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Assassin's Waltz
1.

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The handkerchief, stained with the marks of childhood, falls across her cheek. A smile, heavenly, reaches her lips.

A cruel smile.

'Look, see what I found. You keep the little things which matter, and this is what you've been hiding all of these years.'

Wood creaks. A woman stands above her, fire in her eyes.

Territory has been invaded.

'Return that to me.'

'Why?' She laughs through a sigh, and presses the handkerchief to her mouth. 'Was this a gift from your love?' A giggle. 'Something to remember him by?'

No response.

Just the promise of vengeance.

She inhales the scent of the material. 'An offer of comradeship. You are not the type, Natasha.' A hand reaches out, tries to grab the handkerchief. Joyful, the offender stands and grins at Natasha. She's beautiful and radiant and mad with envy. 'Love is a toxic game only fools play.'

Like a hawk, Natasha preys on her. Delicate with her step; she identifies her target's weakest points. How she holds herself, where she can easily disarm her. The handkerchief is clutched in the other woman's grip.

Eventually she realises.

'Ah, is this a gift from your Director?' Another smile, dreamy. 'Hm. I hear such great stories about her.'

Natasha moves.

Her hands, soft and merciless, aim for the woman's throat. They scratch, pull, punch and it's a majestic brawl of quick and frightening lunges. Their hands are daggers, feet the bullets in a gun; their bodies are weapons.

The handkerchief drops.

Flutters.

Like the wings of a bird.

Natasha snatches it before it hits the floor. She blocks the next attack, and kicks her opponent in the solar plexus. Her target lands frightfully sudden, and she's winded temporarily. Anger and jealousy burn in her irises. She glares up at Natasha, hating her; rivalry consummated.

The winner is clear.

'If you knew what was best for you, Underwood, I'd suggest you stay away.'

'We are not created to love,' she spits.

'That is something I once believed.' Natasha turns on her heel, and the handkerchief hides in her clenched fist. 'You still have much to learn.' She smiles crookedly. There is nothing more satisfying than teasing an elder. 'Obviously.'

'Have you searched for her?' There's a smirk from her opponent. Mockery.

Natasha denies she has.

Although, curiosity has eaten away at her. It has been over a decade since she last met the Director and she doubts a woman, like she, would remember Natasha. The girl, against the pillar, lost and bloody.

The ice cream she gave.

And the handkerchief to wipe her mouth. Such an intimate, terrifying moment Natasha has never endured before. The Director spoke to her like an equal. Spoke to her with a gentle, warm voice. As if inviting Natasha into a world of tranquility, peace and justice.

Three gifts Natasha has never truly considered.

Not objectively.

There are those who fight for others, and then there are those who fight for themselves.

She thinks about those few minutes with the Director. That one time she was truly a child. A person.

(She could be human.)

'I know her.'

Natasha turns to Underwood, brow raised. She smiles faintly. 'Your deception is merely entertainment to me.'

'Aha. You lack faith in my words.'

'Why would I not?' Natasha looks down on her, confident and assured.

'She has a hard surface, but is as weak as cotton. Fragile thing. Some days, I feel sorry for her––broken and worthless.'

'Does your sympathy extend to you, then? Considering you match the same description.'

'You're funny.'

'I try.'

'I've always loathed you, Romanova.' She stands, eyes dark and menacing. 'You earned the title Black Widow, whereas the rest of us scurried along behind. Our efforts were worthless; we went away unnoticed.'

'Aw. You're hurt.'

'I wanted to be the best.' Underwood steps forward. 'The most powerful. We are all Black Widows, but you––you became The Black Widow, waltzing with that beast they call The Winter Soldier. Ha! To stand beside him.'

'You poor thing,' Natasha doesn't blink, 'You live in the past. What a torturous life you do lead.'

'Sometimes, the past is all we have left. You wouldn't know: you have erased yours, after all.' Underwood's eyes drop to the handkerchief. 'Well, most parts of it, at least. I'm not the only one struggling to let go.'

'You misinterpret my affections, Belova. I suggest you stop now before you cause yourself further embarrassment.'

'I no longer go by that name. We have both stripped ourselves from the name we were gifted as students.' She squints. 'For entirely different reasons.' She exhales, 'The Red Room facility seems so far away nowadays. An asylum buried deep under the earth.'

'Why waste time mourning history? It is meaningless.'

'You lie.'

'People say that is my greatest talent.'

'You can't laugh me out of my feelings, Romanova. You pretend you're immune to such emotions, but I am not fooled. You're the most vulnerable out of all of us. A flower, beautiful and alight, petals as tender as silk. Just one pluck––'

'And, yet, you have none left to scatter.'

Underwood is silent, and her face goes pale.

Then: one more smile. Almost innocent.

'I dream about loving again––that was the only moment in my life when I ever tasted the purest form of freedom.'

She comes over, and grasps Natasha's hand, the handkerchief buried in her palm. Their faces are inches apart. They look at each other, nearly as equals, but viciously opposed. How they were once the same girl, the same infant; defeating their pack of wolves for the crown.

'Until it eats you alive.' Dorothy licks her lips. 'Like the Devil.'

Natasha laughs, a breathtaking tune. 'Oh, I am very intimate with the Devil. Some even say, we are one and the same.'

'Perhaps.' She grins. 'But I do not recall the Devil ever falling for God's angels.'

Natasha's eyes sparkle with amusement. To her slight dismay, Dorothy doesn't put up a fight, and backs down. Their hands slip apart, and her fellow peer departs.

She waves.

'Do svidaniya!'

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author's note: A short sequel, with short chapters. I guess I had to continue from its predecessor. There were just too many ideas floating around.