Budapest

Chapter 20

Natasha Romanoff
I keep my eyes closed even when I wake. My head is on something soft but not soft enough to be a pillow. I can hear a faint shuffling sound and the drop of water into a basin. My head aches with my back and leg numb.
I open my eyes but shut them just as quickly. The brightness takes my headache to a whole new level. I involuntarily let out a groan.
"Morning." I hear the American say.
I slowly open one eye and then the other, they adjust to the light quickly. I scan the room. It's a cheap rundown place from the looks of the cracks on the walls and the absence of paint around the edges of the walls and on the ceiling. My head is currently on a duffel bag. It smells of blood, sweat and oddly lemons. I rest my upper body weight on my elbow, as my other hand grasps for the ground. I sit up and look at the agent. He's wearing a black shirt with long trousers. The shirt is stretching a little, meaning I can see the curves of his muscles. I avert my eyes to what he is holding in one hand. A damp towel.
"How long have I been...." I search for the right word "out?"
He scratches at his nose before answering.
"About a day."
"На прошлой неделе он будет скоро" I whisper.
"Uhh....I'm a little rusty on my Russian.."
"Dim-witted American." I mutter.
"It's Barton. Dim-witted Barton. Don't stereotype all Americans into this. Some are quite intelligent, for example my handler Coulson is- oh shit."
"What?"
"I still haven't exactly contacted him since- never mind."
"Well if you aren't going to kill me, you should at least tell your fancy organization before they shoot me as I'm entering, Barton."
I grab for the damp towel he has in his hand and put it to my knee. I'm still in my ripped dress, with the blood dried against the edges. I hide my wince as I gently dab it.
When I look back up I see agent Barton walking towards another room, his com link in his hand. His back is turned to me. Naturally I start searching for any weapons I might use against him but stop myself.
First you see if his offer is genuine, if it's not, kill the bastard then. I tell myself.
I drop the towel and shift my weight forward. I stand unsteadily but still with a certain eerie silence. The pain in my leg is less extreme than it was. The enhancers are already working.
"I want to go back for my supplies." I announce.
"I've got plenty of supplies here and we can buy you more clothes, going back is too risky." He dismisses me with a wave of his hand, his back still turned.
"Let me change my wording then, I need to go back and get my supplies." He sighs and turns back around, throwing his com link down on the duffel bag I had been sleeping on.
"What do you need to get? I'm sure I've already got it." He says.
"You don't need to know what I need to get, if you aren't going to come, I'll go on my own. Even if it means going unarmed." I say.
"No I'm coming but I want to know what is so important that you're going to risk meeting that big guy with the tattooes again." He says.
I inhale a breath.
"I thought you had fled the bar before Ivan attacked."
"No I saw the whole thing. And let me say that guy must have a massive grudge or something." he says.
"It's none of your business."
"Alright, alright. I'm not going to push you. No point anyway, I know you can lie yourself out of anything. Is it true that even lie detectors don't work on you?" He says.
I glare at him.
"Okay, okay. I'm shutting up."
Barton steps forward and passes me, gently brushing my shoulder with his fingers as if to know where I'm situated in the room. He kneels in front of the duffel bag and opens it. I see stacks of pants, shoes and shirts. In the left corner, an array of guns. He grabs a shirt, two guns and another com link as well as the one he had previously thrown on top of the bag. He hands the shirt to me.
"It's a bit smaller than the other ones but it will still be big. Better than a dress ripped and covered in blood though." He says, quickly looking down at the 'dress.'
"There's a bathroom through there and the rest of your belongings are sitting next to the shower."
I nod and follow his line of gesture. Walking through the doorway, I see a bathroom to my left. The walls are bare of paint while the tiles on the floor cracking. Ants crawl up the mirror. I close the door behind myself and lock it. Searching through my bag I find a pair of pants and my medical supply. The cat suit is out of the question because the one I had brought with me to the theatre has a cut up one side. And anyway, it had already been disposed of accordingly. I pull the pants up carefully over my knee. The exertion gives me a pain and I see a spot of red already on the outside of the fabric. After pulling the dress off over my head, I put Barton's shirt on, careful to not brush too much over the cut on my back and shoulder. It smells the same as his duffel bag did but with the lemon smell stronger than the stench of blood and sweat. Finally I pull my boots on and untangle my hair. It hangs loosely, reaching to my waist. The red of the strands has dulled against the sweat, blood and dirt that has infested it. I rummage through my bag again and swear softly.
No weapons. Well I guess the American isn't as dim-witted as I thought. Anyone who is smart enough not to leave weapons in reach of a Black Widow is a worthy contender. But contenders better beware of the Black Widow's sting. For she trusts no one.