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Fury nursed another glass of Whiskey instead of sleeping like he should. His mind was in too many places to surrender itself to the comfort of a night of darkness. Banner had still yet to be located. Rogers was a good soldier, but with a track record of going off on his own if he felt strongly enough. Thor was an entirely unknown variable, and still barely ranked higher on his list of possible problems than Stark (yes, even after he pulled himself together to create his new element). Barton was at least slightly predictable, but only thanks to his attachment to Romanov.
Romanov was truly the only person on the Avengers dossier that he felt like he could trust, and that meant that if things went sideways he had no power at all. She’s capable, and she’s trustworthy, but no amount of skill would let a master of her craft overcome the gap of superpowered individuals.
That’s why he was drinking. Because he had a solution and it was an awful one. Beside the whiskey was a small vial of liquid: it was a sample of the old super soldier serum that had surfaced on Romanov’s final mission for the Red Room. She’d brought it with her when she came along and then seemed to never think twice of it when Fury took it for safe-keeping. Hell, he wasnt sure she even knew what it was with the way that organization seemed to run its shit.
But, between its “prior ownership” and the trust he held in her, especially after letting her run untethered during the Rushman operation itself, it made him wonder if there was anyone better.
The serum would undoubtedly change her. The few notes they had on the original, courtesy of conversations Rogers had with Howard before going into the ice, meant Romanov might come out of it a different person. But this was a later revision, one of Howard’s own most likely (not exactly many places you can find super-soldier serum.) Fury would have to hope it was good enough to curb any side effects.
Still, was hope enough for him to hinge one of his best agents’ minds on it? A big part of him wanted to say no. The thought of losing that agent because she got caught up in a superhuman squabble he placed her firmly in the middle of, however, played quite a large part in his choice. Hell, for as well as he could hold his alcohol he knew the drinks he’d had played just as much a part.
It came down to a simple motivation. There were too many positives to Romanov taking the serum compared to the risks. For every possible downside his mind crafted, he could retort with one or more upsides. It was the same line of thinking that crafted the Avengers Initiative in the first place: the greater good.
Fury grumbled to himself and flicked through his contacts to find Romanov’s. Hell of a call to make at this time of night, but while the storied agent knew time would allow a cooler head to prevail, he also knew that sometimes the most important choice were better made in that moment of “inspiration”.
“So, what, we’re just playing mad scientist in the middle of the night? What if I go rogue and take down the helicarrier?” Natasha was still blinking the sleep from her eyes, hell she was only sure she wasn’t still dreaming because her dreams were never remotely this pleasant.
She understood Fury’s reasoning, hell a small part of her had been thinking about that very thing ever since she saw what a day in the life of Tony Stark was like. But the more reasonable part of her wondered if it was really enough to make her go through with the injection of a possibly-unknown Class-A Supernatural Substance straight into her bloodstream.
She thought about how naked she felt whenever she was on the job, how her catsuit did less to protect her than her body did and forced her to leverage all of her knowledge and agility just to live to see another day. That lack of protection, of strength that could let her shrug off a five-on-one where she’d been unlucky enough to get hit a few times, weighed on her more with each day she’d had to spend masking bruises and recovering from her rougher jobs.
“You won’t.” Fury dismissed. Whether it’s because he believed in the science he was holding or because he knew that even a superhuman on the level of Rogers couldn’t beat a bullet was harder to tell.
“You trust it?” Natasha eyed the injector in Fury’s hands uncertainly. No amount of wanting extra protection made her stupid enough to want it without due diligence, though. Even if that was just making sure that Fury had done his own.
“Data I’ve got on it shows me it’s most likely Howard’s work, and my experience with the man tells me he wouldn’t put his name on anything he didn’t believe in.” Fury’s interactions with the older Stark were limited, but he had been a bright mind and an expert in his craft.
It wasn’t the glowing reassurance she’d wanted, but she should’ve known she was never getting that with Fury. He was cryptic on the best of days, and for all she knew this entire story she was being given about the serum’s origins was bullshit that the man was spinning to protect the true source. Some still-alive scientist holed away in a pit somewhere doing SHIELD’s more dubious work.
“So, what, you want me to take this and go to blows with Rogers or Stark if they start bickering?” A deflection, to buy a little time to make a decision.
“Not saying that, but if Stark’s suit got hacked and you had a repulsor coming your way, or we get Banner and he lets out his other half, wouldn’t you feel a hell of a lot safer with this in your veins?”
That was enough to give her pause. As part of her own briefing on the Initiative, she’d been privy to footage of Banner’s rampages as the hulking green behemoth the gamma experiments turned him into. Buildings reduced to rubble and flesh and bone reduced to paste and splinters underfoot without a second thought.
It occurred to her, not for the first time, that if things went Fury’s way she would eventually find herself in a confined space with that very same man (or the beast within, she thought morosely).
Once again she felt that sense of powerlessness. It’d always haunted her, ever since the Red Room if she were truthful with herself. A little girl wishing she was just a little stronger or smarter so she could get free, an older girl wishing she’d been able to free herself sooner. The voice in her head that tried to convince her that, no matter how capable she was, it was all window-dressing just to give her a chance in the stacked odds she so often faced.
“...You know there’s no going back if I do this, right?” She still felt the need to push back. Maybe now it was less against fury and more against herself. Against the small voice that was lulling her towards this solution in front of her in a way she would never admit; admitting her temptation was admitting vulnerability, and for all that she thought and felt she knew that had been beaten out of her a long time ago.
If her presence among an increasing amount of super-powered individuals made those beaten and dead feelings stir in their grave, that was between her and whatever god was unfortunate enough to deal with her red-dripping ledger someday.
“I know. You know I’ll smack some sense into your sorry ass if you go rogue, right?” Fury stepped forward slowly with the injector.
Natasha scoffed. “You, handle it yourself? Maybe behind the wheel of a car when you try to ram me with it.” She unzipped her suit (she’d gotten dressed just in case this was more than a social call, sue her), just enough to expose one of her shoulders.
“Car might not even be enough if this works out.” Fury joked dryly, pressing the injector to her bare skin and squeezing the trigger. It was a sharp pinch and then nothing, far less than even the lightest of pains she’d feel on a normal mission, so it surprised neither of them when she stoically watched some blood bead at the injection site and fixed her jumpsuit.
“How long does it take to kick in?” Romanov started to ask, but the words died on her lips when heat and fire erupted through her veins. Years of training to resist torture kept her silent, but the room spun violently, every edge sharper, every surface louder, every shadow impossibly distinct. Fury’s voice became another layer of vibration she had to filter. She didn’t need that answer anymore.
Her senses went haywire. Every inch of her clothing pressed against her in ways that felt alive. The tightness of her catsuit shifted and stretched with her muscles, hugging her skin as her body expanded and flexed faster than thought could keep up. The dim office glared like daylight, each reflection cutting through the shadows. Electricity hummed in the walls and vents, shrieking in her ears, merging with the rhythm of her heartbeat as it pounded well beyond the limits of what most could survive.
She stumbled and grabbed the vented wall to steady herself. The metal warped under her fingers as though she could feel its tension and structure down to the atomic level. Her nerves screamed with awareness while her muscles tensed and relaxed automatically. Every movement felt amplified, too fast for her mind but precise in its execution. The suit stretched, then eased, then stretched again as she tensed too hard, a soft ripping sound running along the seams. She barely noticed. Her body was reshaping itself faster than she could process.
Her skull throbbed with the overload. Every sound, smell, and flicker of light crashed into her simultaneously. She could feel the heat of the air, the subtle vibrations of the floor, the tiniest microcurrents of energy moving through the room. Beneath it all, her instincts had shifted.
Something feral, primal, flickered inside of her. It was quiet and patient, somehow like both a predator ready to strike and a prey ready to evade all at once. She could feel her body remembering what it was capable of in ways that went beyond normal memory or training, a predator’s precision threading through every inch of her and imbuing her with a hunger for her craft where she’d only ever felt a passive appreciation. Faintly she was aware of its origins in her yearning for strength; that was enough for her mind to accept it readily.
The office was too bright, too vivid, and too much for her brain to hold onto at once. It hadn’t caught up with the rest of her yet. She must’ve said as much to Fury at some point, because she felt her lips part and then the man moved to plunge them into darkness that still left her seeing much too clearly. She could make out every fold and wrinkle in the aged man’s face within the darkness, and her mind catalogued it all as though it was the most important thing she’d ever witnessed.
Natasha collapsed onto the office couch, her body shivering and recalibrating from the shock of her impact. It was a slow and agonizing experience as her mind was forcibly caught up, as it learned to ride the storm of information that came with such super-boosted senses. She was sure even her mind’s adaptation was nothing but the miracle of the serum, because she could feel her brain quickly reach the conclusion that a normal brain should be melting right about now.
It could’ve been minutes or even hours by the time she collected herself enough to at least feel functional. Her muscles hummed with a potential they never could’ve hoped to have before, coiled and ready to strike at anything that dared enter her path. Her eyes made the most precision lenses look primitive in the way they catalogued every shadow, every thread of cloth, and even the subtle vibrations of the room caused by the ever-moving state of the helicarrier without any effort.
Natasha tested her movements with a subtle flex of her fingers and toes, and that primal excitement that she’d noticed before burned hotter in the realization that even those tiny movements felt like they could now kill in the way that her most extravagant flourishes never could.
Her catsuit felt like it’d become a second skin, but when she catalogued her body it was easy to see why. Her expanded musculature filled it in a way her old body never could, and yet somehow her curves remained just as prominent on her bulked-up frame. She was taller too, enough to make her aware she’d be looking down at Fury if she stood at her full stature now.
So much for espionage, at least of her old sort. Who would let their guard down around a woman with arms thick enough to make grown men feel insecure? She didn’t mind the legs, not one bit though. She flexed them, and immediately regretted it as she could feel the intricate sensations of muscles tensing, stretching, and compressing. Too much information flying into her brain still.
Trying to catch her breath was easy with the way every inhale came sooner and easier than the last. A long time ago she’d taken a bullet to the chest, and the way her lungs healed after left her lacking for air in a way that took a long time to adjust to. She could consider that dealt with and then some, now.
Natasha took advantage, putting herself through slow, steady breathing exercises until she was sure she was calm. Sure that the potent thumping of her heart in her chest had slowed beyond its initial rush into something more calm and reserved. She chewed her lip and grounded herself with the sensation, then spoke.
“Turn on the lights, the dim ones. I’m starting to feel better.” Natasha lied smoothly and even managed to suppress the wince she felt when that night-light level of light once more bathed the room in what she perceived as daylight. Her eyes drank in the detail she could now access with even a little extra light, and she almost regretted it when her head started to hurt.
“How are you feeling?” Fury’s voice slammed her eardrums with all the grace of a jackhammer, but he couldn’t know better. She noticed the layers of texture and tone, found herself cataloguing his perceived emotional state and thinking on all the ways she could try and nudge it if she wanted something out of him.
Her eyes flicked to Fury, and she continued to measure him almost unconsciously.. Height, posture, micro-adjustments in stance, the way he shifted weight on his feet. Every tiny twitch of his fingers, the slight flare of his nostrils, the subtle tension along his jaw, it all registered at once. Too much information, but not enough to halt her brain anymore.
“Everything is dialed up to eleven.” Natasha’s own voice vibrated in her skull. “It’s like… a constant adrenaline rush, but somehow my heart’s beating slower than ever. Like it doesn’t need to beat any faster to let me exist like this.” Her words carried an almost animalistic growl, and it seemed to catch even her by surprise. A predator lay below the surface, and in a way she no longer felt entirely in control of.
Faintly, she wondered if this was anything like the feeling Banner felt. Maybe it was a new experience she could use to bridge the gap of understanding with him when the time came to meet him.
“...I think we should take me to the medical bay and get some vitals down on paper. We should’ve been doing this in there to begin with.” Natasha rose to her feet, and it felt like it took nothing at all. She felt her catsuit constricting and loosening around her with every movement, and felt the micro-adjustments all the way from her head to her toes as her body kept her perfectly upright.
“Good idea.” Fury agreed a bit too quickly. Maybe he was second-guessing his decision after seeing how much it was already affecting her, or maybe he was (just like her) wary that the serum was going to mess up her head any second now. (Didn’t it already?)
She shut her eyes instinctively when they stepped out into the much brighter hall, but even with her eyes closed she navigated the helicarrier with ease. Natasha could almost see the mental map of the structure unfold around her, as her mind now pulled on what felt like perfect recall and extrapolated the data from her remaining senses to give her a live map of just where she stood in the flying battleship’s blueprint.
Natasha felt her gait optimize itself without losing its femininity, maximizing her stability but leaving a sway in her hips and encouraging the bounce of her bust. It was a lot like the way she walked when she was under as Rushman, except now it felt like her new default.
She was on an observation table in no time, ignoring the curious and concerned looks of those who’d certainly seen her around the helicarrier enough times to know this wasn’t her normal look. Different instruments were applied to and removed from her body. They had to try several times to take her blood because her skin kept refusing needles. She almost wondered if they even needed the measuring devices with how vividly she felt her vitals acting and reacting in real time.
“Vitals are excellent.” The main doctor remarked, awestruck. “Heart rate is steady and strong despite sitting at less than half the expected baseline. Blood pressure is optimal. No signs of neurological stress. Reflexes-” They tapped her knee and she kicked hard enough to bend the entire observation table backwards slightly. All she could do was offer a small grin for their trouble. “...Reflexes, incredibly rapid. Muscle density measurements are off the charts.”
That predator preened within her and welled with pride. She could feel every last thing the man observed. Every fiber, every tendon, every neuron firing in perfect sync. Her heart was blissfully calm, her lungs expanded effortlessly, and with every second her mind seemed to improve at dialing in her senses to a level she could actually tolerate. When she dared to open her eyes for more than a moment, it no longer made her head pound. It felt right.
“Some of these vitals… they surpass the ones you had us take of Steve Rogers when he came out of the ice.” One of the medical techs stammered out. Surpassed? That didn’t seem right. But it was a newer serum, and who said it couldn’t be optimized beyond just quelling the nasty side effects?
She heard her muscles and felt the electrical impulses when she stood from the observation table, and when her mind realized that was unnecessary for casual moments she felt it almost perfectly tune it out. The world was starting to feel a little more familiar, even if too sharp, too loud, and too vivid still.
“Anything I should worry about, boys, or can I get back to sleep?” Not that she planned to do anything of the sort, even when she was given the go-ahead. She barely contained herself as she departed from the medical ward, somehow standing taller and straighter as she walked down the hall of the helicarrier.
“Don’t wait up for me, Fury. Super-soldier or not, I need my beauty sleep.” Natasha’s mind jumped through all the steps it needed in a split-second to understand Fury was going to protest her going off on her own, and she supposed she had come up with the right choice of casual and understanding of her situation because when she walked down the hall towards her sleeping quarters she was able to do so unaccompanied.
Rogers’ records, or what she’d seen of them in the Initiative, said very little about improved mental faculties. Natasha supposed that could be part of why good became great and bad became worse, but in her case it all felt quite good. More of those improvements that apparently made her better than the man on ice?
Improvements that would let her neutralize him like he was nothing if needed, a voice in her mind whispered. It should’ve made her pause, would’ve only minutes before, but now it had its tendrils a little deeper in her; the thought of not even having to worry in the wake of a legendary super soldier only brought her excitement and relief.
She’d like to see Stark’s reaction to her now, though she was sure he’d just be admiring the deepened line of her cleavage first and foremost. Gone was the dainty redheaded secretary and any lingering illusion that he most certainly had even after she showed up in uniform; it was impossible to see her now as anything less than absurdly capable.
That was a big part of why she wasn’t actually going back to bed. Oh, she was going to her room, but only to change into something more comfortable (she’d been quietly cataloguing the number of rips and tears forming in the seams of her uniform since she started walking. A good way to keep her overactive mind busy.) Then, it was off to the gym to burn some restless energy.
The facilities were made mostly with normal-powered humans in mind, but she was sure she could get a sense for where her capabilities lie even with that limitation in mind. After all, if she could max out the weight limits on all the equipment, that would tell her something, and she was sure with her brain as it is she’d be more than able to extrapolate it into something useful.
She slipped into some 80s-inspired workout clothes that, while they once fit loosely, stuck to her muscled form like paint, and she was off once again. The newly-reinvigorated Black Widow, ready to test her capabilities in even a small way.