Old Ghosts

Chapter 9

She was waking up. It started slowly – a catch in her breath, a twitch in her fingers. Her head lolled against the storage crates where he'd laid her, pushed together to form a makeshift bed while he took a chair across the room. The drugs had been strong, but when her eyes flew open she was alert almost instantly, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on the gun in his hand.

He'd carried her here, to a storage room in a quiet part of the compound. They hadn't been followed. He'd doubled back through the hallways that had flooded when he blew the pipes, wading up to his waist as he lifted her above the water. The few Hydra agents they'd encountered were in no shape to come after them. He'd made sure of that.

He nodded to the gun. "Not tranquilizer rounds. Just so we're clear."

Natalia pushed slowly into a sitting position, wincing for the pain in her arm. "That doesn't mean you're going to shoot me."

"You sure about that? 'Cause I'm not."

It was then that she noticed the splint on her wrist, hastily fashioned from a first aid kit that he'd ripped from the wall. Staring down at it, she pursed her lips. "We're still inside."

"We're secure. For now."

"Just you and me, then." She raised her eyes to his. There was no fear there, no challenge. She'd already marked the exit, calculated her chances of disarming him. They both knew the score. Someone injured and unarmed shouldn't be so calm. But that was Natalia.

He'd watched her while she slept, searching his fractured memories. Memories and dreams. It was hard to tell the difference. He remembered Odessa, Washington. He remembered hurting her. He had hurt her again today. Whatever had come before... that was the dream. He'd dreamed they'd known each other, trained together. But that was then, when there'd been nothing but blood and cold and darkness. It didn't fit. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Because, in his dreams, she'd looked at him and seen a man.

It had been a long time before he noticed the quiet. When he looked at her, the ghosts grew still. Somehow – barricaded behind enemy lines, holding a gun on an unconscious woman who had tried to take him down – he had found a few moments of peace. But then she opened her eyes and it had been all the confirmation he needed.

Because she didn't know him. It was all another trick, another lie. Another punishment.

As she swung her legs over the side of the crate, he tightened his grip on the gun. "Don't."

She settled back slowly, projecting nothing but calm, careful not to give him a reason. She knew how this game was played. "Before... you called me Natalia."

"It's your name."

"Not anymore. No one's called me that in a long time. It's Natasha now."

"Why?"

A shadow passed behind her eyes, but she forced a thin-lipped smile. "New name, new identity, new chance."

"You say that like it's easy."

"Changing who you are? It's what I do."

"Yeah, well, I never got a choice."

"You have one now." When he didn't respond, she leaned forward. "Don't tell me you don't see it. Hydra's not in control anymore. There are people that can help you. It's... what Rogers wanted."

"Rogers." He wet his lips. "Steve... he's..."

"That's not your fault. You did everything you could."

He hadn't asked her to patronize him. It wasn't his fault. Hydra had... He shook his head. The memory spun, turning upside-down. He was the one falling, stretching up a hand that was whole and human, watching as Steve strained to reach him. But he hadn't. And then there'd been nothing but the cold.