NEW CHAPTER WOOO!
I'm sorry it took so long! I always take forever to write. I also went back and edited the first chapter rather extensively, so if you want to go check that out first, go ahead! If you don't, the main things you need to know are:
1) Madame B. is now called Vasilisa (Alexeyevna Ivashina). Also, Natasha thinks of herself as Natasha rather than Natalia (ever since she asked Djenya to call her by her short form).
2) I added another getting-to-know-you/falling-in-love scene between Djenya and Natasha, and I rewrote that ONE scene (you know? I can't bring myself to say it, sorry. It makes me feel so awkward haha). It's much less angsty, much shorter, and hopefully much more in character now.
(Also, I'm looking for a beta, so if you would like to, or you know of someone else who might, please let me know!)
In the two days since their escape, Natasha and Djenya had been on the move nonstop, rarely staying somewhere longer than a few hours. Soon, they would be leaving New York City altogether and heading for Boston. The constant movement, combined with their ability to blend in with crowds and avoid surveillance, had kept their trail hidden so far. Someday, maybe they'd be able to settle down, but the risk was too great so soon after their escape.
Natasha found that she didn't care. She had never smiled so often nor felt so light. A huge weight had been pulled away and she felt suddenly that she could fly. Seeing Djenya's happiness only fed her joy. It was surreal, to see how happy he was. A light she hadn't realized was missing had lit up behind his eyes. She wondered if he could say the same about her.
She squeezed his hand lightly, and he glanced down at her and gave her a quick smile. They were walking down the street of a market crawling with people, looking for food. Natasha had been feeling nauseous and hungry, and it helped disguise them when they pretended to be ordinary, in-love, American tourists. It also allowed them to act carefreely, something Natasha was growing to relish.
Djenya nudged her and pointed to a food stand selling teriyaki noodle bowls. "What about that place?" he said in his American English.
Natasha checked it over and nodded decisively. "It looks good. Let's try it."
Djenya stepped into the long line. "It looks amazing," he said, sounding almost like he was correcting her.
"Hmm," Natasha responded, lips twitching in amusement.
Djenya looked back at her. "What?"
Natasha projected an air of innocence. "Nothing, nothing...I just find you amusing. That's all."
"I'm hilarious," he said with false indignation.
Natasha only patted his arm condescendingly. "Sure," she said, turning her attention back to the menu, which was only a few more people away. Djenya rolled his eyes but allowed her to change focus without remark.
After ordering and receiving their bowls, they began to walk towards the exit. They had to move through the crowd carefully, people pushing in on either side, but both kept a good hold on their food without any trouble.
"We should rent a car and leave this afternoon," Natasha said, introducing the new subject deftly after walking and eating silently for several minutes.
Djenya took another bite of his own noodles. "The rental place I mentioned yesterday will be open, so we can leave by 5:00."
Natasha calculated the distance and time it would take to travel, adjusting their plan to fit. "We'll get to Boston sometime between 10:00 and midnight then."
"As long as traffic isn't terrible," Djenya agreed, dumping his empty bowl in a trash can as they passed.
Natasha ate quietly and considered him out of the corner of her eyes. "Have you been to Boston before?" she asked neutrally.
Djenya's eyes dropped to the ground. "Probably."
"And before?"
Djenya shrugged slightly. "I still only remember... faces and-and pictures. Nothing concrete. I know I've been here... and I know it looks different, but I don't know how." He trailed off and shrugged again.
Natasha hmm'd in understanding. Since they arrived, he had started to remember more of his past. He would see a place and recall some event, some interaction. But he never remembered names or the meaning behind the memories. It frustrated him, but he was also relieved. He'd had a life, before everything. A good life.
Natasha wasn't sure if she should be glad to not have memories of before or if she should want them. Sometimes she wished she did so she'd feel more human; other times she was relieved to have nothing to miss or try to build towards, nothing in her past to measure her life by. Any step forward was good for her, better than anything she'd previously experienced, and she didn't have to worry about going back to the way she was before. Djenya did, and she saw the strain it caused him.
"You'll like it though," Djenya said as they walked through the exit.
Natasha laughed. "I like anyplace new."
"That's why I know you'll like it," Djenya said, and Natasha elbowed him.
Suddenly, he stiffened minutely, just enough for Natasha to notice. Natasha tensed, dread growing in the pit of her stomach. "Let's go this way," Djenya said casually, indicating an alleyway to their right. "I think it's a shortcut."
There was a threat, Natasha knew. Keeping her face forward, she searched the area discreetly until she found them, someone facing their direction too casually. A spy. She spotted a gun in the man's jacket pocket, only just visible, and even with his sunglasses obscuring his eyes, fitting for the bright, sunny day, she could tell he was watching them.
"Sure," Natasha said. "You know New York better than I do." You'll know how to lose them easier.
The alley was small, and they quickly passed through and crossed the street into another alley across the street. This one was longer, but Natasha also knew that people were around the corner, people waiting for them.
As they turned, both Djenya and Natasha struck out first. Cries and yells broke out, and the man she'd hit in the neck fell backward, disoriented and easy to disarm. His gun was already loaded, so she immediately shot one, two, three people, before whirling to duck another person lunging with a knife. The knife-wielder tripped and fell, and she grabbed their knife and stabbed another attacker in the leg. Djenya pounded the man who'd tripped into the ground, and Natasha noticed four others lay motionless behind him. Three new people came running in from behind them, and Djenya rose to meet them. Natasha faced the last two on her side.
One, the woman, had a gun whose bullets had nearly hit Natasha several times, the other was searching for a weapon. Natasha went for the woman first, ducking down and springing up to kick the gun out of her hand. The woman responded quickly, slamming her fist into Natasha's face, but Natasha used her fall to whip out her legs and trip her opponent. The man had rushed to retrieve the gun, so Natasha threw her knife into the man's back. The woman tackled her as she threw, lifting her head and slamming it into the floor. Natasha deflected her next blow, using her body to latch on and flip them over, where she quickly punched the woman in the jugular, causing her to choke and giving Natasha the upper hand. She hit her head into the ground until the woman passed out, then jumped up to help Djenya. Snatching up the gun of her opponent, she aimed and fired, killing the last man standing as Djenya let go of his stranglehold on his opponent and stood, letting Natasha step forward and shoot him in the head.
No one else could be heard approaching, so Djenya quickly grabbed a radio from one of the bodies, and they rushed from the scene.
As they moved, one after the other, Natasha dropped her jacket and put on the glasses she'd kept in her pocket in a case. Her hair was died brown, so she left her hood down, knowing that would be more conspicuous in the sunny weather. Djenya removed his hat and pulled his hair up into a knot, throwing an arm over her shoulder. Within seconds, they'd thrown on quick disguises and were merging into the crowd flowing pass the end of another alleyway, heads together as if they were an ordinary couple talking with each other as they left.
"They shouldn't have been able to find us," Djenya said. Although he projected a fake smile and huddled with her convincingly, she could hear his urgency.
Natasha also forced a smile to keep up appearances but nodded in agreement. "They must have some way of keeping track of us."
"Trackers," Djenya murmured. "We need to check for trackers."
Natasha adjusted his arm on her shoulder. "That's why we left your arm. We planned for that."
"We must have missed something. They must have implanted one of us with something."
Natasha considered this a moment before speaking quietly. "I was unconscious for a part of the time. When they enhanced me. They must have decided they would rather be able to find us if we fled than avoid losing us to capture, even with all the training."
"They certainly wouldn't care how compromising a tracker can be," Djenya said, bitterly. "We need to take them out. Now."
They ducked into another alley, and after several turns and them both listening and looking for any sign of danger, Djenya motioned for her arm. She extended her right one quickly, trusting him to know how to find one. As he searched, she scanned the area. Seconds or minutes later, he grabbed her other arm, but as he did, she heard it.
"A chopper," Natasha told him anxiously.
"I found it," he exclaimed, shifting to pull out his knife, his thumb resting over a spot on her upper left arm where the tracker must be. "Jus—"
A small, black device slashed through the air beside them, and before they could run, a jolt of electricity shot out of it, pushing them into unconsciousness.
They wouldn't see each other again for many years.
.
.
"…ini…"
.
.
.
"Scans…"
.
.
.
Beep.
"It… …ing up…"
.
Beep.
"They're n…ly co..lete…"
Scratch, screech.
Beep.
"Done."
Shuffle. Click.
Shift, try to open eyes. Light too bright.
What is going on?
"She moved."
"It's fine; come over here."
Shuffle. Click.
Eyes blink again. Again.
"Zoom in there."
Cl-click. Click. Slide.
Quiet.
The quiet helped, and she remembered. Natasha, she was Natasha. Everything was so blurry…
Shuffle. A shadow moved across the room.
"Is that—?"
"What is it?"
Vasilisa.
Natasha blinked more, clearing her vision. She lay on a cold, hard surface. Gathered close together across the room, a group of people stared at a screen, its lights reflected on their faces. Vasilisa stood in the center, form stiff and arms crossed. Natasha couldn't see her face.
"The trainee," one of the doctors said. His voice was shocked, she could hear it. "She's pregnant."
Natasha's mind suddenly became startlingly clear, and it raced to understand his claim. She was pregnant? Natasha, the spy, a product of the Red Room?
She remembered. Djenya. That night. It must have been then. And the nausea, that had been a sign, a sign…
The irony was stifling. The one time they risked, and only because of a ceremony where she'd be sterilized...
"What?" Vasilisa's voice cut through her thoughts, cold as dry ice and more dangerous than a madman with a gun and nothing to lose.
"She's going to have a baby, Vasilisa," the doctor said, still shocked.
Nothing but the buzz of electronics broke the silence, and Natasha floundered in confusion and panic.
"Get rid of it," Vasilisa spat finally, turning to leave the room.
"Wait!"
The room froze.
Natasha didn't know why she had said it, why she was risking so much for something that wasn't even alive yet, but she trusted her instincts. She needed to keep the baby. "If-if you take the baby, I'll never be as good a spy."
Vasilisa slowly faced her. Natasha had never seen her so furious. "You dare."
Natasha kept her voice even, but her face showed her resolution. "The doctors aren't trained for abortions. They'll hurt my body more than the pregnancy could."
Vasilisa's face remained statue-like except for her lip, which curled slightly in disgust. "We'll get someone else to do it," she said, starting to turn away again.
"The longer it takes to find someone, the more risky the operation will be. The baby's already more than a month old. "
Vasilisa turned back and crossed her arms. "So we waste a year instead? Your body will be ruined anyway."
"It won't be wasted," Natasha said firmly. Her words were a vow. "I will train the whole time. Only physical training will be postponed and only for a part of the time. After the birth, I will train ten times harder. I will perfect five languages, ten accents, fifteen abilities. I will do anything and kill anyone to keep my baby alive. But"—Natasha's eyes were steel, her voice biting and emphatic—"if my baby is taken, I will destroy you all."
Vasilisa narrowed her eyes and leaned over Natasha to look her straight in the eye. Natasha did not stop glaring. "You would kill anyone?" she said.
"Yes."
"Even your lover?"
Natasha had known she would ask, so she answered immediately. "Without hesitation."
Vasilisa studied her a moment longer. Straightening suddenly, she turned to the others in the room. "Doctor," she demanded.
The doctor who had spoken before responded. "It would be too much trouble to bring in new doctors, and it is…a rare gift to be able to examine the child of two enhanced people. It would be a fascinating study." The doctor smiled leeringly, and Natasha had to suppress a shiver. What was she getting herself into?
Vasilisa clenched a fist and nodded decisively. "Leave it then. I expect regular updates."
She turned to Natasha one last time. "I will hold you to your word," she warned, and then she left the room.
In the coming days and weeks and years, Natasha would wonder if she had just made the best or the worst decision of her life. All she knew in that moment, however, was that for some strange reason she couldn't stand the thought of losing this child, her baby. And for that moment, she was enormously relieved.
Miles away, Djenya did not wake so slowly. Water filled his nose and throat violently, disorienting him, choking him, taking his ability to breathe.
He wasn't in the Red Room.
Trying to blink and shake the water away, Djenya continued to gasp for breath, the noise harsh and pathetic in the silence. His left ear popped, and he winced. Must have been a hose that woke him.
"Report," a frigid voice said in Russian.
Djenya's eyes snapped in its direction. The commander stood before him, eyes narrow and sparking.
Brows furrowing, Djenya hesitated a moment. "Where...where is Natasha?"
The commander flicked out a hand sharply to signal another person, and a blow hit Djenya's head. His ear rang, leaving his mind scrambling to catch up to the situation.
He heard the soft thumps of booted feet drawing close to him.
"Report," the commander said only a few feet away. Just out of arms reach despite the restraints around Djenya's arm and feet.
But Djenya could remember again, and he would not back down, not this time. "Where is Natasha?" he said. His voice was low, a threat.
The commander's face twisted into a sneer, and he stepped back once. "Longing," he spat.
Djenya recognized the word immediately, and his eyes widened, jerking against the restraints.
"Rusted."
"No!"
"Seventeen."
"Where is she?!"
"Daybreak."
"TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"
"Furnace."
Djenya lashed out again...
"Nine."
...and stilled, eyes burning into the commander. "I'm going to get away someday."
"Benign."
"I will rip you to pieces."
A slight hesitation, then he continued angrier. "Homecoming."
Djenya gritted his teeth, trying desperately to hold onto his desire to find Natasha.
"One."
He was losing himself.
"Freight car."
.
.
.
"Say it."
A breath.
"Ready to comply."
Natasha learned quickly that Djenya had been taken back by his organization while she was unconscious. Two instructors had been conversing lowly about it, but Natasha heard them easily. From what she'd overheard, the commander had been very angry with Natasha and Vasilisa, claiming that she had seduced him into the escape, but he left, in the end, taking Djenya with him, and hadn't returned.
Her heart had ached when she'd first learned of his absence, but she didn't allow herself time to grieve. She pushed it aside and moved on. She trained, harder than ever, pushing herself past her limits until the doctors told her she needed to begin resting for the baby. Even then, she trained every possible moment, both mind and body.
Sometimes, however, in the late of night when she couldn't sleep, she wondered how Djenya was and what he would think of their baby. Although they had never discussed it, she knew he would have cherished having a child just as much as she was growing to.
But the pregnancy passed without any major complications and without Djenya beside her, and it was not too long, only three seasons later, that the birth occurred with an equally small amount of complications.
Natasha lay flat on her back, utterly exhausted, waiting for them to return with her baby. The room was dim, but her eyes slid to a close in the light anyway. The cot she lay on pressed against her back harshly.
The birth had been much easier than Natasha had anticipated. It had been relatively quick, and she had certainly been in worse pain in the past. No, the waiting and uncertainty had been the worst. Even now, she waited anxiously for her child. She didn't even know whether to say he or she.
Would they even bring the baby back? The deal had been struck, but she wouldn't trust anyone here for anything. She kept trying to banish the doubt from her mind, but it always slipped back in, like water that will find the smallest crack in a wall and seep through. What if they took the child and told her it died?
She could still hear crying in the other room at least. That comforted her as much as it worried her.
The door to her room screeched, and Natasha's eyes snapped to the man opening the door. He held her baby in his arms, loosely wrapped in a blanket and crying still. Natasha pushed her self up to sit somewhat upright against the wall
Walking briskly across the room, he stood beside her cot and held the baby out. She instantly snatched it from him, holding it close to her chest. The baby snuffled and began to quiet down as she held it.
It was so tiny. Was it supposed to be so tiny?
"The baby's things will be brought here soon. Everything it will need," the doctor said. He was the one who'd been assigned the job of making sure she had everything she needed and knew everything about caring for a child. Apparently, he had had several children himself.
Natasha nodded, and he left the room. The door screeched and thumped to a close behind him, and then it was quiet but for the baby's sniffling.
Relaxing, Natasha looked down to see her child for the first time.
It was very small all over: feet like her pinkie finger and hands like the flat of her thumb. Its nose was the size of a blueberry, and its eyes, which were all scrunched up, were even smaller.
Swallowing away a lump in her throat, Natasha stroked the baby's nose and cheeks and eyes. There was a white substance covering most of its body, and its face was red and splotchy. One of its ears, too, were folded, and when she straightened it, it slowly folded back in.
It was the cutest, most beautiful child she had ever seen, and she felt a fierce need to protect the child.
Remembering suddenly, she peeked under the blanket. A boy. She smiled, a little teary despite herself.
"I will name you Pyotr. Pyotr Yevgenovich Romanov, since your father had no family name," Natasha whispered to her baby, rocking him just slightly and trying to wrap the blanket more securely without setting him down. She let herself relax further, holding the child close.
"My sweet little Petya."
Within a week, Natasha was back training again, ten times harder, as she had bargained.
She had never felt so overwhelmed. Beyond the intense training and the heavy scrutiny, she was sterilized two days after the birth, which left her even more exhausted and in pain. Then, on top of that, she now had a baby, whom she cared for deeply and whom she had little to no help watching over. There was an air of it's your problem from everyone she even glanced at while with Petya. She quickly decided that the only way to keep him safe was to train with him in the same room in order to keep an eye out. He slept nearly all the time, but when she periodically needed to feed him or when he began to cry or require a diaper change or almost hurt himself, she had to be there. She couldn't stand to leave him alone, and she knew it was dangerous to do so anyway.
Of course, training in the same room as a baby was also dangerous, but Natasha set up safety precaution after safety precaution and was reasonably confident enough in her abilities to believe Petya safe. Certainly more safe than anywhere else.
He grew quickly, though he always felt so small to her, and he startled easily, being always surrounded by abrupt noises. Terrifyingly for Natasha, he cried often. She feared that if he made too much noise, her instructors would grow frustrated and would take him away, so she always kept him as quiet as possible and did her best to prevent him from crying in the first place.
At night, she was even more anxious to keep him quiet, so she kept his crib right next to her bed. That way, when he started crying, she could always sweep him up quickly and begin to calm him. She learned very quickly the best ways to quiet him, and she was always so nervous about his noise that she lost a great deal of sleep beyond how much the baby kept her awake.
By the two months mark, Natasha had a hard time remembering when she hadn't been fighting a perpetual tsunami of complete and utter exhaustion. In fact, she had passed out several times, and she had to be very careful to always eat and drink a great deal to make up for the lack of sleep and the overabundance of activity. Bleeding together like new clothes in warm water, the days were an almost clockwork schedule of waking and sleeping and eating and child-caring and training.
It wasn't until the middle of the night during one of her nightly wake-and-feed-the-baby sessions that she was rewarded for her hard work. She had just finished and was simply relaxing and enjoying the rare ability to sit and hold Petya in peace, murmuring as she often did, when his eyes blinked sleepily at her and he gave his first smile.
Natasha stared, eyes lighting up as she realized what had happened. It was a wobbly smile, but it was a smile, a reaction to her voice. Her baby had smiled at her. She watched in amazement, grinning back. The smile did not last long, of course—the poor child was exhausted, and not long after, his eyes shuttered shut in sleep—, but Natasha did not care. Her baby had smiled, and she was overjoyed.
"Oh, Petya," she said with a little laugh, kissing his forehead.
Petya snuffled in his sleep.
Petya's next milestone—his first full night of sleep several months later—brought Natasha more relief than joy. This was both because she could start getting more sleep now and because when she woke and saw the first rays of sunlight coming through the tiny, rectangular window in an upper corner of her room, she had thought something went horribly wrong.
She got ready that day and then woke him, but not without checking that he was safe and well over twenty times, nearly rousing him at least five of those times.
Natasha hit the target for the hundredth time that day and felt like grinning. When she had arrived that morning, her usual practice room had been rearranged, the moving targets set up with new technology to move more irregularly and the long distance shots set to pea-sized targets rather than grape-sized ones. It was a test, and one she was passing with ease. She hadn't missed a single target.
After checking her handgun and after putting its safety back on, Natasha placed it and its holster on the weapons' wall. She would move onto ballet training next, but she wanted to see Petya first. She had installed a sound monitor in his crib, but he hadn't made any noise she could notice in her earpiece for a while. Besides, she always tried to check on him every hour, even if just for a second.
Petya's crib was behind a strong, sound-dampening wall that was enough, she believed, to protect his sensitive ears. The small room had only one entrance, and it had a simple but firm door. The room was designed and built to the least-expensive and most bare-bones standard possible. Vasilisa made every effort to show her displeasure. Approving only the most absolute necessities was a part of that.
Natasha entered the little room, immediately seeking Petya out. He had learned to sit up on his own some time ago, and so he sat now, smiling when he saw her enter and babbling quietly.
She returned the smile. "What are you up to?" she said, pulling him out of his crib and kissing his forehead. This room was secure. She could show affection.
"Gah-ah," Petya babbled, hand gripping the fabric of her sleeve.
"Just missed me, huh?" Natasha said, smiling fondly and rubbing a finger against his cheek. Petya's head dropped onto her shoulder, and he cooed. Slipping down to sit cross-legged on the floor, Natasha set him on the ground in front of her and watched as he waved his arms around. She combed a hand through his thin hair and her smile dampened. "You look so much like Djenya," she murmured. They had the same understated blue eyes and dark brown hair. Her bold red hair and water green eyes could never be so subtle.
Petya flopped over and struggled to get his legs out and up from under him, and Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Trying to crawl again?" she said, thoughts of Djenya pushed aside.
She watched quietly as Petya lifted an arm and, wobbling, slapped it back down ahead of his other. A leg rose and fell next, then the other hand, then the other foot. Grinning, she sat still as he slowly crawled onto her lap again. When he lifted a hand up to her, babbling, she swept him up without hesitation. "Good job, Petya!" she murmured happily. "Wonderful work."
Petya was playing when Natasha heard footsteps closing in outside their room's door, thumping loudly on the cement floors. But before she could motion to Petya that they needed to be quiet, she saw him place a finger to his lips and quietly say, "Shhhh," eyes wide.
As the footsteps passed their door and moved in the other direction, Natasha slumped in relief, reaching out to hug Petya to her. Despite knowing the necessity, she found herself wishing his first expression of language hadn't been one of fear.
The doctor, the one who had encouraged Vasilisa to allow Petya to live so he could examine the child of two enhanced people, scratched notes onto a clipboard. Petya's physical examination had just finished, which included noting the child's walking progress. Since he'd started several weeks ago, he'd improved rapidly and could now walk wobblingly across the length of the doctor's office without needing help.
Natasha hated coming here every week. It was dehumanizing, for both her and her child. She "no longer deserved to be seen as a person." But she had to keep up her mask of emotionlessness, or she'd be seen as inadequate and Petya would be in danger.
"Any other progress to report?" the doctor said, tone uninterested.
Natasha hesitated only a moment before divulging the news. "He spoke his first word four days ago."
The doctor's head snapped up, and Natasha resisted the urge to clench her teeth at his enthusiasm. "What did the boy say?"
"Mama," Natasha replied coolly.
The doctor sneered slightly but did not comment on the word, looking down to jot down notes. "Anything else since?"
"Hungry, quiet, thank you." She had taught him to say thank you herself.
"Make him say something," the doctor said, seeming pleased with the list of words.
Natasha bent down slightly to address Petya, who was sitting on her lap. "Say thank you, Pyotr."
"Spaseeba," he said quietly, only slurring the p and b a little bit. Natasha was proud.
The doctor jotted down a few more notes and smiled at them. "You may go. I'll be informing Vasilisa of the boy's progress."
Natasha nodded and stood to leave, Petya in her arms. Once the door closed behind her, her shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. Vasilisa had been...disappointed in Petya's progress so far. This should hopefully stave her off.
"Mama, mama, do i' 'gain, do i' 'gain!" Petya whisper-shouted, giggling quietly and climbing haphazardly back up onto his mother's lap. As they were at home and alone, he had permission to play as long as he was quiet.
Natasha grinned and waited until he was still. She hummed a drawn-out sound, and Petya giggled, wriggling in anticipation. "Hmmmm, what is this?" she said in a garbled voice, clicking her tongue as she talked. Her eyes were closed again, and she pretended to try to figure him out by touch, hands flitting from his hair to his shoulders to his ears.
She paused on those, and Petya giggled again. "Theeeeese seem familiar, hmmm?" she garbled. She poked at his ear and pulled them forward gently, trying not to laugh at his squirming and giggling.
Suddenly, she gasped, a hand going to her mouth as if in shock. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "It's the being again, the inoplanetyanin!"
"I'm not 'n alien!" Petya exclaimed in a whisper.
"What do we do?" Natasha pretended to wail. "He'll find us all!" Natasha gasped as if in sudden realization. "We must distract him! Quickly!" She leaned in and tickled his sides, and he giggled and tried to wriggle away.
"Stop, stop!" he squealed, and Natasha fell backward, Petya flopping down on top of her.
He quickly pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I go' you," he said.
"You got me," Natasha agreed, voice normal again. She leaned up and kissed his nose, grinning as he cried, "Mama!" and rubbed his nose with his sleeve.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps, and she sat up, setting Petya aside and placing a hand on her lips. There were multiple feet, one in heels and two in boots. Natasha instantly stood.
As she'd anticipated, the door was opened, and Vasilisa stepped inside, two guards in step behind her. Her gray eyes swept the small room, resting on Petya just behind Natasha before meeting her trainee's eyes.
"I have been told that the boy's progressing well," she said crisply.
Natasha did not speak, her chest tight with fear.
"Russian, French, and English," Vasilisa said, her heels clicking as she went over to the wardrobe and slid a finger through the dust at its top. "It must have been difficult to teach him three on your own."
"I managed," Natasha said emotionlessly.
"Yes," Vasilisa said, moving to stand in front of Natasha. Their eyes bored into the others until Vasilisa's slid away to look at Petya.
"Comment vous appelez-vous, garçon?" Vasilisa said, asking for his name in French.
"Pyotr, madame," Petya said very carefully. His accent was off, but he didn't have a lisp.
"Et quel âge avez-vous?" she continued her test. And how old are you?
"Deux," Petya said, not meeting her eyes. Two.
Vasilisa sniffed. "Decent," she said, switching back to Russian.
The silence stretched, but Natasha bit her tongue.
Finally, sighing falsely, Vasilisa spoke. "They wish to do more tests on the boy."
Natasha felt her throat go dry, thoughts frozen.
"I am here to oversee his removal. Don't make this into an issue."
Natasha breathed in and out slowly. "Where?" Her voice was clear and sharp, and Petya gripped her leg. Natasha placed a hand on his head comfortingly.
"A training and research facility," Vasilisa said warningly.
"Then I will go and train there. You will need me to care for him."
"No," Vasilisa said, voice harsh. "You would do well to remember that you have lost the luxury of trust. The boy can survive without you."
Natasha's shoulders stiffened. "We have never been apart."
"This will be good learning experience then," she said slickly, mockingly.
Natasha narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. "When you graciously allowed me to keep my son, you promised we would not be separated so long as I did my part."
"I did not—"
"I have done everything," Natasha interrupted mercilessly. "I have fulfilled my promises and more. And if you do not keep your side of the bargain, I promise that you will find my threat fulfilled with equal success."
Vasilisa's face twisted with anger, but Natasha stepped forward and the Red Room's director fell back instinctively, the guards gripping their guns more tightly. Every bit of anger and hate the Black Widow felt towards these people shown through in her eyes, and for the first time, Vasilisa Alexeyevna saw just how dangerous a weapon she'd created.
Natasha sneered when she saw the fear in the director's eyes and continued, practically spitting her words. "If he so much as trips without treatment, if he is not back here in exactly 168 hours, 7 days, I will peel you open and burn you and your precious Red Room from the inside out. You will feel the pain I have endured tenfold, and I will laugh." At the last word, Natasha stepped right up in Vasilisa's face, giving her a clear once-over, and the director flinched. Natasha scoffed. "Coward."
Staring Vasilisa down a moment longer, the Black Widow turned her back to them, knowing it would show her confidence and her disdain for their ability to fight her. Her face softened as she knelt in front of her son.
"Mama?" Petya's eyes were wide and teary, and his voice wavered.
Natasha's heart broke, and she pulled him into her arms tightly as he began to shake, shushing and murmuring his name and promises of safety over and over. Desperately, oh so desperately, she longed to force them to take her also, but she knew they'd refuse after what happened last time she left. The only way she was leaving with her son was if she fought her way out, and even she couldn't risk going up against more than fifty trained fighters with a child to protect. This was her best chance of seeing Petya safe, and it hurt her more than anything.
Finally, she pulled away, her arms still around him. "Petya, hey, look at me," she said softly, and when he'd met her eyes, rubbing the sleeve of his shirt against his eyes, she continued. "You're going to be alright, ok? Just remember what I told you. Be quiet and respectful, and do everything they say. You'll be back here before you know it." Natasha swallowed but met Petya's eyes solidly. "I'll keep you safe. Do you understand?"
Petya nodded tearfully, and Natasha pulled him into another hug. "I love you, Petya, never question that."
Petya gripped her tighter. "I love you too, Mama," he said, the fear, the terror, so evident in his voice that a tear slid down Natasha's face no matter how hard she tried to keep it back.
She quickly wiped away the tear and stood, Petya still tucked into her arms. Eyeing both the guards carefully, she finally turned to the one on the right and ordered, "Put away your gun," gesturing towards Petya. She didn't trust him more than the others, but something about the way he immediately put away his gun, something about the look in his eyes, almost like a promise, allowed her to hold Petya out and let her baby go.
She stepped back, hands going behind her to hid the way they shook as she tried to ignore the way Petya was calling for her.
Vasilisa flicked a hand at the door, and the guards left. Her mask was back up, and when she spoke, her voice made the hair at the back of Natasha's neck stand on end. "See how well you can care for your brat after the week is over. You will learn true pain."
Natasha bared her teeth, and the door slammed shut, leaving Natasha alone in the darkness.
A week later, Natasha's hair was matted and tangled; her clothes covered in dirt; her body, inside and out, aching and burning at the slightest movement or touch; her mind clear but blank. She followed a guard to Vasilisa's office where five other guards stood at the ready. She was silent as Vasilisa greeted her with barely concealed nervousness and bravado, as she was informed that the training facility where Petya was being held had been destroyed. Natasha did not speak when commanded to prepare the Red Room for attack nor when ordered to answer. Instead, she waited until she stopped talking and shot everyone in the room, stabbing Vasilisa painfully with knife over and over. She cut through the Red Room's defenses like a scythe through wheat, even as a bullet burst through her side, then her arm, then her leg.
For Petya, with nothing else to lose, she escaped.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it (especially of Petya)!
