The Irony of it All

32

It was dark when Steve began to stir. He could hear the officers and guards moving about outside. There were at least twenty men with machine guns just waiting for him to break out of here. But the patterns of footsteps that he'd grown used to over the past several hours, had now changed. There were less guards. Those that were left spoke quickly in hushed voices. Steve's Russian was fairly good.  Most would actually consider him fluent, but he'd married a native speaker who also happened to be a linguist master, and a perfectionist, so he was stuck with being mediocre. But the men outside weren't speaking Russian. In fact, they weren't speaking any of the 6 languages he spoke fluently or any of the 12 languages he could speak a little of. He didn't recognize it all. 

    He was on high alert for a while. He knew that all the men spoke Russian, and they were most likely Russian born. If they weren't speaking their mother tongue to each other, it was because they purposely didn't want Steve to understand. Nat wouldn't be able to hear them through the thick steel door anyways so there was no point in waking her to see if she could translate. 

     After several minutes of straining to listen for danger. He gave up relaxed. Mostly. He'd been sleeping on his back, Natasha fast asleep on his chest. He breathed as he realized that for the first time in five months, he hadn't had a nightmare.  Boy was it good to have her back by his side. 

    Gently, he turned her sleeping form over. He didn't really want her on the cold concrete, but he still felt uneasy and if something sudden happened, it would be easier to protect her if he wasn't pinned underneath her. She sighed softly, her red hair falling softly against the floor, before she curled back into him, her forehead pressed against his collar bone. 

     When he awoke again not even an hour later, he found himself springing up into a pushup position over Natasha. She was still fast asleep, not even noticing his abrupt position change. He watched and listened but all seemed silent. Then the lights flashed on, momentarily blinding him as the door slammed open and the heavy footsteps of the one and only Ivan Petrovich entered the cell.

      "Captain Rogers," he greeted."A ty govorish' po russki?" (Do you speak Russian?)

      Steve glared at him, but responded quietly. "Eto zavisit ot togo, kogo vy sprashivayete." (That depends on who you ask.)

     

       Ivan smiled, baring his yellowed teeth. " YA ran'she rasskazyval Tal'ye, kak razocharovalsya, uznav, chto ty yeye sbil. No ne mnogiye mogut skazat', chto u nikh yest' Kapitan Amerika v kachestve zyatya. (I was telling Tal'ya earlier how disappointed I was to find out that you knocked her up. But not many can say they have Captain America for a son in law.)

  "Menya raduyet, chto ty znayesh' russkiy yazyk. Uznali li dlya Natal'i?" (It pleases me that you know Russian. Did you learn if for Natal'ya?)

    He didn't answer, or correct him that technically he didn't "knock her up". 

   By now, Natasha was waking up. 

     "Dobroye utro moya dorogaya devochka." (Good morning my dear girl.) 

     She responded with a sound, "Otvoli."  Yeah, I'm not translating that one. 

     Ivan just laughed at her use of profanity. "It's two in the morning," he said in English this time. "I've received news that your friends are in Poland looking for you. They already went to Germany, and when they don't find you in Poland, they might come to search for you here. If they're smart. So, time is up I'm afraid. We must move out. But first, a little entertainment. Come. I don't have all night."

     Steve helped her up and they found themselves escorted through hallways and secret passages until they reached a sort of basement. He felt Natasha jerk back, instincts telling her to get out of here.  "What is this place?" He asked. 

     Ivan turned, his evil smile twisting upwards as his eyes fell on Natasha. "Why don't you ask Tal'ya. You obviously remember this room, huh?" He said, regarding the red head." Natasha didn't respond, but Steve saw that she'd gone pale, eyes blown wide in fear. She almost looked haunted. And he realized that she was. Haunted with memories. 

    "From the age of 13 to 18, this is where Natal'ya earned her title of "Chernaya Vdova" (Black Widow). These were your killing grounds, child. How many innocent girls did you slay here? 10? 15?" Natasha shivered besides him, struggling to breathe as the memories came flooding back and overwhelmed her. This was worse than when Wanda had attacked them with Ultron. Ivan smiled, maliciously. "No? That's right, it was 27. My personal favorite was the fight with Tatianna. You remember her, right? Of course you do, how silly of me to ask. Her cot was to the right of yours. She was your last kill before your graduation. Your best friend. A beautiful dancer, and an even more beautiful fighter. But she refused to kill you. She was weak. And if I remember right, she begged you to stop. She asked you to join her and escape." Ivan stepped closer, forcing Natasha to look at him by harshly holding her chin.  "You became the Black Widow that day. The beautiful, deadly, ruthless, killer. When you slit her throat with a rusty nail after she called you, "my sister." Natasha let out a gasp, and suddenly Ivan was ripped away from her and thrown into the wall. All the guns echoed in the room as they simultaneously snapped to attention and aimed at Steve. 

      Ivan groaned as he got up and brushed himself off. The guns didn't lower until he told his men to stand down with a raise of his hand. He laughed. Then a voice echoed through the room, chilling and cold. Followed by the loud click of heels. "You were always too soft on her Ivan." Natasha physically recoiled when she heard the voice. 

    "Ah, Madame B.," Ivan greeted gruffly. 

    She hadn't changed all that much since Natasha had seen her last, just before she joined the KGB.  Her hair was now fully gray and the lines around her lips and eyes were a bit deeper. She was wearing those suits that she loved so much, navy blue with matching heels. Her lipstick was bright red  but otherwise her makeup was minimal. 

      Natasha was trained from childhood to fear this woman. It was engrained in her. She didn't get scared very often, and she could hide it when she did. But Madame B. was her worst fear. Nightmares surrounded the woman in the blue suits. Ivan was more of an annoyance, rather than a person she feared. She'd crossed him whilst looking in his eyes and she'd do it again. But she didn't know if she could do the same with the woman who chained her to a bed each night, and ordered her rape on several occasions, and then forced her to murder the innocent in every ruthless and brutal way possible, and then tortured her in ever way possible just to see if Natasha could break. 

    As if she knew what Natasha was thinking, she stepped forward and looked Natasha over. She only spoke one line. A familiar line that made Natasha want to quake. " Are you still made of marble, Natal'ya?"*** Then she turned on her heels and walked out, leaving Natasha with a warning that she knew all too well. 

     She felt Steve's eyes on her, so she turned to meet his questioning gaze. "My Red Room Instructor," she simply explained. He nodded in understanding. 

      Suddenly a loud roaring scream shook the room. "Ah," Ivan said. "My champion is ready." He turned to the couple. "I did tell you that I had entertainment in store."

       ***I hide quotes and references to the movies and comics in my story. Comment a 📙if you notice one, and comment a ⭐ if you can remember which movie or comic the reference was from (and include that info plz)! (: