Chapter 18: Red Room Operations
The planning took six weeks.
Justin and Natasha spent nearly every evening in his private conference room, surrounded by maps and intelligence reports and tactical projections. The Red Room wasn't a single facility—it was a network, cells scattered across Eastern Europe, operating in the shadows where governments feared to look.
Taking down one facility would alert the others. They needed simultaneous strikes. Perfect coordination. And resources that even SHIELD would struggle to provide.
Good thing Justin had resources SHIELD didn't.
"Three primary facilities," Natasha said, marking locations on the map. "Moscow, Kiev, and Bucharest. Estimated fifteen to twenty Widows at each location, various stages of conditioning. Unknown number of handlers and security personnel."
"ARES Division can handle three simultaneous assaults," Justin said. His Scientific Intuition was already calculating logistics. "Frank Morrison leads Team Alpha in Moscow. Yelena leads Team Bravo in Kiev—"
"No."
Justin looked up. Natasha's jaw was tight, her hands clenched on the table.
"She's not ready," Natasha continued. "The conditioning broke three months ago. She's still recovering. I won't risk her—"
"She's an adult who understands the risks. We should let her choose."
"She'll choose to go. She's stubborn. But that doesn't mean it's the right choice."
Justin set down his tablet. "Natasha, why are you really doing this? This operation. It's not just about freeing Widows. What do you need from it?"
She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was raw. "Closure. Justice. The knowledge that I actually saved someone instead of just killing on command." She met his eyes. "The Red Room made me into a weapon. I want to prove I'm more than that."
"You already are more than that."
"Am I? I've killed so many people, Justin. Followed orders. Served whoever held my leash—first the Red Room, then SHIELD. When do I get to make my own choices? When do I get to fight for something I actually believe in?"
Justin stood and walked around the table. Took her hands. "This. Right now. You're making your own choice. Fighting for something you believe in. That's why I'm helping you."
"Why are you helping me? Red Room isn't your fight."
"Because you're important to me. And this is important to you. Also because slavery is evil and I can help end it." He squeezed her hands gently. "Are those reasons enough?"
Natasha stared at him. Then, slowly, she smiled. "Yeah. They're enough."
The kiss happened three weeks into planning.
They'd been working late again, reviewing extraction routes and medical protocols. The pot of coffee was empty. The clock showed 2 AM. And when Justin suggested calling it a night, Natasha didn't move.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For this. For all of it. For seeing me as more than just a spy."
"You are more than just a spy."
"SHIELD doesn't think so. Fury sees me as a tool. An asset. Something to deploy when needed and store away when not."
"Then Fury's an idiot."
Natasha laughed, the sound surprising in the quiet room. "You're probably the only person in the world who'd call Nick Fury an idiot to his face."
"I contain multitudes of terrible judgment."
She stood, walked around the table until she was in front of him. Close enough that Justin could smell her perfume, see the flecks of green in her eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Anything."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Even knowing I report everything to SHIELD? Even knowing I'm technically here to spy on you?"
"Even then." Justin held her gaze. "You've proven yourself a hundred times over. You covered for me with Fury. You've protected my secrets even when you didn't understand them. And you're risking your career to help me take down the Red Room. So yes. I trust you."
"Good," Natasha said.
Then she grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.
It was intense—years of denied connection, of professional barriers, of walls carefully maintained, all shattering in a moment. Justin responded with equal passion but also tenderness, his hands gentle on her waist, treating her like she was precious instead of just dangerous.
When they finally separated, both breathing hard, Natasha's eyes were bright.
"This complicates things," she said.
Justin grinned. "Worth it."
"Is it? SHIELD will be furious if they find out. Fury already suspects I'm compromised. If he knows we're—" She gestured between them. "—whatever this is—"
"Then we keep it quiet until after the Red Room operations. Too many lives at stake to let personal feelings compromise the mission." Justin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But Natasha? I've wanted to do that since the day you walked into my office."
"I know. You're terrible at hiding things from trained spies."
"Apparently."
She kissed him again, softer this time. When she pulled back, her expression was serious. "If you die during this operation, I will be very upset."
"Good motivation to stay alive."
"I'm serious, Justin. You're planning to lead Team Alpha personally. You'll be in direct combat. Your regeneration factor makes you harder to kill, but not invincible."
"I know the risks."
"Do you? Because I'm starting to care about you. Actually care, not just as an asset or a target. And the thought of you dying—" Her voice broke slightly. "I've lost enough people. Don't add yourself to that list."
Justin pulled her close. "I won't. I promise."
"That's not a promise you can make."
"Then I'll make a different one: I'll do everything in my power to come back. Because I'm starting to care about you too, and I'd like to see where this goes."
Natasha rested her head on his chest. They stood like that for several minutes, just holding each other in the quiet office.
"We should get back to planning," she said finally.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
Yelena found them two days later, reviewing assault plans in the conference room.
"I want in," she said without preamble. "The Kiev facility. I know the layout. I know the protocols. You need me."
Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Justin cut her off. "She's right. We need her knowledge."
"Justin—"
"She's an adult who understands the risks. Denying her agency now would be like Red Room denying it before—just gentler. Besides, she's right. We need her."
Yelena's expression softened slightly. "Thank you."
Natasha looked between them, frustration warring with recognition that they had a point. Finally: "Fine. But you're on Team Bravo, not leading it. And if things go wrong—"
"I extract. I know. I'm not suicidal, Natasha. Just determined."
Over the following weeks, Yelena proved herself invaluable. She provided detailed information on security systems, conditioning protocols, and weak points in the facilities' defenses. More than that, she brought insight into the Widows themselves—how they'd react to rescue, what they'd need to feel safe, how to break conditioning without breaking the person underneath.
Justin watched Natasha and Yelena work together, seeing the way they moved around each other with the unconscious coordination of people who'd once been family. Natasha's protective instinct warred with respect for her sister's capabilities. Yelena pushed boundaries while accepting guidance.
It was complicated. Messy. Human.
And it gave Justin hope that maybe, just maybe, they could all survive what was coming.
The night before the operation, Justin stood in his armory, checking equipment one final time.
Prometheus Steel armor—not the full exoskeleton, but tactical gear reinforced with his impossibly strong materials. Weapons optimized for non-lethal takedowns. Medical supplies including the conditioning counter-agent. And his regeneration factor active, thrumming quietly in his cells, ready to heal whatever damage the operation inflicted.
"Sir," AEGIS said. "Final probability assessment: 73.2% chance of mission success. 89.4% chance of your survival with regeneration factor active. However, I must note: probability of Miss Romanoff forgiving you if you die heroically is approximately 0.1%."
Justin laughed despite his tension. "Good motivation not to die, then."
"Indeed, sir. I would also prefer you survive. You are my creator, and I am... fond of you."
"AEGIS, was that sentiment?"
"I believe it was. I am uncertain whether this indicates genuine emotional development or sophisticated mimicry. Either way, please do not die. I would find it distressing."
"I'll do my best."
Natasha found him ten minutes later. She didn't say anything, just walked up and kissed him—fierce and demanding and tinged with fear.
"Come back," she whispered against his lips.
"I will."
"Promise."
"I promise."
They held each other in the armory, surrounded by weapons and armor and all the tools of violence they'd use tomorrow to set people free.
"After this," Natasha said quietly, "no more secrets. You tell me everything. How you knew about the Red Room. How you knew about Yelena. All of it."
"After this," Justin agreed. "When it won't sound completely insane."
"It already sounds insane. I'm just choosing to trust you anyway."
"That's all I can ask."
Tomorrow, they'd assault three facilities simultaneously. Would free dozens of Widows. Would strike a blow against an organization that had enslaved and murdered for decades.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, Justin held Natasha close and tried not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
Outside, New York slept. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, enslaved women waited for rescue they didn't know was coming. And Justin prepared to risk everything to give them freedom.
The void marks pulsed on his arms. Fifteen months until critical corruption. Two years until alien invasion.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow was about saving lives today.
And that was worth any cost.
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