Frost In Fire | S.Rogers

✪ CHAPTER TWO ✪

"I've got pig skin, and an elastic heart."
༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

Chapter 2: Freedom.
Natasha stared at the girl's body, heart heavy.

She could hear the door break down from upstairs, hear the pounding of multiple feet and shouting, hear the clicking of guns.

None of the sounds made her tear her eyes from the small child in front of her.

Her vision blurred from staring too hard, the girl's content face disfiguring into nothingness. Natasha felt her hands tremble, unable to control the multiple thoughts running through her mind.

The creaking of the trapdoor pulled her out of her trance, and she wiped he face with her hands, taking in deep, shaky breaths. She turned her back to the lab, staring hard at the wall until the person pounding down the rotten stairs stopped besides her, panting hard.

"The hell is wrong with you Natasha?!" Clint hissed at her, grabbing her arm, turning her away from the wall to look at him. His face was stormy with anger, but after the years with her friend, she could see the worry.

"You know better than to act up in front of the leader and go headfirst into the missions-you know what happened last time one of us did!" Clint shouted.

Natasha ignored the stabbing pain that started in her stomach, tried to unsee the crippling pain in Clint's face, the one she was sure was appearing on hers.

She knew he had been scared, for her and her Son. The anger he was showing, the darkness on his face that was lifting-it was the bone-crushing relief that was the source of his outburst, the relief that came with the safety of a sibling-like friend.

She knew the last time he-they had both been this scared, it was not the relief that had broken them down into fits of tears and anger, but the grief.

His anger was one of a parent telling off a child after they ran on to the road-the older sibling shouting at his younger for injuring themselves after not listening.

The pain on their faces, both reminded them of what they had lost, and what they could lose after it.

"I'm sorry." Natasha whispered, too overwhelmed to say anything else, no words left in both her languages to be used to apologise for her mistake-and the Third's.

"You damn well should be." Clint answered, punching her arm lightly, letting out a deep sigh.

But he turned around too, and he took in his own breath of sharp air when he saw the girl, heart dropping to his stomach.

His mind went straight to his year old son at home, safe and sound, snuggled up beside his Mother's side, sleeping in his cot, and heart tightened at the dead child in in front. She had none of that, no loving parent, or a place to sleep safely.

Instead she was here, frozen to death in her sleep-for her eyelids were closed-all alone and cold.

"I'm glad he's dead." Natasha spoke softly, the pair watching the child, mourning a toddler they didn't know.

"Me too." Clint responded, for he knew if he wasn't, she would already be up there, gun in her own hand, her bullet to his head.

The pair stood there, both unsure as to what to do with the child.

"We can't leave her here, Clint." Natasha spoke to Clint, eyes hard. She wouldn't leave the child here alone.

"We're not Nat, just got to figure out how to move her back into the S.H.I.E.LD cem-"