A/N: Thanks so much for all the feedback so far! Please read and review!

Yeah, I've been living in the red, oh, 'cause I can't forgive and I can't forget

Her body ached after the fight, but she slipped out of the hospital without being questioned. Hopefully, if anyone came looking for her, the staff wouldn't report her missing right away and she could get out of the country before anyone noticed. That was the plan. James would want her to come home, to regroup, to get backup. But she didn't think the answers she was looking for were in the States. So she headed to the airport and booked a flight in the opposite direction.

After two hours of waiting for the plane and five hours on it, she landed in St. Petersburg. Her belongings had been left at the hotel in Weimar, but she had gotten her hands on some casual attire before boarding. Her dress definitely attracted attention, and that's what she needed to avoid at this point. Shoes were always the hardest to come by and she regretted the nice sneakers she'd left behind. The new ones were alright, better than heels, but not as comfortable.

That was important because she forwent a taxi in order to walk to her destination. It might have been paranoia, but she always felt more confident on her own feet. Especially since she could always tell when she was being followed on foot. The airport, however, was not particularly close to her safe house, and it took the better part of an hour to hoof it. Still, no sign of anyone taking special notice of her, so she wasn't bothered.

This particular safe house had not been occupied in many years, and she'd gone to great lengths to keep it hidden from everyone. There was no telling whom you could really trust, she'd always known. It was important to have somewhere to go to ground that she could count on being uncompromised. And, especially since she'd leaked all SHIELD's files, those places were few and far between these days. She'd been working at increasing the number, of course, but it took a great deal of time to work through all the backchannels.

So, this was it, for now. She walked quietly up the carpeted stairs, vaguely relieved that they squeaked despite her precautions – she would be able to hear anyone coming. It was an older apartment building, in what was now a bad part of town. Not that she had anything to fear from that. She could defend herself, and it increased the likelihood that no one would ask questions or remember her later. She paused in the stairwell, considering that, when she bought this place, before she'd even started working for SHIELD, it had been a much more pleasant place to live.

Pushing the thought away, she moved forward, stopping on the fourth landing and walking down to the third door. The old key was still hidden between the carpet and the wall, to her relief. Not that she didn't have other methods of gaining entry. The lock scraped from disuse and she coughed at the dust that had accumulated. It was a small apartment, the kitchen and living area all one space, with a tiny bedroom and bathroom attached. Wiping everything down with a rag crossed her mind, but she headed for the couch instead.

Relief swept through her when she lifted the cushions and found the padlock beneath them still locked. The key for it was long-gone, and it took her a few minutes to pick it. Successful, she lifted it open and smiled grimly at the arsenal before her – a shotgun, two rifles, four pistols, a few knives, Widow's bites, taser discs, and plenty of ammo. She had taken care to restock the place whenever possible, but hadn't been on a solo mission to this part of the world in some time.

After taking inventory, she headed to the pantry to see what might have been left. There were a few prepared meals like those the military used. They would do – she didn't plan on staying long enough to eat more than that. Before preparing one, she gave into her impulse to deal with most of the dust and check on the rest of the place. There was some water damage, plenty of hard water stains, but nothing too unpleasant. Nothing to keep her from making this her base of operations, at least for now.

Settling down on the couch, she pulled out the burner phone she'd gotten at the airport. The other she'd thrown away at the hospital. Into it she programmed the most important numbers she had, since it could save her life to have allies on speed dial. It had before. Going through dummy sites to reach her email account was annoying, but something at which she'd gotten plenty of practice, so it didn't take long. Nothing from Fury yet. Or from Yelena, but that was a long shot. A short message from James asking for update, and nothing else of consequence. She wrote back to say she was fine. She considered saying more, but decided not to until she knew something. He had his hands full.

Impatience got the best of her and she sent Fury a text to call her back as soon as he could. He would know it was her. Feeling a little worn down, she fixed her dinner while she waited for a response.

"Hello, Nick."

"Natasha." His voice sounded slightly concerned.

"I'm fine. What did you find out?" she pressed.

He cleared his throat. "There were twenty-eight of you originally. Ten of you graduated. You know this."

"I do."

A pause, as though he were nodding. "What you may not know is what happened after you left. The others stayed and worked for Mother Russia for years, long after you came to us. A few, Elena, Oksana, and Renata were killed in action before Department X was shut down. Those are records I can find. What happened to them afterward is a lot harder to track."

"So you don't know?" she asked, keeping the disappointment from her tone.

"I have a lead. There was an Andre Rostov who started showing up in the mission reports toward the end of its run. I managed to find him, he may have kept contact with the others or have some idea what they are doing nowadays."

Any lead was better than none, and Natasha smiled. "Where is he?"

"Volgograd. He has some ties with an organization called the Sword of Judgment, so keep on your toes when you talk to him," Fury recommended.

She snorted. "I've heard of them, just the usual band of disgruntled people thinking that putting civilians in harm's way will get their point across."

"They've been escalating in the last few years," he warned.

"What would you suggest I do?"

"Ask nicely for help."

A laugh escaped her. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."

"Romanoff, I mean it."

"Understood, boss. You home yet?"

He sighed. "These damned flights are delayed. I've been at this airport for hours."

"Well, say hi to James when you see him. Make sure he doesn't go off half-cocked," she added.

"You make it sound easy."

Smiling, she glanced at her watch. "I have to go to work now, Nick."

"Keep me in the loop, Romanoff," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she replied, then hung up. The information Fury promised started making her phone buzz a few moments later, after she'd cleaned up the kitchen. Checking on flights to Volgograd gave her something to do while she waited for it all to arrive. Then she packed up about half of her arsenal and headed for the door. It entered her mind that she should get some sleep before heading off again, but she didn't think she could relax enough for that.

She was calculating how long it would take her to get to Rostov's location when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Freezing, she took a deep breath – her nerves were more fried than she'd thought, and she forced herself to continue locking the door as nonchalantly as possible. Foresight had influenced her to tuck a knife into her pocket, and she fingered it for reassurance as she listened. A figure stepped into view and she adopted a politely distant smile as she headed for the stairs.

Relief flooded her when she noticed that it was just a ragamuffin child, but it was short-lived.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the child said, squinting at her. "Did you come out of 43?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, considering escape routes.

"I was told to drop this off if any lady came to that place." Shuffling forward, the child held out an envelope. Natasha reached to take it, aware of a tremor passing through her fingers.

"Thank you," she murmured, and the child ran off as soon as it had rid itself of the burden. The envelope had her address written on it, and was old and tattered. It was not unusual for her to receive information this way, she reassured herself, but it had been a few years. And it wasn't like anyone should know she was here.

Steeling herself, she opened the package to find it empty except for a single blue ribbon, barely six inches long. The sight of it caused her to drop her bag in order to catch onto the bannister so she could catch her breath. The flight was going to have to wait.