Okay, so this has been taken from my main story, Rogue Shadow: Chapter 8. There's not much fighting but it is the beginning of a lot more to come in the story.
Slade watched as Natasha ran out of the room and listened to where she went. Downstairs, that would be good for her. He stood up to clear the table and kitchen, washing everything up before checking the security cameras in the training area. Slade was glad to see the kid taking her frustrations out on a punching bag. He closed his phone and left for his room, planning on giving the kid an hour or so to cool off before he went to talk to her again. Her temper was going to become a serious problem is she didn't learn to control herself. This was going to be harder than he expected.
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Nat didn't know where exactly she was running, not away – she didn't even know where the exit was. She found herself descending the spiral staircase into the massive room from the previous day. Swinging under the railing, Nat made her way to the rafters above the room.
With all thought of personal safety gone, Natasha began doing flips on the beams; running, jumping, twisting, and landing perfectly. If she died, then she would finally be released from this living hell. All of this went over her head, however, from the anger that clouded her vision. It seemed as if time slowed down when she dove off a central beam – she could breathe again. Finally, a moment of clarity. Ducking into a role at the last second, Natasha absorbed the shock on the landing, jumping to her feet with a little help from momentum.
A punching bag hanging innocently off to the side caught Nat's eye. The black and orange pattern standing out against the navy training floor. Bounding over to the bag, Nat leapt on top of it, legs hooking either side of the chain, she let herself hang upside down against the gently swaying bag.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she groaned quietly. "What did I ever do to you?" Natasha glared ahead of her, looking at the upside-down entrance of the massive room. Screw it.
When the random blackening and regaining of her vision became too irritating with to the blood rushing to her head, Nat groaned loudly, sliding off the bag upside down, using her hands to take her weight and gently lower herself to the ground.
Her fault.
Everything that had happened was her fault. David, Laura, Giselle, Jacen, Cian; Their blood was on her hands. It was her fault they were dead. Why did everything bad always have to happen to her? Couldn't the fates choose someone else's life to destroy?
Her fault.
Natasha rolled onto her back and screamed out in frustration until her lungs ran out of oxygen; hands clawing at her face to stop them shaking from anger. She laid still while she heaved a few deep breaths, as if that would change anything.
All her fault.
She breathed out a resigned sigh before getting up. What's done is done; it cannot be undone. Rolling over her shoulder backwards, Nat sprung to her feet, attacking the punching bag with rage in her eyes. Every kick and punch connected. Every strike causing her pain, but that only pushed Nat to keep going. It didn't matter that it hurt. She deserved it. It was all her fault.
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Entering the training room without alerting the kid was easier than it should have been. She was so distracted and caught up in the moment that she had blocked everything else out. Slade was mildly surprised to see Natasha still mauling away at the punching bag after two hours, that took a lot of stamina. Eyeing the blood marks on the bag, Slade moved his gave to her hands, tightly balled in fists with blood coating her fingers. That the kid had split her knuckles and either hadn't noticed or was too upset to care.
