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The night air bit at Natasha Romanoff's exposed skin as she surveyed the dilapidated Soviet-era facility from her vantage point in the neighboring treeline. Three stories of Cold War paranoia and brutalist architecture rising from the Belarusian wilderness, officially abandoned but showing signs of occupation to her trained eye – minimal heat signatures, rotating guard patterns, and satellite blind spots that were too perfect to be coincidental.
"Approaching target facility," she whispered into her comm unit, voice barely audible above the wind rustling through the pines. "Minimal exterior presence noted. Proceeding with infiltration."
"Copy that, Widow," came Coulson's steady voice in her ear. "Extraction team standing by at rendezvous point. Clock starts now."
Natasha moved like a shadow across the open ground, her black tactical suit melding with the darkness. The weight of her Widow's Bites on her wrists and the pistols strapped to her thighs provided a comforting familiarity as she approached the building's eastern side, where satellite imaging had revealed a maintenance access point.
Three minutes of work with specialized tools defeated the rusted lock, allowing her entry into a narrow utility corridor. The musty smell of abandonment mixed with something else – the sharp tang of industrial cleaning agents. Definitely occupied, then.
"I'm in," she murmured, eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior light. "Moving to access vent system."
The facility's blueprint, recovered from old Soviet archives, guided her to a ventilation access panel near what had once been a boiler room. Natasha unscrewed the panel, sliding into the tight metal confines that would allow her to move undetected through the building's innards.
As she crawled through the dusty ventilation system, Natasha paused at an intersection to check her bearings. A small maintenance tag caught her attention, faded Cyrillic lettering identifying the vent junction. But below the official Soviet markings was something odd – a small stylized 'X' etched into the metal alongside what appeared to be a warning about "mutant containment protocols." The symbol didn't match any known Soviet or Hydra classification she'd encountered.
"Strange," she thought, filing the anomaly away for later consideration. The mission parameters were clear – locate and extract data on Hydra's current bioweapon research. Mysterious symbols would have to wait.
Fifteen minutes of careful navigation brought her above what appeared to be a laboratory space. Through the vent grating, she observed six white-coated scientists working at various stations.
"The binding agent continues to reject the mutagenic properties," one scientist complained, gesturing to a series of charts. "We're still seeing cellular degradation within hours."
"Krausch expects results," replied an older man with thinning gray hair and round spectacles. "The Chimera Protocol must advance beyond theory if we are to satisfy our benefactors."
Natasha shifted her position to get a better view of their computer terminals. She needed to identify which station would contain the research data.
The movement of her body caused a slight creak in the metal duct.
The gray-haired scientist looked up sharply. "Chto eto bylo? (What was that?)"
"Veroyatno, krysy. (Probably rats.)" A younger colleague dismissed the concern with a wave.
"Proverit' eto. (Check it out.)" The older man was not convinced.
Natasha held her breath as the younger scientist reluctantly moved beneath her hiding spot, peering upward. She remained motionless in the shadows of the vent, watching as his flashlight beam swept across the metal surface inches from her face. After an agonizing moment, he shrugged and returned to his workstation.
"Nichego. (Nothing.)" He reported, returning to his microscope.
Once they resumed their work, Natasha continued her reconnaissance. At the far end of the lab, a sealed glass enclosure contained what appeared to be the focus of their research – several vials of iridescent blue liquid, glowing faintly under specialized lighting. Labels identified them as "Chimera Protocol – Phase 3."
After mapping the room's security and identifying the primary data terminal, Natasha retreated back through the ventilation system to find a suitable entry point. Three junctions later, she silently removed another grate and dropped into an empty corridor.
"Approaching target area," she informed Coulson. "Lab contains approximately six hostiles, minimal armament visible. Observed experimental compound that matches target description."
"Understood. Retrieval of sample would be secondary priority if opportunity presents."
Natasha checked her watch – twenty-two minutes elapsed. She had to move quickly.
The door to the laboratory had basic electronic security, nothing her SHIELD gadgets couldn't handle. Within moments, she had bypassed the lock and slipped inside, using a storage cabinet for immediate cover as she assessed the situation. The scientists remained absorbed in their work, unaware of her presence.
Moving silently between equipment stations, Natasha made her way to the primary terminal. She connected a specialized SHIELD drive designed to bypass security and duplicate files without leaving digital fingerprints. The progress bar began its slow crawl across the small screen – 180 seconds to completion.
Her attention turned to the sealed glass chamber containing the serum vials. If she timed it right, she could secure a sample as well.
The data transfer reached sixty percent when disaster struck.
"Okhrana! Vtorzhenie! (Security! Intruder!)" The shout came from behind her as one of the scientists returned from an adjoining room, spotting her immediately.
Natasha moved without hesitation, launching herself across the lab table and delivering a precise strike to the man's throat that silenced his next cry. But the alarm had been raised. The other scientists scrambled for alarm buttons and exits.
"Cover blown," she reported calmly into her comm as she disabled a second scientist with a swift kick. "Expediting extraction."
The laboratory erupted into chaos. Natasha's Widow's Bites discharged with crackling blue energy, dropping two more scientists before they could reach the door. The remaining researchers dove for cover as security alarms blared throughout the facility.
The data drive blinked green – transfer complete. Natasha grabbed it and turned her attention to the sealed chamber. A quick elbow strike shattered the glass, allowing her to reach for one of the Chimera Protocol vials.
As her fingers closed around the container, the laboratory door burst open. Three armed guards rushed in, assault rifles raised.
"Stoy! (Stop!)" The lead guard shouted.
Natasha responded with her Glock, two precise shots dropping the first guard. She rolled beneath a lab table as return fire shattered equipment around her. Glass exploded, chemicals spilled, and the acrid smell of burning circuitry filled the air.
Emerging from cover, Natasha eliminated the remaining guards with clinical efficiency. But in the chaos, the vial in her hand had been struck. Fine cracks spread across its surface, the blue liquid beginning to seep through.
"Chert! (Damn!)" She cursed as the serum dripped onto her gloved hand. More concerning, some had splashed onto a fresh cut on her forearm where a bullet had grazed her during the exchange.
With no time to address the exposure, Natasha secured the data drive and headed for her extraction route. More guards would be coming. She could already hear boots thundering down adjoining corridors.
"Package secured, moving to extraction," she reported, racing through the facility. "Possible contamination incident. Will require decon protocols."
Her escape route took her through maintenance corridors and finally out through a loading bay. Four more Hydra operatives fell to her weapons before she cleared the facility perimeter.
As Natasha sprinted toward the extraction point, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Her skin felt flushed, heart racing beyond what the exertion warranted. The cut on her arm burned like fire beneath her tactical suit.
"Coulson," she gasped into the comm, "Something's wrong. The serum—"
"Extraction team has visual," Coulson interrupted. "Thirty seconds to your position. Hold on, Romanoff."
Natasha pushed through the momentary weakness, maintaining her pace as the SHIELD helicopter appeared over the treeline. Whatever the Chimera Protocol had done to her, SHIELD medical would handle it.
As the helicopter touched down and she climbed aboard, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling this strange toxin was a bigger deal than she was making it out to be in her mind. The mission was a success, that's all that mattered.
Tomorrow
"Hold still, Agent Romanoff."
Natasha suppressed a sigh as Dr. Chen moved a handheld decontamination wand over her exposed skin for what felt like the hundredth time. The SHIELD medical facility smelled aggressively antiseptic, all gleaming surfaces and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look slightly ill. She'd been in the decontamination chamber for forty minutes already.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked, maintaining her composed exterior despite her growing impatience. "I've been through exposure protocols before."
If they scrub me with one more antimicrobial solution, I'll be transparent by morning, she thought.
Dr. Chen didn't look up from his scanner. "Standard procedure when exposed to unknown chemical compounds, especially from Hydra facilities. You know this."
"The sample barely touched me," Natasha countered, though she knew it wasn't entirely true. Some had definitely entered the cut on her arm, which now showed no signs of injury – it had healed with surprising speed.
"Barely is still contact," Dr. Chen replied. He frowned slightly at his readings. "Your palms are registering about two degrees warmer than your baseline. Feeling feverish?"
Natasha flexed her hands. They felt normal to her. "No. Probably just the hot water from the decontamination shower."
Or maybe it's my growing irritation raising my body temperature. Death by bureaucratic medical protocols – not how I imagined going out.
"Hmm. I'll run some additional tests, just to be thorough," Dr. Chen made a note on his tablet. "Better safe than sorry with these experimental compounds."
An hour later, Natasha sat on the edge of an examination table as Dr. Chen reviewed her test results. She'd changed into standard SHIELD-issued sweats, her damp hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
"Well?" she prompted when his silence stretched too long.
Dr. Chen looked genuinely perplexed. "Your bloodwork is completely normal. No foreign substances detected, no abnormal cell activity, no elevated white count suggesting your body is fighting anything off."
"So I'm clear?" Natasha allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
"It appears so. Though that temperature differential in your palms is unusual..." He tapped his tablet thoughtfully. "I'd like to monitor you for the next few days, run some follow-up tests."
"Not necessary," came a gruff voice from the doorway. Nick Fury stood there, leather coat and ever-present scowl firmly in place. "Agent Romanoff has a debriefing to attend."
My knight in shining eye-patch, Natasha thought with amusement. Perfect timing as always.
"Director Fury," Dr. Chen straightened immediately. "I was just explaining to Agent Romanoff that—"
"I heard what you were explaining, Doctor," Fury cut him off. "And I'm telling you that unless you've found something conclusive, Agent Romanoff's expertise is needed elsewhere. Is there anything conclusive?"
Dr. Chen hesitated. "Well, no, but—"
"Then we're done here." Fury turned his one-eyed gaze to Natasha. "Conference room B, fifteen minutes."
With that, he was gone, coat swishing dramatically behind him.
He practices that exit in front of mirrors, Natasha thought. Has to.
Dr. Chen sighed in defeat. "At minimum, I want you to monitor your temperature and report any unusual symptoms immediately. And I mean immediately, Agent Romanoff."
"Da (Yes)," Natasha agreed, already sliding off the examination table. "If I start flying or growing extra limbs, you'll be the first to know."
The debriefing was mercifully brief. Natasha delivered her report, downplaying the serum exposure to a minor footnote. The data she'd recovered was far more valuable – detailed research on Hydra's attempts to create enhanced soldiers through chemical means.
"Good work, Romanoff," Fury said when she'd finished. But she noticed his attention seemed divided, his eye occasionally drifting to a separate file on his tablet. "The intelligence you recovered gives us significant insight into their current operations."
"Something else on your mind, Director?" Natasha asked, head tilting slightly.
Fury's eye snapped back to her. "Nothing relevant to your mission. There's been some unusual activity detected in the Northeast. Probably nothing."
Which means definitely something, Natasha thought. When Fury says 'probably nothing,' worlds are about to collide.
"Take three days. Standard post-mission protocol," Fury concluded, standing to signal the end of the meeting.
The first hint that something wasn't right came that evening in her apartment. The shower water that would normally feel pleasantly hot against her skin suddenly seemed scalding. Natasha had to adjust the temperature significantly cooler than her usual preference.
Strange, she thought, examining her skin which showed no signs of being burned despite how it had felt.
That night, her dreams were vivid and disorienting – fragments of memories from the Red Room interspersed with new, unfamiliar sensations. She woke sweating.
Probably just post-mission adrenaline crash, she rationalized, though it felt different from her usual experiences.
Over the next week, the subtle changes continued. Foods tasted different – more intense. Her sense of smell seemed heightened. Most notably, her core temperature seemed to fluctuate, moments of feverish warmth followed by perfectly normal readings when she checked with the thermometer Dr. Chen had insisted she take.
By day seven, Natasha could no longer dismiss the changes as temporary side effects or imagination. Something was happening to her body – something the standard SHIELD medical protocols had failed to detect.
Great, she thought, examining her reflection for any visible changes and finding none. Either I'm developing superpowers or I'm dying in some exotic new way. Fifty-fifty on which would be more inconvenient for my schedule.
Whatever was happening, she needed more information before reporting it. The Black Widow had survived too much to be sidelined by an unknown condition. She'd monitor it herself, for now.
Night
The digital clock on Natasha's nightstand glowed 3:17 AM when she jolted awake, a searing pain radiating through her lower abdomen. Her first instinct was to reach for the knife hidden beneath her pillow, years of training responding to the sudden shock before her conscious mind could even process what was happening.
"Chto za chert? (What the hell?)" she gasped, curling into herself as another wave of pain crashed through her body.
This wasn't the familiar ache of a bullet wound or the sharp stab of a knife. This was something internal, a deep cramping that felt like her insides were being rearranged. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled to sit up, her mind racing through possibilities – poison with delayed effects? Some dormant pathogen activated by the Hydra serum?
If this is some elaborate assassination attempt, she thought grimly, it's certainly creative.
Natasha managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed, intending to reach the emergency medical kit in her bathroom. But as she stood, a particularly violent spasm sent her crashing to her knees. The pain was centered low in her pelvis now, a burning pressure that seemed to be pushing outward.
"Not... good," she hissed through clenched teeth, crawling toward the bathroom. The cool tile floor provided no relief as she pulled herself up to the sink, gripping the porcelain with white knuckles.
The face that stared back from the mirror was barely recognizable – hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, pupils dilated with pain, skin flushed an alarming shade of red.
Still better than my passport photo from Azerbaijan, the irreverent thought flashed through her mind, a mental defense mechanism against the mounting panic.
Another wave hit, stronger than before, forcing a strangled cry from her throat. Natasha slid down to the floor, back against the bathtub, legs splayed awkwardly in front of her. The thin cotton of her sleep shorts was soaked with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to her skin. But as she looked down, she noticed something impossible – a bulge forming where no bulge should be.
"Nyet (No)," she whispered, disbelief momentarily overriding the pain. "Eto nevozmozhnо (This is impossible)."
With trembling fingers, she reached down, expecting to find some kind of bizarre swelling, perhaps an allergic reaction. What she felt instead sent a shock of terror through her system – something was literally growing beneath her skin, pushing outward with each painful pulse.
Natasha's breath came in short, shallow gasps as the realization hit her. The Chimera Protocol – they'd been working on genetic manipulation. She remembered fragments of conversation from the lab: "binding agent," "mutagenic properties," "cellular degradation."
They were splicing DNA. Creating chimeras. And now...
The thought was cut short by the most excruciating pain yet, a tearing sensation that forced a scream from her lips before she could stifle it. Through the haze of agony, Natasha registered a wet, ripping sound as her anatomy fundamentally changed.
For a woman who had endured torture at the hands of experts, who had survived the Red Room's brutal conditioning, who had been shot, stabbed, and beaten within inches of her life – this was somehow worse. This was her body betraying her most basic understanding of herself.
The process seemed to last for hours, though the bathroom clock told her it was only twenty-three minutes from start to finish. When the pain finally began to subside, Natasha lay panting on the tile floor, utterly spent. She could feel something new between her legs, heavy and unfamiliar, sensitive in ways she had no reference for.
Several minutes passed before she found the courage to look.
"Bozhe moy (My God)," she whispered, staring in stunned disbelief.
Where there should have been only her familiar female anatomy, a penis now rested against her thigh, fully formed and alarmingly real. Her original equipment remained intact beneath it, creating an impossible biological configuration that defied everything she knew about human physiology.
Natasha's training had prepared her for countless scenarios – hostage situations, deep cover operations, even torture resistance. Nothing had prepared her for this.
I've had men tell me to go fuck myself before, her mind supplied hysterically, but this seems like an extreme interpretation.
The inappropriate thought triggered a bubble of laughter that quickly transformed into something closer to a sob. She clamped her hand over her mouth, unwilling to give voice to the panic threatening to overwhelm her. Black Widow didn't panic. She assessed. She adapted. She survived.
"Okay," she said aloud, forcing her breathing to slow. "Think, Natasha. Think."
With clinical detachment born of necessity, she examined her new appendage. Approximately four inches in its current flaccid state, it appeared completely functional – the skin tone matched her natural complexion, veins visible beneath the surface. Her original anatomy remained intact below it, creating an anatomical impossibility that would have fascinated medical science if she had any intention of becoming a laboratory specimen, which she absolutely did not. Natasha knew from experience that this 'cock' was four inches because it was soft, if somehow, it got hard, she figured it would reach around seven inches.
SHIELD medical definitely didn't check for this, she thought, imagining Dr. Chen's face if he'd discovered this development. Not exactly covered in the standard post-mission physical.
As her initial shock subsided, Natasha's analytical mind began to assert itself. The Hydra serum had clearly triggered some kind of extreme genetic modification. The question was whether this change was stable, temporary, or progressive. Would there be more changes? Was this the extent of it?
She carefully cleaned herself up, wincing at the lingering soreness, and made her way back to bed. Sleep would be impossible now, but she needed to rest and process what had happened. Decisions about next steps would have to wait until morning.
Dawn found Natasha sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at a cup of tea she'd barely touched. She'd spent the remaining hours of darkness researching on encrypted channels – intersex conditions, genetic manipulation theories, anything that might help her understand what had happened to her body.
Nothing came close to explaining her situation.
With reluctance, she stood and moved to the full-length mirror on her closet door. The morning light offered no merciful illusions – the changes were real and undeniable. Steeling herself, she allowed her hand to explore the new appendage, needing to understand its sensitivity and function if she was going to adapt to this situation.
To her alarm, it responded immediately to her touch, swelling and lengthening until it stood fully erect at what she estimated was nine inches.
"Prekrasno (Wonderful)," she muttered sarcastically. "Just what I needed."
At least it's impressive, came the unbidden thought, which she immediately banished. This was not the time for gallows humor, even in the privacy of her own mind.
The physical sensation was unlike anything she'd experienced before – intensely pleasurable but alien, sending unfamiliar signals to her brain that made her knees weak. She removed her hand quickly, unsettled by the response and unwilling to explore further until she had a better understanding of her condition.
After the initial shock wore off, pragmatism took over. Natasha Romanoff had survived the Red Room by adapting to whatever circumstances were thrown at her. This would be no different.
First priority: secrecy. No one at SHIELD could know about this until she understood what had happened and whether it could be reversed. If this became known, she'd be pulled from field duty indefinitely and subjected to endless tests and examinations.
Second priority: functionality. She needed to learn how to manage this new aspect of her physiology if she was going to maintain her cover as an uncompromised agent.
Getting dressed proved to be the first challenge. Her usual undergarments were obviously unsuitable for her new anatomy. After several frustrated attempts, she settled on wearing compression shorts beneath her standard uniform pants, which provided adequate containment and concealment, if not comfort.
Walking was another unexpected issue. The unfamiliar weight and sensitivity between her legs required a slight adjustment to her gait. Every brush of fabric sent distracting signals that she struggled to ignore.
Years of ballet training and combat expertise, and I'm having to relearn how to walk, she thought with bitter amusement. If my old instructors could see me now...
By mid-morning, Natasha had made her decision. She would continue as normal, maintaining her duties while secretly investigating the Chimera Protocol and possible reversal methods. She'd falsify any required medical check-ins and keep her distance from other agents until she had better control over her new situation.
As she prepared to leave her apartment, Natasha caught her reflection one last time. Outwardly, she appeared unchanged – the same confident posture, the same calculating green eyes, the same carefully neutral expression that revealed nothing of her inner turmoil.
"Ty perezhivesh eto (You will survive this)," she told her reflection firmly. "Kak i vse ostalnoye (Like everything else)."
The Black Widow had endured worse than an unexpected anatomical addition. She would adapt. She would overcome.
But as she stepped out into the corridor of her apartment building, the first brush of her new anatomy against the fabric of her clothes sent an unexpected jolt of sensation up her spine, making her stumble slightly.
Well, she thought grimly, this is going to be interesting.
SHIELD HQ
SHIELD headquarters had not changed much as Natasha made her way to the debriefing room. Three days had passed since her transformation, and she was still adjusting to her new physical reality. The compression shorts she'd fashioned into a makeshift solution were functional but far from comfortable, especially when she had to sit for extended periods.
Just another day at the office, she thought sardonically. If the office involved hiding inexplicable genetic mutations from an organization of professional spies.
Natasha paused outside the conference room door, taking a moment to adjust her posture and compose her expression into the neutral mask she'd perfected over years of espionage. She could handle this. It was just a standard post-mission analysis with Deputy Director Hill.
Maria Hill was already seated at the table when Natasha entered, her dark hair pulled back in its customary severe style, attention focused on the tablet before her. She looked up as the door closed, and Natasha was struck by the clarity of Hill's blue eyes. Had they always been that vibrant?
"Agent Romanoff," Hill greeted her, gesturing to the chair across the table. "Let's get started."
Natasha took her seat carefully, subtly adjusting her position to accommodate her hidden appendage. "Of course, Deputy Director."
As she settled into the chair, Natasha became acutely aware of Hill's scent – a subtle combination of standard SHIELD-issued soap and something uniquely Maria. It was oddly distracting in a way it had never been before.
Focus, Romanoff, she chided herself. You've worked with Hill dozens of times.
But something had shifted in her awareness. She found herself noticing details about Maria she'd previously overlooked – the precise way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the subtle fullness of her lips as she spoke, the elegant line of her throat when she looked down at her notes.
"The data you recovered confirms our intelligence about Hydra's bioweapon development program," Hill was saying, swiping through files on her tablet. "Their Chimera Protocol appears to be an attempt to create enhanced soldiers through genetic manipulation."
"That aligns with what I observed in the facility," Natasha replied, forcing herself to focus on the mission details rather than the way Hill's uniform hugged her curves. "The scientists were discussing issues with cellular stability."
Hill nodded, bringing up a holographic display of chemical formulas extracted from Natasha's data retrieval. "Our analysis suggests they're attempting to splice non-human DNA sequences into human subjects to create hybrid abilities. Fortunately, they appear to be encountering significant rejection issues."
Natasha shifted in her seat again, a flash of discomfort causing her to wince slightly as her new anatomy pressed against the compression shorts. The movement didn't escape Hill's notice.
"Are you alright, Romanoff?" Maria's eyebrows drew together in concern.
"Fine," Natasha replied smoothly. "Just a lingering bruise from the extraction. Nothing serious."
Hill studied her face for a moment longer than necessary, then returned to the briefing. As the technical discussion continued, Natasha found it increasingly difficult to maintain her usual laser focus. Her body temperature seemed elevated, and she was uncomfortably aware of a new scent emanating from her own skin – something she couldn't identify but that seemed to be affecting the atmosphere in the small room.
Maria paused mid-sentence, losing her train of thought as she inhaled deeply. Her pupils dilated slightly, and she cleared her throat before continuing.
"The, um, the compound structure indicates..." Hill trailed off again, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear her head. "I'm sorry, where was I?"
"Compound structure," Natasha prompted, increasingly certain that something chemical was happening between them. Were her altered genetics producing pheromones?
As Hill regained her composure and continued the briefing, Natasha found her gaze drawn to Maria's mouth. Her lips were perfectly shaped, with a natural fullness that was accentuated when she pressed them together in concentration. For a brief, shocking moment, Natasha imagined those lips wrapped around her new appendage, and the mere thought caused an immediate physical response that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.
Nyet, not now, she thought desperately, trying to redirect her mind to the most unsexy things she could imagine. Fury in a bikini. Coulson doing taxes. Sitwell's receding hairline.
"Agent Romanoff, you seem distracted," Hill said, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "Is there something about this mission you haven't shared?"
The question was dangerously close to the truth. Natasha met Hill's gaze with practiced calm.
"Not at all. Just processing the implications of Hydra's research," she replied smoothly. "If they perfect this technology, we could be facing enemies with unpredictable abilities."
If they perfect it? They already have a walking example sitting right in front of you, her mind supplied unhelpfully.
"Your posture has been unusual throughout this meeting," Hill observed, setting down her tablet. "And you've adjusted your position seventeen times in the past thirty minutes. That's not like you."
She's been counting? Of course she has. It's Maria Hill.
"I had a hard landing during extraction," Natasha deflected. "Nothing that won't heal in a few days."
Hill's eyes narrowed. "Dr. Chen's medical report mentioned nothing about impact injuries."
"I didn't think it was worth mentioning," Natasha shrugged. "I've had worse from training sessions."
Maria leaned forward, her expression hardening into the no-nonsense look that made junior agents quake. "Agent Romanoff, was there anything unusual about your exposure to the Hydra compound that wasn't included in your report?"
The direct question demanded a direct lie. Natasha was prepared.
"Nothing significant. The container cracked, some liquid contacted my skin. Standard decontamination protocols were followed. Medical found nothing abnormal." Each statement was technically true, if woefully incomplete.
Hill reached across the table suddenly, taking Natasha's right hand in hers. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through Natasha's system, a tingling warmth that had nothing to do with her new anatomy and everything to do with the intensity of Maria's blue eyes locked on hers.
"Your skin is burning up," Hill said, concern evident in her voice as she held Natasha's palm.
Indeed, Natasha could feel unusual heat radiating from her hand. It wasn't painful, just... warm. Significantly warmer than it should be.
"Low-grade fever," Natasha improvised, withdrawing her hand casually. "I've been fighting it off since returning. Probably just a common cold."
Or I'm developing the ability to set things on fire with my mind. Wouldn't that be convenient right about now?
After a moment that stretched just a beat too long, Hill broke the connection and tapped something into her tablet.
"I'm scheduling you for a comprehensive medical evaluation tomorrow morning," she said, her tone making it clear this wasn't a suggestion. "Full spectrum, no exceptions."
Natasha kept her expression neutral despite the panic flaring inside her. A comprehensive exam would immediately reveal her anatomical changes.
"Is that really necessary? I have training sessions scheduled with the new recruits."
"The recruits can wait," Hill replied firmly. "And I'll be personally supervising the evaluation."
Perfect. Just perfect.
"As you wish, Deputy Director," Natasha acquiesced outwardly while her mind raced through contingency plans.
"0800 tomorrow. Don't be late." Hill stood, signaling the end of the debriefing. "And Romanoff? Whatever you're not telling me – and we both know there's something – I suggest you reconsider your position before tomorrow morning."
As Maria walked past her to the door, that mysterious scent again wafted over Natasha, triggering a response in her new anatomy that was immediate and unmistakable. She remained seated, unwilling to stand until she had herself under control again.
"Dismissed, Agent," Hill said from the doorway, a hint of amusement in her voice suggesting she was well aware of Natasha's reluctance to rise.
When the door closed behind Maria, Natasha finally exhaled.
"Ya v polnoy zhope (I'm completely screwed)," she muttered to the empty room.
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