Chapter Text
January 5th, 2009, Barnaul, Russia
One day, someday soon, Natasha Romanoff is going to put a note in her file that says she isn’t allowed to take missions in places that begin with the letter B. Every mission she’s ever taken to a city or country beginning with that letter has gone extremely wrong. Brazil, Bariloche, Bologna, Barcelona, and now Barnaul.
Normally she wouldn’t accept a mission to Russia, much less one that sees her in such a large city in the middle of winter. But this is more important than her hatred for both Russia and the cold.
This is about the Red Room and the new facility that has popped up on SHIELD’s radar.
“Coulson, the main building seems abandoned but we’re splitting up to check for... Well I’m not exactly sure what we’re checking for but if we find something I’ll let you know,” At least she has Clint with her, right?
“Eyes and ears open, you two.” On a normal day, on a normal mission, the idea that she isn’t always on high alert would offend her. But on this mission, today, she just has to appreciate how well Coulson knows her.
Splitting off from Barton, Natasha can’t help but notice the similarities this Red Room facility shares with the one she grew up in.
A classroom, with a projector where they studied. An operating room where girls underwent the graduation ceremony, at the end of a long dark hallway. A studio where girls would dance until they broke, or until they realized they were made of marble. And the hole, a room three feet by three feet, where girls would be sent for daring to do anything that wasn’t severe enough to get them killed.
A locked hole.
A locked hole that has noises coming from it.
Wait what?
Just as she goes to break the lock on the door, Clint’s voice crackles through her earpiece, “You find anything yet Widow, because I’ve seen enough dead kids to last me a lifetime.”
“Yea, I think I did,” she responds. “Down the left hallway, first right, third left, second right, first right, and then you should see me.”
While waiting for Clint, Natasha took stock of her surroundings one more time. At the near end of the hallway she’s in, is another hall that presumably leads to a different part of the building. The far end holds a glass sliding door that leads to the courtyard. But before she has an opportunity to investigate any further Clint appears.
“Hey. I found the file room and downloaded every thing that was on the main computer.”
“Great. Help me open this door.”
As they try to force the door off of its hinges, the whimpers begin to get louder and more distinct, confirming what Nat already knew to be true: there is a child behind this door.
“Fuck, is that a kid,” at least she could always count on Coulson and Clint to say exactly what she’s thinking.
And yet somehow none of them could have possibly imagined what they are seeing behind the door. It was impossible. But yet here he is, all dark hair and wide blue eyes shoved against the back wall, waiting for them to make the first move.
Underneath the layer of dirt that covers him, all Natasha can see is that he’s small, smaller than she ever remembers being. There’s no way he’s older than 10. Which means he’s probably going to say he’s around 13, just like she was trained to do.
He’s young though. Young enough that eventually, he will be the one to break their impromptu staring contest.
"Who are you?"
All children are the same, they lack self-control and he is young enough that it hasn’t been beaten out of him yet. In fact, it may be the reason he was locked in the hole in the first place.
"My name is Natasha. His name is Clint. And you are?"
"Most of the time they call me Boy, but sometimes they call me Mikhail. And I speak English.” Ignoring the fact that the boy just told her his name used to be Boy, Natasha internally laughs at the fact that the kid was probably named after Gorbachev or someone equally Soviet.
She does have to figure out what to do with him though because there’s no doubt in her mind that no one at SHIELD would be happy if she put a bullet in his head despite the threat he potentially poses.
Before she can fully form a plan however Clint speaks up, “Nat, we’ve gotta move this along, we’re on a time crunch.”
“His file.” Seems like the best course of action. If Barton can pick up stray Russian assassins, who’s to say she can’t as well.
“What?”
“Go see if you can find his file, Barton.”
“I can’t read Russian, Tash,” his complaint is cut off as Romanoff pulls a pen from who knows where and writes two words on his arm: Мальчик and Михаил.
“It should be under one of those names.”
“Alright. You’ve got this handled Nat, I believe in you,” Clint makes it halfway down the hall before Nat realizes that somehow he has managed to make it so that she is the one who has to explain the situation to the child.
“Listen, Mikhail,” talking to children had never been her strong suit and this is a perfect example. “You can either stay here and die, try to fight me and die trying, or you can come with us and live free of everything the Red Room tried to make you into.”
Just as he goes to answer, gunfire sounds from the front of the building.
“Looks like someone decided to make your choice for you,” throwing the child over her shoulder she begins to run towards the exit she spotted earlier. “Hawkeye we’ve gotta get outta here. NOW!”
All she can hear over her earpiece is Clint screaming and Coulson telling him to stop screaming and get to the fucking extraction point.
But the one thing she can hear above all that is the kid cursing at her. Obviously, this kid has had the same language training she did because it’s impressive the number of languages he’s using.
“Fucking fine,” Putting the boy back on his feet, she hands him one of her pistols. “If you decide to shoot me, you better not miss because I won’t.”
All she gets in response is a couple more curse words followed by the boy positioning himself to watch her back.
The next thing she knows Clint is running down the hall towards them being chased by 15 heavily armed and armored men, effectively cutting off their planned exit. Before she has time to properly think, the boy, Mikhail, she reminds herself, has fired six shots into the necks of the men. Which effectively stuns everyone in the hall.
“Follow me. There’s another exit this way,” two more shots are fired in the direction of the men before Mikhail turns and runs.
A quick glance at Clint sees him loosing arrows and returning the questioning glance she’s giving him while slowly backing up.
There are three likely outcomes from the situation they’re in right now. One, they follow the boy directly into a trap. Two, they don’t follow the kid and not only lose him to whoever these guys are but also have to face these guys two on however many there are. Or option 3, they follow the boy and deal with the consequences later.
On any other day, on any other mission, the obvious choice would be option 2. But this is not any other day and this is not any other mission. So option 3 it is.
The boy leads them to the kitchen, where he immediately begins trying to block off the door they came through which happens to be the only obvious exit.
In a move that has her wondering if he can read minds the boy speaks up, “There’s another exit, I just need help blocking this one off first.”
Whatever adrenaline he had from their brief firefight, if it could be called that, with the goons has clearly worn off because he’s straining to push a large freezer but it seems like he’s only managing to successfully turn his face red.
“You know we’re putting a lot of trust in you right kid,” Clint says, moving to help him.
“Yes, well I don’t want to die in here either.”
Freezer in front of the door, Natasha realizes that the boy hadn’t truly been trying to block the door but trying to reveal the other exit. In the space where the freezer once stood is a hole in the wall that leads only god knows where.
“You guys are going to want to get in there now. It leads to a clearing in the forest outside, about three kilometers away.”
Even though she can hear Clint relaying the information to Coulson and Bobbi, who’s flying their extraction quinjet, she can’t help but stand and study the boy.
Despite looking like he was moments away from collapsing, the kid didn’t stop moving, beginning to turn on every appliance in the room, including the gas stove, before rummaging through cabinets.
Clint clearly doesn’t support this very obvious plan to blow the building up and deals with it the way he always does by shouting.
“You’re going to get us blown to hell, what are you doing?!”
“I’m trying to blow this place to hell as you so elegantly put it. You won't get caught in the blast if you get in the hole,” there’s a small sound of success as he pulls out a seemingly random aerosol can. “It’s going to take roughly 15 seconds for this to explode in the microwave.”
From that moment everything seems to kick into gear. There’s a pounding on the door, and through the small window, Nat can see two of the goons shouting for help while trying to break it down.
“Now would be an excellent time to get moving. No matter what happens, do not turn around!”
That’s all it takes for Clint to shove her into the tunnel, crawling in behind her.
She’s barely 10 feet down the tunnel and the sounds from the kitchen behind her are muffled but she can clearly make out what happens next.
Gunshots and glass breaking. A scream much too deep to belong to the boy followed by one that was clearly his.
“Nat, we should,” She cuts him off before he has a chance to finish the thought.
“If we turn back we’re as good as dead, Barton,” a part of her wishes they could turn around. “What were we going to do if we got him out of here alive? Take him home?”
“That’s what I did last time I found a baby assassin in Russia.”
She doesn’t bother to dignify this with a response, especially with the one he wants. It's a never-ending argument of theirs, all stemming from the fact that Barton is a couple of years older than her and decided not to kill her when they first met.
10 minutes pass before the explosion happens, and even though she is more than halfway down the tunnel the heat makes it seem as though she is much closer to the source.
“Do you think the kid made it out,” Clint asks.
“We’re too far to hear anything besides the explosion,” is her response.
When they do finally make it out, Morse is standing on the ramp of the quinjet waiting for them.
“You guys have anything to do with the explosion I saw while trying to land earlier,” she asks.
“It was the kid I mentioned. We don’t know if he made it out,” Clint says looking back at the exit. “We should wait a few minutes, just to be sure.”
“Five minutes nothing more.”
Exactly 3 minutes later, she spots the kid, covered in soot, stumbling out of the tunnel.
He, however, pretends not to spot them as he takes 5 steps in the opposite direction before collapsing in the snow.
Barton, the absolute softie, takes this in stride and is running towards the kid, shouting, as he begins to fall, “Bobbi, grab the medkit. Nat, prepare for take-off.”
Sharing a glance with Morse, she instantly knows that both of them are only taking orders from Barton because the situation calls for it.
So, albeit reluctantly, they move.
From where she’s sitting in the pilot's seat, Natasha can hear Morse, who is not a medical doctor, grumbling as she looks through the medkit only to gasp in surprise as, presumably, Clint carries the kid on board.
A few minutes later, Clint slides into the co-pilot’s seat next to her, “Bob says she’ll be able to keep him stable until we reach the Hub. They’re all strapped down back there and ready for take off.”
She doesn’t respond, just begins flipping the last of the switches necessary to propel the quinjet into the air.
For the most part, the first ten minutes of the flight are peaceful. Clint had long since given up on trying to get her to let him play his music and Bobbi works quietly in the back doing what she can. Eventually, the silence is broken by the on board comm system rattling to life.
“STRIKE Team Delta, this is Commander Hill requesting ETA,” a small part of Natasha is happy to hear Hill’s voice coming through the comms but a much much larger part knows that this means that they’re in for a world of trouble when they land.
“ETA three hours 10 minutes to the Hub. Requesting medical assistance for an extra passenger upon arrival.” Barton, bless his heart, is trying to soften the blow of the punishment they are bound to receive upon arrival but that entire second sentence has probably sent the Hub into a state of panic.
“What do you mean by ‘an extra passenger,’ Barton?”
“Commander, if you didn’t want me to pick up strays you would stop sending me to Russia.”
“We’ll talk about this when you land,” great more trouble.
6 am (Jan 5th (s/o to the international date line)), Fury’s Office, The Hub
Maria Hill is exhausted.
Scratch that. She is beyond exhausted, exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover the level of exhaustion she’s experiencing right now.
Currently, she’s in a meeting with the entirety of STRIKE Team Delta, their handler Phil Coulson, and her boss Nick Fury. Which would be terrible at any other time, but is especially terrible at 6 am.
All because her soulmate decided that it would be a great idea to bring home a stray. Unfortunately, Fury will not hear her complaints that the STRIKE teams are more trouble than they’re worth.
“From this moment on, knowledge of the boy’s existence is Level 7, classified need to know information. Everything in his SHIELD file will be classified Level 10, Omega, redacted. The only unredacted information will be his alias, year of birth, and his status as a protected witness,” For what definitely isn’t the first time and what definitely won’t be the last, Maria is struck with the realization that her boss is insane.
Before she could mention this though, Bobbi Morse speaks up, “Um, sir. I’m only a level 6.”
“You’re gonna need a new clearance badge Morse.” Everyone in the room looks confused, but no one more so than Bobbi herself, if Hill remembers correctly she had just been promoted to Level 6 within the last year. But Fury presses on, “Next order of business is giving the kid an alias. Any suggestions?”
Silence.
“Sir, I don’t think any of us actually know what’s going on right now,” Coulson says. Finally.
“This meeting is what happens when you three,” he motions towards Romanoff, Morse, and Barton, “decide to bring home strays. Now we have to figure out what to do with the boy.”
Romanoff cuts him off before he can continue, “He said his name was Mikhail.”
“Doesn’t matter what his name is because unless we can keep him away from the Red Room, in a couple of years we will have an even bigger problem on our hands. Now suggestions for an alias please.”
“Barton has apparently taken to calling him the junior black widow,” Coulson says laughing at the look on Romanoff’s face.
“If we shorten it to just Junior, no one will think twice about it,” Barton adds. “Plus then Nat can’t try to kill me because no one will know.”
“Everyone in this room will know, Clint. That’s a good enough reason for me.”
“Nickname or not, SHIELD can’t just keep a child, Fury. What are we going to do, throw him in the Fridge,” It appears that, just like always, Maria will have to act as the voice of reason here.
“Of course not. But you and Romanoff can.”
“I’m sorry, what,” Maria has to place a hand on Natasha’s shoulder to stop her from shooting to her feet.
“Romanoff, you and Hill are the only mated pair in this room. Barton already has an infant and a toddler. I wouldn’t trust Morse to raise a kid on her own, no offense.” The look on her face says that offense has definitely been taken. “And finally, Coulson is already looking after three overgrown children.”
“What are you trying to say, sir,” The feeling of dread that comes when dealing with the outcome of STRIKE Team Delta’s missions is back and that’s never a good sign. And with the way things have been going today, it’s only going to get worse.
“Congratulations, you two. It’s a boy!” Fury laughs. “I know he’s a bit older than you were expecting for your first one but he comes fully loaded with multiple languages and the ability to use a toilet.”
Every word out of Fury’s mouth so far has managed to increase the pounding in Maria’s head that has been there since she woke up yesterday.
“Yea and the ability to take down several grown men.” The neverending smartass comments from Natasha aren’t helping either.
It's obvious that Fury chooses to ignore that comment as he rolls his eye and pushes on, “Moving on. Barton, you’ll be overseeing his deprogramming. Morse, make sure that he doesn’t accidentally kill him. Coulson, there’s a lot of paperwork involved so I’d get started if I were you, this is a list of things that we’re gonna need. The three of you are dismissed.”
As the three of them begin to leave all Maria can think about is the fact that she is now considered the guardian of a baby assassin. Appropriately aged assassins she can deal with all day, it is quite literally her job.
This is different though. Not only is she being tasked with making sure the kid doesn’t kill anyone, but she also has to make sure he grows into a functioning adult. She has to be a parent which isn’t something she ever planned on being. How Fury thinks she and Nat are the best options for this is beyond her.
She and Natasha had talked about it in the past and it had been a pretty mutual decision. Nat couldn’t have kids and didn’t want to subject them to being related to the Black Widow. While Maria didn’t really want kids for the fear she’d be just as shit at the family thing as her father was.
Despite her internal panic, she can hear Romanoff asking Fury if it wouldn’t be a better option to give the kid to an actual foster family or something. She doesn’t need to hear his answer to know what he says: no.
If it was any other child, that would be perfect but this kid is dangerous without the trauma that the foster system could inflict on him. Add in the unknown abilities listed in his file, it’s a potentially volatile situation.
Fury’s voice is what snaps her back to reality, “Hill, have you been listening to anything I’ve said in the past five minutes.”
The answer must be obvious on her face.
“I have suggested to Romanov that you buy a house in either Brighton Beach or Manhattan Beach in Brooklyn. No one in that area will bat an eye at seeing a new kid with a Russian accent,” he says. “It’s close enough to the city that you will be able to maintain your position at headquarters but far enough that the chances of running into any agents are slim.”
“I pointed out that we really like my apartment in Little Ukraine,” Natasha adds unhelpfully.
“Nat, your apartment in Little Ukraine has one bedroom,” Maria says. “I don’t know anything about raising kids but I do know that at his age they’re supposed to have their own space.”
“I suggest you guys start house hunting. Dismissed.”
From the moment they stand up to the moment they’re secure in Maria’s office they’re completely silent.
Both of them sit, waiting for the other to make the first move, to say literally anything.
“How long have you been awake.” Natasha breaks the silence asking a question only a soulmate would think to ask in a situation like this.
“I believe I’m approaching hour 26.”
“Cmere.” On a normal day, Maria wouldn’t be caught dead sitting on Nat’s lap in her office but normal flew out the window roughly six hours ago when she got the report that Delta was on their way back with an extra passenger.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha’s voice is muffled by the way she’s pressing her face into Maria’s shoulder. “Clint said the girls looked like they had been dead for a few days. Who knows how long he had been in the hole.”
“I’m not mad at you, Natasha.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Maria can’t help but chuckle at the way Natasha always manages to both conceal and convey her emotions with a single word. “I could never be mad at you for doing what you feel is right, especially when a child is involved.”
Nat just hums into her shoulder, and Maria is more than content to sit in the comfortable silence until one of them figures out what, if anything, needs to be said.
“You know what,” Romanoff starts, “I think everything's gonna be fine.”
Despite everything that still had to be worked out, she’s inclined to believe her.
Everything would be fine.
Eventually.