The Aftermath

Nat's Boys

Sam plugged in the flashdrive in the TV and in a few seconds its contents flashed on the screen. It had over two dozen video files. Steve braced himself as Sam clicked on the first one.

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Videofile: NAR-V125-4.18.2000

The cell was approximately 50square meters, well lit with white padded walls. It had a bed, a table, a chair, a small toilet and sink enclosed by an opaque screen for a bit of privacy.

A 20-year old Natasha laid on the bed, her long curly red hair sprawled around her head like a crown, hands on her stomach, eyes glued at the ceiling. She was wearing a white prison uniform that was a cross between a scrub suit and an overalls. She looked tired, dark circles underneath her eyes but other than that, she looked relaxed.

The door buzzed and Natasha casually stood up and faced the wall, and clasped her hands behind her back. Then Coulson emerged from the door and told her that it was finally okay to turn back around. Natasha did but still stood by the wall, hands relaxed by her sides. Coulson didn't immediately speak either. He just stood there, hands clasped in front of him and doing his habit of slight bopping up and down on his feet.

"How are you?" Coulson finally asked, with his usual calm, smiling demeanor.

"I've had worse," Natasha said with a smirk.

"I bet you have. Barton petitioned again, you know, to visit, but no one can have access on you beyond me and Director Fury until the council has their verdict."

"The council," Natasha said. "I'm curious about this council and why they can't seem to make up their mind. It's been what, four months?"

"Four months and twelve days," Coulson matched her cockiness. "And it's not because they couldn't make up their mind. They already have."

"And?"

"They want you dead, of course," Coulson said sternly. "But ---"

Natasha held her breath but retained her smirk. Coulson continued, "Barton and Director Fury are putting their asses on the line for you."

"I didn't ask them to do that," Natasha said.

"You didn't have to. They're grown men, they know what they want and what they're doing."

"Is that so? What about you? What do you say?" Natasha asked him in her usual deceiving sweet voice.

"I say we could someone like you," Coulson said.

"Exactly and here I am, already volunteering myself to be used by your agency in exchange for my life, and yet your council can't seem to appreciate that."

"It's true we can use you but, we can't trust you, can we?" Coulson asked.

"Well, that's what my previous employer eventually said to me, too."

"SHIELD is not like them," Coulson said in defense. "For starters, we don't chastise our agents with torture for disobedience, insubordination, or failure and we most definitely do not collect our agents from orphanages and break them into compliance."

"Oh, that's nice," Natasha said, deflecting the pain in her heart with cheekiness. Coulson's words hit close to home and she knew Coulson was finding her pressure point. She was trained to deflect, groomed to be an enigma and so Coulson remained oblivious to the fact that he did hit a soft spot. They didn't say anything for a while but kept looking at each other, gauging each other. Coulson sounded a bit hostile but Natasha knew it was all a facade. So she lowered her guard and relaxed a bit, slumping her shoulder with emphasis to let Coulson know.