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A knife. The bastard has a knife, and somehow she hadn't seen it. Pathetic, she tells herself. You've gotten soft. But then, three square meals a day and a soft bed she isn't chained to would do that. Sometimes, Natalia almost misses it. She doesn't, can't regret leaving, but some nights her wrists ache for familiar heavy iron and her full stomach feels like a stone in her belly.The mercenary slashes at her again, a deft, practiced movement that speaks of long experience but little formal training. Throwing herself backward, Natalia rolls, kicks the second man squarely between the legs on her way past, and comes up on her feet, batons ready in her hands. Batons, because her new handler refuses to give her bladed weapons. Or projectile weapons, or explosives, or anything that might be easily lethal. It seems Natalia's new employers don't quite trust her self-control yet, and she would be insulted if she could feel things like that. Weapon, she reminds herself, merciless for her own mistakes, yet not harsh.Natalia is a weapon, and a weapon is only as good as its wielder. She can't carry out her mission if her handler insists on refusing to give her anything substantial to defend herself with. Ducking under another swing, she bites back an especially virulent Russian curse. If the mercenaries she's fighting don't know who she is already, that would surely tip them off, and Natalia has no desire to make it known that the last Black Widow is still alive and leashed by America instead of the Motherland.Rough fingers tangle in her hair (long, too long, she isn't allowed a blade and her hair is nearly to her waist now.) Her head snaps back, sharp pain spiking down her neck even as she makes herself relax, lets herself be yanked toward the second man with too much force, driving her shoulder into his ribs. His hand tightens reflexively and Natalia drops, ignoring the pain blooming equally in her scalp and neck. The knife flashes where her eye had been a moment prior, and Natalia hits the floor hard as her hair is cut suddenly, jaggedly short by the blade.A kick catches her in the ribs with a crunch and she chokes back a groan. Rolling out of the way, she drags herself to her feet, trying her best to ignore how her ribs grind painfully against each other. Broken.She launches herself at the man who kicked her, arms wrapping around his neck in a chokehold no self-respecting fight instructor would condone. Jerks her arms tight, tight enough to damage his trachea, and he goes down hard. Natalia turns, flush with relief and adrenaline, toward the second mercenary. He's close, too close, and she jerks back as he rushes her, a flash of panic making her forget her training for a bare second.It's a second too long.Heat blooms in her shoulder, burning steel followed by a curious numbness, and Natalia ignores her broken ribs, ignores the knife lodged in her shoulder. She kicks out, trying for his knee, but all she gets is his shin and he shakes it off quickly, grabbing her by the wrist and shoving her back. As her back hits the wall, the knife is driven in further, and oh, there's the pain. Natalia nearly cries out, knees going shaky, but she bites her tongue until it bleeds and headbutts the guy in the face, gaining herself a few precious inches.She can't get away. Not unarmed, not without something more substantial than a couple of sticks, and Natalia tries to be calm but the idea of dying scares her more than she wants to admit.A leer is spreading across the man's face, and Natalia jerks back as he leans in like he might try to kiss her, and his free hand goes to her breast, grabbing roughly despite her struggles. It's not the first time, but it's the first time it's happening that she's so helpless, the first time she's unarmed and injured and not sure if she can both escape and carry out her orders (don't kill, she reminds herself, don't kill anyone.) In the past, even when her mission forbade fighting back, she always had a blade ready in case something didn't go as planned. She always felt in control.This time she's trapped, helpless, and she struggles like a live butterfly on a pin as he shoves closer. She only has one option if she wants to survive this, and it's not to submit quietly. He's only daring to touch her because he's sure to be killing her later, she knows, he won't risk her identifying him, even if it wasn't in his orders to kill.She struggles again, putting all her strength into jerking away from his grasp, and her free hand comes up to her shoulder, even the tiny movement as she grasps the knife's handle sending little shocks of agony down her spine. When she pulls it out, there's a rush of pain, like a searing poker being driven into her shoulder where the knife had been. She doesn't have long; blood loss will set in quickly. (Don't kill, Barton's voice echoes, the one person she wants to make proud. Don't kill.) Natalia raises her hand between them, blade turning outward as her fingers begin to go numb, and slashes. The weight pinning her down is suddenly absent, and she stares at the blood all over her hand and the knife with detached interest as the shock begins to set in.
I killed someone. I went against orders.
Her knees go wobbly, and she hits the floor just moments after the man she'd killed, and with the last of her strength, she fumbles for her emergency radio. For a moment, she nearly doesn't use it, almost convinced that staying here and dying on a dirty warehouse floor will be better than whatever punishment her new handler will give for failing her mission.
Will he whip her? Electrocute her? Maybe go the hands-off route and simply refuse her luxuries like anesthesia and food until she's earned them back.
But whatever he can do to her, it scares Natalia less than the idea of bleeding out here, next to the man she killed, and she reaches for the radio. "Black Wid…ow to Delta… base," she manages, voice hoarse. There's no reply. She can't wait for a reply, can't stand in protocol, can only try to get her message across. "Emergency… evac needed," she grits out. "Injured… please… emergency…" She trails off as her grip on the radio loosens and it falls to the floor.A moment later, the radio crackles. "Black Widow, emergency evac is on their way."She isn't awake to hear it. Her heart beats, but faintly, body limp on the floor as the SHIELD personnel flood in, lifting her onto a gurney and into a quinjet.She isn't awake to see Barton sit by her bedside all night, despite his hatred of hospitals, or Coulson throw himself into covering up the mess she'd made with a desperation born of fear.In fact, the next time she wakes up, it's to a white medbay ceiling and the squshy sound of Barton, next to her, eating her hospital jell-o.