Lover's Pursuit

Prologue

Your POV.

I tapped her shoulder gently, holding my index finger to my lips, shushing her in the empty corridor as she turned to face me.
"Natasha, you can't possibly believe that this'll work."
Raising her brow at me, she leant forward and rested her forehead against the crook of my neck.
"I need to try."
She stepped back, peering up at me with a questioning gaze.
"When will you go?" I asked.
She shook her head unknowingly, yet I failed to believe that she'd leave at all. We'd been in this godforsaken institution since infantry. My very first distinct memories take place here, unfortunately. I know nothing besides this world, nor does Natasha. We live and breathe the Red Room.

Natasha touched her knuckles to my cheek, they were rough with years of wear and scabs of fresh wound.
"Don't look so pained," she whispered, "I'd never leave without a goodbye."
I forced a grin, stepping forward and pressing my lips to her's. I admit that perhaps there were hints of denial in my expectations. Natasha had been my only stability from the moment I'd set foot in here. I was thrown in the back of a dirty van, having had a brown sack shoved atop my head and my ragged brown teddy-bear torn from my arms. I was young, too young, though I'll never recall my exact age. I remember sobbing quietly with my knees curled up to my chest, afraid in the all encompassing darkness of the bag and the vehicle.

A hand crept towards mine and held it close, I didn't question it, squeezing back and shuffling closer. Our hands remained intertwined the entirety of the journey until we were filed into lines and the sack pulled off our heads.
I turned to face the red-headed girl next to me, she turned to face me. We said nothing, merely tightening the feeble grip we had on one another.

We'd been 'friends' since then, never departing from the other's side, right up until this very moment. Though now, I'd describe her as perhaps a little more than just a friend.

A metal door shut noisily from round the corner of the hall. Natasha pulled away, slowly tiptoeing back to her room as I slipped past her into mine. I smirked at her a little before gently closing over the door and situating myself beneath the sheets.

That was the last time I'd seen her.

The following morning I woke to my door half hanging off it's hinges. I shot up, pulling myself messily into training gear and grabbing my makeshift knife from the docket beneath my desk.
There's faint noise ringing from every corner of the facility. I walked towards the communal area and run into Yelena, who's a familiar face that at least I knew I could trust.
She stared at me doubtfully, stopping as I stared back, questioning her.
"What's going on? Do you know where Natasha is?"
Her mouth downturned a little as she pursed her lips and hung her head.
"She left this morning."
I was in disbelief.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, I gotta go."
I turned to face her, calling after her as she hastily sped down the corridor.
"Where?"
"Out of this shithole! There's crazy riots, find a way out while you can."

I shuffled slowly past many of the training rooms and meeting areas, noticing much of it had been trashed and some fires had broken out. There wasn't a single guard or trainee to be seen, nor was Dreykov anywhere to be found. This must've been Natasha's doing. There was no other way.
Quickly, I ducked into a weaponry stall and grabbed myself a loaded Springfield 911 as well as an actual pocket knife, disposing of the shaven end of my toothbrush.

I jumped back to my room for a final time, grabbing what little possessions I owned, taking particular care when folding the only photo to exist of myself and Natasha and placing it methodically in my pocket.
We'd taken it the day we had our profiles done after turning 16. We were caught sneaking into the photo room after hours - Natasha was beat so badly that she'd dislocated her shoulder and I had to push it into place back in my room. This was also the first night we'd kissed. She stayed the night, which didn't go down well with guards.

I slipped a long sleeved padded jacket over my clothes, my hand in my pocket wrapped round the loaded handgun. I snaked the halls and searched for the escape grate that Natasha had pointed out to me.

I bend down, lifting it with some force and sliding it off it's hinges. I was surprised it'd been left unchecked, though I didn't give it second thought. I stepped down and into it, biding a surprisingly smooth farewell to my sorry existence in the Red Room. My next hope was to find Natasha, scold her for not saying goodbye then make a life for us - like we'd always planned.