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Russian Ice ( A Wicked Sense of Morality )

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Natalia Romanova has been many people. She has killed, many people.

To the extent she does believe herself to a have a correct sense of morality. If such a creature like herself could have ever had one to begin with.
A creature that defied science and snarled at religion was were she stood, a living weapon molded to her purpose. Broken down and rebuilt, each time with a new name and appearance in the human world.

She was a spector of lethality lingering amongst the living. Her crimson stained hair matching her mark on the red blossoms she left her victims laying in.

She was a Black Widow.
One of thirteen.
The best of thirteen.

Her entire body was a lethal organism. Designed to kill, designed to infiltrate. Designed without mortality.

Her identity was found in the tip of a knife and in the barrel of a gun.

Nataila Romanova was a silent threat.

 

Natalia Romanova was hopelessly lost in the American west.

 

She had been on a mission gone awry and she was left abandoned by her handler. He sacrificed her without second glance or apology as he kicked her out of the helicopter with his boot as she fell three stories into a burning building. He had killed her to save himself.

She should be hurt or upset. The only stable thing in her life turned on her and left her for dead in an unknown country.

She must truly be broken because all she could think about was how hot this place truly was. It was its own ring of hell. Her tactical suit had been burned away in most areas, leaving her exposed to the harsh sunlight.

Her skin had been blistered and singed by the burning warehouse, however she could feel her skin move as the cells rapidly regenerated to heal. However it was slowed, the blisters were still hot and the skin lesions were still oozing.

Natalia had barely made it out of the building before it had collapsed. Burns and other wise weren't even her major problem.

Her lower right abdomen had been punctured and was freely spilling blood over her pale hand. She just hoped she wouldn't die in this American wasteland.

Her boots were filled with sand and her sweating skin was covered in it like a cloying dust. She hated sand. Her hair was plastered to her scalp and neck with both blood and sweat. It had been burnt a great deal, leaving the rotten and awful smell of burnt hair to hand around her face.

Her once long and beautiful curls were now a matted mess that was more shoulder and collar bone length.

Her endurance was running low. She had been on a mission, already Awake for fifty hours with no sleep. She was running on fumes. It made more sense why she could only focus on her body's exhaustion rather than the crippling betrayal she felt towards her handler.

He had stared at her like she was some sort of unwanted stray he had never seen before. As he kicked her square in the face, knocking her off the grip of the helicopter. She had fallen, a silent scream had poured from her lips as the oxygen had left her lungs.

It had broke her nose as well, she thought, and she was going to be covered in burns for several days if she didn't rest soon.

Her hair kept getting in her mouth and eyes as wind blew the sand and dirt about. The road ahead looked wavy with the heat haze hovering above it.

Natalia Romanova was a dead woman. She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
She was dead.
She was free.

A low cackle spilled from her, straining her ribs and injured stomach. She coughed and hacked, but it was worth it. Hydra had no use for a dead asset.
She had finally escaped, and the betrayal of her handler now felt like the greatest thing she had ever been given.

She was laughing and bleeding on the side of a road in New Mexico.

So it was really no surprise when she got extremely light headed, and greeted the dirt with a hard thump.

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"Oh my god," The voice hovered above her, "Please don't be dead I really don't need this-!"

She huffed and opened her eyes, a woman with dark brown ringlets and glasses was leaning over her with a water bottle. "Drink, I need to get you to a hospital,"

Natalia grimaced. But sipped the water best she could, before the woman's words clicked.
"No, no hospital." The word caused panic inside her. A hot share of twisting anxiety and dread. Hospitals meant she wasn't free.

"Yes hospital, you are bleeding everywhere." The woman was reaching for a phone.
She gripped the woman's arm tightly causing her to release a sharp gasp.
"No hospital."

Her hard gaze wavered with the swimming dizziness in her head. The woman looked slightly terrified and concerned, her eyes flickering from Natalia's face back to her arm. She unclasped her hand and let it fall limp to her side.
Natalia still was having trouble staying awake her brutal battle for consciousness was failing.

"Stay with me now, please don't die."
The pleading words lulled her into a peaceful bout of unconsciousness.

 

When Natalia reemerged from the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness, she was propped up in a bed. Her head still swam in the murk of pain and sleep. She surveyed her surroundings, finding them to be well lived in and a bit underwhelming she relaxed only slightly.

An IV drip was attached to her arm, hanging from a coat rack and a repurposed wire clothes hanger. It was some sort of saline solution, most likely for her dehydration.

Her face felt clean, like it had been carefully washed, and her hair had been neatly trimmed. She felt her hair when she had absently ran her had trough it. It still felt dry and crunchy, and still smelled rather burnt.

She moved slightly, a sharp pain pierced her abdomen causing her to exhale sharply. The make shift IV hanger rattled loudly causing her to wince.
Natalia grimaced as she pulled her (not her shirt, because she would have never been allowed such a colorful and baggy monstrosity) shirt up to glance at her stomach.

It had been covered with cotton bandages and an oily salve of some sort.
Natalia continued in her attempt to stand up, slowly this time and much more careful. However the woman that had found her in the desert burst into the room, concern laced throughout her features.

"Hey-hey! Whoa don't do that, you'll rupture your stiches." The woman walked toward her with her hands raised like Natalia was a feral animal. In the woman's defense, she was probably right.
"Alright, sit down. Come on, please?"

Natalia stared at the woman, her own face void of emotion, please? She had never been asked anything except to spare a life.
The Russian felt herself complying with the request. She gently perched herself on the mattress.

The brunette sighed, in relief or otherwise. "Thank you. How are you doing?"

Natalia furrowed her eyebrows. Not sure how to respond she stayed quiet in case of it being a trick or rhetorical question.

The woman crossed her arms, and as she did so, Nataila caught a glimpse of the angry purple ring of bruises around her wrist. "Do you speak English? I heard you in the car, but-"

"I do." Natalia let her accent fall thick, it coated her words in a hoarse whisper. Her words no longer were accentless and machine sounding. They felt human.

"Oh, Russian, or Serbian? I can't tell, sorry ."

Natalia cleared her throat. "Russian."

The brunette nodded. "Alright, so your Russian, what's your name?"

Natalia paused, she shouldn't state her real name. But she didn't feel like lying to her. You cannot build a stable foundation without a hint of truth.

"Natasha."

The woman's eyes flickered over her, no longer hidden behind her glasses. She didn't believe it. But she was going to question it.

"Alright Natasha. I'm Darcy Lewis, I found you on the side of the road, bleeding and burned. My guess you crawled out of that factory fire?"

 

Natasha nodded, the woman had pieced it together quite quick. She was smarter than she looked. But if the Russian knew anything, looks were always deceiving.

"My guess is that fire wasn't a factory at all and something illegal and top secret and covered up in government agencies right about now." Lewis paused as she leaned against the wall. "My guess is your part of some agency. Yeah?"

Natasha said nothing, her skin began to crawl with unease. This woman could very well be her demise.

"You don't have to answer. I don't really want to know. But you needed help. And I wasn't about to deny you that. So I spent the last two days keeping you alive." Lewis rubbed her wrist without looking at it. It had hurt her.
"I'm not about to waste that time to send you out into the world and watch you get killed. I do value human life. Sometimes. Anyway, are you hungry?"

 

She felt herself nod again.

 

"Great. I will be back shortly."

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Natasha couldn't deny that she felt blindsided by the woman's personality and blunt words. It was a bizarre feeling of new and almost trust.
Natasha had to scold herself. It was never, trust only the faint illusion it could be there. Natasha was not threatened.

Lewis came back with a styrofoam container that smelled appetizing and entirely edible.

"This was from last night so it may not be great, leftovers sometimes taste strange after a day. But here-" Lewis handed her the container which she hesitantly accepted.

"If you want, after your done, I could run you a bath-" Lewis cleared her throat. "You probably would like to get clean, and there is some stiches on your back I need to check. If that's okay, is it?"

Natasha just blinked taking in everything. "Yes."

Lewis nodded. "Okay, let me start the water." The brunette woman quickly darted into the door to the left of Natasha, which must have been the bathroom. She watched as her curls bounced with her.

 

Natasha pried open the box, a plastic fork was sitting on top of the food, which was a yellow rice, chicken, and some more food she didn't know the English word for.

She brought the box to her nose sniffing for any excessive saltines, or strange aromas. However if Lewis wanted her dead, she could have killed her in her sleep, rather than stitching her up.

 

Natasha ate slowly, not sure how her stomach would react to such a complex meal. Natasha noticed a water bottle left on the side of her, so she chased it down quickly.

Lewis came out of the bathroom.

"Water is ready when you are."

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Natasha, with the help of the woman, peeled of her clothes. Her body was sore and her healing seemed to be impaired,  most likely due to the extremity of her injuries.

Darcy eased her into the water. Natasha couldnt help but feel a spike of fear as Darcy sat behind her. The last time she had been in this situation, it was a hydra agent whom sat behind her and would dunk her head under and hold her there. It had went on for seven hours.

She exhaled deeply and just sat in the sudsey water, hunching over so she could have her back cleaned and her stiches examined.

"They look alright," a finger ghosted across them. "Are they too tight?"

Natasha knew too tight stiches, ones that were pulled in an agressive rush, pinching and maimimg the skin tissue and leavimg an ugly scar.

"No," Natasha wet her lips. Her throat hurt. It was dry and sore like it hadn't  been allowed water in weeks. However she had just finished a large glass.

"May I wash your hair?"

Natasha found herself granting permission to the woman. It was strange to feel this level of quick trust.  But so far she had been asked to do nothing, the woman stiched her, fed her, and clothed her. The woman was now washing her hair. 

It was bizzare and baffling but Natasha would allow it. She would never let her gaurd down.



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"Would you like to eat with me?" Darcy asked as she entered Natasha's room.

The red head blinked once as if to compute what she was being asked. "You never leave the room- and I don't want you to think that's because you have to be in there. And I hate dining alone, so if you'd like, the invitation is open."

Natasha smiled gently, it was small but most certainly there. "Of course."

In all honesty Natasha was certain she was confined to the room. Not used to being allowed to roam- it wasn't something the had even thought about.

Natasha stood, dusting of the black pants Darcy had given her, and fixing her shirt.

"We have some rice, and burritos. I love Mexican style food more than life itself most of the time."

Darcy glanced back at her, and Natasha was following carefully behind her.

"What do you like to eat?"

Natasha shrugged, the motion too causal for it to feel natural, "Chocolate."

 

Darcy hummed. "I have chocolate ice cream in the freezer- after dinner, if you'd like."

 

Natasha felt a small flutter in her stomach be it excitement, she was not sure. "That sounds- nice, Darcy."