never leaving your side || romanogers

Chapter 12

The elevator ride was uneventful. Don't worry, nothing happened there. After the elevator, they stepped into Natasha's room, where Natasha promptly left for her bedroom to change. Steve, confused as to what to do, sat on the couch, and patiently waited for Nat to return.

When she did return, she laughed at the stony, serious expression chiseled onto his face. "Steveeee," she said between giggles. "You could've gone to the bathroom to change."

"I don't have any clothes."

"Ahh, well lucky for you, I happen to have a set of clothes I give to men who decide they want to stay overnight. Want me to go get them?"

Steve smiled graciously. "Please."

After Steve had changed out of his nice clothes into a pair of sweats and a t shirt, he sat next to Nat on the couch, allowing her to put her legs on top of his and lay across the couch over him.

"What do you want to watch?"

Nat shrugged. "How 'bout a Disney movie? I never watched them as a kid."

Seeing her wistful look, Steve replied quickly, trying to make her feel better. "Well, I haven't watched any either." He joked.

"Yeah. The Red Room didn't really allow for any fun. Just training, shooting innocent people, ballet, killing, that stuff. You know, you probably read my file."

Steve sighed, and looked away from her.

"Wait, you haven't read it? God."

Steve shook his head. "Truthfully speaking, I don't like invading other's privacy. So unless you shove your file into my hands, I won't touch it. So really, I don't know much about you or your background. In fact, the only files of people in our team I've read are Thor and Tony, Thor because he's a god, and that's really cool, and Tony, because I wanted to know how his childhood led him to be the snarky billionaire he is today."

Natasha swung her legs to the floor and silently walked to her room. Coming back, she held a thick file with a few photos clipped to the front. "Read it."

Hesitantly, Steve reached out to take the file. Sturdy, pale yellow manila folder, stuffed full of papers. The first thing he did was unclip the photos on the front. There were three, the first one was taken recently. Natasha's hair was straight, down to her shoulders. The fiery glint in her eyes suggested she hated what was happening, and it made Steve chuckle. 

The next photo was taken much earlier, probably when she was still in the Red Room. She had the same red hair and green eyes, only there was no brightness in this photo. Her nose was obviously broken, or at the very least swollen, and her eyes were full of sorrow, guilt, and despair. Her shoulders were bare, and bore red welts, from what he didn't know. He saw how she flinched when she saw the photo earlier and knew immediately that the photo brought back a horrible memory. "I was 16," Natasha said slowly, her gaze fixed on the photo. "We'd just gotten back from a mission, me and my sister. We'd had just killed dozens of innocent people, and their blood still stained our hands and clothes." Natasha looked on the verge of tears. "And then they pulled us to a small room, with bare white walls, a small table, and a metal chair. There, they told us that they would be taking a photo of us. My sister thought it was great, but I knew there was something up. The Red Room hadn't let us take any photos or go into the outside world other than missions for years. Why would they change now?" Natasha shook her head to stop the tears from falling. Steve felt his heart break as he watched the girl he loved struggle to hold herself together. Inching closer to Nat, he slung an arm across her narrow shoulders and wrapped her small frame in his large one.

"Nat, if it hurts to say all this, you don't have to. I'll read the file."

"No," Natasha shook her head. "You should hear it from me. Anyway, my sister believed them, so I left the room while she did it. After a few minutes of a conversation I don't remember, I heard a gunshot, and then a small click, and the door slung open. My sister came out with a wild, petrified look on her face. She gave me a scared look as I was roughly forced into the room. Suddenly, I realized what must have happened, and I screamed and pushed and tried to run from the two men making me go in. Of course, it didn't work. More blood stained my hands when I touched my face, and my nose felt crooked after a guard pushed me to the floor. After that, they picked me up and threw me into the white room. There, standing behind the desk, was Madame B. She was the supervisor for the Red Room, and if you did anything wrong, she would be the one to give out punishment. She never went easy on any of us, no matter the age. Once, she gave a 5-year-old girl 100 whips with a cane because she showed up to ballet class late." Natasha didn't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Mascara ran down her face in dark rivers. "Then, she told me that I had another test. She called for the guards who had pushed me, and they brought in a young girl, maybe 13, with a bag on her head to hide her face from my view. She told me that this girl was the daughter of the man we had been told to hunt down to kill and that she deserved the same fate as her father. And then, she handed me a gun, made me shoot her, or else I would be the next to die. And then I took the gun, Steve, and I pulled the trigger. I killed her, Steve. I killed the girl. She was so young, and I killed her. But I still didn't pass the test, because I hesitated to pull the trigger. Because of that, Madame B said I was going to get punished, so they tore my shirt off and started to whip me. After they finished, Madame B took a picture of me and sent me back to my room without my shirt. We were supposed to go to training, but instead, my punishment was my whipping and staying in my room for a week without food or water. I nearly died after that." 

Natasha's silent tears turned to small sobs, to louder sobs, to crying onto Steve's shirt, staining the white fabric. "Shhhhhh," Steve said softly, hugging her close to him. "I'm here, it's ok."

Gradually, Natasha quieted down, until she was sleeping quietly on Steve. Seeing her sleeping state, Steve picked Natasha up in his arms, bridal style, and brought her to her bed, tucking the covers tightly over her. Grabbing an extra blanket and pillow, he settled himself on the sofa, legs hanging over the armrest, and went to sleep. He'd finish reading the file tomorrow, and maybe he'd finally understand Natasha's background.