Russian Doll

Once Upon A Star

The bullet buries itself in his bow, high enough to miss his head should I fail to hit my target. But, as usual, I do not miss.

The effect is instantaneous, forcing the bow upwards and away from me.

In the few seconds it takes him to recover, I cover the distance between us and launch myself at him, causing him to let go of his bow in order to defend himself.

The first thing I do is my so-called 'signature move'.

In a flurry of arms and legs, I manage to knock him to the floor. I straddle him and throw a few punches, all of which he somehow blocks, before I find myself on the ground, pinned beneath the man called Hawkeye. Instinctively, I lash out.

He easily catches my fist and twists it sharply to the side.

I let out an involuntary gasp as pain shoots up my arm, and narrow my eyes.

You're so dead.

My other hand comes up and catches him in the throat.

His grip on me loosens, and I knee him in the chest before pushing him off me.

By the time he starts to get up, I'm already on my feet and picking up the gun. It's knocked from my grasp before I can even turn fully around, and an arm closes around my throat.

Panic sets in, and I momentarily forget my training. All that matters is being able to breathe again.

I start struggling against him, and he grabs one of my arms and twists it sharply behind my back. This, in fact, is the thing that brings me back to my senses. I elbow him in the stomach with my free arm and break free, falling to my knees as I catch my breath.

A hand latches onto the fabric of my dress, and I turn around and land a solid punch to his face.

He staggers backwards, and, when his hand comes away, I can see blood pouring from his nose. He lunges at me again, gun in hand.

I should have reacted quicker.

Should have pushed past the pain.

The truth is, I was fading fast, which was why I wasn't able to get out of the way in time to avoid getting tackled to the ground.

I'm not even sure what exactly happened.

We both got in a few good punches, but then the gun was there. One minute, his fist was getting acquainted with my face, and the next we were fighting for control of the weapon between us.

In the end, I'm not even sure who pulled the trigger. All I knew was that I received a bullet to my thigh.

And it hurt.

Then we were on our feet again and at each other's throats. How? I have no idea. Especially since I could barely stand, let alone run at him and deal several blows to his abdomen.

Then he had grabbed me by the wrist in a vice-like grip and pulled me to him, wrapping an arm around me as he reached into a pocket and drew out a syringe filled with something I did not wish to find out about.

"Keep still," he grunts as I kick him rather hard in the shins.

Like hell.

I fling my head back in an attempt to catch his nose again, but he's quick, ducking out of the way.

A sharp pain in my arm alerts me to the less than perfect situation I now find myself in.

The needle is removed, the syringe thrown away.

Both of his arms are now wrapped around my stomach, also pinning my arms to my sides.

"Nat-Natalia! Stop fighting!"

His words only cause me to struggle harder, but I'm beginning to feel the effects of the drug already.

My good leg gives out under me, and I crumple to the ground.

I don't hit my head, though.

When I turn my head slightly to see why, I realise that Hawkeye is still holding onto me.

I'm lying on the ground, my top half in his lap.

His arms are still holding me down, and I try to fight back, but all the energy has drained from my body.

"It's okay. You're okay," he mumbles into my ear. "Don't fight it."

My eyelids start to grow heavy.

In a matter of seconds, they have slipped closed.

I welcome the darkness with open arms.