Spiderson Oneshots

Hold Me Close and Let Me Rest--Clint and Natasha

Warnings: Mentions of torture and death, major character death, language

Natasha's P.O.V.

In the Red Room, personal dreams were not cultivated. They were killed the moment we stepped--or rather, dragged--through its doors. We were fed lies and deceit at every moment. They gave us fake memories and dreams, and we never aspired to be anything better. We never seemed to realize that this was the worst of the world.

I can barely remember anything of the world before the Red Room. We were designed to remember only what we were supposed to. But sometimes at night, when I was handcuffed to my bed, I'd force myself to try and remember. It was my coping method to ignore the distant screams that never stopped. Someone was always being tortured or killed there. It was my lullaby.

I rarely caught a glimpse of my past. Memories were just the figments of my imagination that had somehow survived the brutality of the academy life. But sometimes, if I was lucky, I would catch a small image of someone or a word in their voice. There was only one that I could recall on demand, and I held it dearly as a memory of my past life.

The night was rainy, and thunder boomed in the distance. Sometimes a flash of lightning would illuminate the curtains, creeping around the edges with its sudden light. I was curled up in my bed, watching the shadows dance across the ceiling. My breathing was hard and fear-filled--I had never liked storms. I was always afraid that the shadows would become something else--mostly the fear of a gunshot and the leering person in the doorway. That image always haunted my mind--it was the monster under my bed and in my closet. No one knew that fear, and no one ever would.

Another large flash and I ducked under the covers, closing my eyes. Silly, Natalia, I thought, it is only lightning. Yet, when there was another flash, I shut my eyes. I peered out when I heard the door creak, fear pumping through my veins.

"Are you awake, Natalia?" I heard Mama whisper.

"Yes, Mama." The door creaked open wider, and with another lightning flash, I saw her figure coming closer and closer. I felt the bed dip, and I could see her slightly.

"Why are you awake, Natalia?" I knew I could not tell her--fear was not tolerated in this family.

"The thunder is very loud, and the lightning is very bright," I said, which was true.

"All right, baby. Would you like me to sing you your song?"

"Mama!" I giggled. "I'm too old for that." Yet I let her take my hand and sing my song. She told me that she had an angel come to her with that song when she was pregnant. Did I believe her, no, I did not. Surely the same angel would have saved me from what was to come, no?

"...and on a Fire Bird's wings, you shall fly, yelling joyously to the sky. And when you are done, your feather shall come, rewards reaped for all you have done." It was like magic; I did not feel so scared anymore. In my childhood brain, I wondered if the lightning was just the Fire Bird.

That was that last night I saw my mother. When I woke up, I heard fists pounding at the door. The Soviets had come; my parents were to pay for their insubordinations. Not one day went by where I didn't miss them. Not one day went by where I wasn't layered in guilt. It was my fault. I should never have spoken to that man. I was the one who reported them, and it should have been my life that paid the price instead of theirs.

The only reason I didn't forget that night was because of the guilt that it held above my head. How could I possibly forget that?

Sometimes, when I was handcuffed to that bed, I'd remember the song she used to sing and cry. Cry for my lost hope and my lost life. I learned to be silent, however, and to keep them in after it was mine whose screams laid everyone to rest. I still have the scars, and even Clint doesn't know the story of how I got those.