Clint stares at her as she gets ready, smiling at her putting on make up.
“What?” she asks, “you’ve seen me do this a thousand times.”
“Nat, watching you put make up on in a bra, will always make me stop and stare at you,” he pauses.
“In a non creepy way.”
She smiles and continues to make up her face; the wig cap covering her hair.
“Are you sure, blue is the way to go?”
The wig both brown and blue is styled like Natasha’s hair when she was young.
She bites her lip.
“No. But maybe, if anything gets to her, maybe the past will.”
She stands and bends over, placing the wig on and adjusting it.
When she stands she looks like a different person.
“I never know how you do that,” he says in awe.
She sighs.
He kisses the top of her head, and hugs round her shoulders.
“We can do this another time, it doesn’t have to be now… this feels too dangerous.”
Natasha shakes her head.
“No, it has to be now,” she says, determined.
“Because who knows when we will get a chance again?”
She looks up at him and attempts a smile.
“Plus, I know you’ll be there, right?”
Clint nods, prepares his basic disguise of a hat and sunglasses and leaves her to finish getting ready.
.
Natasha feels eyes on her as soon as she enters the hotel.
They can’t know, not yet. She scans and looks for Yelena.
Seeing nothing, she continues into the bowels of the hotel, checking in and wheeling her suitcase to the elevator.
Natasha is hypervigilant.
Continuously scanning the environment, she focuses on getting to her room and closing the door.
She’d checked in as Melina Vostokoff, hoping to get Yelena’s attention, or at the very least, someone from the Red Room.
Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm her nerves. Waiting for it, for someone to come, felt almost torturous.
Isla was right.
Her words, as scathing as they were, were correct. She’d left.
Not just Yelena but the other widows. She hadn’t known what killing Dreykov would do, and selfishly; she didn’t care.
She just needed him dead.
Sitting on the edge of the bed she flops back.
Clint, perhaps, was also right, that she’d done the best she could in keeping herself safe, but it didn’t negate the fact that she didn’t look for Yelena.
There’s a small part of her that still thinks it’s not her problem, Yelena is not her sister, either were the widows.
They instilled every man (or woman) for themselves in training. Some girls took it seriously but most of them knew they’d only survive together.
Usually it was the widows with friends and guiding hands around them that survived.
Those that didn’t… well. They’re the ones they held funerals for.
She groans. The wig itching.
Natasha knows she needs to get up, set the trap within the trap.
She just knows it’s going to be a long, hard day.
But, she supposes, what’s another one.
.
It takes them to dinner to come for her.
The things they do are so predictable, that Natasha has to suppress a role of her eyes.
It’s amazing how things never change and the playbook they run hasn’t changed in years.
She told Clint they’d wait, scout and take her at night, and he’d scoffed.
Natasha feels them follow.
If the timing is right, and her guesses are correct, it will be Yelena and two others.
If Yelena is on point.. it’s all Natasha us counting on.
Clint can take out the other two.
With Yelena alone, she’s sure she can convince her to come.
Focussing, she moves quickly up the fire exit stairs, ascending them as quickly as she can, she hears the door close behind her, quick footsteps following after her.
She doubles her speed, listening for the door again.
When it doesn’t come, she knows Clint has likely taken out the other two.
Natasha feels the thrill of being chased, adrenaline pumping through her, as she continues up the stairs.
It better be Yelena.
Legs burning, she continues to the roof.
One flight to go, she calls out.
“Think you can get me?”
The footsteps behind her stop.
“Oh big sister,” the words come viciously, “you’re as good as got.”
.
Humidity hits Natasha as soon as she opens the door to the rooftop.
Singapore has a rainy season that brings a thick muggy quality to the world.
She catches her breath, and moves to the corner.
The trap set.
If Clint has the other two drugged, then maybe, this plan has a chance at working.
Yelena rushes the door.
Guns drawn they hold them high and face each other.
Postures identical, they circle each other, waiting for the other to speak.
Taking a step forward, Yelena takes a step back.
“Stop moving,” she growls.
Natasha takes another step.
Neither sure who has the upper hand, Yelena throws her gun.
The randomness of the action confuses Natasha and she’s not ready when Yelena rushes her, yelling and elbowing her in the face.
She rolls with it, circling and elbowing behind her.
It catches Yelena and pushes her back.
Natasha tries to sweep at her feet, then punches out, hitting Yelena as she moves back.
Yelena’s guard is strong, as she takes it, breaking it only for a moment to push then punch Natasha.
The fight gives Natasha enough time to wait to see if there’s any back up coming.
No one comes.
She turns and breaks the handle on the door, and then turns to Yelena.
“Just you and me, little one,” she smiles.
Yelena’s look is feral.
“How dare you,” she starts, and Natasha prepares for the onslaught.
The timing needs to be perfect.
She raises her knife and stabs it forward, hitting Yelena’s thigh.
It embeds in and Natasha thinks she’s done it.
Yelena sees red, wrenching the knife out and throwing it at Natasha.
She dodges it and pushes forward.
One punch blocked, two then.. she lets herself be hit.
Lets Yelena punch her, pummel her and hit her hard.
She feels the hate and anger behind each of the hits she takes.
Natasha growls, and throws her off as she gets messy in her anger.
“I failed you,” she says simply.
Yelena comes at her again, hitting her in the face as Natasha puts up no defence.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Yelena places her in a hold and Natasha allows herself to be handcuffed to the nearby pole, pushed into a sitting position.
Fists clenched she sighs.
Easy to get out of, if she’s willing to rip skin and dislocate joints.
She doesn’t though.
Steadily she tries to breath through her mouth, her nose broken.
Yelena rounds on her.
“They’re going to come for you, and make you… make you like me,” she growls, “make you suffer every agony, every violation.”
The heat beats down as Yelena paces the rooftop.
“You’re a traitor.”
“You’re a traitor,” she breathes heavily.
Natasha gathers her breath.
“I’m not sorry for the choice I made,” she clarifies.
“I am sorry for not getting you sooner.”
Yelena spits.
“Choices? You had choices, what did we all have?”
Yelena continues to pace, looking to the door.
“When you made your choice, you condemned us all.”
Natasha compartmentalises her words, puts them aside, taking a deep breath.
“The decisions between bad choices is not better—“
“But you had them!” Yelena explodes.
“You had a choice.”
Natasha adjusts her position and sits on the ground.
“Not a good one,” she says, resigned. “A choice between dying and surviving.”
The next words are said with venom.
“What would you have done?”
She doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but frustration and the need for this to go right, puts her on edge.
Yelena squats in front of her.
“I wouldn’t have left you there to die,” she says, as equally as venomously.
Natasha shrugs and looks away, “you would have.”
“Just like you’re going to do now.”
Yelena looks at her quizzically.
“You have a choice,” Natasha tells her, “to stay or go.”
“What do you—“
“The tracker in your thigh, the one they place so they always know,” she gestures to the stab wound.
“The knife, it’s disabled it. The current you felt, they can’t track you now.”
There’s horror in Yelena’s face as she feels her thigh, her hand coming away bloody.
Disbelief crosses her face.
“They’d have come by now, right? The other two to check?”
Natasha sees how much room she has in the cuffs. This was the plan, but she’s willing to try different ways that don’t involve her being vulnerable and being held captive.
“But they haven’t.”
She wriggles one hand.
“Now,” she pauses. “You have a choice.”
.
Clint finds Natasha handcuffed to a pole on the roof.
Alive.
“What happened?!” he asks, rushing towards her.
She doesn’t look too worse for wear, bruises on her face, broken nose and wig slightly askew; but alive nonetheless.
“She, uhhh, I stabbed her, she handcuffed me to a pole, we argued, and I gave her a choice.”
Natasha words come out in a huff as he releases the handcuffs.
“Where’s she go?” he asks, and they look out on the city.
'Pietro really should be taking this more seriously,' you think to yourself as you navigate the chaos of a floating island in the sky, swarming with robots. 'We are fighting for our lives, and he's still joking around. He's going to get himself killed.'
You turn your attention back to the battlefield, using your telekinesis to shred any Ultron robot clone that comes your way. You're so focused that you don't notice one of the clones grabbing your leg until it yanks you off your feet. A sharp pain shoots up your calf as you fall to your knees, clutching the throbbing limb. Thankfully, you're a fast healer.
You had met Pietro and Wanda in a lab where they volunteered for experiments, while you were abducted from your family. It was the worst experience of your life, but it brought you your closest friends.
"You're too slow, printsessa!" Pietro yells as he speeds past, destroying a line of robots.
Laughing despite the pain, you chase after him, dodging the bots and trying to match his pace. "I can still kill more than you, Piet!" you shout back.
Suddenly, an explosion booms above. It's so close, you almost miss it. Metal debris rains down. Looking up, you see the sky filled with destruction. Glancing back, you spot Clint with his bow drawn, shooting down robot after robot with graceful, precise movements.
"Help people get to the ships!" Clint screams over his shoulder.
Without wasting a second, you leap over destroyed robots and duck under their limbs, helping civilians escape while Pietro zips around at blinding speed.
Your mind flashes back to the last time Pietro was injured on a mission with you and Wanda. 'Please don’t let him get hurt again,' you silently plead.
As you guide people to safety, you hear bullets whizz overhead. You see Clint ducking and try to catch the bullets with your telekinesis. You almost succeed, but suddenly a blue blur sweeps them away. Relief floods you as Pietro saves Clint and a nearby child. But then, dread fills you as you see Pietro peppered with bullets, his shirt soaked with blood, gasping for air.
Pietro collapses, and as your eyes meet, your heart shatters. With one look, you know he understands the gravity of his situation.
You rush to him, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his chest. Although you're a strong healer, you’ve never faced injuries this severe.
"Pietro!" you whisper, trying to calm both him and yourself.
"Y/N... please, don't do anything stupid," he begs, gripping your shirt.
"Okay, I won’t," you promise, resting your hands over his and focusing your powers.
Your hands glow as you channel your healing energy into Pietro. Slowly, his breathing stabilizes, and a smile spreads across your face. But the effort drains you; your vision blurs and darkness edges in.
With a final push, you heal all his wounds, but the strain is too much. You collapse, everything fading to black.
"Y/N!" Pietro’s voice is the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.
When you come to, Pietro is by your side, tears streaming down his face as he holds your cold, pale hand. "Don't leave me now," he whispers, his brown eyes filled with fear and love.
You try to reassure him with a weak smile, touching his cheek to wipe away his tears. Your touch is ice-cold.
Pietro kisses your fingertips, his lips sending warmth through your numb body. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his presence comforting as you drift back into darkness.
Pietro’s voice is soft as he says, "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Night, Piet," you murmur, slipping away.
Pietro sobs quietly beside you, overwhelmed by grief. Clint sits next to him, offering silent support as he too mourns.
Suddenly, a faint breath escapes your lips. "Pietro?" Clint whispers.
Pietro lifts his head, wiping his tears. "She's alive... but it’s bad."
Together, they carefully lift you, exiting the battlefield to seek help.
You awaken in Pietro's arms, coughing and disoriented. "It will be okay, darling," he soothes, explaining that you almost died saving him.
"Thank you for saving me," he murmurs.
"Anytime," you reply, feeling a weak smile form on your lips.
"Piet, where are we?" you ask, looking around in confusion.
"We're in the lab. Bruce stabilized you," Pietro explains, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought I lost you."
"I’m so sorry, Pietro. Please, forgive me."
"It’s alright, darling. I understand," he replies, kissing your forehead tenderly. "I love you, Y/N."
"I love you too, Pietro."
"What are we going to do now?" you wonder aloud.
"I don't know," Pietro admits, "but we'll figure it out together."
You lean in and kiss him, his response immediate and full of love. As you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, grateful for this moment and for each other.
