Rising From the Ashes • COMPLETED ✓

21.) Crackling Silence: Natasha Romanoff

NATASHA ROMANOFF - BLACK WIDOW

July 12th, 2017, Wakanda

James, or, Bucky, looks extremely peaceful in his chamber. Ever since Princess Shuri ran the algorithm and set his cryostasis to maximum, I feel like he looks less alive. Not dead—but asleep, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. I shudder at the thought of those princesses and my mind takes me back to the Red Room. 

Disney movies were used to brainwash us, to send subtle messages that turned our young, developing minds into brainless and obedient women. No, Natasha. You're not in that prison anymore. Like Bucky, I was brainwashed as well. I was forced to do things I didn't want to do. I was a monster. A killing machine; unquestioningly doing people's bidding.

I hate mirrors because they make me look at myself. They show what is truly there. I don't know for sure if I'm not still a monster; but I do know that the trained, bloodthirsty Natasha is still a part of me. She still exists. 

The scars on my wrists are faded, but the memories of being handcuffed to my bed are still fresh. My history is filled with blood, violence, betrayal, annihilation, and calculation.

Rubbing my shoulders and shaking my head, I gaze back at Bucky.

The algorithm will work. Shuri's told me about how many times she's tested it, how much math went into the problem, how precise it is, the number of days she spent editing and computing hundreds upon thousands of digits. 

She makes Tony Stark seem like nothing but a slightly above average high-schooler. I grin at this, but the corners of my mouth automatically turn back down. I run a hand over the smooth glass case and feel nothing but sorrow and empathy for James Buchanan Barnes.

"I understand your pain, Bucky. I know how it feels to not be in control of your life. To not understand your actions and the consequences that follow." I take in a deep, quaking breath. "I know you have it a lot worse than me. After, all you lost a part of yourself. Literally and figuratively," A bitter smile appears on my lips. "I hope you can reunite with us soon." I sigh as I glance at him again. A brainwashed soldier like me. I wish we didn't relate to each other so much. "Steve misses you. We all do. There's a part of me that still hopes the Avengers can assemble again. And I really hope that you'll be here, standing, to see it all fit back together."

With that, I slowly stand up from my chair and walk over to the exit. The clicking of my boots calms me down, creating a soothing rhythm as I try to hold my wits together. As I open the door, the end of it stops. I end up slamming right into someone; which is unlike me, as my reflexes are usually sharp. My brain feels even foggier than usual. I need a peace of mind.

Glimpsing at my watch, I see that it's three twenty-nine. Rogers is on time, as per usual. Groggily, I give him a quick nod and walk towards the hall, but Steve places a steady hand on my shoulder. His eyes meet mine.

My gaze immediately drops to my shoes. "How much of it did you hear, Steve?"

"Enough." I take in a deep breath and bring a hand to my forehead. "Nat, do you want to talk? I-I never knew that you were so similar to Buck. I'm sorry for that."

Steve's one of my closest friends. We've been hiding in Wakanda and secretly fighting crime and doing drug busts for more than a year now. I can trust him. Another shaky sigh fills up my lungs. "Thank you, Rogers. But I don't know if you're ready to hear what I have to say. I don't know if—" I raise my chin to stare right into his blue gaze. "—if I'm ready to say it."

"I understand," His brow furrows as he glances down at me in worry, and I'm instantly reminded of a mother looking down at her troublesome child. Looking down once again, I give Steve a half-hug before turning away.

I pat him a few times on the back. "Thank you. You should go into the lab, anyway—it's past three-thirty." Steve presents me with an assuring smile before hurriedly sprinting through the doors. What an oddball, I shake my head in exasperation.

As my shoes clack across more polished wood and glossy marble tiles, a smile starts to find its way on my face. You can trust people, Natasha. You don't have to be so closed off all the time. Clint's voice echoes in me. He's the reason, after all, that I found redemption. 

I twist my bedroom door knob and plop onto the downy mattress. Underneath my bed, in a locked music box with a dancing ballerina, are photos, keepsakes, and wrinkled papers from and about the Red Room. Also underneath my bed is a lighter—just in case I need to use it.

~

"Goodbye," I whisper, holding the music box in my hand. I twirl the metal switch on the back of it, listening to its haunting and yet soothing tune once more. With a flick of a finger, the fire in the lighter comes to life.

I bring the flames to the corner of the box, then drop it onto the river bank. Reds, oranges, and yellows engulf the container; slowly melting the things inside of it and destroying the melody. After a handful of minutes, there's nothing but a crackling silence. Laps of water lick my feet.

I don't know how long I stay at the river; but by the time I come to my senses, the music box is just a pile of ashes. Pictures of the dreadful prison I lived in, a doll made of scraps of fabric I made to entertain myself, a key to the handcuffs that glued me to my bed, and more—all of it eaten by flames. The damp sand put the rest of the fire out. The gentle breeze slowly engulfs the ashes in water.

Parts of my past become one with Wakandan currents, and for the first time in too long, I feel at peace. 

Like Bucky, Natasha has a past and part of her that she longs to let go of. What she was forced to do and what she was taught will always stay with her, but Natasha can let go of her history and move on. She's a better person now. 

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This update came a bit early, so the next one will come after 4-5 days. Stay tuned ;)