We'll Fight Together (Romanogers / Steve X Natasha)

Keeping Distance

Walking down the gravel path that led to the compound, Natasha nearly let loose a "Hallo, jongens!" to the nearest pair of Hydra guards. That certainly wouldn't have gone over well, considering Clea didn't speak Dutch, nor was her personality capable of such snarky, flirtatious comments. So, slowing her walk, biting her tongue, and forcing her head down, Natasha assumed the role of a returning runaway. Clea, bless her soul, would've never returned to HYDRA for the sake of "giving up" but no plan is perfect. It must've been foolproof, however, because the guards bought it.

Hollering commands and screaming at her in Dutch, they bounded over, their weapons raised. She knew they were screaming at her to get down, but Clea wouldn't have known and therefore Natasha didn't comply. She half-expected the heathens to fire at her but she understood that they'd never. After all, if HYDRA really was after Clea, then they'd never risk her life BEFORE they had the chance to capture her.

When one of the guards forced to her to knees, Natasha fought the urge to pummel both of them into the dirt. Taking a deep breath, however, she let them fasten the handcuffs around her wrists and quickly wiped the scowl off her visage.

The facility doors chirped loudly as they slid open. As she was dragged inside, she side-eyed her surroundings. She appeared to be standing in an actual warehouse; the tall, grey, dreary walls were lined with a wide array of crates. Each crate stacked against another like a large, elaborate puzzle as they towered towards the high ceiling. Where there weren't boxes, there were winding hallways that led to who-knows-where. In the middle of the storage unit, she noted the presence of a large, menacing fighter jet that was standing at the ready, waiting for somebody to take it for a ride.

As they entered the darkness, a swarm of operatives surrounded her like paparazzi. That would've been a lot nicer, considering the only things the paparazzi would be shooting were pictures. Yet, with almost every gun barrel trained on her, Natasha wondered whether the operatives were fulfilling orders or if they were afraid of her. The more Natasha eyed the black-suited criminals, the more she realized how many of them were quaking; half a dozen guns shook ever so slightly as gloved fingers gripped their triggers. HYDRA operatives. Trembling. Natasha never thought she'd see the day.

Clea said she escaped after Strucker's death but she never told Natasha how. Just how powerful was Clea? Natasha recalled what the teen had said after they discovered the plane crash: "My powers made it surprisingly easy. All I had to do was implode the engines." An entire plane. Destroyed in an instant. Natasha knew that Clea was the victim but the idea of others considering themselves Clea's victims was almost unimaginable. She was sweet and kind; a kid. What had taken place for HYDRA to perceive her as the real threat?

Leading her past the jet and towards the back of the room, Natasha noticed a set of stairs. Ward must be up there, she realized, keeping a straight face as she realized their plan might actually work.

But alas, Natasha was in for a surprise. After being dragged up the stairs, the guards pulled her into a small hallway, where she was then forced into what she assumed was an office. The dark walls were adorned with pretty much nothing apart from the standard evil-lair map/bulletin board. Three, large windows stood side by side on the farthest wall, creating a nice view of the winding forest that surrounded the warehouse. In the distance, the sun was making its slow decent towards the horizon. In the middle of the room sat a large darkly-stained alder wood desk. And, seated in the black leather chair behind that desk, sat a woman who was most definitely not Grant Ward.

She was quite a bit older than Natasha; wrinkles dotted her baggy, brown eyes and her brown hair was pulled back into a low bun. She wore a dark blue suit with a light blue undershirt that clashed with her slightly-tanned skin. When she saw "Clea," her unamused expression morphed into a devilish grin. When she spoke, her words were colder than ice. "Clea, is it? I've been expecting you." She stood, stepping around he desk and approaching Clea with open arms. "I've been told so much about you. Your file is an interesting one..."

Natasha looked around the room before resting her eyes back onto the woman. Letting her Russian accent do the talking, she asked, "Where's Ward?"

The women smirked. "Ward? He died a couple years ago. I, Hale, am in charge now." Somehow, her grin grew even wider as she then laughed. "Hale HYDRA, if you will."

Ward? Dead? This was certainly news to Natasha but it wouldn't be a problem. The plan would've worked either way, whether they were after Ward or this Hale. All she had to do now was figure out how to tell the others about their new target before it was too late.

Hale continued her little speech. "You're one of Strucker's experiments, right? Damage resistance, telekinesis– strong telekinesis, at that. It's tied to your emotions, isn't it? Your records tell me you almost leveled the HYDRA Research Base just by screaming. Impressive." Hale began to nod and took another step forward. "HYDRA could use someone as powerful as you."

"I'd rather die," Natasha spat as softly as she could.

Hale's grin faded. "Why return then? What do you have to gain?" She studied "Clea" for a moment before her brown eyes suddenly lit up. "The Avengers. You didn't want to cause them anymore trouble, did you? You have a soft spot for the heroes who leveled Sokovia? The very ones who rejected the Accords?" Her expression grew dark and she hissed, "You're awfully naive. Don't worry though, we'll fix that."

"They're heroes," Natasha shot back, her anger rising slightly.

"Heroes?" Hale cackled. "To some, perhaps. Steve Rogers? Not anymore. In the American government's eyes, he's nothing more than a criminal."

The mention of Steve's name caused Natasha's breath to catch in her throat. She hadn't thought about him since she left, and even then, she had been striving to think about something else. She didn't want to think about him. Not now, anyways. She didn't want to think about the smile he adorned when she first appeared on his doorstep. She didn't want to think about waking up next to him at the motel. She didn't want to think about him fussing over the mission. She didn't want to think about the possibility that he might love her because even though she couldn't help her requited feelings, she couldn't let him in. Not here and not now, anyway. The mission was already too important. Why make it any more complex? Besides, the last person Natasha had ever opened up to was Banner, and everyone knew how that ended. Yet again, no matter what she did or who she was, Steve was the one still standing by her side...

No. Love is for children, Natasha reminded herself as Hale began to speak again. Hell, can this woman ever shut up?

"The guard behind you will take you to your, ahem... room." Natasha turned around as Hale said this, catching a glimpse of a tall, buff man with a slightly-crooked black buzz cut and a five o'clock shadow. "I assume you recognize him, considering you almost murdered him last time."

The guard clamped a hand over Natasha's arm, dragging her out of the office and down the hall. He was eerily silent, rubbing the crook of his neck periodically as if some invisible force were choking him. Natasha's mind brimming with curiosity, she wondered what on Earth Clea had done to induce such discomfort amongst murders.

Whatever the case, she knew that HYDRA deserved it and much, much more.