It's been exactly one week, four days and twenty-one hours since I was released from the hospital place when the door to my 'room' is opened from the outside. It's more like a prison cell, really. The only difference is that I get the good fortune to have a door instead of bars.
Regardless, I'm in a reasonably good mood at the prospect of getting out of here until I see who opened my door.
It's him.
"Thought you might want to get out of here for a bit."
I don't say anything.
"I'm heading to the training room if you wanted to join me."
I lift my head, suddenly interested. "Seriously?"
He nods, lips curling upwards in a small smile.
I sit up and place my feet on the floor, testing my leg to see if it will support me.
Even though I'm technically fine, I'm still having trouble moving around. Getting shot hurts like a bitch.
I struggle to stand, and he takes a step forwards and grabs my elbow to steady me. My icy glare soon causes him to let me go again.
He escorts me out the door, down several long corridors and through numerous sets of swinging doors before we finally arrive at the empty training room.
I sit down in a nearby chair as he walks over to the archery station and starts casually shooting arrows at the target, all of them hitting the bullseye, of course.
He seems to get bored of this rather quickly, and changes to spears that he throws at the offending targets.
After about ten minutes, he finally turns to me. "You don't just have to sit there, you know. You're welcome to use the equipment."
I glance longingly over at the small boxing ring across the room. "Can we do some sparring?"
He thinks for a moment, before nodding. "I guess so. Just don't kill me," he jokes.
We spend over ten minutes getting hot and sweaty in the ring, tackling each other to the ground time and time again.
By the time we're finished, I'm exhausted. I sit down in the first chair I find, keeling over as I try and catch my breath.
"Maybe this was too soon. You're not fully healed, and I probably shouldn't have-"
I hold up a hand to stop him. "It's... okay. That was... great," I say in between breaths.
He gives me a relieved smile.
After a few moments, I run a hand through my matted hair. "Why am I here?"
He looks puzzled. "Because I thought you might like to-"
"Not here, as in the training room," I say, exasperated. "Here, as in S.H.I.E.L.D. I already told you that I'm not working for you, so why am I still here? Shouldn't I be holed up in some prison?"
He sighs. "The truth is, Natalia, you're too valuable. We can't afford to have you taken from us."
I process what he's saying. "When you say taken..." You trail off.
"Killed," he confirms.
"You think my boss will come after me?"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
I let out a shaky breath and get up from my chair. "Okay."
He also stands. "Okay."
YOU ARE READING
Russian Doll
FanfictionNatalia Alianovna Romanoff. Clinton Francis Barton. This is their story... ♡ For Natasha ♡