Budapest

Chapter 7:

Natasha: The next morning I awoke with actual hunger pains. "If you don't give me food, I'll die and you won't get anymore of the answers you need," I told Clint.

"Well, since my original mission was to kill you, I guess either way is a win win," Clint said. He had been ordered to kill me? And I was still alive? I had to admit I was grateful, but why?

"Fine," I muttered, "It was the KGB who ran my parents off the road." Clint threw a menu at me.

"Why would you say that?" Clint asked.

"Two weeks before my parents died was the first time. I felt someone watching me, as I walked to and from the dance studio. I brushed it off as paranoia and didn't say anything. But it kept coming. After a few days it started coming more often, even when I was at school and in the middle of closed dance rehearsal. So I told my parents. They believed me, and advised me on things to do. That is until they were killed the next night," I said. Fear rumbled through my veins as I told the story. I had never told anyone this. I continued, "I continued to feel it for almost two months. I never even told Alexi though for fear what happened to my parents would happen to him. And I'll have a ham and cheese omelette please."

"Alexi?" Clint asked. I smiled.

"He was, as you American say, my kid brother," I said, "I had just turned 15, him 10, when we were approached by a man. He explained how he was 'familiar with my situation' and he said he wanted to help. Instantly I knew this was the man. My stalker so to speak. And I knew if I said no, then my brother would died. So, Alexi and I were recruited."

"Recruited?" Clint asked.

"To the Orphanage. They worked directly with the KGB, training kids," I said, picturing its red matted walls and floors, the creamy tone of the ceiling. Just picturing it made me feel sick.

A knock came on the door, pulling me back to reality, and Clint looked first through the peep hole, then opened it just a crack to grab the food, only enough so no one could see me.

I didn't stay back in reality of course. A reel of flashes ran through my mind. Memories.

"You're perfect, little Romanov. Deadly. A Black Widow." a Russian accent condescending voice said.

"NO! ALEXI!" I heard myself scream.

"We'll make you better," the final voice, one I knew too well, said.

"Alright," Clint said, putting the hot omelette on my lap. I started into it. "I was trained for a year, not a great year, before I had my 'Test'. The KGB would come in and give people jobs, provided they past the test."

"What was the test?" Clint asked.

"It varies, depending on where your strengths fall," I said.

"What was yours?" Clint asked. As I thought about it, I felt sick.

"A fellow dancer, Viktoria, was told to stand in front of a door. My first mission was to interrogate her, about what was behind the door. When she came up empty I was instructed to beat her up. And I did. Finally, they instructed me to put a bullet through her head. So I did," I said, using everything I could to not start crying. And that wasn't the worst part of my story.

Clint could see my pain. I couldn't find the will to eat. A tragedy really. Clint looked carefully at me, then sighed, cutting my legs free. I just sat there. One part of me told me to run. Another told me to kill Clint and run back to Drakeov. One part told me I had worked too hard for his trust.

The last part really enjoyed being stuck here with Clint. Maybe it was because he had been my plaything for the last 36 hours. Maybe it was the fact he was the only man I had ever told my whole story. Maybe it was just borderline Stockholms Syndrome. Anyway, I liked being with him. So I stayed.

"If you keep giving me info like that, we'll talk to my superiors about getting you out of Russia," Clint said.

"Thank you," I said.