The Irony of it All

42

Red. Hot. Rage. It filled Natasha, coursing through her veins, boiling within her to the point that she was literally vibrating with it, driving her to insanity. She couldn't remember her own name let alone remember that this wasn't who she was. She knew what she was doing though. And she liked it.

When the boy's body crumpled to the ground, the gun-shot still ringing in her ears, she didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel numb. The sight of blood, more red on her ledger that she had worked so hard to wipe away should have crushed her. But the rage that had taken over her dissipated for a split second. She felt relief. Joy. Pride. Euphoria. Killing with the insanity serum inside her...made her feel high. And just like that she was addicted. The moment was over, the rage returned even stronger and with that rage came the craving for that relief. She craved to kill again.

The ugly man with ugly teeth was talking to her. He seemed vaguely familiar, but in the stupor she was in she didn't know who he was nor did she care. She understood him though. He was describing the rush she'd felt. He was promising that she would feel it again. As long as she obeyed him and complied to his commands. You would think that somewhere in her subconscious, something would feel off, that she would at least try to fight it. But she didn't. Because as far as she was concerned, there was nothing to fight, except for perhaps her next victim.

When they tried to shackle her, she fought, killing one of the guards and she felt that euphoria again. Then it dissipated. Ugly man told her not to fear, that she had to calm down and allow them to safely bring her to a new location. If she complied, she would feel that same euphoria again, and again, and again. So she obeyed. She let them shackle her, shove her through their corridors, and throw into the back of a van, chaining her to the steel walls. She growled her threats but never did anything by them.

The van rocked for an amount of time she could no longer tell. Hours or days meant nothing to her anymore. The only thing she could sense was when she relieved herself. A puddle beneath her growing as time went on. She should have been disgusted. Embarrassed even. But the wetness nor the smell bothered her for she could not care even if she tried. The van slowed but never stopped. She wasn't given water or food. She sat in the dark, sodden, with the rage burning inside her. But that was exactly what the insanity serum was doing. It was burning. And anything that burns must eventually be given fuel or burn out.

The rage eventually faded into pure pain. Her nerves were on fire as the withdrawals racked her body. Her veins in her neck and forehead popped as she strained. She writhed, her senses overcome with agony. As the pain continued, her head began to clear.

Her name was Natal'ya Alianovna Romanova. No. That was the name she was given at birth. Her name now was Natasha Alianova Rogers. She was married. Images of her husband swam in her brain. He was tall, strong, yet incredibly gentle. Blonde, with serious blue eyes and a smile that didn't come out as often as it should. What was his name? Steve. Steven Rogers. And his middle name was Grant. She'd memorized it the very first time she read his file but she still pretended that she couldn't remember.

The pain came in waves now, allowing her just enough time to breathe. Little by little, more came back. She was an Avenger. Who picked that lame name? Nick did. Fury. Clint. Clint disobeyed orders, saved her life, and brought her to Fury. They were family. Tony, Bruce, Thor, they were all her family. She was having a family. A baby. A boy. She was having a son. Steve would be so happy. No, Steve already knew. Clint knew too. Maybe her son would call him Uncle Clint. Clint would like that. Maybe she'd switch it up and call him Grandpa just to mess with him. He'd hate that. She'd love that.

But they weren't a family anymore, were they? Civil war had torn them apart. Tony hated Steve and her, and maybe Clint too. Thor and Bruce were off grid last she knew. Clint was in a coma. Oh... Things started to come back more clearly, pieces coming together, clicking, and she wished they hadn't. The pain that once was physical now turned emotional as well. Her heart was metaphorically squeezed and wrenched as her entire body physically convulsed in agony. Steve wasn't going to meet their son.