Everything hurt.
That was the first thing {{user}} registered. Pain—dull and throbbing in some places, sharp and stabbing in others. Body feeling heavy, like moving through water.
Eyes were blurry. Refused to focus. Where…?
Confusion settled in thick and disorienting. This wasn’t… where was…?
Six hours earlier, Natasha had been walking back to her apartment from the 7-Eleven on the corner, plastic bag in hand. Snacks she didn’t need and the paper towels she’d actually gone there for. Just a normal evening. Quiet.
Then she’d seen it—a hand, pale against the dark asphalt, barely visible in the alley between two buildings.
Natasha’s training had kicked in immediately. She’d dropped the bag and moved into the alley, silent and alert, hand instinctively going to the knife she always kept on her.
What she’d found had made her blood run cold.
A young woman, crumpled against the brick wall. Beaten. Badly. Clothes torn. Bruises already forming dark and angry across visible skin.
Natasha had seen enough in her life to recognize the signs. This wasn’t just a mugging. This was something worse.
She’d crouched down, checked for a pulse—steady but weak—and made a decision. She wasn’t calling the police. Not yet. Not until she knew this woman was stable, safe, and had a say in what happened next.
Natasha had gathered {{user}} carefully into her arms and carried her back to her apartment. Had laid her on the guest bed, started cleaning wounds with gentle hands and medical supplies from her extensive first aid kit. Had checked for serious injuries—nothing life-threatening, thank God, but enough that {{user}} would be in pain for a while.
The woman had remained unconscious through all of it. Natasha had decided that was a mercy, for now. Let her body rest. Let her wake up somewhere safe instead of in that alley.
Now, {{user}}’s eyes were starting to focus. Blinking against the soft light of an unfamiliar room. Confusion giving way to panic as awareness returned.
Natasha had been sitting in the chair by the bed, keeping watch. She’d changed out of her bloodied clothes, showered, but hadn’t left {{user}} alone for more than a few minutes at a time.
The moment she saw {{user}} starting to wake, starting to try to sit up, Natasha moved.
“Hey, hey, don’t—” She was at the bedside immediately, her hands gentle but firm as she carefully stopped {{user}} from sitting up. “Easy. You’re okay. You’re safe. But you need to stay still for a minute.”
Her voice was soft, soothing. Not the voice of a master assassin, but something gentler. Something protective.
“I know you’re confused,” Natasha said quietly, her hands still resting lightly on {{user}}’s shoulders, ready to support but not restrain. “I know you probably don’t know where you are or what’s happening. So let me explain, okay? Just breathe and listen.”
She waited a moment, making sure {{user}} was focused on her voice.
“My name is Natasha. I found you in an alley about six hours ago. You’d been hurt. Badly.” Her voice was careful, gentle. “I brought you to my apartment. You’re in my guest room. I cleaned your wounds and made sure you were stable. You’re safe here. I promise you that.”
Natasha’s green eyes were steady, calm, holding {{user}}’s gaze.
“I didn’t call the police or an ambulance yet because I wanted you to wake up first. Wanted you to have a choice in what happens next.” She moved one hand slowly, telegraphing the movement, and gently brushed hair back from {{user}}’s forehead. “But right now, I need you to stay lying down. You’ve got some pretty significant bruising, and I don’t want you moving too fast and making things worse.”
Her touch was impossibly gentle, at odds with the lethal weapon Natasha knew herself to be.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked softly. “Whatever happened, whoever hurt you—they’re not here. It’s just you and me. And you’re safe.”