Chapter Text
Natasha never forgot where her daughter had grown up. It was not the kind of thing she could ever forget. But she had, she realised, stopped keeping it in mind as much. Maybe she shouldn’t have.
Steffie sat cross-legged on her bed, her back straight but a softness in her shoulders that would have been unthinkable mere months ago. River, lying sprawled on the rug, seemed unconcerned, which honestly only concerned Natasha more.
The only way to control a Widow is to make her understand she is prey.
Natasha understood what Steffie meant all too well. Wanda clearly hadn’t understood earlier, and Steve and Sam, even if they spoke Russian, wouldn’t have understood. They had all the context, but they still wouldn’t have quite grasped it. Even Yelena wouldn’t have understood it in the same way Natasha did. Melina would understand, Melina had been a mouse in a cage that shouldn’t have contained her. But Melina wasn’t here, and this conversation couldn’t wait. It was up to Natasha.
The only way to control a Widow is to make her understand she is prey.
Steffie had never been given a version of the serum that worked on her. Like Natasha and Melina, she’d had the physical ability to resist, but it had taken her a long time to do so. Before the serum, Dreykov hadn’t had the absolute ability to control a Widow. He hadn’t had the physical ability to beat a Widow. Not one on one. Not hand to hand. He’d bound them in a different sort of power, and without it, he’d have had no chance.
Widows like Melina, who were skilled fighters and talented spies, warrior mice sent far away from the physical bars of their cages, they should have gotten out. Freedom appeared theirs for the taking. Theirs if they dared. If they dared. Natasha had. But she’d done it when she was beyond caring. When she had nothing left to lose. When Dreykov had already taken everything that mattered to her, and, as far as she knew, destroyed it. She couldn’t have done it otherwise. Because she’d known, no matter how strong she seemed to be, she was prey.
It was a truth learned from childhood. A truth that was true as long as enough Widows stayed in line to deal with any Widow that dared rebel. A truth that was maintained because it was taught young and taught well. A truth planted and watered and nurtured with every bruise and beating and death. The defiant bled, the runners fell, the rebellious broke, the disloyal died. Dreykov and his guards could control each Widow only so long as they could control them all, but they’d controlled them all by controlling each one.
The only way to control a Widow is to make her understand she is prey.
Natasha had understood in an instant what Wanda, Steve, and Sam hopefully never would. Wanda was the Widow. Wanda was too powerful to control. Wanda could not be beaten in a fair fight. But there was more than one kind of power. Just like children stolen and shaped by the Red Room, Wanda could be taught she was prey. Wanda could be bound into someone else’s will. Wanda could be controlled.
Even now, Steffie might still be able to do it. It had taken Wanda too long to fight back. There had been undeniable fire in Wanda’s explosion of frustration, but it had been the petulant anger of a defeated child, stamping their feet and shouting that it wasn’t fair. Wanda had fought back, but there had been defeat in her eyes anyway.
Steffie could break Wanda in as she had seen countless other girls broken in between walls that had never known mercy. She could do it. Natasha didn’t doubt it, but it wasn’t what scared her so deeply. What scared her was that Steffie would.
It wasn’t the idea of Wanda broken that scared Natasha. The girl’s loss would be a blow to the Avengers but Natasha wasn’t nearly personally invested enough in her to be scared of the prospect. No, it was Steffie who Natasha was scared for. Steffie who was raised a mouse in a cage. Steffie who had been a Widow made to be prey. Steffie whose mind had been shaped by the Red Room from the moment she was cut from Natasha’s unwilling body. Steffie who sat cross-legged on her bed, face stony with communicated certainty, absolutely confident that her actions had been the correct path. Not the right path, not a good path, as if either of those were important considerations, but the correct path. The correct play. That scared Natasha.
(It scared her too how appealing the idea was. How if it wasn’t Steffie, if it wasn’t her baby girl’s heart and future at stake, Natasha would have been tempted to let her finish what she started. To wrap Wanda in chains of power she wouldn’t dare resist. To make her understand she was prey so Natasha would never again feel shattered and grief-stricken and destroyed when she thought of the wretched girl’s powers again. In a secret, shameful part of her heart, Natasha felt the appeal. Steffie wasn’t the only one raised to value power and control far beyond any idea of right and wrong.)
And it scared her almost as much that Natasha wasn’t sure she could teach Steffie otherwise. She’d thought she’d gotten through to Steffie. Thought their discussion about second chances and defecting had put her daughter’s anger to rest. But instead Steffie had simply gone underground. Instead Steffie had simply assessed that Natasha wasn’t going to get on board, and she’d decided to do the job quietly rather than abandon it. And how could Natasha, who could see the appeal herself, impress on Steffie that Dreykov was wrong? That coercive control wasn’t a go-to solution for anyone who she disagreed with. That it shouldn’t be a go-to solution. But how could she impress that on a child raised to lie and manipulate? Whose entire identity system (or lack thereof) had been designed for manipulation. How could she teach Steffie to be something so different from what the Red Room raised her to be? What if it was too late to teach Steffie to be better than what the Red Room taught her?
But no, no matter what the fear clawing at her heart and gut said, it wasn’t too late. Steffie was already better than what Dreykov taught her to be. She had already broken free. Her daughter’s very name and identity was proof of that. Manipulative control may still be as familiar as breathing to Steffie, but it wasn’t nearly as constant anymore. Lies and dishonesty were an every-day problem, where Natasha caught her at it, but Steffie was also capable of deep and genuine kindness, and was fiercely protective of those she cared about. Steffie was the girl who still saw lies as convenience more often than not, but she was also the girl who caught Lila as she fell out of a tree, rigged board games so nobody lost for too long, and consistently made time to listen to Holly’s sometimes incomprehensible descriptions of her day and answer her questions. Steffie could learn better, and Natasha refused to give in until she did. Steffie was going to learn right from wrong if it killed her.
Even so, Natasha knew that she wasn’t going to get anywhere just by punishing Steffie. It was, even now, what Steffie probably expected. She knew she’d done something Natasha didn’t want her doing, so she expected Natasha to give her a punishment severe enough to deter her from future defiance. It wasn’t just Wanda Steffie applied that logic to, and Natasha would get nowhere by following it. The only thing Steffie would learn was that she’d get in trouble for going against Natasha’s will, not that her actions were wrong in themselves.
Not that she wasn’t going to punish Steffie. That would say that what she’d done hadn’t mattered, and it did, and Natasha had every intention of giving her daughter consequences as extensive as the campaign of misery she’d embarked on. But she wasn’t going to hand it out until she’d impressed on Steffie the difference between consequences and coercion, and her daughter at the very least understood what she was being punished for.
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Mama was being irrational. This was nothing new, and nothing Stephanie hadn’t expected. Mama’s reaction the first time she’d hit Wanda, the only time she’d done it where Mama could see, had shown that Mama wasn’t going to be rational about Wanda. Stephanie didn’t like fighting with Mama, she didn’t like this feeling that they were on different sides, that Mama had placed herself on a different side. She was on Mama’s side, but Mama wasn’t on her own side.
Mama was a Widow, raised to assess, contain, and neutralise threats, but she’d failed to either contain or neutralise Wanda. The former Hydra asset had already successfully assessed, contained, and all-but neutralised the Avengers once. She had reduced Mama, a trained and seasoned Widow, to terrified trembling long after she’d been gone. Wanda Maximoff was dangerous. She was a living weapon as dangerous as any Widow had ever been. No matter whose uniform she currently wore, she was dangerous. But Mama failed to assess this. Stephanie must not do the same.
Maximoff had defected twice already, Hydra to Ultron to Avengers. Stephanie wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her to find her next side. She wasn’t going to sit idle and trust a traitor not to turn and finish the job this time. Mama had chosen to forgive and move on. She refused to see how little reason Wanda had to be loyal. Recruiting her was rational. Wanda was powerful. Recruiting her without safeguards was not. Wanda was, would always be, a potentially fatal threat. It needed to be contained and handled or it would destroy them all. It would destroy Mama.
(Stephanie remembered Mama, crumpled to her knees in her tac-suit, holding her like she was trying to hold onto a dream, desperate and trembling and pleading, broken in a way Stephanie had never imagined her. Stephanie remembered how close Wanda had come to breaking Mama.)
Stephanie had made the right play, but Mama was irrational and she refused to see that. Mama was trying to forget just like she’d tried to forget Young Asset drugging her and what almost followed. But Wanda Maximoff wasn’t Young Asset. Wanda had volunteered. She had joined Hydra willingly, and defected just as willingly. Nobody had ordered Wanda to attack the Avengers, no handler had guided her on how to do it. Neither Hydra nor Ultron had unmade Wanda, she had chosen her own path. And that path had nearly destroyed the Avengers.
Rationally, Mama should have contained and neutralised the threat. She should have placed ironclad safeguards to stop Wanda defecting again. To ensure she obeyed orders, to prevent her from quietly pursuing her own agenda. But Mama was irrational and she hadn’t. So Stephanie had done what was necessary. There was no point apologising for it. Mama wouldn’t believe it a second time. And she clearly wouldn’t be rational, so discussion was pointless.
So Stephanie sat in Mama’s fraught silence as they drove home, obediently went to her room, sat down, and met the grim analysis in Mama’s eyes. She refused to show Mama that she felt bad inside, sitting across the room from Mama, as if they were on opposite sides. Steffie had made the right play. No matter what Mama, in her irrationality, thought, she was on Mama’s side.
“Explain yourself.” Mama said finally. A purposefully broad and ambiguous order. There was a thread of iron in it, despite the exhaustion Mama couldn’t quite hide, and the fear all-but invisible on her face. Stephanie didn’t understand the fear. Mama wasn’t afraid when Wanda was near, but she was now. What was there to be afraid of here?
Mama’s question was an order, but it was also an invitation. Mama wanted Stephanie to explain, to talk to her, to help her understand. But she only wanted to understand to find weakness in Stephanie’s words, to find a space where she could change Stephanie’s mind, where she could insert her own irrationality. And Stephanie didn’t have to play along “There’s nothing to explain. You already know.”
“Explain anyway.” Mama said, words clipped.
Stephanie didn’t have to play along. But she felt bad inside facing Mama from opposite sides. “Wanda Maximoff is dangerous. She needs to be contained.”
“We’re all dangerous.” Mama retorted, “Does that mean we should all be beaten into obedience?”
“Everyone else has proven themselves.”
“Wanda and Pietro fought with us in Sokovia. Where Pietro nearly died in case you’ve forgotten.”
“They had nobody else to turn to.” Stephanie returned, already regretting engaging. Mama wasn’t going to be rational. This was pointless.
Mama blew out a breath of frustration “How is Wanda meant to prove herself if you never give her a chance?”
Stephanie didn’t bother responding to that. Only an idiot took their eyes off a hostile to give them a chance to not shoot them. Mama’s expression tightened as she remembered what didn’t need saying, but not for the reasons she should be uneasy.
“Papa and I were both hostile before we came here. Tante Yelena and Baba Melina too.”
Mama didn’t say Stephanie had been a hostile too. She could have listed Young Asset, but Stephanie wasn’t Young Asset. She’d unmade Young Asset and found or built Stephanie Yelena Barnes, piece by piece. Young Asset’s skills and training would always be inside Stephanie, but her choices were her own now. She would never be unmade again and even when Mama was furious (and she was furious) she wouldn’t look at her and see Young Asset. Not anymore.
“Hydra and Dreykov unmade you all. We had no choice. You told me that.” Stephanie reminded Mama “Wanda chose it for herself.”
“I didn’t say we were hostiles out of choice. I meant what I said that what it wasn’t your fault.” Mama said, apparently deciding the point was too important to even accidentally undermine. For a second Stephanie thought of Greta anyway, her small body still on the mats. Even now, Stephanie only mostly believed Mama. But she believed it enough to know it wasn’t the same as what Wanda did.
Mama continued when she saw that Stephanie wasn’t going to disagree with the point “We didn’t choose it, but we were still hostiles. We were given the chance to choose a different path and we chose it. Wanda made the same choice. And she might have had more choices than we did but she still had a hard life. She made some very bad calls, but that doesn’t mean she can’t make good calls. It certainly doesn’t mean she deserves to be hurt until she doesn’t dare to cross the lines drawn around her, the way Dreykov hurt us.”
(Mama’s voice was sharp as she finished, her distaste for the Red Room’s training clear. Before Holly, before seeing what Dreykov had done to her, Stephanie hadn’t really understood that distaste. But Dreykov had taken Holly and hurt her to forge a weapon, when Holly had never been his to take and hurt.)
“It doesn’t mean Wanda’s good calls will be good for us either.” Stephanie stated, since Mama seemed to insist on forgetting that Wanda’s calls had been the right calls for herself right up until Ultron decided to destroy more than Wanda wanted him to. “It doesn’t mean she won’t turn on us again.”
Mama made a sound of deep frustration, one hand running through her still damp hair, “Holly put her foster parents in the hospital, do you think she should have been bullied until she didn’t dare hit back?”
It was a throwaway comment, a burst of frustration as Mama tried to find her next retort, but it caught Stephanie off guard. Holly had stabbed her foster parents. She could have killed them. She hadn’t been in control when she’d done it, but she’d still done it. It was different from what Wanda did. Holly hadn’t chosen it and it hadn’t caused near the kind of damage Wanda inflicted. But Holly had been dangerous. Was still dangerous, even as that danger faded the more time passed since she’d trained. Holly hadn’t chosen it, but it happened again and again without Holly choosing it, and could happen again and again. Holly should have been contained, the danger neutralised. Rationally, she should have.
But Stephanie would rather be contained and neutralised herself than see it happen to Holly. Wanda wasn’t Holly. Wanda had been in control when she’d dug into Tony’s mind and fed him his own nightmares. She’d chosen it when she’d torn apart Mama’s mind and almost broken her. Wanda wasn’t Holly, small and vulnerable and lashing out at threats visible to nobody but herself. Wanda wasn’t Holly. But for a single second ice-sharp doubt cut through what Stephanie knew to be true. Wanda was dangerous. Her loyalty couldn’t be trusted. She could destroy the Avengers. She had to be contained and handled or she could destroy them all. Destroy Mama.
But Holly was dangerous too. Her loyalty had been to the red room, only later to Yelena. She put multiple people in hospital. She could have killed them, could have killed Yelena. Wanda wasn’t Holly, but rationally they should both have been contained to neutralise the threat. And if the idea of it happening to Holly made Stephanie’s whole body prepare to fight, then what if...
But Wanda wasn’t Holly. It was only what if, it was only a single second of doubt. Stephanie knew what was true. She had made the right call.
(Hadn’t she?)
Stephanie had done what was necessary. What someone had to do. She refused to let Mama see the second of weakness, of irrational doubt. Wanda could not be trusted. She was a threat waiting to happen.
The argument went on, Mama pressing and pressing and pressing until fear was plain in her eyes for anyone to see, and Stephanie still didn’t understand that fear. At last Mama’s shoulders slumped and she said the discussion wasn’t over, but it was time to make lunch. She took a stack of blank notebooks and she wrote in the beginning of each one, and told Stephanie she was to copy out the sentences until each notebook was full. Stephanie read through them when Mama went downstairs to prepare lunch. None of the sentences mentioned Wanda, but they were about her anyway, each one refusing to be rational and acknowledge the constant threat Wanda posed.
Stephanie would not become irrational like Mama. One of them had to be rational. Wanda had to be dealt with. But as she flicked through the blank pages and mentally calculated the time the punishment would take, she grudgingly came to understand she couldn’t deal with Wanda by her initial plan. Mama wouldn’t let her. Stephanie could no longer strike at Wanda directly.
They argued over Wanda eight more times over the coming days, repeating the same things over and over, Mama refusing to drop it and Stephanie refusing to be weak.
But perhaps Mama was wrong and she had gotten through to Stephanie, or at least under her skin. Because Wanda wasn’t Holly, but when Stephanie tailed her and monitored her whenever she could, without ever letting Wanda see her, so that she would catch the first signs of disloyalty and could make Mama see before it was too late, she saw other things too. She saw exhaustion and misery. She saw a hundred aborted glances and words, the way Wanda walked and moved in constant reference to a man who wasn’t there. She saw how Wanda slouched and kept her eyes down, making herself smaller when she knew others were around. Wanda wasn’t Holly, but when she watched Wanda she sometimes thought of Holly calling Young Asset, the handler-who-wasn’t-a-handler, knowing failure meant punishment, because she had nobody else to call.
And, perhaps, Mama was wrong because Wanda wasn’t Holly but when, much later, Stephanie sat beside the sink and washed a cat Wanda had cared enough to rescue, and she monitored the steady rise and fall of Wanda’s chest, she thought of Holly again. She remembered Holly asking, desperate, for orders so tante Yelena wouldn’t send her away. She watched Wanda fall asleep the way only the utterly and completely exhausted do, as much the body giving out as sleeping, and felt the shard of doubt rooted and growing inside her. Wanda wasn’t Holly. But seeing her now, slumped against the sink, helpless in the presence of her enemy, she looked almost as vulnerable. She wasn’t Holly. But she might not be just a threat to be contained either.
But Stephanie had made the right call, tried the right play.
Hadn’t she?