What Wicked Lurks Within (Avengers x Reader)

Chapter 2

Natasha utilized the entirety of agility instilled within her as part of her assassin training to mount the stairs and race to the end of the ensuing corridor, only to declare the last room as hers. That way, she figured, 'none of these idiots would disturb me.'

Pretty was the only word she could think of to describe it. The room was not her style in any way whatsoever, but it was beautiful in a capacity an old person would appreciate or a young person in older times. "Looks nice, right? Considering the last time this place was inhabited was in the early eighties?" Arms crossed, you were leaning on the doorframe.

"Sure. That explains the floral beige wallpaper." Natasha scoffed as she sidestepped to let you in. Gratefully, you accepted the offer. No sooner than you had entered, your senses heightened, irritated with dust. You walked over to a cupboard and rose on your toes so you could brush your fingers over the top. "This place is going to need a thorough clea-"

Your words stopped abruptly when you felt your fingers knock something over. Surely enough, a small rectangular box hit the floor. "What's that?" Natasha quickly scooped it up. Inside, along with a few other belongings, was a signed picture of a woman standing in the middle of that very room and a delicate, small rose pendant, "Rosetta 'Rose' George. Guess we know who this room belonged to."

"Rose George? The Rose George?" There was a sparkle in your eyes followed by prompt disappointment when Natasha did not share the excite, "You don't know? Her death went through the nation like wildfire. She sliced through her own neck clean with a razorblade."

"Well then, the further it stays away from me, the better." Natasha clicked the box shut and proceeded to chuck it right back. You suddenly remembered why you had come. "Nobody really wants to eat but if you do, there's take out in the hall. I'm in the next room and Steve is right across, so if you need anything..."

"Thanks." Natasha waved a little as you left and then shut the door. She did not want to eat either. Partly because the day had been so exhausting, with the fire and whatnot, but mostly because she had a feeling about the night - and not a good one.

-

The black widow woke up in a cold sweat and an overbearing sense of breathlessness. She immediately sat up and was met with a pair of vacant eyes - eyes she had seen before, a face she had seen before, a woman she had seen before, sitting at the foot of her bed. 'How?'

"Hello there. I don't think we have met." The woman extended an ashy, gray hand, "Rose. Rose George. And you are?" Natasha pushed herself away until her back met the wall. "Get the hell away from me." She was cold. So cold.

"That's some rough language for a pretty little miss like you." Whatever it was that called itself Rose, stood up. "There is hardly a problem. I know who you are, Natalia Alianova Romanova. They told me." She smiled and started for the door, only stopping once she was outside. "Come along, now. You don't want to keep them waiting."

Despite the budding apprehension, Natasha followed her along the corridor and down the stairs. The one thing she noticed even in her state of abject terror was that the stairs she was descending were not the same she had ascended earlier. No, it was a staircase pulled out of a deep, buried memory - the Red Room staircase. The moment she stepped off the last step, she was in the ballet studio.

She watched herself dance, be reprimanded and dance again. When she could not dance anymore, the scene changed. She had a gun in her hand and a man sat in front of her, bound. Then she saw his face....it was Tony. "Nat, please don't!" He struggled. Paying no heed to the screaming, she shot. She shot and shot. She shot for long after life had fled from her friend's body. She shot until all that was left of his face was blood and gore.