With Clint’s warm body pressed against hers, his breathing deep and even, it didn’t take long for Natasha to drift off to sleep as well. Unfortunately all the talk from earlier had dredged up memories and the lingering pain and guilt that went along with them, so while her body remained still and sound her mind was plagued with unpleasant dreams.
Her hands were red, blood red, but it wouldn’t wash off, they were stained too deep by the death count that kept growing higher as the fire burned before her. It felt wrong to kill this way, to burn people alive much like her parents had been, like she had almost been, but this had been her order and she always followed orders.
“Good work, little spider,” a voice said in Russian in her ear and when she turned the fire was gone and a body lay at her feet. It was not human, and blood stained the orange fur, the same blood that covered her hands, covered the knife she held. “You are ready.” When she looked again it was a young girl at her feet; no, not young, the same age as her, but she was only a child then. “You will be the best, our crowning achievement.”
The body was gone, the knife too, but the blood remained. Blood on her hands, down her legs, everywhere. This time it was her own; this time the thing in her hands barely looked human. It was still connected to her, she could still feel it, still feel the hollowness it left inside her. “They said it was not possible,” Natasha cried.
“It is not, you hold the proof, and never again will it get this far. We will take care of it. Give it here.”
“No, don’t take her. Please...”
“It is all your fault. All of it. All those lives... you think you can take it all back? You think you can make it better?” Loki taunted her. Clint knelt at his feet, the scepter pressed to his heart. “Do you really think that the things you do now make up for any of it? You kill for different people now, but you are still a killer.” The point of the scepter started to penetrate Clint’s skin and his mouth opened in a silent cry. “You will never change. You do not despise me because of this,” he drove the point deeper. “You despise me because you are me. We are too alike for your redemption seeking self to accept. And if not for him...” the point started to protrude through Clint’s back, “You would never have stopped. You would have immersed yourself in blood until you drowned and you would have reveled in it!”
Loki abruptly pulled the bloody scepter free and held it out to her. Natasha took it, her hands steady, he expression cold. “Is he your salvation or your damnation? Does he lift you up or hold you back from who you truly are? Make your choice.”
She looked from Clint to Loki and back, then she made her decision and drove the scepter home...
Natasha woke suddenly when she felt the bed move beneath her and it took all of her strength to not turn and attack. Reality came back quickly enough and she tried to slow her heartbeat, tried to hide every lingering effect of the dream so Clint didn’t notice. She swore she could feel his eyes on her, but only when she thought she had herself under control again did she speak.
“You’re staring,” she took a good guess, relieved that her voice sounded easy albeit rough from sleep.
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Her hands were red, blood red, but it wouldn’t wash off, they were stained too deep by the death count that kept growing higher as the fire burned before her. It felt wrong to kill this way, to burn people alive much like her parents had been, like she had almost been, but this had been her order and she always followed orders.
“Good work, little spider,” a voice said in Russian in her ear and when she turned the fire was gone and a body lay at her feet. It was not human, and blood stained the orange fur, the same blood that covered her hands, covered the knife she held. “You are ready.” When she looked again it was a young girl at her feet; no, not young, the same age as her, but she was only a child then. “You will be the best, our crowning achievement.”
The body was gone, the knife too, but the blood remained. Blood on her hands, down her legs, everywhere. This time it was her own; this time the thing in her hands barely looked human. It was still connected to her, she could still feel it, still feel the hollowness it left inside her. “They said it was not possible,” Natasha cried.
“It is not, you hold the proof, and never again will it get this far. We will take care of it. Give it here.”
“No, don’t take her. Please...”
“It is all your fault. All of it. All those lives... you think you can take it all back? You think you can make it better?” Loki taunted her. Clint knelt at his feet, the scepter pressed to his heart. “Do you really think that the things you do now make up for any of it? You kill for different people now, but you are still a killer.” The point of the scepter started to penetrate Clint’s skin and his mouth opened in a silent cry. “You will never change. You do not despise me because of this,” he drove the point deeper. “You despise me because you are me. We are too alike for your redemption seeking self to accept. And if not for him...” the point started to protrude through Clint’s back, “You would never have stopped. You would have immersed yourself in blood until you drowned and you would have reveled in it!”
Loki abruptly pulled the bloody scepter free and held it out to her. Natasha took it, her hands steady, he expression cold. “Is he your salvation or your damnation? Does he lift you up or hold you back from who you truly are? Make your choice.”
She looked from Clint to Loki and back, then she made her decision and drove the scepter home...
Natasha woke suddenly when she felt the bed move beneath her and it took all of her strength to not turn and attack. Reality came back quickly enough and she tried to slow her heartbeat, tried to hide every lingering effect of the dream so Clint didn’t notice. She swore she could feel his eyes on her, but only when she thought she had herself under control again did she speak.
“You’re staring,” she took a good guess, relieved that her voice sounded easy albeit rough from sleep.