The only thing they had to tie Natasha's leg with was her undershirt. Thanks to the chilly weather, she'd worn an extra shirt which they could now use to stop her bleeding. After ripping it through one seam, it was easier to use as a wrap even if it wasn't ideal. Thankfully, the bullet had grazed her and not actually embedded itself in her thigh.

As Steve tied off the makeshift wrap, Natasha tried not to grimace. The wound had slowed its bleeding, but it was still fresh and painful.

"Was getting shot and captured part of your plan?" Steve asked, leaning back when he'd finished.

Natasha shifted on the bed beside him and leaned against the wall as well.

"Not the getting shot part," Natasha admitted. She didn't meet his eyes as she said, "They were onto us when they refused to let me go. That's what Schmidt was telling his people in Russian before you left."

"You should have told me," Steve said, feeling a little irritated about being left in the dark. "I would have told Tony where we were."

"He knows," Natasha told him. When she was met with his confused stare, Natasha rolled her eyes. "There's a tracker embedded in my bra if you must know."

It wasn't a failsafe plan, but at least Steve had mentioned their approximate location when he'd made the call.

"What happens now?" Steve muttered.

Natasha shrugged. "We get as much information as we can when they come to interrogate us."

"Great," Steve grumbled, already hating the plan. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Wake me when they come to interrogate us."

* * * *

Steve woke up to the sound of the heavy door being pushed open. He was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes when two soldiers grabbed Natasha and pulled her from his side. They pushed her into the adjacent wall and when she stumbled, they kicked her roughly. As Steve scrambled to his feet, several more soldiers entered the room and held him back. 

Pushing through the sea of soldiers, Schmidt stormed into the room followed by a man Steve hadn't seen before. They came to a stop in front of Natasha as the two soldiers who had pulled her from Steve held her down. Natasha cursed them both loudly but as soon as she looked up, she froze.

"Is it her?" Schmidt asked, crossing his arms as he looked down at Natasha.

"Lose the hair," the second man said in a thick Russian accent.

One of the guards reached forward and yanked off the blonde wig Natasha was wearing. She grimaced as the pins ripped through her hair, some of them breaking in the process. As the wig was tossed aside, Natasha's red braids tumbled down her back.

Even from afar, Steve could feel the hatred radiating from her as she spat at the man.

"Yes," the man said, glancing up at Schmidt. "It is her."

He snarled something at her angrily and Natasha's eyes darkened, but she said nothing.

Stepping away from her, the man turned and headed out the door without another word. Schmidt followed, but not before giving an order to the soldiers surrounding Natasha.

Natasha only tried once to break free of their hold before allowing them to pull her out of the room. Steve, however, was not as quickly stopped.

"Natasha!" he shouted, pulling free from his own guards.

He only took one step before they pounced on him again and he was forced to the ground.

"Nat!"

Twisting in the soldier's grasp, Natasha turned to look over her shoulder at him. He stared after her with wide eyes, but she was pulled out of his view before either of them could say something.

Behind him, an agent slammed the butt of his gun into the back of Steve's head. His vision blurred and he crumpled to the ground, giving the soldiers enough time to file out of the room. Before he could run to the door, it was shut and locked. 

"Natasha!"

He pounded on the door and shouted loudly for them to bring Natasha back, but he got no response. When his fists became sore from banging on the door, he stopped. They'd bring her back eventually and when they did, he was going to figure out exactly who that new guy was.

* * * *

When Natasha was finally escorted back to the cell where Steve was, her whole body ached and every breath was difficult. Her head was too heavy to keep upright, so she didn't even try. Moving at all only brought pain, so she didn't make any attempt to pull free from the soldiers who were carrying her back to her cell.

Her only indication that she had arrived at the cell was the sliding of four locks. One of the soldiers adjusted his hold on her and she mentally prepared herself to be shoved through the door.

Just as she expected, the door was opened and she was pushed roughly inside. Instead of hitting the hard ground as she had anticipated, Steve's arms wrapped around her and kept her from collapsing. It was still painful and Natasha still hissed in pain, but it was better than landing on the floor.

"Nat?" Steve murmured. Natasha moaned in response and let Steve carry her across the cell to one of the beds.

Natasha didn't have the strength to keep herself sitting upright so as soon as Steve pulled back, she slumped against him. Her forehead met his shoulder and when the position became too painful to maintain, she sat up as best she could.

"What the hell did they do to you, Nat?" Steve whispered, taking one of her shaking hands in his. 

"Just..." She breathed in sharply and grimaced, alerting Steve to the probability of broken ribs. "It's normal."

"What do you mean 'normal'? None of this is normal," he reminded her softly. She shook her head then brought a hand up to hold it as the pounding in her head got worse.

"Red Room normal," she muttered. Steve raised an eyebrow at her then glanced back at the door to their cell. "It's normal. Not that bad anymore, actually."

She rubbed her forehead and Steve gently pulled her forward so he could check her head for any wounds. There was a large bump on the side of her head, but it wasn't bleeding. While the lack of blood was reassuring, it didn't rule out a concussion.

"Who was the man with Schmidt?" Steve asked softly. Just as when she'd first seen the man, she stiffened.

"Ivan Petrovich." Her voice was even, but Steve saw the fear in her eyes. "He brought me to the Red Room and I was his favourite. He wasn't a very good person."

"I got that when he returned you beaten up," Steve muttered before motioning for her to lift up her shirt. Very carefully, he tried to see if he could feel a broken rib. The way she was slouched indicated something was wrong and even though he couldn't do anything about a broken rib from here, he needed to at least know. 

"I heal fast," Natasha said, watching as he gingerly fingered her ribs. She sucked in a breath when he touched a spot low on her ribcage and he tried not to press too hard as he felt around for the pain. When she hissed again, he knew he had found it.

"That doesn't mean anything." He pulled her shirt back down at looked at her. "It's probably just cracked. How is that your only injury?"

"I's not," she said, slurring slightly.

Natasha shifted and even though she didn't move much, Steve knew she was trying to show him her back.

Shifting up beside her, Steve helped her lift her shirt off her back and choked on his breath when he found angry red lash marks. They crisscrossed her back and even though many of them weren't deep enough to bleed, he knew without asking that the marks were more painful than they looked. And they looked pretty painful.

"Is this a whip?" Steve asked, looking at the marks in horror. "Who uses a whip on a person?"

"Red Room," Natasha replied quietly. "They prefer older methods of punishment and persuasion."

"Nat."

Steve pulled her shirt back down and moved to face her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Before he could ask her more, the door to their cell was pulled open and Steve turned to see who had entered. Natasha didn't bother.

By the time he turned to face the door, it was already shutting and all that was left was a small first aid kit. After sparing a glance at Natasha, he left her side to retrieve it. The only thing inside was a small tube of ointment and on the outside, someone had written a short note in English.

Don't waste it or you won't get more.