Old Wounds

Chapter 6

14:52 25-AUG-09, ZURICH, SWITZERLAND

Natasha held her breath, waiting for Clint to make the signal. Crouching underneath the main staircase of a partially demolished apartment building, she rubbed her sore knees. Bored of waiting for so long in such an uncomfortable position, Natasha sighed. Clint was busy clearing a path for her to go straight to their target. He was in the building opposite, picking off henchmen with his bow and arrow.

Aleksandr Bogrov was only a few stories above her. She wasn't sure exactly what she would do when she saw him. Of course, she told Clint that she had a plan, but truthfully, all she could think about was not thinking about the Red Room. The last thing that she wanted was to go unconscious at that moment.

"All clear except for three guys, Widow," said Clint's voice through her earpiece. "Couldn't get a clear shot around the glass." They had stolen ('borrowed', Clint liked to say) a couple of communicators from a discreet pawn shop. It had been an easy lock to pick, and they had managed to take a couple of hidden handguns and a convenient bow and arrow set as well.

"Roger that, Hawkeye." Natasha got up from her crouch, and jogged up the stairs, two at a time, careful not to plunge through any loose steps. She reached the seventh floor, slowing down to lean around the corner of the stairwell door.

Three guys, just as Clint had detailed. All had what looked like AK-47's, and they were all wearing masks. Too bad they weren't all grouped together because then at least they would have a chance to fight back.

One at a time, Natasha wrapped her arm around their head, then slice their throat open with a pocket knife. They fell without ever seeing their killer.

Once clear, Natasha pulled out her gun and held it up in front of her, making her way down the deserted corridor.

Reaching the fifth door down the hall, Natasha paused, listening for any sounds. She heard nothing, but she could see a shadow from underneath the door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, readying herself for the fight that was sure to come.

"I can't see you, Widow," Clint said. "Where you at?"

"A door away." Natasha didn't elaborate. Instead, she took another breath, then kicked the door open holding her gun in front her.

He was there. Natasha couldn't see his face, but she was sure that it was Aleksandr Bogrov. He was sitting on a cushioned chair, his back to Natasha. Taking a step closer, she realized that he was tied to the chair, his hands and legs bound together by thick rope. With another step, she realized that he wasn't moving. Cautiously, she swiveled the chair around.

Aleksandr Bogrov was dead.

Natasha nearly threw up. What was left of his face was a tangled mess of skin and blood. His eyes were gouged from their sockets and were placed neatly in his lap; two green irises stared straight at Natasha. He had a noose tied around his neck, his head at an unnatural angle. Written across his bare chest in what looked like blood, was 'Я скучал по тебе, вдова.'

"I missed you, Widow," Natasha read. She inhaled sharply, and then stood up, realizing that the killer might still be there. No one appeared, and Natasha relaxed slightly.

Reaching in her boot, she pulled out a fingerprint duster. Again, they had stolen that from the pawn shop. Natasha took the brush and swiped it across the rope around Bogrov's neck. Her finger brushed against his skin, and she felt an odd tingling sensation in her hand. It travelled up her arm as her vision began to go dark.

"Hawkeye." Natasha touched her comm. "It's happening agai-"

He reached the top of the staircase and saw two figures facing the mountains. Bright red hair trailed down one figure's back, the other figure was indistinguishable in a thick coat. He marched straight up to them, infuriated with Romanova's behaviour.