Natasha was too young to remember the very beginning of the War, only having been a child in Russia at the time. She'd been told that it had stretched for at least a year before it hit Stalingrad, and all she could remember was the quick warning the advancing gods had given was the high pitched hum of their transportation beam before it connected with their land, obliterating the building that had once stood where its rainbow light had landed. As the Asgardians had advanced, their shields held high to protect themselves from the bullets and bombs, even as their skin glowed with magic and strength and immortality so blatant it was nearly painful to look at, Natasha's parents had rushed her out of the house before it collapsed on them, the aftershocks of the latest bomb having rocked the foundations of their meager house.

"Natalia," her mother had said, using her name before the War, the one Natasha would only ever associate with innocence and a life before the Red Room or War. "Follow me. Whatever you do, keep your eyes on me." She'd squeezed her daughter's hand gently, before tugging her further along and away from the destruction. Her father had disappeared into the smoke and chaos that came with the destruction, forcing Natalia and her mother to struggle forward. The grey scarf once wrapped around her mother's neck now pressed to Natalia's face, allowing her to breathe in the familiar scent of lavender and home without choking on the smoke that had her mother coughing hard.

All it took was the quickest closing of her eyes, the fluttering shut of her eyelids against the smoke that made her eyes burn, and the pressure of the older woman's hand on Nat's wrist disappeared. By the time she opened her eyes once more there was a tall, thick-set man standing in front of her, his hair white and expression sympathetic. He was a soldier, the name "Petrovich" sewn on the left, just above the heart. His hand reached out to her, his brown eyes burning as they met hers. Around them the world shook and Natalia shook with it, terror coursing through her veins.

"Where's mama?" She asked, hiccuping as she pulled the scarf down from around her mouth and nose, before promptly choking on the smoke. The man, Petrovich, pulled her into his arms as the shouting and noise crescendoed, getting closer to the pair of them.

"Stay with me and you'll be safe," he said, just loud enough for her to hear over the next bomb's explosion, this one closer than all the previous. When the noise of it subsided all she could hear was the marching of feet, bringing troops even closer to where they were. Natalia couldn't help but scream, body trembling as she pulled away to close her hands over her ears, eyes shut tight as she cried, her tears hot as they ran down her face. A hand closed tight around her arm, yanking her away so Petrovich could shout for her to follow him. Her blue eyes were wide as she watched him drag her on through the torn, destroyed city. The buildings around them had been split in two, some cracked down the middle, others barely hanging together as whole sides had been blown apart. Natalia could hardly believe it, blinking quickly as they passed. Her mother had bought fresh bread from that store, and discussed the weather and schools with one of their neighbors in the next building while Natalia had chased around the other school boys. Her small hands gripped the wool of her mother's scarf tight, burying her face in it as Petrovich led her to safety. In the back of her mind even she could grasp that nothing would be the same again.

Petrovich had insisted, as Natalia had grown up, that she learn how to fight. "The Aesir won't care whether you're a woman or man, child or adult or elder cripple. They will kill those who oppose them until they have destroyed our entire way of life." He'd warned her once after she'd woken up with dreams of bombs and smoke and a hand that kept reaching for her, trying to whisk her to safety, when all she could do was stumble and cry. "They killed your mother and father Natalia, but I can give you the revenge you seek for their deaths."

And so training had begun. Every morning she was up before the sun, every evening she didn't go to bed until it had long past disappeared over the horizon. Running, weaponry, hand to hand combat, target practice, martial arts, flexibility training, it all blended together in Natasha's mind. When she cried she was scolded and left to suffer alone, unable to move until her trainer returned, and when she did well she was given a sweet, or a new weapon. There weren't room for toys or sentiment in Ivan Petrovich's world, not when the war had forced those conveniences aside, and all it took was one tanning for Natalia to understand why.

"You think this pain is bad now?" He asked as she sobbed and screamed, her backside burning and bleeding from where his belt had hit her. "Remember your mother and what those monsters did to her! Remember those who we've lost to their savagery, Natalia. Remember the pain of the dead and the strength that you, as a living member of this world, must endure because those bastards remain."

His words were an anchor in her heart, keeping her head level as he beat her harder and harder with each new infraction she incurred. She pushed herself harder at Petrovich's demands, forcing her body more than she'd ever thought possible, not stopping until she collapsed and her lungs and heart felt dangerously close to bursting. Upon the completion of her training she was rechristened Natasha Romanov, a fighter, and Natalia disappeared deep into the new fighter's conscious. Natalia was weak, where Natasha could do what she needed. She could fight. As she worked to constantly improve herself she met others, most of whom were as passionate as she was and more often than not with vendettas against the intruders as strong as hers. Against her best judgement she went as far as to create strong bonds with her fellow soldiers. They all had a common enemy, she reasoned with herself. Why not at least get to know the others?

Alexei had lost all he'd had, too, to the Aesir, and the pair had learned to fight alongside one another without issue surprisingly quickly. Ivan was more than pleased to see it, sending them on small excursions and missions in order for the pair to grow used to the way they worked, not pleased with their progress until he was certain they could all but read one another's mind in the field, able to infiltrate and discover the plans of the offensive side.

"Hey, Natasha." His voice called out after her from halfway down the hall, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling in spite of herself when she turned to watch Alexei jog down the hall to catch up with her. He was smiling as well, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a squeeze. It didn't last long, the pair pulling away moments later. The last thing they wanted was Ivan to get angry for them growing too close. Too comfortable. It made things more difficult when they eventually, and it would happen, split up to tackle missions on their own.

"Hey yourself. What, you can't find any other girl to hassle?" She asked, arching a brow as she dabbed once more at the sweat beading on her forehead.

"Nah. No one else gives me a hard time like you do. And I wanted to talk to you about something."

She might've stopped if they were anywhere more private, her brow pulling down as she looked over at him. What was so important that he had to sound like that when he brought it up? More than once he tipped his head from side to side, making sure they were alone. Nat's heart picked up a little. This was exactly what Ivan had warned her against. His hand made its way to her shoulder to stop her, standing just opposite her as the hand drifted up to push a curl of red hair away from her face. Her stomach flipped.

"Do you," he paused, looking down, then back up at her, brown eyes soft and curious. "Think you could help me go clean the guns for tomorrow? Ivan said he wanted to make sure-ow!"

"Ass," Natasha spat, though she was rolling her eyes and grinning.

"What! Just saying, he wants to make sure everything's perfect. Big day tomorrow." Alexei grinned as he rubbed his shoulder where Nat's fist had connected with him. "Finally getting out into the field. The real field."

They'd gone to Siberia to infiltrate a meeting of Aesir supporters, guns locked and at their sides as they slipped onto the grounds and into the large building. Little opposition had been found once inside, giving Natasha the first outline of hope. All they needed to do, now, was listen in, interrogate those who they could manage to sneak away from the rest of the group-.

Not once had they been told there would be so many adversaries there. Aesir, yes. They'd planned for that, trained for that. But a host of them?

Alexei fell forcing Natasha into hiding, shooting ineffectual bullets at the oncoming Aesir. If it had been a single, or even a duo, they might've stood a chance. Now? They ran him through with their blades, slicing through him like paper until there was little left whole of Alexei. He dropped, blank eyed and bloodied, slack mouthed and still on the carpet just in front of the small cupboard where he'd forced Natasha into. She held her hands tight around her mouth, tears wetting her fingertips, the salt stinging the cuts on her face. The Aesir left and Natasha remained, stupid, sobbing silently into the darkness of her cupboard. Under cover of night she brought Alexei back. They burned his body, Natasha silent, empty in front of the pyre. Ivan squeezed her shoulder from behind, promised vengeance. Revenge in its more pure form.

A week later, once she pulled herself onto her feet, wiped her salt-crusted cheeks and slipped into the second skin she called a catsuit she signed herself up for the newest program. The Russians had managed to steal the base for a super soldier serum and she wanted it.

It worked.

She was faster, stronger, could hear and think better than most humans. As she tested herself she wondered if Alexei would've survived with this, if he would've somehow come out on top with her at his back. Would be be fighting and training with her today? As she pushed her body until she once again collapsed, hundreds rather than tens of miles ran, she wondered if he could've fought them off, kept from being slain. Shit. Her thoughts often turned dark, and she'd forced herself to learn how to compartmentalize. To train her brain how to stop thinking about it all. Instead, she pulled her quaking knees up to her chin, waited until the shaking subsided, until her breathing leveled out. Until she could think again without seeing his face each time she shut her eyes.

"Do you miss him?" Ivan asked her one evening as Natasha sat in the small infirmary, allowing her body to heal itself from the last mission. S he'd been successful, the only one to get any injuries as she'd brought her minimal crew back. She'd thrown herself into the fire, into the fray, wanting to decimate the enemy. To make them hurt. To show these fuckers exactly how strong the humans they thought they could repress could be.

"I don't want to talk about him." She stood, needing to get away as the room started to close in, getting close. Too close. She needed sleep, she would say. It sounded plausible, though the reality they both knew was that if she had to she could spend at least a week awake without any consequences. At least that was as far as she'd gotten.

"Natalia." She hated that name, but the gravity of it made her stop. "Your revenge will make you fool hardy."

"You promised it to me when he died," she spat.

"I needed you to pull yourself out of your depression, but the desire you have for it will drive you mad."

"So what do I do, Ivan?" She demanded, twisting to look at him, fury wrapped in disbelief in her eyes. How dare he?

"You think. Plan. Consider each possibility and you do not rush in without due consideration." He fixed her with a hard glare. "You strategize. Getting yourself killed will not bring him back."

"And not doing anything, not doing as much as we can, is an insult to his memory," she countered. "They're winning, Ivan. Maybe you've forgotten that, trapped inside your little red room here, but we're not doing well. At all. I'm not going to let them all take us down, not without a fight Ivan."

"Then slow. Down. You are a good fighter but without a brain attached you are nothing more than super soldier cannon fodder." He grew quiet for a moment, thinking as he stared at the ground, as though planning what to do next. "I want you to show up to Yelena Belova's room tomorrow. No missions for a week; you're going to learn how to think. Seduce. Plan and let your adversaries fall on their own swords."

"Ivan-."

His hand struck out against her. She hadn't been hit in years, and the sting against her cheek brought surprised tears to the corners of her eyes before she pushed them back. He wouldn't see her cry, not again. "You'll be there, soldier."

A brief beat passed between them. "Yes, sir."

She never liked Yelena before, but the woman had an annoying habit of knowing what she was doing and being damn good at it. Just as Natasha was an expert at disarming the enemy with a gun, Yelena could give a man a look from halfway across the room and have him crumbling at her feet. She'd done it before and even Nat couldn't deny it was impressive. More than once Alexei had visited the blonde woman, and though Nat had once gotten jealous she found, well, he was obviously more than entitled his see whoever he wanted. Now Yelena seemed to be the only one who understood the hole the spy had left. She sat rather demurely in front of Natasha, eyes closed as she centered herself with deep, slow breaths, pulling herself back from the edge. Natasha knew; she'd done the same thing over and over again.

When Yelena finally comes back to her it's with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Ivan sent you because he wants you to learn how to seduce?"

"I already can," Natasha couldn't help but growl, defensive. Yelena doesn't say a word, just fixes her with a look, one they both know to mean that if Nat could do her job the way that Ivan liked it she'd be out in the field, not sitting there. Natasha hates that she knows this. "Fine. I'm here to learn a few of your tricks."

"It's more than just tricks. It's a mentality. As a woman your body will always be your greatest weapon. We carry so much strength and weight in our bodies that it's a sin for us to not use them to our advantage." She breathed deep, though she was trying to force herself to remain on topic. "What's more: it's easiest to let a man get between your legs. They invite themselves to the slaughter, so to speak, practically line up for it. The right amount of pressure applied with your thighs on a man's body? What with you being a super soldier?"

Natasha allowed herself to smile a little. She'd never thought of it that way.

They sat together and strategized for a little while, going over different maneuvers Yelena had learned. She'd once been trained in the brothels of Moscow before the city had been decimated, and Ivan had taken her in as a favor to the man who'd owned the building. After a few hours with her Natasha could understand why, and didn't blame Alexei any longer for how taken by the blonde woman as he was. She was good.

Natasha would just have to be better.

She earned herself a new title after the first week following her training, having gone out to make her way to a small party and returned with useful information. With it, they could manufacture new weapons, weapons greater than steel to cut through the Aesir's armor. As the others were given orders to replicate the metals creation with the latest shipment of confiscated goods from the same party, Ivan grinned over at her.

"How did you do it?"

"He couldn't resist a redhead dressed in leather," she chuckled, her voice more sultry than before as she began to adapt her mentality, start a new segment of her life.

Ivan seemed to be on the same thought process. "We should start calling you a black widow," he said with a chuckle, only half kidding. She could read the seriousness in his eyes as he gave her the same look he'd fixed her with what felt like decades ago.

The next mission she went to as different than any of the others. It'd been a month into her new training and she'd begun living up to her newest reputation, seducing and murdering those who were most useful, not letting any in her path. It was helping; the humans were fighting back. With the new weapons, they were able to resist further invasion, and drive out those Aesir who'd thought they'd made claims to the earth. At least that was what Natasha had heard. None of that mattered now, she supposed, not when she had her target in sight. She'd been brought to the gala under a false name, and the dress they'd put her in was long with a deep open back, deep green in color, helping her look every inch the part of a rich benefactor. It helped, too, that as she walked she felt the eyes of the men of the room following her, latching onto the confidence she exuded. Good. They would try and gain confidence, argue, and most importantly try and tell her things to impress her. She wouldn't have to dirty her hands too much; the quicker she got in and out the better. Slowly she raised the flute of champagne to her lips, taking an even sip as she looked around the room.

The host, a tall and portly man with auburn hair and a laugh loud enough to rattle her bones, stood near the very head of the room, surrounded by sycophants and body guards. Interesting that the guards were human and not Aesir. She'd gotten damn good at recognizing who was human and who wasn't; they wore their age on their sleeve, making it far too simple to discern. Only those who looked as though they'd gone through hell and back could be mortal, the creases on their faces telling her infinitely more than any words could of the struggles they'd gone through, the suffering. Interesting to see how these women and men around her hid their as best they could, but there was no hiding the past when it was that painful. How many had been bribed, she wondered, into showing up to give money and resources to the intruders' cause? How many had family on the line, or had already lost it, to the infestation?

It only stiffened her resolve to work harder.

She strode closer to the man, her blue eyes catching his dark brown ones. Had he been a more adventurous type he might've gone after her, but he didn't seem to have any interest in her, too busy drinking as much as he could. So she'd have to make the first move. Slowly she made her way closer, under the guise of being lured into interesting conversation, until she was close enough to press a hand to the man's broad shoulder. He turned, smiling through a thick auburn beard at her.

"Yes?" He asked, voice jovial.

"Are you Vincent Caraway?" She asked, smiling in a demure fashion, eyes sweeping the ground for a quick moment before looking back up.

"Yes, I am. Who might you be my dear?"

"Natalia Rostov, sir. I'm a huge fan of your work."

"My work?" Vincent asked, tipping back the rest of his drink before calling for another. She knew he was large, but where the hell was he putting it all?

"Yes. Your interest in bringing the Aesir here," Natasha said, squeezing his arm a little, surprised to feel muscle underneath the padding of the suit. He didn't look like he'd be the working out sort. His face contorted a little, eased up with her words.

"Ah. Yes. You're very clever to be putting those two together, aren't you?" He asked, eyebrows rising as another drink was brought to him. Natasha felt her smile falter just in the slightest. What? "After all no one else knows what I'm doing here, yet you figured it out. How?"

Shit. "Well, it's not hard to see that the Aesir have been good to you," she caught herself quickly, allowing a small chuckle to leave her lips. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to be so forward. Truly, if I've offended you I can just see myself out." She was already backtracking when one of his hands shot out, quicker than it should've been, to latch onto her wrist. She barely fought back a shout of surprise and dismay at it, barely stopping her hand from moving to the knife she'd been equipped with. There was no way-no fucking way-no, she'd been so sure about everything!

"They have been. They can be a most kind host when not provoked and when listened to." His eyes burned into hers and she felt her stomach sink a little as his hand tightened around her wrist. "Is there something you'd like to talk about or did you simply come up here to make a fool out of yourself by pretending to know more than you do?"

"N-no," she forced herself to stammer. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch a sore point like I said."

"You didn't, dear. Why don't you come with me where we can talk about this a little more privately? I do not like the thought of being overheard." He said, though his smile was tense and his eyes narrowed slightly. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as she pulled herself out of her grip as hard as she could. It barely moved a muscle. Her eyes widened. She'd made a huge mistake.

"Please let me go," she said, voice quiet, losing the pretense of being afraid in favor of slipping into a different persona, a comfortable one. Natasha Romanov, trained killer, super soldier, the black widow. She could get out of this, right? "Or I'll scream."

"You'll be knocked out before you can make a sound. You really should learn your limit on alcohol." He said just as quickly and quietly. "Now, do you really want to cause a scene?"

"Do you?" She seethed, blue eyes narrow as he pulled her closer. It looked as though they were having a simple disagreement, though no one seemed to be paying attention. A pity, she was banking on it. The others seemed in a daze, though, and the ballroom was filling up quickly with other people, almost as though they were being herded in. Each of them had a dazed expression, curious as they tripped and stumbled over their own feet. Where once there had been music, it was now nearly silent save the chatter. She recognized one or two from the Red Room's list of suppliers.

This wasn't a gala, it was a slaughter.

The thought was the last one that registered before her world went black around her, barely acknowledging a surprised voice hissing: "Volstagg!"

It was hot. Too hot. She tossed and turned, trying to open her eyes, tried to push off the blankets that covered her. Except there weren't any, and the heat kept getting worse, pain manufacturing itself in her feet. She sat up just in time to pull them back with a gasp, her eyes wide as she looked around the burning room. There were screams and cries from those still living around her while the stench of burning flesh caught her nose and throat, making her gag. The whole place was awash with flames, the doors around them barred and the windows done the same. There were pleas from a good portion of those who had been brought in from the door, each of them pounding at the wood, begging for their lives. None of them seemed strong enough to get through. Natasha tore off part of her skirt and tied it around her nose and mouth after another wave of smoke hit her full force. She hated fired, and more than that hated what it reminded her of. No time to think of that now, though. The knife she'd carried was gone, as was the gun that was hidden even further up her skirt. Perverts. The diamond necklace around her throat, however, that would help. Scrambling over to one of the windows she pushed her way past one of the men trying to break through it. Exposing the sharp tip of the jewel by twisting it around, she ripped the necklace off and traced around the size of the window pane with the edge, trying to maintain as straight a line as she could even as she coughed and her eyes watered. This had to work. It had to.

Please.

After completing the square she managed to slam her fist hard enough for the glass to pop out and fall to the ground below. At least they were only a story up. With a vent for the smoke to get out, Nat had a little more luck with the second pane, though the bastards trying to squeeze through the first were jostling her as they struggled for freedom. The first few were still drugged, as well as woozy from the smoke. They didn't make it very far before arrows sank through their skulls. Natasha looked off into the distance. She couldn't see the archers, but it made sense. Fuck.

Still, she had no other option. This time instead of letting the glass fall through she caught it as best she could. With two panes gone she could slip through the opening much easier, having broken through the small wooden divider, and when she jumped through the hole she managed to land on two of her feet. She brought the panel of glass up just in time for the arrow to catch in the glass, and rolled out of the way to miss the second, third, and fourth, making it behind a tree just at the edge of the house. How many other archers were out there? The others that were trying to make their way through the hole she'd left were falling to their death, either from the fall itself or the volley that awaited them, and she thought she heard steps as someone was brought closer. Just as they began to edge around the side, the string to their bow being pulled, she shifted her weight to the other side, lowering herself down to the ground far enough that she wouldn't been seen at first. When the soldier did eventually found on her his bow was placed too high at first, leaving himself open. Her fist drove into his groin, right on level with the rest of her, and in his shock she grabbed the bow from him, breaking the string, and with the arrow tip in hand she shoved it through his eye socket. The man snarled and swore, moving to pull the arrow from its newest home, but she'd grabbed the sword from his side and ran it over his throat by the time he'd come close. His blood covered her dress and torso as it sprayed everywhere, but she had no time for that. The sword was heavy in her hands but she had no time to look for a knife or anything lighter, and so ran with it as best she could, dangerously lopsided but alive. Alive and breathing.

She hadn't anticipated the burst of rainbow light in front of her, the impressive figure in gold to stand in front of her, spear pointed at her breast so close that if she hadn't stopped on a dime she'd have run herself through with its tip. Shit. She'd know this man even if it wasn't by his weapon alone. The Allfather, they called him. Father and king to the Aesir. He was the reason for all their suffering.

It was stupid, she knew, but she saw red when the identity of the new man finally registered, and her sword swung out on its own accord she swore, clashing loudly with the metal spear. The Allfather watched with great interest as she swung the great sword once more, trying to slice him open with it. Lazily he drew his spear in front of him, deflecting with ease as she threw everything she had into the fight. What she wouldn't do for a gun.

Once or twice he got her, but she managed to slip the sword through his defences once or twice to deliver small cuts and blows. It was better than nothing, she supposed, taking his hisses of pain as signs that she was doing well as she tried to drive him back, only succeeding in making him angrier with her. Eventually he swung the staff hard enough to knock her across the back, the blow taking her off guard and forcing her to drop the sword. It flew off too far for her to reach out for it, and though she struggled to get to it on all fours he stepped in front of her before she could move so much as half a foot. The tip of the spear touched her throat gently, tipping her chin up so she could glower at the man they called father. He looked more amused than angry, and it only fed her fire. She spat at him, and though the glob of saliva didn't meet its target the message was sent. Again he didn't look angry, only tipped her further up so she had no other choice but to stand. Fine. If she was going to die at least it'd be with some dignity.

"What is your name, soldier?" The Allfather asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

"Natasha Romanov," she growled. Not that it'd matter, so why was he asking?

"You're fast for a human. And strong."

"I have to be; you bastards are hard to kill."

The smirk that reached his lips wasn't in any way comforting. "How long have you been fighting?"

"All my life. Fifteen years; I was five when you assholes came down."

The blade left the smallest of cuts down her face, mixing the ash and dirt already coating her skin so it stung. She refused to show so much as an inch of weakness. "Watch your tone. I could have you skewered in a second."

So why didn't he?

There were a few minutes of silence left, in which Natasha refused to look away from the one-eyed asshole in front of her, refused to let him win. He could kill her but he'd never break her spirit. It couldn't be broken not anymore, not now that she'd reinforced with steel from all the times life had made mincemeat of it.

"I think you'll do nicely." He smirked as he took a step closer. He towered over her, and though she was short to begin with she wondered why it was that every Aesir had to be so freakishly tall. It hurt her neck having to look up all the time dammit, and she wanted to see the light leave his eyes.

The dagger she'd noticed on the outside of his armor fell away from its scabbard with ease but stopped just inches away from sneaking under the Allfather's armor, his hand thick, heavy, and warm around her wrist. "Don't do that, Natasha Romanov."

"Fuck you," she spat, eyes burning as she tried to push against him. She could do this. She had to. For my family and all I've lost.

What she got instead was a knife pressed to her throat and a smirking ruler in her face as she was held aloft by what must've been magic. "Sleep." The man whispered, making Nat's eyelids feel heavy. "You'll be home when you wake up."

The last shudder that ripped through her body told her she had a feeling she wouldn't like it, whatever that home was, wherever it might be that he was taking her. And why did she have the feeling everything was simply going to get a lot worse? Why didn't you just kill me?

A/N:

So, remember that one time where I said I wasn't going to write anything or get involved with anything until AFTER November?

..My brain hates me, apparently. That and the absolutely amazing Jessy had probably one of the best ideas for a fic ever and didn't mind me running away with it. And I'm talking literally running away with it because I haven't stopped thinking about it since she told me the idea.

And thus this beauty was born. So, I hope you enjoy because I'm loving writing this and I really hope you like it as much as I do. It's a slow build, eventual Blackfrost fic, and trust me: there will be feels. Lots, and lots. More than my usual.