needed his cock inside her now. He started slow, leaning low over her body, entering her from behind while kissing the back of her neck. "Natalia," he murmured, moving slowly to draw out the sensation for her. He growled when she clenched her inner muscles around his cock. "Natasha."
Natasha moaned, her eyes falling shut. I love you, she wanted to say. He might not accept the words, but it didn't make the emotion any less real. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. My Winter Soldier. I love you.
As if he was reading her mind, his growls seemed to resolve into words. I love you, he said in Russian against her spine, lips and teeth grazing her skin. She shivered beneath him, crying out and pulling at the sheets. She called his name as if it was a prayer, begging for more, needing more. They had so much time to make up, so much that had gone unsaid that now they could say. No more watchers, no need to second guess their involvement. No need to wash away his come guiltily, no need to hide her feelings.
They lay among the twisted sheets afterward, sweaty-sticky-sated, grinning at each other like lovesick teenagers. She had been sixteen when she kissed him, just to see if she could, because he didn't force advances upon her, because he was unfailingly fair and committed to the mission, because he never once made her feel less than whole. I choose you, she had said before kissing him, moving slowly and clearly telegraphing her intentions. He could have moved away, but he hadn't. He watched her carefully, gaze shuttered until she faltered, bravado gone and her soul stripped bare for him to see. Am I that awful? she had asked, able to keep from shaking in shame. Madame says I learned my lessons well. She wasn't about to mention Starkovsky and his lecherous gaze, roaming hands and sickening innuendoes. Am I doing something wrong?
He had been sure she was a test of his loyalty, his resolve to do Department X's work. I choose you, she'd had to repeat. This is what I want, not them. They... they don't know this. How I feel. What I want. She had faltered again under his heavy gaze. What I think I want. I... I don't know. They took things, didn't they?
Only then did he reach out and caress her cheek gently. Always, he had murmured.
Years later, with SHIELD's help, she worked out that she had to have been around fourteen when the memory modification and personality overlays began. She had already been training with the Winter Soldier for at least a year or so at that time, had already been running missions after entering the Elites of the Red Room. Natasha had already been a deadly force to be reckoned with, and the Winter Soldier had tempered her ability further. Never once had he made untoward advances, and even after her overture hadn't leapt at the chance.
You're a good man, she had told him, admiration shining in her eyes.
Not really, he had replied. Look at what we do. Look at who we are.
But you aren't like them, she had insisted. You're better than they are. You're more than your programming. Do you- Natasha had gulped nervously. Do you think that maybe I could be, too?
But the Winter Soldier had smiled at her warmly, human fingers sliding down her shoulder, along her arm. You already are.
In the present day, Natasha ran her fingers over his stubbled cheeks, into his hair, along his bare shoulder. "I remember you," she said softly. "I've always remembered you. When I thought... I killed one of the few things that made life bearable there. There was nothing left worth fighting for if you were gone."
"Natasha," he murmured, running his flesh fingers along her jaw.
"Stupid, I know. Everything changes. Nothing does." She gave him a soft smile. "But you're here, you're alive. You're everything I remember."
"I wasn't this man when you weren't around, Natasha," he warned her.
She laughed softly. "Do you think my commenting on your being a good man means that I think you're an innocent? You're even less innocent than I am, and we both know I was never really a child." She let her fingers trail across his chest. "I mean... You didn't let them erase the man underneath it all. For all that they tried to destroy you, they couldn't. While you weren't the Bucky that Steve remembers, you weren't a soulless monster. The Winter Soldier, for all that he was never supposed to be a person, still was capable of more kindness and humanity than any of our handlers at the Red Room."
James let out a sighing breath. "But for a long time, I couldn't be that."
"But the capacity for it was there."
"Something about you touched what was left of my humanity, buried under all that programming," James told Natasha in a soft voice.
Her lips curled into a trembling smile. "I built up my humanity after I destroyed the Red Room. I think I'm losing it. I think I'm falling back into old habits. The lives they gave me are easier to remember now. It's harder to remember why my life as a SHIELD agent mattered so much."
"You're not a SHIELD agent any longer, so it doesn't matter."
But it should have. It should have mattered. She still had her ledger; that belonged to her, not to SHIELD, not the Red Room, nobody else but her. She had worked so hard to get her autonomy, and she could feel it slipping away at the edges.
Natasha pulled up a corner of the sheet to cover herself and burrowed into the pillows. As cheap as the motel room was, it was still comfortable enough to stay in for a while. He let her sleep and watched over her. In her dreams, she was part of the Bolshoi, feet wrapped in ballet slippers, the leotard as tight as a second skin. Natasya danced, fluid grace and endless elegance, gathering glory for her parents and her country. She had a fiancé, Alexei Shostokov, who was highly placed in the military and able to bypass the lists for a suitable apartment. They didn't have to wait years for simple luxuries like a second bathroom, a window box garden, windows large enough to constantly have natural sunlight streaming in. Alexei loved her, and was willing to wait until she was ready to limit her hours or retire from the Bolshoi. He had friends that she met with on occasion; Alexei was important, his position full of secrets and terrible responsibility. So he sometimes was away, and his friends were left to squire her about.
And if she was able to glean a few of those secrets along the way, so be it. That sort of thing happened amongst friends and lovers all the time.
Or maybe she was Tatiana, a real estate agent working out of Estonia, hoping to move to Germany someday. She had access to financial records, addresses, friends of friends of very important businessmen and women. Some of them had very powerful enemies, willing to do just about anything to get ahead. Gleaning information that would serve as the building blocks of political conspiracies was a common exercise; no one ever thought twice about the young woman in a business suit that stayed in the background, content to speak as little as possible and listen to the things people said when they thought they were alone.
Nancy was a teacher, enamored of the elementary school where she worked, as well as the brunet young man that taught in the high school. She took her tea with honey at the local coffee shop, her usual table right next to a man that was a bookkeeper for the Vory. Oh, he never admitted to that, but the truth was inescapable. One by one, his severed fingers went into a little pile, and he broke before his last finger was gone. Nancy smiled amiably, all sugary sweet, eyes a little bit distant as she worked. Cigar cutters worked in the movies, but she liked the old fashioned way the best. Garrote wire, cleavers, paring knives and a hammer were all wonderful tools, especially in the hands of a skilled professional.
James woke her; she startled, flipping across the bed and sinking into a crouch, hands searching for a gun beneath the bed that wasn't there. Loki got in, how did he get in, is he going to burn me again? What if he really puts his mind to killing me?
The world settled in pieces at a time, sharp, glittering fragments that grated and slid around in her mind uncomfortably. She saw James sitting on the bed, knife in hand. "The phone rang," he announced carefully. His hands were loose around the knife, and he finally put it down on the bed. "Natalia. Natasha. Natashenko." His lips quirked into a smile, his voice no longer as condescending on the babyish nickname. He was the only one that would do such a thing; Natasha was too childlike a name for the degree of deadly accuracy she had, and supervisors all called her Cadet or Miss Romanoff. Curious.
Asking who he was would be a disingenuous question and break his heart. "It's a jumble," she said finally. "Everyone got shook loose."
"Your programming is breaking down. We'll find another way."
She wanted to ask him if they had a child, a daughter, with hair as red as hers, his charming smile and bright eyes. She wanted to ask if they really vacationed in Paris, strolling in the rain, hand in hand and not caring who saw them. She wanted to know if it was real, or if any of it had been manufactured by the Red Room; how else could they reward and ultimately punish their agents, than to give the illusion of happiness and then so cruelly yank it away?
But she asked none of those things. She was too afraid of his answers.
When he held out a hand to her, she took it. He didn't remark on her hesitation, and drew her in slowly. Her breath was shaky but his embrace was warm and familiar, comforting her more than words ever could. Perhaps that had happened before. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, and some of the loose memories from the dream settled into place.
She was Natasha Romanoff, former Red Room assassin, possibly former SHIELD agent. Her skill set had sent her all over the world and even to Asgard. She did the jobs that no one else wanted or could do. She sacrificed everything on a regular basis, constantly trying to bring her life's accounting into balance. There was more to her than death and destruction, more than simply following orders to make the kill.
And she loved James more than anyone else in the world. Her friends were like a family to her, Yelena was friend, lover and competitor all at once. Loki was probably going out of his mind with worry, trying to track her down, annoying the everloving shit out of everyone else at Avengers Tower. He had nowhere else to go now, no one else willing to put up with him or even try to understand him. He could be falling apart without her; he loved her the way she loved James, she was sure of it.
"It's my past lives," she murmured. "I remember them, the women I used to be, the ones I never really was. It gets... crowded, I suppose. Hard to remember who I'm supposed to be sometimes," she admitted, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat. That was rock steady, familiar, comforting, something she could rely on.
His hands soothed her back for a while, then he drew her back to the bed. "You always said having too many lives isn't necessarily better than having none at all."
They curled up in each others' arms, and Natasha smiled up at him. "You keep me steady. I've always been amazed by you."
James traced her cheek and lips. "And you amaze me, Natasha... You are the home I didn't realize I needed."
"Then we'll get through this," she murmured. "We have each other."
And Yelena, but her jealousy could be more harm than good.
When Natasha next woke, sprawled across the bed on her stomach, one arm thrown haphazardly across James' shoulders, it was because Yelena was stomping around the room, upset. "Lena?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.
The look Yelena shot her was pure venom. "This room is a mess."
"You weren't here to celebrate when I got back," Natasha said smoothly.
"Celebrate," Yelena echoed, disbelief and scorn in her tone.
"Mm-hm. Sarkissian's dead, and I know who our next target should be."
"I have the next target," Yelena insisted.
Natasha sat up and stretched, suppressing a smirk when Yelena tracked the rise and fall of her breasts. "Dr. Edward Lansing is one of the researchers that the Sarkissians were funding. He was developing a super soldier serum, and supplied AIM with the mental patients he experimented on without their consent."
Yelena's expression darkened. "What?"
"He's a doctor and experimented on long term residents at the facility. Schizophrenics, bipolar patients, developmentally disabled, whoever was there and 'forgotten,'" Natasha replied, complete with air quotes. "They never knew what he was doing, and they were left with the mental capacity of a three year old, only stronger."
"That explains the guards that didn't know who I was," she muttered.
Natasha lay down on her stomach, watching Yelena's expression. "Do you want to know how she died?" she asked.
Blinking a bit, Yelena nodded and approached the bed. Natasha could feel James shift behind her, likely getting up to leave. She reached out behind her, blindly looking for him. After a moment - perhaps he hesitated staying because Yelena's jealous streak made her look murderous just then - but her finally took it and settled back beside her. Natasha rolled onto her back and stretched again, lean and sinuous. She described the blood and the begging and pleading, that secrets spilled as easily from Ekaterina's lips as her blood had.
Yelena looked down at Natasha hungrily, tuning out James sitting quietly next to Natasha and stroking her thigh. Natasha reached out with one arm and tugged on the hem of Yelena's shirt impatiently. "Well?"
She tried to undress quickly, Natasha sliding her hand over the skin as it was exposed. Yelena leaned over Natasha's sprawled form and took a breast into her mouth. Natasha let out a pleased sigh, then let her tongue glide over Yelena's breast as it bobbed near her face. A soft mewling greeted that move, so she repeated it. James continued to stroke her thigh, so Natasha parted her legs, giving him access and tacit permission to go farther.
Yelena propped herself up over Natasha with one hand, licking and sucking at the breast in front of her. Natasha returned the favor, and parted her legs even further when James shifted his weight and knelt between them. Natasha caught Yelena's other breast in one hand and reached around her to stroke her back. Yelena sighed around her breast, a pleased and delighted sound; she obviously thought she would have been forgotten in favor of James. And oh, there was James licking into her again, not to be outdone by Yelena's attention.
It was a tangle of limbs, Yelena being careful not to touch James. She didn't want him that way, never had, never understood the intensity of Natasha's feelings for him. At least she never made Natasha choose between them; Natasha knew that she could never leave James, and that choice would devastate Yelena. James licked until Natasha bucked and squealed, nipping at Yelena's breast as she came. "My turn," she purred, shifting so Natasha could lick into her wet slit. James watched them, his cock already hard and weeping. Natasha rubbed his leg with hers, then hooked her foot around his hip, trying to pull him closer while her hands were occupied with helping Yelena stay balanced.
James slid into Natasha, his hands on her hips. He moved slowly so he wouldn't disrupt her, and Natasha liked the slow slide of his cock inside her. She hummed happily, then sucked at Yelena's clit hard enough to make her come with a sharp, catlike cry. Only then did James move in earnest, thrusts intense enough to move Natasha along the bed, her breasts bobbing with each movement. Yelena couldn't maintain her balance perched above Natasha and had to grasp James' shoulder with one hand when she nearly fell.
The blonde wasn't to be outdone, so she moved to stretch out beside Natasha. She nipped and licked one of Natasha's breasts, her hand sliding down the taut stomach until she reached the tangle of red curls. "Yelena," Natasha gasped even as she reached for James.
Yelena leaned in to nip at Natasha's ear as she flicked her fingers around Natasha's clit. "You're mine," she growled. "Mine. You belong to me, Natasha. I had you first, and I won't let anyone steal you from me."
Before she could answer, another orgasm ripped through her. Natasha gasped and writhed, body clenching down hard. James hissed, unable to last out more than three additional thrusts. He withdrew and watched Yelena use his come as lube to slick up her fingers, rubbing Natasha's clit even through the orgasm, trying to coax out another one on the heels of the first.
The three of them collapsed in a tangled heap on the bed, Natasha in the middle. Yelena tucked her head into Natasha's neck, one hand on her stomach. James used his flesh arm as a pillow beneath his head, and his left arm rested lightly on her hip. Two different lovers, two different directions to be pulled into.
And that didn't even count Loki and the deal involving the Astoria apartment. That felt like a lifetime ago, another persona that kept track of such things. Natasha felt so distant from that now, though she knew he had to be hurting.
Let him, she decided. He'd killed thousands and still didn't seem to care about it. Her concept of a ledger was still an alien one for him, and he didn't really exert effort to balance the columns at all. Loki was selfish, and could only see his own pain or frustration. The outside world usually didn't register at all. He wanted, and that want could make him dangerous.
But for once, Natasha didn't want to sacrifice herself to contain him. For once, she didn't want to keep close watch to be sure he didn't explode like the ticking time bomb he was. There was enough of that to do with Yelena, and keeping track of her own past lives and thoughts was work enough at the moment. For once she wanted something for herself. After everything she had done with and without her consent, didn't she deserve something she wanted? Wasn't it all right to want, to be worthy of having at least one wish fulfilled?
A distant part of her was horrified that she had succumbed to her training with Ekaterina's death, but most of her was satisfied. That was an acceptable death, one smidge of red in her ledger that would prevent countless innocents from being slaughtered. Ekaterina hadn't cared at all about the children sacrificed, or the lost and lonely patients who sought help and essentially lobotomized against their will. The lives lost to Extremis had been acceptable as well, and only deplored Killian's very public display because it drove down AIM stock prices for months.
One death in exchange for the lives of hundreds. That was acceptable. She would do that again in a heartbeat, especially if she didn't have to deal with SHIELD bureaucracy or answer to Sitwell and his judgmental expression. Taking the legal route meant that Ekaterina had several years to collect more deaths, more innocents tortured and used and warped beyond recognition.
There was too much darkness out in the world, too many people willing to abuse others just because they could. Whatever Yelena's plans for the new Red Room, those people had to be eliminated with extreme prejudice.
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Two - Crossing Boundaries