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July 1 | maybe 1400 hours | Somewhere in the Netherlands
Everything was dark. Everything was hazy and blurred. Everything was definitely not okay in the slightest.
Thick cardboard tubes ran up Natasha's arms along with heavy gloves on her numb hands. Frosted goggles sat over her green eyes, allowing no light through from the small chamber she had been placed in. All she remembered from being dragged in was there was taking in a small, padded bed with a U-shaped pillow at the top. Then a needle had been inserted into Natasha's struggling frame and she slipped into darkness.
However, Natasha did know the date. July first. July first. July first. She repeated it to herself mentally and clung to it like a lifeline. Information was key, especially when you're a spy.
The exact time was a bit of a mystery. She had arrived in...whatever city it was in the Netherlands. Natasha remembered walking down the freshly trimmed grass lining an avenue, finding her cheap motel room, sleeping just a little, and then heading out to complete the mission. Except that's where things went wrong. It had been a trap from the very start, luring Natasha in only to get herself captured. She could only guess and cross her fingers. Maybe it's two in the afternoon?
She wished Clint was with her. He would at least say some cheesy joke and piss off their captors, then compete with Natasha for who could take the most punches for the other person out of sheer platonic love and protection. Guilt filled Natasha with the thought. Clint was on break with his family, and he definitely deserved it. Of course, if he'd known Natasha had been given a high-risk level mission... Yeah, nope. Even having another Avenger with her to make reassuring (and snarky) comments would've been highly appreciated.
July first. July first. July first. First day of the Battle of Gettysburg for further reference. It's July fucking first, Romanoff. July first.
Natasha wished she could hear herself sigh. The distant hum of an air conditioner whirred constantly, not giving any other sounds a chance to be heard. Sound was not an option for her senses.
With her gloved hands and arms restrained, Natasha couldn't adjust the goggles in order to see her surroundings. Everything was just dark and black and haunting, leaving Natasha with a tingling sensation in her fingers and toes. Could she even feel them? Or was it her restless imagination, furiously trying to find reason and logic towards whatever her captors had planned? Obviously, they were attempting to break her by isolation. But it wouldn't work, of course. Natasha scoffed with the thought. Marble does not break.
Her ears felt clamped shut with a dull pair of headphones. They played a white static noise of great annoyance to Natasha. She wanted to yell, "Shut up!" but also knew that it wouldn't do any good to helping her situation.
With nothing else to do, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
probably July 2 | ???? | a stupid cell
She awoke to an extremely loud and irritating noise. Natasha was tempted to go back to sleep, but immediately snapped out of it when realizing that someone was coming. Lying completely still, she tried to fake sleep with her active brain still trying to speed up and keep pace with the infamous assassin.
Her confusion only increased seconds later, when suddenly, the cardboard tubes and gloves were yanked off of Natasha's hands and arms. On instinct, every muscle in her body tensed up. The goggles still weren't removed when she felt a rough pair of arms heave her to her feet, and the sudden lack of headphones made her ears ache and throb.
Natasha tried to take a step and immediately stumbled backwards onto her knees. The pair of arms once again grabbed her and basically dragged Natasha across the small cell over to a door. They walked down the hall for awhile and then she felt herself be dropped painfully onto a cement floor.
"Bathroom," someone said. "I suggest you use it."
Her spy skills took over — it was a feminine voice with a thick accent that Natasha couldn't place. She almost panicked with just the thought of her mind shutting down enough to forget important details like that, but she managed to calm down and relieve herself. Allowing the people to yank her back to her feet, Natasha kept her head up high as she was brought back to the cell. Just like she expected — headphones, cardboard tubes, and the gloves were instantly pulled back on. The room temperature cause Natasha to shiver. The sweat glistening on her pounding head grew colder with every second that passed by.
What time was it? Natasha assumed that it was July first — no, wait. That was yesterday. It was July second...right? July second. July second. July second...
This time, instead of falling asleep, Natasha evaded the tiredness seeping into her bones and tried to stare a hole through her goggles.
???? | ???? | ????
Long seconds ticked by, growing louder with her thoughts and the continued white noise from the headphones clamped tightly over her ears. Natasha realized that she was awake. It was harder to tell as she slowly slipped into insanity and sensory deprivation. She lost any feeling in her legs, arms, and even the usual clarity of her thoughts.
Natasha wondered what it was like to die.
Yeah, she'd occasionally knocked on Death's door, but never opened it and stepped in for a warm welcoming party. Life had always ran through Natasha. When it stopped — as it would eventually — she predicted her welcome would be to the gates of hell.
"July first..." Natasha trailed off. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use over the course of however many days had passed. It was such a blur, making anger bubble up inside her, willing to be released somehow. She had to know information. But alas, Natasha was being useless. No one was coming for her — the fucking Black Widow. Guilt replaced the anger. Natasha was finally drowning in the red of her ledger, and she didn't have anyone to cling to to remain afloat in the world.
I have no place in the world...
The unexplainable urge to giggle almost broke through Natasha's parched throat. Memories of Lucky the Pizza Dog and Liho coursed through her mind. Her best friend had once found the dog on a mission and elected to keep him, later bringing him to his farmhouse for the kids. Wait... Who was her best friend? After a few long seconds, Natasha remembered: Clint.
She shifted uncomfortably, mad at herself for breaking her usually still and unreadable demeanor. Someone was watching her, or at least, Natasha thought so. Reopening her eyes (or were they closed in the first place?), Natasha almost gasped with the sight of tiny clusters of white stars in the sky. It was beautiful! A bit of grey fog and mist covered the dark sky, quickly covering some of the stars with blank sheets of nothingness. Through her headache and worsening condition, Natasha briefly wondered who had opened up the ceiling towards the sky.
???? | ???? | ????
Time was relative.
"July first, July first, July first, Pervoye iyulya..."
Natasha glared into the corner, trying to keep whoever was watching her away. Their eyes seemed to burn into the back of her head, leaving only an impending sense of paranoia in their wake. The ghost continued to call her name over and over again, taunting Natasha and making her lash out in determined fits of rage. She didn't remember ever feeling so hopeless. Hours, days, maybe even weeks went by like someone was begrudgingly spinning the clock's hand manually.
Natasha felt peaceful, blocking out the knowledge that her mind was shutting down and giving in to her final fight.
Liho wandered by. She tried to extend a hand and pet the cat, watching his tail of pure fluff stretch by the bed. Her hand wouldn't reach that far, and Natasha blinked in response and frustration. Oh, was that Lucky barking? Natasha turned her head slightly to get a better look at where him and the blurry image of Clint stood. He was laughing, but in a good sort of way that made Natasha smile lazily.
There was yelling and conversations happening, too. Most of the time, it sounded like bickering between Tony and Clint, and Natasha smirked. The familiar sound of the door opening caught her attention, just barely. She didn't pay attention long though before restudying the stars looking down upon her and the bed.
Laughing, Natasha noticed clouds floating by the blotches of white above. They automatically arranged themselves into shapes. She saw a star blazing with a red haze, swirling into a circle with cerulean strips going all the way around. Next to it, some sort of firearm that Natasha was too tired to name sat with nothing but shades of grey. A bullet fired from the gun and traveled through the now dark sky. It kept going and flying high...
Until it went straight through a man's head. Natasha screamed. She cried out for whoever it was who'd just been coldly murdered. She gasped loudly, heart racing, when the clouds decided to unveil the killer — a child version of herself. Natasha's stomach flipped; she felt so terribly sick... Maybe it was time to close her eyes one last time and say goodbye, even though she couldn't seem to find her voice to tell them in person.
Goodbye, Clint. Goodbye, Liho and Lucky. Goodbye, Steve. Goodbye, Tony. Goodbye, Thor. Goodbye, Bruce. Goodbye, Laura and Lila and Cooper. Goodbye, Fury and Hill. Goodbye to everyone.
And that's when Natasha felt gentle, calloused hands on her cheek. They slid up and pulled off the goggles, ending her endless string of hallucinations and allowing light to enter her vision for the first time in days. Clint, cheeks tear-stained and red, stood staring at her with a big smile on his face. He called her name as Natasha fell back into darkness. The only difference was that she didn't feel so lost anymore.