'Orphans die alone.' As a phrase this had always been some strange form of threat - of course, orphans could marry, they could have siblings, friends, children. It wasn't a phrase that made sense, it should have read 'Devotchka Ivana die alone. His chosen subjects, his special prodigies. They would never have children - it was a biological impossibility - they would be so twisted and corrupted that friends could never prise the top off to find out what lay inside. They would be put against their siblings, taught to give all they had, taught to be jealous of another's victories.
It was his plan, not a threat as such, but he used it as one without making it clear that the threat was, and always would be, inevitable. They had all died, one by one, 27 girls had been picked off. Some hadn't been strong enough, buckling under the pressure and the blood. Others had been too arrogant, never learning to watch their own backs as close as they should. Some were driven mad, became psychotic and killed for fun, some were so jealous that they forgot who they were.
She had been so capable of becoming each and every one of these people. She had it in her from so young, the fight, the drive to survive and to make their people proud. She was the lucky one, the 28th and the only one of her class to have lived so long.
Then she hadn't even thought of herself long enough to notice, to consider herself lucky, or skilled, or anything. She was a shell, a machine, she was like one of Tony's suits - designed for a purpose and everything else did not compute.
Now it was over, all those years gone. She was a person again, she had become more than a title - finding Natasha again underneath all her programming. So much blood had run through her fingers, her eyes had witnessed and cataloged more bodies than she cared to think of, in fact, that was one of the ways she found herself again. For so long bodies were only that, but then she had started to remember faces amongst those that were gone. The cold look in their eyes, the blood dripping down their faces from a crater on their forehead. She started to remember those caught in the crossfire. A little boy, maybe ten, his father shaking him and crying over him, begging the child to wake up even though they knew.
The killing was necessary at that time, the same way it always had been, but it had changed position. Civilians mattered, they were no longer just collateral damage. They were the reason for the mission, the reason it was worth a shot - it was always worth a shot.
She met the family - Clint's wife and kids. Lila drew her a picture, she was tiny at the time and it was just a mix of scribbles on the paper. It was the first time anyone had given her a genuine gift since she had been a similar age to Lila. She became someone the kids liked to see - she was never sure why, but they seemed to see something in her that she couldn't.
Clint did too, Cap, even Tony became someone she could joke with. It had all been right until it went wrong, and even then for a while, she had Cap and Sam.
When the world went to hell she didn't know what would happen. She didn't yet know she would be capable of making that choice. But it was done, and it was right. Maybe in some way, if the world worked like that - which she doubted but, Gods, robots and talking Racoons do leave an impression on the belief system - maybe she could fix all she had done.
The others, yes they had killed - they may even have killed innocents - but she was more than that. She hadn't been at war, she hadn't fought for the good of others. Maybe when she died there would be a chance to undo her wrongs - to bring back everyone, to bring back Clint's family.
Maybe the killing machine could at least help to end the killing.
She knew she was dying, she had opted for this, but even on the ground at the bottom of this large cliff, she could feel her chest becoming tight, her breaths becoming fast and angry. It would be over soon, and then? Who knows maybe there would be something after, but maybe not. If there wasn't, she could deal with that. She did her best, even if that best meant she was gone.
'Orphans die alone'.
Yes, she was alone, she lay on the cold ground, feeling as though a heavy smoke was filling her body and mind. She was alone now, she was dying, she knew that the others would mourn and she damn well hoped they would do everything to make this right.
Natasha doubted someone could die feeling so alive and with a heart so full of love.