The Other Barton | Natasha Romanoff

Chapter Three

"Wait, wait, so you got all these tattoos, give me a tour of what they mean." Maria begged as she poured us both another glass of wine.

"Since you asked so politely, not." I giggled at her, before taking off my top to give a better display of my tattoos. "Alright so my left arm sleeve. We got the roulette table, v is for vendetta mask, uhh, world map hidden around some parts, and an emptying hourglass. It represents how being an assassin is similar to being a masked world traveling gambler."

We both howled in laughter at my reasoning. "That should be your vigilante name, 'masked world traveler gambler." She cackled out. "Noo, that's too long." I pouted.

"Okay, okay uhm my chest I have a deer skull to show that the most graceful creatures eventually die."

"Oh, that was kinda sad. What about that?" Maria, pointed to a simple word under my left breast.

любовь моя

"It's dumb, uh-" Marias phone began ringing before I could began explaining. "Shit it's already 11:30?" I told myself. "Shh." Maria said before answering and putting it on speaker phone.

"Hey Maria?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"You need to come to memorial hospital, Fury's been injured. It's not looking good."

"Uhm, oh, okay yeah i'm on my way."

Maria and I both went from being tipsy to stone cold sober at that moment. I put my t-shirt back on, while she grabbed her car-keys. We ran out the hall and found the way to the fire escape where the car garage was only two below. "Who was that?" I asked while we quickly ran down the stairs. "Steve Rogers." She said, as If surprised I didn't know. We opened up the heavy door, the level being almost abandoned. "Let me see the keys." I demanded. "What? No." She retorted. "I'll get us there faster, trust me."

She thought for a second before tossing them to me. We quickly got in as I started it up and took no time in waiting for it to warm up. Once we were out of the parking garage I was already reaching fifty mph. In the matter of Fury being injured, traffic laws didn't exactly matter, nor did cutting off the car in front of me.

It felt as if every move I made the hospital got further and further away. And Maria looked as if she was going to be the next one in the hospital. Her knuckle was pale white from holding onto the handle. "Calm down, I'm a great driver." I reassured her. "Great driver has different meanings for us." She barely squeaked out. Minutes later we made it to the hospital where I did the courtesy of parking in front of the entrance.

"Do you have a gun in here?" I asked her, in an urgent tone. "Yeah, under the seat?" She answered back confused. I felt under the seat until I felt it and grabbed it. Taking the keys out and dropping them in her hand I opened the door and ran in with the gun in my hand. Maria followed suit.

I went up to the front desk, tapping the gun on the counter till I had the receptionist's attention. "Agent Barna and Hill. We need to know where Nicholas J. Fury is." I asked nicely. "He's- He's in operating room 3" The receptionist answered back nervously. I smiled and walked towards Maria, placing the gun in my waistband. "OR 3" I whispered, picking up my step and bringing it to a run.

I swung open the door, running to the gallery window. And there he was on an operating table, looking very unlike the Fury I saw earlier. "Who are you?" the tall man, who was clearly Steve Rogers, asked me. "Agent Barton." I responded in a serious low tone. "Like Clint Barton?" He asked, not catching the hint. "Unfortunately, yes. But my brother isn't the main concern at the moment."

The door to the gallery opened again, with Natasha running in. We both made contact giving just as confused looks towards each other but respecting Nick as the main concern.

"Tell me about the shooter." She asked Steve, carefully watching everything the surgeons did.

"He's fast. Strong." Steve began explaining. "Had a metal arm."

My mind started racing on where the description sounded familiar. The key-points being made clicked, but who and where didn't. Maria, who was previously on the phone arguing with someone, had entered the conversation and the line of us four looking through the gallery window. "Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable."

"Soviet-made." Natasha and I almost said in-sync.

"Yeah?" Maria responded back, in a confused yet surprised tone.

"He's in V-Tech." A male nurse could be heard yelling, while a female nurse returned with "Crash cart coming."

"Don't do this to me, Nick." Natasha whispered.

"Shock!" The male nurse yelled. "Pulse?" The surgeon asked. "No pulse." He responded back. "Shock to 200."

Each shock was doing nothing, they'd increase and the same words, "no pulse," would be said.

"Don't do this to me, Nick. Don't do this to me." Nat said, even quieter this time.

"What's the time?" The surgeon asked, before the time could be stated Steve walked out of the room.

"1:03 Doctor." One of the nurses called out.

I tried to compose myself the best I could, I really did. But the wine mixed with my feelings wasn't great. I walked in a line back and forth for a moment before stopping in front of the gallery window and slamming my fist into it. "Arhhh" I yelled out in frustration and the pain from not realizing how thin the glass really was. Looking up to see a clear crack in the glass and some blood coming from my hand.

Natasha and Maria both stared at me surprised by my sudden outburst. "We're good. Not that much blood." I assured them. Natasha walked out of the room, but then came back in with gauze. She knelt down in front of me and grabbed my hand. "I am beyond livid with you, don't think I'm not." She whispered while wrapping the gauze around my hand. "I know." I whispered back.