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Chapter Text

“You’ll cut yourself.”

Natasha’s voice came flat when she spoke, a statement more than a warning.

She’d been sitting outside for the better part of the afternoon, feet lazily swinging from the porch while she observed the careless twirls of Yelena’s summer dress.

Sister.

What a strange, incomprehensible emotion of a word.

Natasha had no family. That’s how it always had been, and she wasn’t terribly sad or aggravated about it. After all, she couldn’t miss something she never knew. What confused her was this constant need of people to belong to someone, somewhere. Would it really be so terrible to be like her?

The world, she’d learned too quickly, did not care for orphans. Unless they could be used.

She was old enough, experienced enough even at eleven years old, to know that all this was a power play, a mission, something affiliated with the Red Room in one way or another. Were they running away or directly into it, though, she couldn’t tell.

And Melina and Alexei? She couldn’t get a read on them. Their every move and word towards her felt foreign and uncomfortable, like a threat in disguise. So, she strayed away. Not out of trouble though.

She tried running away the very first day she found herself at their current safe house. ‘It’s just a stroll’, she’d said, disappearing into the woods that same morning, the dew sticky and cool against her cheeks. The moment she lost sight of the house, she bolted, sprinting until her lungs burned and her arms bled, littered in scratches. To no avail. The forest ended at a river. She felt like screaming. Yet, as she stared into the water with an open mouth and balled up fists, nothing came out. Instead, realization dawned onto the heart pounding inside her chest: There was no way out, there never even really was the possibility of one. She breathed in then, splashing a handful of water on her face, preparing for the walk of shame back.

Alexei only ruffled up her hair at the front door, Melina scolded her for muddying up her shoes. The obvious was left unsaid.

She tried again, a week later. Breaking into the tool shed was no biggie. She walked around, shielding her eyes from the sun, looking for that one specific gun she’d seen strapped to Melina’s thigh once, convinced she couldn’t miss its silver sheen among the rusty garden tools. She was careful to return things back to where she found them, but the sight of the dagger collection she accidentally unearthed tempted her to throw one, just one, and just to test her aim.

She probably shouldn’t have tried for the door. And Melina definitely didn’t like her new eyebrow slit, although Alexei told her it was hot. Whatever that meant.

“Point your arm higher next time,” she pulled the blade out of the wood “And don’t grip it that hard. Oh, and lunch is ready, if you’re interested.”

Yeah, mischief was not frowned upon, as long as it was done right. Hence why Natasha sat so unimpressed at the sight of Yelena running aimlessly, Alexei’s favourite knife glistening in the sun as she flung it around making swooshing noises.

Giggling.

She did that a lot. It used to freak Natasha out, how comfortable she was in her emotional displays. Perhaps there also was a hint of jealousy under the layers of evaluation. Because out of the two of them, Yelena was the one to fit the narrative. And deep, deep down, Natasha despised her for it.

She locked eyes with her, a mere fraction of a moment, though enough to note the confused scrunching of Yelena’s eyebrows. The blade slipped between her fingers then, slicing through the sleeve of her dress as it fell and disappeared into the grass, a pool of blood hastily coating the green fabric.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

She didn’t. The tears gathered in her eyes, but she wiped them off in an instant, marching up to Natasha instead.

“Can you help me find it, sissy?”

The redhead stared at her intently for a few seconds, the blood now dripping down the pale arm and onto the porch.

“You’re weird,” she finally said, rising to her feet and taking the kid’s hand “And don’t call me that.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sit.”

Natasha dragged a chair and sat her down right next to the kitchen sink, rummaging through the drawers for a piece of cloth and a band-aid. Or maybe two. She wet the fabric and rinsed it out, turning back to an already impatient Yelena and tearing what was left of her sleeve off with trained ease.

“Hey, mom could’ve sewn that back.”

“She wouldn’t have,” Natasha ignored the ‘mom’ part like she always did, focusing on wiping off the blood instead “I told you you’d get hurt.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry?” Yelena offered, puckering her chapped lips.

“What are you apologizing to me for? You’re the one who’s hurting. You have to pay more attention to what you’re doing.”

“I know, I know. But no one would teach me how.”

“How what?”

“I want to throw the knife like you do,” a small hiss escaped her mouth when Natasha pressed harder onto the wound.

“Sorry, I got to get it clean though.”

“It’s okay,” the small feet wiggled off the edge of her seat, left, then right “Can you teach me?”

“No.”

“Please? I’ll do anything.”

“That is no way to negotiate, Lena.”

“But I really, really want to learn. Pretty please? I’ll give you my bunny.”

“I don’t nee-” Natasha stopped herself before the words came out way out of line. She’d learned out of necessity some time ago and Melina was just helping her get better. Then again, Yelena was Yelena and she’d probably just keep accidentally hurting herself if no one interfered and get both of them in trouble. She sighed in defeat and stuck the band-aids on the now clear skin “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

“Natasha, come see!”

Yelena’s high-pitched yell echoed throughout the house. She’d been up since dawn, wreaking havoc inside until she got kicked out to torment the wildlife instead. Rain or no rain.

Natasha put her book down with an exasperated sigh, switching off the desk lamp and throwing a quick glimpse behind the curtain. The skies were still dark, storm clouds menacingly hanging over the yard in an oddly suffocating manner. She begrudgingly dragged herself downstairs, diligently avoiding the creaky steps whilst she rubbed the fatigue out of her eyes.

“Natasha, dear,” Melina’s voice rang, peaceful yet loaded. It was yet to be figured out how she always heard her coming no matter how quiet she forced her footsteps to be. “Please remind the swamp creature outside that worms are no longer welcome past the front door.”

Natasha spared her a nod, breezing right past her and the mess of papers all over the kitchen table and out into the yard.

The kid was hard to miss. She was bent over some puddle, her bright green boots ankle deep into the muddy water and her hair draping in front of her face.

“What?”

“Shh, you’ll scare it.”

“What are you talking abo- Yelena, no.”

The blonde was holding up, well, barely so, the biggest frog Natasha had ever seen, it’s weird slimy eyes frantic in between her laced fingers.

“Isn’t it pretty? Here, hold it.”

Nat’s eyes widened as she instinctively took a step back into the wet grass.

“Are you scared?”

“I’m not scared, Yelena. Just let it go.”

“But I just caught it,” she smiled, raising the frog over her head “I think I’ll keep it.”

“As much as I’d love to see you sneak it past Melina, that’s not happening. Look at it, it doesn’t even like you.”

The girl’s face fell, clutching the amphibian closer as she squinted menacingly at Natasha.

“Why are you always so boring and evil?”

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up. You’re a bad sister. And you’re jealous that I have a friend.”

“I’m not even your sist-“ Natasha inhaled, grinding her teeth “You know what, whatever. I literally don’t care about you or your stupid frog.”

She spun on her heel, stomping back towards the house when she caught the lightning in her peripheral. The ground trembled then, the thunder so earth-shattering it got stuck in her throat. Couldn’t mask Yelena’s scream though. She jumped, too startled to keep a hold of the frog, and fell flat on her butt and straight into the puddle.

Tears started streaming down her chubby cheeks. Or maybe it was just rain. Either way, it looked sad.

And it made Natasha ...

... feel something.

She’d been there, alone and terrified, every sound amplified to where she could not distinguish her own breathing, scraped knees and head between her legs. But they’d kept kicking, again and again until she couldn’t hold her fists closed tight no more. She knew the taste of tears, the anger and the desperation dissolving on her tongue. And she understood then that the world was not a place for her.

Yelena must have known it too. She’d seen the scar running behind her ear, its faint outline ghastly among the sea of curls.

Natasha had been young.

But Yelena was a child.

Nat found herself walking back, the skies viciously rumbling above her, stretching an arm out for Yelena to take. It would’ve taken that little, she realized, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t like frogs,” she stood above, hair blowing in the wind “Anything slimy for that matter. You can’t have known.”

“He ran away. You were right, he really didn’t like me.”

This was Natasha’s third time seeing someone sob. It was still awkward for her and she still didn’t know how to make it stop. So, she talked.

“Listen, the way you held him, he barely got to see your face. That’s probably why. And he must’ve had a family of his own. Do you want to take that from him?”

Yelena shook her head.

“See? It’s not because of you,” Natasha hoisted her up “That’s just how things go.”

Another thunder roared over their heads and she felt the small hands tighten around her waist.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?”

The storm was huge.

Natasha tossed in bed, driven insane by the rain whipping at the windows, the entire house creaking loudly and tiredly, so much so it even drowned out Alexei’s snoring from down the hall. Lightning periodically flashed straight through the drawn curtains, briefly illuminating the room.

Yelena’s bed was empty.

It took a while for the thought to settle, an initial panic Natasha didn’t know she was capable of taking its place instead. It had honestly surprised her, earlier, how scared the storm had made Yelena, how viciously her tiny frame shuddered with every roar.

She must’ve gone to sleep with Melina and Alexei.

What a strange sentiment, putting so much faith, vulnerability, in strangers. Natasha would’ve never, no matter how terrified she was.

She rolled over, pulling at the covers. They wouldn’t budge. She sat up then, pulling at them harder, growing ever more frustrated. That was until she realized it was Yelena curled up at the foot of her bed, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

Natasha blanked out, stopping deadly still. Was she supposed to carry her back to her own bed? Maybe she should move?

She crawled over to her, lightly shaking her awake.

“Move up, Lena.”

The girl let out some incoherent mumble, letting Natasha draw her head over the pillow. Her hands were shaking when she gathered the blanket and wrapped it around Yelena, carefully sliding back in bed beside her. Hyper aware of her own breathing and legitimately questioning where she should keep her arms, Natasha finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep, Lena’s rabbit softly brushing at her cheek.

Chapter Text

Yet another nightmare.

She’d thought, after all that’s happened, after all the work she’d put in, that at least those would stop haunting her. Way to prove her wrong.

Melina sat up, clutching the covers in a moment of weakness, squeezing the fabric until the images faded and she was, once again, in the room she and Alexei shared. Present.

The rain was still pouring viciously and the pragmatic side of her was glad she’d sealed the windows earlier in the evening. What a life. It hadn’t been that long ago she’d ran under the same downpour somewhere in Latin America, gun in hand and thunder for cover.

She felt a hand on her back as Alexei shuffled next to her. His night light lit up, shining a comfortable glow over them, the bed now an island of solace in the surrounding dark abyss.

“You alright?” his voice was low, still heavy with sleep and cascading comfortably around her.

“Yes. No. I don’t- I don’t really know.”

“Hey,” he pulled her hand away from the duvet, lacing their fingers instead “It will be okay. They won’t dare intervene. You of all people know exactly where the order came from. We’re good.”

“For now. I just wonder,” she rubbed her neck, piecing the words together “How long can we keep them... alive, safe, whole? Can we even do that?”

“We’re doing what we can. Well, not you, you’re always doing more than that.”

“They’re young.”

“So were you.”

“But I wanted it. I wanted to prove myself.”

“Only to your father. And they found a way to capitalize on it.”

Melina let out a sigh, one full of thought and calculation. She’d served the Red Room for a decade, never having known anything but it. And they never asked. Order after order came and went as she shed her skin to become somebody else. A killing machine, ruthless, heartless.

Only to be defeated by a touch-starved orphan.

She’d known about Natasha for a while, enough to be intrigued but also, apprehensive. Where Melina came from affluence, her parents having been high-ranking and fatally loyal KGB officials, squandering money mainly on her education and their residential home in the outskirts of Moscow, Natasha Romanoff, despite her suggestive surname, was a nobody. They’d known about her parents, Ivan and Alina Romanoff, but the two had kept their daughter a secret for as long as they could. Until they got blown up. Melina remembered her father’s disappointment at the dinner table that evening.

‘Wasted potential’, he’d said.

‘And the girl?’ her mother had asked the question that was bothering her too.

‘Madame B has taken interest in her. We’ll see.’

Ten years later, little miss Romanoff was entrusted to Melina.

Only briefly, until we sort some things out.

She’d wondered why and who they were after. But, of course, she was not allowed any doubts.

So, at the age of thirty-four, Melina had become a guardian. They’d packed them off and sent them away, moving safehouse after another.

Natasha wasn’t difficult, not in the way Melina had prepared for. She was reclusive, quiet, too aware for someone in her situation. She hadn’t bought the family thing either, refusing to say those words, even when they were in public and it was expected of her. All in all, Natasha was a static presence.

Until one of her episodes occurred.

Both Melina and Alexei had been at a total loss the first time that it happened. They had just left Yekaterinburg, driving off to somewhere new yet again, when Natasha had jumped out the car. Mid-drive.

Alexei had swerved, cursing violently, while Melina dove over him to step on the breaks. She would’ve screamed bloody murder if she hadn’t seen the pain on the girl’s face straight away. That’s when she knew she heard the voices too. She’d scooped her up then, wiping off the mud off of her face, sitting with her in the back and holding her in place until it was safe to take care of her sprained arm.

It had taken almost an entire year, the most laborious of tasks Melina had ever faced, to get Natasha to ease up around her.

She got startled, like a stray cat really, every time someone sat close to her or offered her something. Alexei was not even allowed in her room. And then, slowly, painfully so, things progressed.

Natasha liked to have her hair brushed and braided. She never said so, but she did stumble upon Melina one night as she did her own hair, eyes big as she followed every movement of the comb. Melina had smiled, waiting for her to approach and sitting her in front of the mirror, carefully narrating every single action as she took care of her luscious scarlet locks.

She started helping out around the house, too. Alexei properly showed her his knife collection after the fiasco with Melina’s eyebrow, urging her to apologize or, as he put it, they wouldn’t see the light of day otherwise.

It was becoming normal. And then they’d got the news about Yelena.

Now, Melina, on top of monitoring Natasha, wrote progression reports every two weeks, maybe, possibly, slightly exaggerating the success of this whole thing. There was no other word for it. It was just the thing and that was that. And maybe she shouldn’t have. Especially after all the progress she’d made with Natasha dissipated with Yelena’s arrival.

They were total opposites and Natasha quickly reverted back to being a mere shadow, not caring one bit about the new kid. And where Yelena was quickly growing on both her and Alexei, Natasha was slipping away.

Then, one day, they played hide-and-seek. Melina hated games, but Yelena had insisted, and everyone had seemed on board. So she went with it. However, she kind of forgot the game was still on. Four hours of paperwork later, she frantically ran around the house, from room to room, finally unearthing where the girls had hidden. Yelena was curled up on Natasha’s lap, fast asleep with tear-streaks running down her cheeks, while the redhead flipped the pages of a book, nonchalant. They’d locked eyes then, Melina guilty she’d screwed up.

‘Let’s not play this again,’ Natasha had shrugged.

They’d never had a fuller agreement.

Melina came to, Alexei gently squeezing her shoulders back inside their bedroom. The storm was dying down, the final breath of thunder now merely a whisper.

“I’ll go get a glass of water,” she mused, throwing on a stray sweater “Be right back.”

The stairs creaked ominously under her as she made her way to the kitchen, barefoot, thinking of everything and nothing. She’d dreamed about the girls. Of course she had. And frankly, she wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone, not even with herself. Yet, the urge outgrew her, and she cursed the old door of the girls’ room for making so much noise.

She wasn’t expecting seeing them huddled up like this, but it made sense. Yelena, bless her soul, was as territorial as she was afraid. And, despite suppressing thoughts like these, she was cute. The whole thing was, adorable.

Natasha shuffled then, waking up instinctively at the sensation of being watched and locking eyes with Melina almost immediately.

“It’s okay, just checking in,” the woman whispered. It was too often she’d woken Natasha up in the middle of the night to flee. Not tonight though. “Go back to sleep.”

She closed the door, tiptoeing back to her own bed and leaning into Alexei’s inviting embrace.

“We’ll be okay,” the words rolled smoothly off his tongue. And tonight, she was finally willing to believe it.

Chapter Text

The rising sun shone through the sheer curtains, gently caressing the girls’ sleeping faces. Yelena had latched onto Natasha’s arm, her baby ringlets spilled all over the pillow, breath warm against the redhead’s skin.

She hadn’t moved an inch all night, allowing Lena to snag the covers for herself, eyes trailing over to the glow-in-the-dark stars Alexei had almost fallen off a ladder to stick to the ceiling for them. She vaguely remembered Melina’s face in the doorframe, uncharacteristically worried even in the darkness, yet there had been warmth in her eyes. She’d come to check if they were alright, not hurt them.

Not hurt them.

Natasha’s heart continued beating fast long after, sleep slipping further and further away with every ragged breath she tried suppressing. Yelena’s lips let out a tiny distressed moan, clutching Natasha’s wrist harder as one word slipped out. Mom.

Melina would have stroked her hair then, she clutched the bedsheets, whisper words of comfort. But Natasha didn’t know how. Her own hand stood frozen, unable to reciprocate. Afraid to.

So, she lay there until the sun came out, watching the faint glow of her stars gradually disappear.

Natasha sat down at the kitchen table, quietly assembling her sandwich and trying not to stare too hard into the living room. Alexei sat on the sofa, tuning up some gadget, Melina casually slumped against his shoulder, book in hand and about a million pages of her fine handwriting strewn on the floor beneath them.

Natasha quickly averted her eyes, uneasy she’d disrupted some moment she was not supposed to witness.

Love was forbidden in her world, a word so twisted in its meaning she’d begun suspecting its existence was entirely fictitious. Out of reach. Undeserved. And the Red Room had done a fine job in erasing any doubt that might have lingered.

She knew that as a girl, a woman, her job was to seduce, to awaken people’s lustful undertones and use them to her advantage. She’d heard, she’d seen, horrific things, things she never could’ve imagined one human being doing to another.

That’s what I’m supposed to become. The thought haunted her, gurgling in her empty stomach as she bent over the toilet seat, day after day.

She could not handle the visuals, these women’s screams haunting her nightmares time and time again. She knew. And at the same time, she didn’t.

Take off your clothes, Natalia. This is your only natural state. You were made to serve.

Natasha shook her head, screwing the lid back on the peanut butter jar.

“I made you sandwiches,” she announced quietly, lowering the plate on the coffee table but clutching her own still in her sticky hands “You don’t have to eat them, though.”

Both Alexei and Melina’s heads cocked up with this odd expression Natasha couldn’t quite place.

“Are you kidding,” Alexei put down the screwdriver, beaming at her as if she’d brought him the moon or something “Thank you, лисичка. Come here.”

He tapped the now empty space between him and Melina. Natasha sat down reluctantly, staring out the window at the birds flying in the sky.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” she felt Melina’s hand cup her cheek, her thumb gently grazing over the dark circles as she slowly, carefully, brought Natasha’s face to hers “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“You didn’t.”

They both knew it was a lie. Alexei’s eyes darted between the two, lingering on Melina in tacit understanding before he rose up, the floorboards creaking soundly underneath him.

Natasha shuffled in her seat, completely caught off-guard, Melina’s fingers burnt onto her skin in a way that made her want to hide. Or want more. She felt the warmth rising to her cheeks, gulping as she took another bite of that sandwich. Anything but look into those warm browns again.

“It’s uncharacteristically quiet in here,” somebody pointed out, Natasha dissociating so hard she couldn’t even make out the voice “Where’s Lena?”

“Probably still sleeping. Can you go see if you can take that rabbit off of her, it really needs a wash.”

“I’m on it.”

The voices blended in a tiny commotion of rustling paper and birds chirping, Natasha dead still in the middle of it all. She glanced at the woman next to her, the thoughts from earlier hitting her back, full force. Yet, she couldn’t picture her with blood on her hands. Natasha’s blood sure, when she’d split her head open on the countertop. But Melina hurting others? Melina being used for other people’s pleasure and then tossed aside to lick her own wounds? Alone and afraid, like Natasha?

“Are you cold, dear?”

She hadn’t realized she’d started shaking. Something warm weaved around her frame then, somebody, a gentle hand combing through her hair.

“Talk to me, Natashenka,” Melina whispered, “What can you see?”

Natasha hesitated, afraid saying it out loud would make it more real.

“The Red Room,” she felt Melina stiffen, her hand frozen over Natasha’s spine for a fraction of a moment “They’re coming back for us, aren’t they?”

“Моя дорогая,” the words came hushed “You’re too smart for me to lie to you. Yet you’re hurting in a way I cannot cure and it kills me. But you’re safe with us. Your d- Alexei and I, you’re safe with us.”

“They hurt you too.”

“They hurt a lot of people. It will be alright. I’m not letting them take you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Watch me.”

Natasha allowed herself this hug, just this once, letting herself melt in Melina’s embrace, memorizing the soft curve of her neck, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla in her loose dark waves.

They heard Alexei coming down the stairs, Yelena’s tiny frame slumped against his chest under the safety of her favorite blanket. He was rubbing her back reassuringly, sifting through her sweaty locks before he pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he looked straight at Melina “But little lady here is running a fever.”

Chapter Text

Her bedroom was eerily quiet, save for the chirping of the nightingales outside the window, the morning sun softly peeking through the sheer curtains. Natasha sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, squeezing out the water off a pink towel, fingers pruney and head leaned back against the nightstand. She caught Melina’s words from time to time, hushed and gentle, as she stroke Yelena’s sticky face, halfway propped up at the side of her bed.

Her touch, it still lingered on Natasha’s own two cheeks, the warmth impossible to shake off. Melina played so well, those striking hazel eyes so chillingly convincing. Perhaps it could be real, if only she could bury all the hurt somewhere in the garden, like they’d done with Lena’s bunny, Skittles. Then maybe Natasha too could utter the dreaded word.

Mom

Mommy

Mama

“How are you doing, малышка? Any pain?”

Yelena’s lip trembled, her tiny little arms squeezing the plushie tighter as she faintly shook her head. Golden girl. Mama and papa’s prized possession.

Yet, Natasha could not get angry. Although she wanted to. It was all fake, after all. It would all be over soon.

But Yelena didn’t know that.

Her chubby little legs did not know how to run away from danger. But Natasha did not know how to laugh.

Yelena lacked routine and discipline. Natasha lacked emotion.

Yelena needed parents. Natasha didn’t need anybody.

Yet, her arm was there, outstretched for the redhead to hold.

Natasha crawled next to Melina, seeking out her affirmation.

“She will be fine,” her whisper came, scarce but confident “You both will be.”

Yelena shuffled then, eyes fluttering open long enough to focus on her sister.

“Tell me a story.”

“A story? Which one?” Natasha couldn’t help that face, gingerly poking those innocent red cheeks in a moment of weakness. Childish. Lena’s giggle seemed to mend something inside Natasha, something that had been shattered long ago, allowing her to slide in bed next to this sunshine of a child and hold her sweaty palms next to her heart.

“Make one up.”

And so she began, a tale about an orphaned girl who loved ballet. That one would have a happy ending.

Melina closed the door behind her, her girls’ adorable exchange now muffled, taking the stairs one at a time. Her hands would not stop shaking, cold sweat that mimicked Yelena’s running loose under her shirt.

It hit her hard, the way this tiny human clung to her, the way Natasha’s eyes looked up to her for reassurance. She was not a mother, not their mother, her brain screamed loudly, blocking out her vision. But she’d held them, closer than anyone she’d touched before, kissing their pain away and wiping off their tears. She’d given what her own mother had deprived her off, brushing off the tattered clothes and messed up sneakers, making room for something else instead.

Did she love them? Melina couldn’t tell. She hadn’t had a chance to learn what love meant. But this seemed about right, didn’t it? How she was willing to blow up the Red Room and choke within its ashes, to see her life in ruins just to give these girls a chance. Her heart kept hammering inside her ribcage, the plan already taking shape, any doubt immediately tossed into the fires of her fury.

“Lina,” Alexei’s voice emerged out of the static, hands frantic as he picked her up, clutching at her face “Melina, talk to me.”

She let herself collapse, exhausted, defeated, slumped against his chest. He dragged her over to the couch, laying her down and then himself right next to her, doing what he knew worked best. His fingers curled around hers, stroking softly at the pale skin while he pulled her closer, her hair spilling in his face, dark as the night itself.

“Don’t let go,” she let out, gripping his t-shirt “Not yet.”

Natasha breathed out, successfully swapping out Lena’s dried out towel with a fresh one, sneaking out before her sister woke up. She could not remember how fast a fever died down, but it surely took more than just a couple hours.

The house was silent, her steps echoing throughout. For a moment there, she panicked, afraid they’d finally left her and Yelena behind. She held onto the railing, steadying herself before she spotted the car, still very much there, parked out in the front yard.

Melina and Alexei, she was almost certain, didn’t know about her emergency backpack. She’d hid it underneath her bed, two pairs of balled-up socks, a sweater, a snack or two somewhere at the bottom. A sheathed knife. Ready, if she had to run.

Not yet.

Natasha stopped, red rising to her cheeks.

It looked intimate, the way Melina was curled up at Alexei’s side, his fingers buried deep in her hair. She’d heard them once, when she was nine and thirsty in the middle of the night, the way their laughter evolved into something more, something unknown to her. She wasn’t sure they loved each other before that, barely exchanging a kiss in her presence. Alexei was guarded, Melina even more so. But he touched her, often, even when he drove. Perhaps it wasn’t just an act between the two of them.

She blinked, looking away when he stirred. Alexei slipped from under his wife, carefully laying her head over a pillow and tucking some loose strands behind her ear.

“Shh,” he put his finger in front of his lips, gesturing for Natasha to follow him outside.

“You love her,” there was a question in her voice “What does it feel like?”

Alexei looked out to the trees, sitting down beside her on the wooden steps, his hand heavy on her shoulder, yet oddly comforting.

“It burns,” he uttered “But you can’t get enough. It’s never enough.”

Chapter Text

“Dad and I are going into town tomorrow,” Melina’s voice sounded over the dinner table, a tad bit louder than the television playing in the background “You two know the drill, affirmative?”

“Lock the doors, roll the blinds, be in bed by ten,” Yelena chirped from underneath her blanket, colour slowly returning to her cheeks while she munched on a piece of toast.

“Nine.”

“Nine thirty.”

They stared each other down, both time and electricity passing from one gaze to another before Melina cracked, a defeated smirk pulling at her lips.

“You got yourself a deal,” her glass clinked into Alexei’s, the liquid splashing around definitely not apple juice “We’re raising an extortionist.”

“What’s an extractorist?”

“Extortionist, Lena, is someone who persuades people to give them what they want. It’s a good skill to have. Anyone want extra potatoes?”

“Why can’t we come with you?”

Three heads panned over to Natasha, her elbows sliding off the table and onto her lap. It wasn’t fair they got to leave the house from time to time. It’s safe here, she reminded herself. That should’ve been enough to settle her thoughts. Safety was a rarity she was still learning to cherish. Yet it’d been so long since she’d seen somebody other than their tiny unit.

Not the kind of people Mama and Papa frequented, though.

She’d long suspected each of their trips was more than just buying groceries, both Alexei and Melina always sporting their boots, the black ones, with the heavy-duty outsoles on their way out. She’d usually stay up to hear the car pull up into the yard, the headlights blinking off and the front door clicking shut. All the while she gripped a knife tightly into her palm, under the covers, ready to lunge.

Melina always had laundry drying the very next morning.

“We’ve talked about this, Nat.”

A warning. To avoid making a scene.

“It’s going to rain all day tomorrow, anyway,” Alexei chimed in, staring at the TV. Another thunderstorm was rolling their way.

Natasha nodded, picking up her fork again to stab the veggies a tad more aggressively than necessary. The unsolicited rage disturbed her, and she had to take it out on something, since Melina had postponed their hand-to-hand for next week. Natasha knew she wasn’t a priority, least of all anyone taking the time to expand on her combat skills, but the routine of waking up and hitting stuff had kept her more content.

Less hateful.

Less afraid.

They wrapped up dinner in silence, Melina herding the blonde upstairs for her bath, while Natasha and Alexei gathered the dishes.

“I wash, you dry?” he offered, already rolling his sleeves up “Look, I know you’re angry-”

“What gave it away?”

“No need for an attitude. It would be too risky, to take you. Town’s small, people talk. We don’t want to risk blowing our cover.”

Natasha swallowed. He was right, of course, mission came first. But it pricked her, at the center of her chest, the fact that in the eyes of people, she did not exist.

You are nobody. A widow, with no place in the world. No one will claim you, even in death.

Madame’s words echoed through her head. She was a liability, a useless variable in a radical equation.

“-tasha, Natasha,” he waved a hand in front of her face “Are you still with me? Listen kid, what if you got hurt, either of you? How do you think living with that would feel like?”

“Red in your ledger.”

“Worse.”

“You know what to do if her fever spikes up again?”

Natasha nodded, awkwardly standing in the middle of the hallway in her pyjamas. It was too dark outside, too early. But she always sent them off, some part of her craving the confirmation that she’d seen it with her own eyes. That they hadn’t left her behind.

She caught sight of Melina’s pistol, almost invisible unless the light bounced off its silver surface, wondering if she’d have one of her own someday. Melina’s hair was pulled back in a neat tight ponytail, its usual vanilla scent suddenly absent.

“This has to be the last one,” she knelt down before Natasha, tucking a crimson curl behind her ear “We’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Unwavering. That’s what it was supposed to sound like. But she couldn’t promise. This simply wasn’t something one could promise.

The missions ended when the Red Room said so. If they ever did.

What if she had a weapon of her own? Would it not be too tempting to free herself from their restraint, to end it on her own terms? Natasha wondered if Melina’s mind ever went there. If she was that sure in herself. Natasha wasn’t. Not yet. There was still some life to live.

“Don’t let them win,” she let out, watching their silhouettes disappear in the night, the car headlights swimming further and further.

Then she bolted the door.

“You misspelled whether,” she lifted the piece of paper, amused by Yelena’s choice of ink colour “And embarrassed.”

“I’m doing my best, they’re hard.”

“Write it down one more time.”

They’d started doing this a couple of months ago when they’d unearthed a dusty English dictionary from the attic. It took Natasha’s mind off of things and made looking after Yelena more bearable. Subconsciously though, Natasha easily picked up on the undertone of the whole exercise.

‘Английский, Наталия, до совершенства . Никаких оправданий .’

English, then German, French, Italian. She was eleven, barely making sense of her surroundings. But she could curse you out in all those languages. This was the part of the Red Room she had a little less hate for. She knew very well when not to speak, it had saved her life on multiple occasions. However, all of this knowledge gave her security. No funny business, like screaming for help in the middle of Frankfurt. But the words, the many many ways she could dress her emotions in, they helped. In the dark loneliness of solitary confinement the hushed foreign lullabies flowed so comforting she could almost imagine someone softly stroking her face as they sang her to sleep.

“Can we play now?” Yelena lowered her glittery pen, staring hopeful at her handwriting. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as her big sister’s, the letters scrambled over, under, and in between the lines of the college-ruled page. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the pink ‘whether’ promptly swimming away, its letters fading into nothingness even when she rubbed her eyes. Why are you running, she thought, imagining Natasha chasing the words in her favourite big book. She must be really smart, was the conclusion, and very good at reading “Nattie?”

“Yeah,” Natasha hummed, stuffing the papers into her folder “Yeah, I guess we’re done here.”

It was pouring by their seventeenth round of ‘Go Fish’, the chandelier in the living room flickering from time to time. Yelena shuddered still, with every thunder, leaning deeper and deeper into the couch cushions where it seemed safe.

It was tempting, to just ask her why she was so afraid of something that was so far away and so harmless. Thunder can’t possibly hurt you, Natasha wanted to assure her. But the words lodged in her throat, the rumbling roar outside shapeshifting.

‘You’re not afraid, are you Natalia? Don’t cover your ears, you have to know you struck her.’

Gunshots were loud, deafening even. Not louder than a girl’s scream though. It took her everything that day, to lodge her feet into the concrete and force herself unmoving. Her heart, however, it still leapt.

She’d heard some of the orphans talk about God. She hadn’t understood it nor had the desire to obey another man who watched her from above. But one memory returned to her now, as the storm raged on outside. God holds a weapon too, the girls had tried to justify, lightning its bullet, and thunder – the sonic boom of an earthquake followed by static in your ears.

“I’m scared, Nat,” Yelena dropped her cards, frantically looking into the darkness slithering around them.

“It’s okay, bird, it’s just a storm. Do you want me to turn on more lights?”

Kitchen, hallway, the staircase, one by one each switch lit up the house. Natasha strode around, singing a little tune for comfort, Yelena right behind her and clutching the fabric of her trousers.

“Mama and papa chose a bad day for shopping, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Yes, they did. Wait,” Natasha halted, hand hovering over the fridge handle “Did you hear that?”

“Nattie, please don’t-”

Yelena jumped then, circling behind her sister with a loud scream.

It sounded like a small explosion, somewhere on the second floor.

“Did you close the window, Lena?”

“Y-yes,” her voice was shaky, but she was determined “I did, last night.”

“Alright, good job. Something must have fallen then. It could be broken.”

“I don’t want to see it.”

“Would you rather stay down here alone?”

There was a vigorous shake of Yelena’s head. Natasha steeled herself, taking a knife from the kitchen block in one hand and her sister’s palm in the other.

“We got this. Come on.”

The second floor, now bright with every single night and hallway light, was clear, everything in place just how they’d left it.

Natasha’s eyes shot up towards the ceiling, the square block of the attic stairs a little menacing. She’d managed to pick Yelena’s rabbit from their room, so now they were a company of three. Three scared rabbits. Shut up

“No.”

“We have to tell if something broke. Come on. Aren’t you brave?”

“I am. I am brave,” Yelena pouted “Just not up in the attic.”

Natasha tapped her head and let go, stepping back for a head start. She needed some distance before jumping since the rope was too high up.

The stairs creaked ominously, dust seeping over the duo when she pulled them down.

“I’ll go first. Was the lightbulb on the left or right?” she ascended, her voice disappearing for a moment.

“Natasha? Natasha please, say something.”

“Got it. And Lena,” her head appeared in the opening, smiling weirdly enough “You’ve got to see this.”

Chapter Text

There was shattered glass, wind and rain trespassing in the tiny attic. The single lightbulb swung dim over their heads, illuminating piles of cardboard boxes, an old decrepit desk and what Natasha recognized to be a crate of Alexei’s favourite vodka. A spider weaved its web inside of it, undisturbed by the commotion.

And there, among the shards, thrashing on the dusty wooden floorboards, there was a bird. A nightingale.

“Careful, Lena, there’s glass.”

They knelt down by it, awestruck, gently swiping the sharp pieces away. Yelena scooped the bird up, its tiny heart hammering between her palms, her rabbit now safe in the front pocket of her overalls.

“It’s okay, little one,” she whispered, tracing its fluffed-up feathers and remembering mama’s words at her bedside “You’re going to be okay. We can fix her, right Nattie?”

“We’ll do everything we can.”

“I don’t want to put her in there,” Yelena looked at the shoebox suspiciously “She won’t be able to breathe.”

“That’s why we’re poking the holes, dummy. Did you secure the wing?”

“Almost. She’s in pain. Keeps moving.”

The nightingale was weak but feisty, one of its wings hanging limp by its side.

A bird is doomed without its flight. And so are you, Natalia, if you don’t learn to fight.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows, the critter’s pain a tad too tangible. She’d broken an arm before-

her arm got broken on purpose

-her left, the one she wrote with, the one she ate with. The one that held the gun. Incapacitated didn’t do her state justice, it was more than just the swelling, the deformity, the inability to move. The pain was overbearing, yes, but the panic before they put her under for the surgery, the fear she’d never wake up again and even more so, that she was dependent on the Red Room to fix her, it was one realization too much.

She knew now, feeling her fingers slice smoothly through the cardboard, why they had done it, why she’d had to suffer through four months of recalibration.

Left hand for friends, right hand for foes.

Harsh, impersonal, though just as precise.

“Okay, I got it,” Yelena announced, showing Natasha her handiwork. She’d had to sacrifice a popsicle for the makeshift bird cast, one that was very much melting in her hand now “I’m sorry, little birdie.”

And so, the bird went in the box, snuggling into the towel they’d previously placed in there.

“This will keep her warm.”

“Shouldn’t we give her food and water?”

“Not yet. She has to fight her own battle now,” Natasha’s face was solemn, closing the lid a surprisingly difficult task. She swooped beside Yelena then, biting a sizeable chunk off her ice-cream in an attempt to lighten up the mood “Hopefully, it will be over soon, and she will fly again. In the meantime, we have to fix the attic.”

Fix was a little broad. There was nothing they could do about the window except collect the broken glass and toss it, as carefully as possible. The floor was marked with blood, where the nightingale had crashed, a few drops, but still unnerving.

“My hands are sticky,” Yelena raised her palms, waving them alarmingly close to Natasha’s face “Do you think birdie’s okay now?”

“It’s only been fifteen minutes, don’t be annoying. Ugh, Yelena-”

Natasha tripped then, much to her own surprise, trying to escape the menace that was her sister and losing her balance as her back hit something unstable. Not even a moment later a deafening slam sounded behind her.

She stood there, only able to clench her fists and blink in disbelief, staring in desperation at the hundreds of sheets of paper now loose all over the freshly mopped floor.

“Hands,” she glared at her sister “Now.”

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, not knowing where to even begin. If there had been any order in this box, that had been the ultimate end of it.

She heard the sink downstairs turn on, accompanied by Yelena’s scattered singing. She’d picked it up from her, Natasha made note, to at least pretend she wasn’t all alone in the dark.

Her fingers landed on a paper, the closest one to where she’d sat, legs crossed and directly on the floor. Even in the absence of proper lighting she could sense something was out of place. Like her hands, brushing the dust off a blacked-out page, a single word existing on its surface.

Покойный.

Deceased.

Some pages had names on them, there was an Oleg, a Tatyana, even a mysterious G.A.T Some had photographs, the faces on them scratched off or simply marked with an x. And some pages, some pages Natasha recognized.

The familiar red star stared at her, sheet after sheet, in the top right corner. The same star that glistened on Ivan Petrovich’s winter coat. The same star she swore allegiance to every day for seven years.

The star, the three red hourglass sigils weaved within it, the hammer and sickle, dead-center.

Red Room.

Natasha flipped the papers with newfound vigor, never more than three lines per page.

Deceased. Terminated. Unknown location. Presumed dead.

Red Room operatives.

Literal skeletons in the closet.

And all that was left of them, she held in her trembling hands.

A chill ran down her spine when she raised her eyes to take a very careful look around her. Boxes, ten, twenty, thirty, who even knew how many more, piled up and towering above, suffocating.

whyweretheyherewhoputthemhereIneedtogetaway

She couldn’t help but imagine all those who had inhabited this safehouse before them. All those agents killers people, all those versions of herself, each one leaving a box behind for her to find. A box of kills, a box of lives.

A bad omen, Natasha decided, sealing the box back up.

The sun had set, the thunderstorm subsided, Yelena was waiting for her at the dinner table with the bird in tow.

Yet, Natasha couldn’t shake the fear off, the terror of realizing she was living in a graveyard.

Chapter Text

“Yelena?”

Natasha paced, pushing the hair out of her face. It had grown long, way past her shoulder blades, loosely flowing behind her in messy scarlet waves. She found it to be rather annoying, a nuisance more than anything, often struggling to tame it into a decent-looking ponytail or even a bun.

Her reflection greeted her in the hallway mirror, solemn and pale, as she tried working her hair into one of Melina’s braids, however, to no avail. Pieces kept falling out, her frustration growing with every failed attempt until she slammed a fist against the dresser, tears pooling in her eyes. Pointless waterworks, she reminded herself, quickly swiping them off, staring intently at her own face.

‘You’re upset,’ she could almost feel the ghost of Melina’s hands gather her rowdy curls, gentle and caring, as if Natasha wasn’t just some stranger ‘It’s just hair, fox. It doesn’t have to be perfect.’

Hers was.

Always.

And tonight?

Tonight Natasha missed her.

“Yelena, where are you?” she called again, sticking her head in their empty room.

It was unnerving, to be up past the designated bedtime, roaming the barren house. Unarmed. She felt a sting, down by her wrist, along the thin red line where her handcuffs clasped every night, steel cold and impossibly sharp, digging into her flesh without mercy. Most nights she’d wanted to escape, tear her own arm out and flee into the darkness. Yet, with time, as wailing echoed nightly throughout the Red Room corridors, she’d come to realize the restraints may not have been too much to her detriment.

“Lena?”

Melina and Alexei’s bedroom. She’d been there twice, both times to fetch a blanket or a pillow, in and out in seconds, never catching more than a glimpse of the tidy bed and the massive mahogany bookshelf filled with tons of volumes and the occasional trinket.

It was a fairly large space, although the bed took most of it. Natasha’s feet sank into the thick carpet underneath while she continued scouting, noting the absence of any frames or photos on the wallpapered walls. Safehouse.

It felt a tad bit wrong, to be invading somebody else’s privacy so shamelessly, although she kept her hands to herself near the dresser and the wardrobe.

The windows here looked out to the front of the house and down the desolate gravel road she was never allowed on. Convenient, Natasha swallowed, and ironic too, to wake up to the road to freedom every single day yet still be stuck under the iron fist of orders and obligations.

She stood there, at the windowsill, for what seemed to last forever, the darkness so thick she almost spiralled into believing she’d never again see the bright sheen of car headlights. That it was just her again, alone and frightened, buried under the rubble of a life that could’ve been.

“Boo!”

A set of hands wrapped around her ankles, sending a surge of panic throughout Natasha’s entire body. She jolted, throwing herself on the bed, which screeched loudly underneath her. With heart pounding in her chest she took a peak over the edge to catch a handful of blonde curls sliding back under the bedframe.

Yelena’s muffled giggles did little to convince her that it was okay, she was okay, that it was just a stupid little childish prank and not someone who wanted to slash her ankles and incapacitate her. Still, it took her almost a minute to steady her breathing and school her face back to normal.

“Yelena?” she called, deliberately leaving some of the panic in her voice “I really hope that wasn’t you under the bed. It’s almost midnight. You should’ve been asleep already. Он идет, сестра, он уже близко.”

A whimper followed the little feet that scattered beneath her, Yelena’s golden head popping up mere seconds later, the tears already dripping down her cheeks.

“Пожалуйста, не надо,” she crawled next to Natasha, desperately latching onto her hand “Hе позволяй ему достать меня. Пожалуйста, Наташа.”

“Bсе в порядке, Лена,” regret pooled in Natasha’s stomach, the terrible sensation that she’d gone too far settling in. She shook it off, though, speedily, burying her fingers in her sister’s hair to comfort her, but also, herself “I won’t let anyone take you.”

It was an old legend, the same one Ivan Petrovich had told her on her first night in Moscow when she’d refused to sleep out of excitement.

‘Settle down, Natalia. It’s time for bed. You don’t want to anger the domovoy, do you?’

The house spirit. The one who kept them safe. Until they angered him.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard him before, дорогая. Just before you fall asleep. But you’re not supposed to see him. So, close your eyes, and keep them shut. He won’t hurt you if you behave.’

She’d been younger than Yelena. Back then it was the domovoy that plagued her nightmares. She was a good girl, for Ivan Petrovich, and for the spirit too. Until he gave her away, to the Red Room. The nights that followed she mourned the domovoy. Because people, well, people were much scarier than spirits.

“Where’s your rabbit, Lena?”

Natasha brushed a teardrop from her face, looking around the room for the stuffed toy that was so blatantly missing now that she paid attention.

“Oh no.”

“Where? Under the bed?”

Yelena nodded, rising slightly from Natasha’s lap.

“Don’t go, Nattie.”

“But I have to get it.”

“He’ll take you.”

“I won’t let him. I’ll be quick.”

The space under the bed was dusty, the occasional spider dangling from its web. She saw the rabbit right away, picking its limp body up. But something else caught her attention. Strapped to the bedframe there were guns. Quite a few of them too. She doubted Yelena had seen them and frankly it would’ve been for the best if she hadn’t.

“Natasha? Did you find it?”

“Yes, got it, coming out now.”

Little did Yelena know, there was something else Natasha brought out with her. It was stuffed in her pants, very unladylike, barely held there by the elastic. She waited for her sister to drift off, now safe in the comfort of their own bedroom and cuddling her rabbit, before she stashed it in her emergency backpack, quietly zipping it back up.

I won’t let anyone take you.

Chapter Text

tap tap tap

tap                                                                   tap                                                                   tap

tap tap tap

Restless.

The wolves were calling out for her, among the forest of swaying trees, the moon barely a sliver of silver to guide her through the dark.

There was no sleeping for Natasha tonight. Perhaps it’s for the better, she gripped the banister, that also means no nightmares. Yet her mind wandered, back to the attic, to the boxes. Tangible proof the fantasy was crumbling apart.

On nights like these she thought about Ohio.

A place of many firsts and the first of many places.

She’d held the passport in her hand, stroking the gold-foiled embellishment with great fondness, unbelieving that in a day’s time she’d be an entire ocean apart from the motherland.

Natasha, and in turn Yelena, had been a last minute addition to an overseas intelligence gathering operation. That’s all they’d told her when they called her in an office, presenting her with her very own backpack and a brand new family of whom only Melina had been present. She remembered her piercing gaze, the collar of her shirt buttoned all the way up even in the summer heat. Odd, it had crossed her mind. But she never asked.

Widows were not allowed to talk.

Melina Vostokoff. She’d heard the stories of the Iron Maiden, violent tales of seduction and spilled blood. It was rare, for a widow to do so exceptionally well, to survive long enough to make a name for herself.

This time that name was mom.

They’d sat together in the backseat of a car, dead silent, until a man showed up and Melina slipped a ring on her finger. He was carrying a child, a sickly-looking blonde whom he passed onto his wife’s lap with a curt nod. Natasha didn’t learn their names until passport control, until the little girl woke up on the plane and they had to calm her down.

‘Тихо, Елена,' they held her, shoving whatever toy they had on hand into her grasp ‘Бояться нечего.’

And she slept again, quiet and obedient. From Moscow to Paris to New York, propped against Alexei’s shoulder or sprawled over their laps.

Meanwhile Natasha observed. She’d kept her fear at bay, clutching the plane seat with all she had during take-off, desperately trying to mimic Melina’s stoic stance.

There’d been so much to see up there, entire countries coming and going in the blink of an eye, swiftly disappearing into the fluffy clouds beneath her. We’re flying over Italy, the pilot had informed them, then it was France and Spain. Somebody kicked her seat, the little boy who kept running down the aisle, disrupting the flight attendants and tugging at their skirts. But they kept smiling, bright and cheerful, fondly stroking Natasha’s arm when they brought her lunch and a colouring book.

‘Go on,’ Melina had ushered her, picking up the green pencil herself and filling in a single leaf.

By the time they reached Cleveland, Ohio, Natasha had finished the entire thing, now full of vibrant red flowers and shy blue butterflies.

She tagged behind her new parents in arrivals, clutching her backpack and her new sister’s hand. People ran past them sporting t-shirts and suits, fancy hairdos and raincoats, luggage in tow and waving tickets. All the commotion enveloped her, drowning out bad thoughts and memories, the crowds bright and chaotic and so unlike anything Natasha had ever seen before.

‘Come on girls,’ Alexei, no, dad, loaded them up in the car ‘Time to go home.’

There were no wolves in Ohio, Natasha remembered, pouring herself a glass of water. Instead, there were fireflies. A million of them it seemed, blinking away into the night, beautiful and full of hope.

Bioluminescence, a chemical reaction.

For Natasha, it was magic.

Ohio was magic. Even more than that, it was freedom. She was free to roam the neighbourhood, dash down Highland Avenue on her bike, under the soft shadows of the oak trees. Safe.

Russia wasn’t safe. Even the woods out here were haunted. And fear, well, fear did things to people, made them more hostile and angry. And sleepless.

The front door clicked open. Somehow, she’d missed the headlights.

It’s just them, she reminded herself, hand hovering over the knife block.

But something was wrong.

Melina limped against Alexei, hand lost under her jacket and pressing at her abdomen.

“Natasha,” their eyes locked and she saw something she never thought she would find in there. Panic. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“Go get your sister.”

“Are we leaving? What is going on?”

Her heart had begun racing, from zero to a hundred for a fraction of a second. They’d done this so many times already, running away in the middle of the night with no explanation. Yet the fear never died down.

“Natasha, go.”

Alexei’s tone was harsh, like she’d never heard him before, his mere stance threatening. So she obeyed, self-preservation kicking in like it hadn’t since the Red Room.

The Red Room.

No.

She shook Yelena awake, gently though, putting shoes on her feet before doing the same for herself.

“Nattie?”

“Mama and papa are back, Lena. We have to go.”

She dug the backpack from underneath her bed, swinging it on her shoulders before grabbing Yelena’s hand.

Just like our first day in Ohio.

“-can’t do it, Alexei. We can still run.”

“We can’t. And you know it. You know we have no choice. They’ll make it, любовь. You’ve raised them strong.”

Natasha halted at the top of the stairs, squeezing the tiny fingers between her own. There was a finality to what they were saying, an ending, a decision that was long agreed upon without her consent. Her lungs screamed at her, the clock ticking in her head near detonation.

Then the front door burst open.

Chapter Text

Screaming.

That’s all there was, that’s all Natasha could remember from that night.

Yelena’s.

Her own.

Agonizing howls, guttural and primal, bouncing off the walls as they got torn apart, the black gloves weaving coarse around both of their wrists.

Somebody pushed her forward, indifferent towards the bruises and scraped knees as she tumbled down the stairs, just a girl and her pain, and a hand devoid of her sister’s.

It would’ve been easier, to give up. To close her eyes and feel the needle in her neck. She wouldn’t have seen it then, the tiny fingers reaching out for hers under the watchful eye of seven snipers.

“Nattie-”

Hot tears streamed down Lena’s round face, a baby’s face still, choking her up in a way no nightmare ever could.

There’s nothing scarier than real life. Especially if you’re a little girl.

She should’ve said something. It would’ve been a lie, of course, a hopeless, pathetic last resort of a ‘it’s going to be alright’. Better than silence. Yet fear had crippled her, the gun barrel against her neck digging in as if to sever her vocal cords.

She used to flinch, at first, at the sight of a firearm pointed directly at her face. It made things impersonal, hiding whoever was behind it from her line of sight. Wincing had cost her, the nights in solitary not quite as unbearable as the sliced skin beneath her shirt. However, with time she learned it was way easier to stare death in the face than to unleash it with your own two hands.

Yelena was shaking across from her, a fragile butterfly stuck in a vortex of misfortune, trapped in the company of two polished black Oxford shoes. He must’ve come in undetected, or perhaps he’d been there all along.

Don’t touch her, Natasha almost hissed as his fingers brushed over Yelena’s curls. She knew him, although not by name. The man in the suit, with the red handkerchief.

danger

“I always forget, which one is yours?”

His voice thundered around her while he paced, unbothered. It reminded her, this monologue of his, of all the weapons and the people in the room. He wasn’t talking to her, no, his speech carried this odd undertone, the one you’d save for teasing or an inside joke.

Like he was having fun among old friends.

“This isn’t what we agreed on.”

Melina.

Natasha’s emotions, the little that was left of them intact, struggled to comprehend she was still present. Her and Alexei, in fact, right where she’d last seen them. No longer holding hands. Her eyes wavered, between the redhead and the blonde, seeking their gazes as if to convey a message. And it drove Natasha mad.

There’d been an arrangement then, that’s how it seemed, that’s what it sounded like. To trade two lives... but what for? Their own?

Anger was usually an ally. Tonight, however, in this very moment, it obstructed her perception. There must’ve been something amiss with Melina, something beside her wandering irises. A trembling lip perhaps, a half-spin of her wedding ring.

Nothing.

Her face was but a blank white wall. She slipped though, finally. It took Natasha some time to catch it, but it was there. Whatever that man’s question meant, Melina’s eyes lingered on Lena for a tad too long.

“She should have had your eyes,” the sleeve of his suit brushed against Melina’s cheekbone “Pity. Maybe next time.”

She stood frozen, just like Natasha, incapable of responding.

Alexei could though. His fist collided with the man’s face with a gnarly crunching sound, sending him and his jaw a few steps back.

“Now, now, Алексей,” he spat some blood out, waving his hand in an unknown gesture “Save it for where you’ll actually need it.”

“Don’t you dare touch them. Any of them.”

“Oh but I will,” Natasha saw the syringe, mere moments before Alexei’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed in Melina’s feet “Load him up in the car.”

“Daddy!”

“Isn’t she darling?” he looked around the room, staring his henchmen down “Leave us.”

The cold lifted from Natasha’s neck, the heavy footsteps of the men walking away perfectly in sync with her heartbeat. She ran then, not towards the door or a window which offered only but a hypothetical freedom, but towards Yelena, cradling her small frame in her arms, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her pyjamas.

“You haven’t told them, have you, дорогая? Have you gone soft?”

“I did what I was asked,” Melina’s words came calm, yet she looked dazed, unmoving. She could take him down, Natasha kept telling herself, why wasn’t she doing anything? What mother just stood there with somebody else’s hands around her children’s throats?

It made Natasha sick, to have called her that, even just within her thoughts.

she isn’t my mother she isn’t my mother she isn’t my mother she isn’t she could’ve been

It hurt, like nothing ever had before, to be betrayed by someone you felt love towards. Because she’d loved her, even if it stung now, loved her for what she were, for what she could’ve been. All of the whispered words and sleepless nights, the laced-up fingers and the brush gliding through her hair, was all of that for nothing? Was she really not her little fox, the one she had taught to smile and hug. And love.

Natasha was distraught.

Natasha was angry.

Natasha had to do something.

If not for her, then for Yelena.

The knife materialized in her palm, the handle cool and smooth against her skin. Right hand, for foes.

“I didn’t ask of you to get attached, любимая. You’ve caused me tons of trouble.”

The man closed in on Melina, hiding with his body where his hands roamed. An opening, Natasha noted.

“Shh,” she mimicked, putting a finger at her lips.

And then she stabbed him.

It was a small knife, it could not have gone in deep. It would’ve given them enough time though.

Silence.

Then everything, all at once.

Yelena ran, straight into Melina, burying her face in her mother’s chest, begging her, to get them out of there.

The man was on his knees, pulling the bloody knife out of his femur, unholstering a gun.

“Better say your goodbyes now. You might not get another chance.”

Natasha locked eyes with Melina then, the tears too salty, too fake. Run fox, they were screaming, please, run.

Not without my sister.

Melina’s hands rubbed Lena’s back, comforting circles, as if there was no bullet ready to be fired at them. She was powerless. Nobody knew it, nobody but Dreykov and her. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing but watch the light fade out of her Natasha’s eyes, hate and anger burning where the emeralds used to be. Nothing but hold Yelena, her biggest secret, as her fingers curled around the syringe.

“Прости, Леночка.”

The needle went in deep, eliciting a horrifying scream out of Natasha. Run, Melina begged, praying her eyes were enough.

“Good girl,” Dreykov arose to his feet, exchanging his gun for Yelena’s limp body and tossing her over his shoulder “Now get the other one. Madame B would be delighted to have her back.”

“Natasha,” Melina turned, too anxious to approach, gravel in her voice “What did you say happened to that bird of yours? Don’t be afraid, Tusya, tell me.”

Something was happening. Melina never called her that. Nobody ever called her that. The bird. What about the bird? It crashed into the attic window and it was messy, but now the bird was saf-

The window.

“Run.”

He shot her. The Dreykov guy, he shot Melina.

it didn’t matter

of course it mattered

but not now

The glass came crashing under her, the pieces lodging themselves into her skin. But she was out, out in the brisk nightly air, sprinting towards the woods. She couldn’t see, be it for the darkness or the tears in her eyes. But she kept running.

A few seconds, that’s how much time Melina had bought her, that’s how long it took for the men to start firing at her. But Natasha was small. She was small and fast and a survivor.

A bullet struck the tree beside her. She withheld the scream, quickening her pace, wincing every time a branch would hit her face.

Every time she felt like giving up she remembered Alexei, teaching her how to ride a bike. Melina, scrubbing the dirt off of her face after she’d fallen. Yelena, curled up in bed beside her, telling her she was the best big sister. Ever.

Keep going, fox.

She ran until the sun came out, until the adrenaline could not sustain her anymore. Her lungs burned, her arms and legs and face a mess of cuts and blood. She couldn’t hear them behind her though. Only the sounds of the forest as she collapsed, the nightingales gladly lulling her to sleep.

What happens when you die?

To all the Red Room girls, Death is a mother.

Her robes drag quiet, pooling dark and ethereal when she kneels down beside your lifeless vessel. She strokes your face then, beautiful in its stillness but made of marble, kissing your eyelids closed, breath ruffling your lashes for one final time.

And then she sings.

Her voice seeps hoarse, chillingly hollow in a void only the two of you seem to inhabit. She apologizes, she hadn’t expected to greet you so soon. The song is haunting, mournful, guiding the veil around your glowing soul until there’s light no more.

‘It’s time,’ she takes your hand ‘It’s time for you to meet your sisters.’

Chapter Text

The bathroom was filthy, the lock on the door barely keeping it shut and in place. Someone had smudged lipstick against the mirror, a slur, bleeding its way into the cracked glass. Graffiti littered every surface, even the ceiling, only stopping at the small thin window that let some of the morning rays inside.

Natasha shivered, tipping a tiny bottle of vodka over the cut on her left cheek. She’d never done it before, stealing, but it hadn’t been difficult. The owner had been way too invested in a football match to notice her walk in, what’s left for seeing her out, a backpack full of stuff. The cuts over her body stung but they were small enough to where she could handle them. The one on her face though, that one was gnarly and long and rather messy. She hissed, pouring more of the alcohol into the wound, hoping it would do the trick.

She almost succumbed to a memory, one of Melina’s soft hands wrapping a bandage against her bleeding shin.

She was gone now

Natasha cupped her hands under the faucet, splashing cold water in her face.

Don’t think about them, Natasha. What’s done is done.

It stared at her, the box dye, thrown carelessly over her backpack which lay slumped on the floor. She’d taken it on a whim, along with a pair of scissors to keep it company, not even looking at the colour. It hurt to see it now, bright blue just like little Lena’s irises, so foreign and vibrant and so unlike her natural red.

You’ve got such beautiful hair, fox.

Not anymore.

Her fingers wrapped around the scissors, shaking as she gathered a chunk of crimson in her fist. It was thick, too thick to come off in one snip. But there was no turning back. The past had passed.

Natasha sobbed, chopping piece after piece, remembering against her will the feeling of a comb, of two freshly weaved Dutch braids, of two loving hands.

Melina’s dead.

So was Natasha.

She emerged, thirty-five minutes later, a hoodie covering her messy blue pixie cut.

It took her two days to get used to it, three days to reach the next town, four days for the Red Room to discover her trails.

And as the handcuffs clasped over her wrists and the serum kicked in, another little bird also took its last breath.

In a box.

Alone.