NATASHA
Solvetnik worked fast, as Natasha knew he would. He had the American's – Barton's – apartment bugged within twenty-four hours. Right under the kitchen sink too, prime placement to hear almost everything that happened in the entire apartment. Barton was hardly there much though which meant she picked up very little. For all his talk of a fresh start, he seemed to have semi-regular conversations with someone he was very comfortable with. Maybe he didn't really want to leave his past behind as he'd said.
The next day, she decided to really put the screws to Barton, pin him like a bug to a corkboard so he couldn't escape, get some answers as to his real business here. Her plans flew out the window the moment she stepped in the theatre. Mila had arrived early and she sat next to Barton on the edge of the stage. Natasha hung back, watching, as Mila talked a mile a minute, her face glowing, relating her adventures in dancing and Barton soaked up every word of it. He wasn't merely humoring her either. He gave Mila his full attention and Natasha couldn't ignore that, no matter what spin she tried to put on it. She wanted to hold it against him and resent him for getting Mila to open up, to be animated in a way she never was with anyone else only to crush her later on. He might let Mila down sometime in the future…but it was a long shot at best.
Other dancers began to show up along with the work crew and Barton and Mila went their separate ways. Despite the chaos of opening night drawing near with costume fittings and the orchestra coming in for practices now, she still managed to find a way to corner Barton backstage for a minute or two.
"You're distracting Mila from practice," Natasha said.
"Good morning to you too," Barton sighed. "Look, I know she has a job, so do I. The last thing I want is for her to slip up and lose a promising career in ballet just because we got a little chatty one too many times."
"Then keep your distance. She's young and she doesn't need whatever you're tangled up in."
That seemed to shut Barton's quips up for a fraction of a second. She'd hit a nerve. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, tinged with guilt.
"What do you expect me to do? Just ignore her?" He shook his head. "I don't want to hurt her."
"Then why are you talking to her?"
Barton shrugged in exasperation. "Because, damn it, she's the only one I've met who doesn't hate my American guts and hasn't outright threatened me which is actually kind of nice for a change."
Natasha didn't reply at first. She didn't pity him, but if he was desperate for friendships in a new place, she might learn more from him by playing the part of friend although the role never suited her much, it always became complicated and jumbled. Almost any other role would have suited her better. Cold hearted diva? A cinch. Don't let anyone in. She already did that. Seductress? Too easy. A little black dress, some red lipstick, and the rest was left up to the imagination. Voila, mission accomplished.
But friend? The lines became blurred, boundaries crossed in the blink of an eye, and it made the job infinitely harder than it already was when she had to double-cross – or kill – at a later date. She couldn't ever afford to develop a real friendship, the job would always come first.
"Earth to Miss Romanoff," Barton said, pulling her from her thoughts.
She blinked herself back to the present and shot him an annoyed look. "What."
"You just up and left there for a good minute or two. Everything okay?"
This was it. She didn't want to do it but if she could get the information she wanted, so be it. Time to change tactics.
"I think we may have started off on the wrong foot," Natasha said.
Barton frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, our first meeting wasn't all that…friendly, I'll admit. You're new here and I believe it would be a good idea to start over, give you a proper welcome to Russia."
He eyed her warily. "Are you sick?"
"No…"
"'Cause I'm pretty sure I just heard something nice come out of your mouth."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Want me to take it back?"
"No, no, I mean it's good, it's…nice. Weird, but nice." He paused then a look of concern crossed his face. "Wait. What does a 'proper welcome to Russia' entail?"
"A tour of the city, maybe a few drinks if you enjoy that sort of thing."
"Nothing violent? Because I've already been shot at once and I'd rather not repeat the experience anytime soon."
Natasha allowed herself a small smile at that. "Nothing violent, I promise."
Barton hesitated but nodded anyway. "Yeah, sure, I'd be up for that. Later this week maybe? If, you know, you're not busy or anything. You look busy."
"That would be fine," she said.
Barton nodded again and he seemed to relax the slightest bit. "All right. Great. I'll just…I gotta ask something first."
"Certainly."
"Why the change of heart?"
She sighed. It had been going so well but then he had to ask questions and she was put on the spot to have a believable answer ready.
"Because, contrary to my first impression, I am not made of ice. You've brought Mila out of her shell, something no one else has been able to do. On that merit alone, you deserve more credit than I have given you."
Barton's eyebrows shot up, seemingly speechless.
"Is that a sufficient answer for you?" she asked, only a hint of teasing to her tone.
"Yes, it definitely is."
All the way back to her apartment, she thought of how she could question Barton while they toured Moscow. She wondered how well he held his liquor and if the truth would just bubble right out of his mouth after one too many drinks. Americans, she had found out, didn't tolerate Russian drinks too well.
When she walked in the door, she stopped in her tracks. On the table in the entryway sat a silver and green business card, pinned down by a small black lotus flower, frozen in mid-bloom. She picked up the flower, rolling it around in her fingers. The petals were smooth, slick, and hard. She scratched at the surface with a fingernail. Obsidian.
Next, the business card. The faint smell of incense and spices clung to the glossy paper. Looping, elaborate handwriting scrolled across the back.
Lady Newmark requests your presence at The House of Lotus.
Natasha tapped the card against the table. Newmark had one hell of a reputation. Certain, unusual deaths worldwide that had been attributed to her were off the charts, men who had double crossed her, women who had mocked her. Granted, none of the deaths had been officially confirmed but there were hints. Poisons, darts, all manner of gruesome yet silent forms of assassinations signed with her trademark black lotus. No solid link directly connected to her, of course, which left speculation but Natasha believed there could be grains of truth buried in the stories.
Given Newmark's background, Natasha would have to stay on her toes, stay sharp for this. Newmark could give Natasha the break she desperately needed and she wasn't going to turn that opportunity down.
Natasha waited until nightfall to visit Newmark. "The House of Lotus", Natasha knew, was really a curio shop, buried in with other stalls, booths, and shops that lined the streets of Moscow's Chinatown. Red and gold paper lanterns glowed from shop windows and spilled warm pools of light across the pavement.
The House of Lotus didn't grab the attention, the storefront faded with a purposeful antique flavor about it, subtle yet promising for those who knew what they were looking for. Others would simply walk on by. The shop took up an entire street corner, unlike other shops that had to share a corner with at least two other sellers, which meant The House of Lotus held a prominent status in Chinatown. Newmark had earned respect here. Or fear. The two so often went hand in hand.
Candlelight flickered in the windows and a small Asian boy sat on an overturned bucket outside the door. When she approached, the boy scrambled to his feet and hurried to open the door for her with a bow.
The black and silver décor of the foyer gave the place a dark atmosphere that pulled at her, beckoning her deeper inside. The boy opened another door off to the left and disappeared. She followed after him and found herself in a room filled with knickknacks and trinkets. Various animal bodies - skulls, feet, teeth, and antlers - dangled from strings or floated in weird, yellowish viscous fluid-filled jars, or were pinned out on boards and mounted on the walls.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."
Natasha turned at the smooth female voice. A woman stepped out from behind an ornamental partition, her movements subtle, like liquid gliding across the floor. She wore a slim fitting green silk dress with a slit up to her hip, her dark hair in perfect glossy, crimped waves down to her shoulders with a cluster of orchids tucked behind her ear. She smiled the slow, knowing smile of a cat with a trapped mouse.
"I'm assuming you have information for me," Natasha said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be wasting your time as well as mine."
She inclined her head forward slightly. "Straight to business then, I see. This way." She slipped behind the partition again.
Natasha considered protesting but didn't think it would do much good. She wasn't the one with the upper hand here. Newmark had information that Natasha may, or may not, need. She couldn't afford to lose any leads at this point but she couldn't afford to put herself between a rock and a hard place either. She'd have to play this carefully.
She followed after Newmark into a small room with a low black marble table, two plates of sushi, a steaming pot of tea, and two small white cups. Green and black cushions scattered across the floor on either side of the table. Natasha settled across from Newmark, easing herself onto her knees so she could run at the first sign of trouble.
"I suppose you've guessed that I am the one who requested your presence here," Newmark said as she began pouring the tea into the cups. Each movement was measured, slow, unhurried. She was well aware she was the one in control here and Natasha was entirely at her mercy. She would take her time and there was nothing anyone could do to hurry things along.
"Lady Newmark, yes. And you already know who I am."
"Of course," Newmark said, sliding a cup towards Natasha. "Natasha Romanoff. I've always held a certain fondness for the ballet. I'm quite familiar with your work. On and off the stage."
Such a vague statement was loaded with hidden meaning, a strategic trap to get Natasha to divulge more. She used that trick one too many times herself but it left her on the defensive, not knowing exactly what Newmark implied, and she didn't like the feeling of scrambling to catch up. She needed to gain some high ground and fast.
Newmark glanced up for the first time, her cool gaze steady. "Gao," she called. "Bring him in."
A tall, thin, white man in a suit entered the far side of the room, guiding Solvetnik by the elbow. Gently, Natasha noticed, not harsh, not yet anyway. Solvetnik was blubbering and muttering a mile a minute though. The stress of the situation, of not being near the equations on his wall made him anxious. For a split second, he noticed Natasha from across the room and he fell quiet. His eyes welled up with tears.
"Tsarina," he whispered. "I'm sorry they…they erased my equations, they were going to take more if I didn't…I didn't…" He broke off into silent tears, his stooped shoulders shaking, his head in his hands, pulling compulsively at his hair.
"It's all right, Solvetnik," Natasha said. She returned her attention to Newmark. "What did you do to him?"
"Absolutely nothing," she replied. "We haven't harmed him in any way. I asked him some questions and when he refused to answer – a valiant attempt at loyalty, I might add – it only took one equation to be smudged from the wall before he caved. You see, I have my contacts too, Miss Romanoff, and my contacts tell me what goes on the city. I like to be aware of what is happening in Russia just as much as you do."
Natasha's jaw clenched tight. That sneaking feeling was creeping up in her gut instincts, that feeling telling her a clean getaway wouldn't happen tonight.
"What do you want?" she growled.
Newmark smirked and folded her hands in her lap. Natasha's fingers almost flinched towards the knife in her boot but she remained calm, implacable in the face of Newmark's taunting.
"Oh, don't raise your hackles at me, Miss Romanoff. I won't hurt your precious little snitch. It would be of no advantage to me, just make a bit of an inconvenience that I'd rather not deal with. I know your heart lies with Russia, that you will stop at nothing to protect your home country. I feel the same way. My people live here, I look out for them and ensure that no harm comes to them."
"What do you want?" Natasha repeated, biting off each word.
Newmark sighed. "This venture of yours against Anton Vanko. It could be…how do you say it? Lucrative, for both our interests."
Natasha stifled a groan. She didn't need Newmark mixed up in this. How did she know about it in the first place? Clearly, she had her fingers deeper into things than Natasha had planned for. Underestimating anyone, an opponent or an ally, was a fatal move on Natasha's part. She knew better than to make such a rookie mistake. She could try to deny it, send Newmark off in a different direction but she had the feeling that would be a waste of time and effort and they would wind up right back here again.
"I have friends in the KGB as well," Newmark said. "I'm no stranger to HYDRA and its tendency to destroy everything it touches. Once I heard Vanko was creating a specialized weapon, I knew HYDRA would be on the scent soon enough."
"I suppose you want those blueprints as much as everybody else."
"The more accurate question is: who doesn't want them? Vanko is a very desirable man at the moment."
"If you know all this, why did you ask me to come here?"
Newmark raised a hand and flicked two fingers forward. Gao reached into his jacket. Natasha stiffened, ready to pounce into action at the first sign of a weapon. Instead, Gao drew out a plain white envelope and set it on the table.
"Take a look," Newmark said.
All manner of toxic powder clouds, poisonous glues, dormant viruses lying in wait for the first warm touch of human skin flashed through Natasha's mind at once. Perfectly reasonable paranoia given Newmark's reputation for silent, mysterious killings.
Slowly, Natasha opened the envelope. No powders. No toxins. Just a handful of pictures tucked inside of two young children, a girl and a boy, each huddled up in their own private cells. Some pictures showed the children sleeping or coloring on paper. Others showed nothing but a blur in one cell and in the girl's cell…objects floated, suspended in the air with no strings, no support of any kind.
"These are the weapons Vanko is creating as we speak," Newmark said.
Natasha didn't reply immediately, too busy trying to make sense of the pictures. The KGB hadn't clarified what sort of weapon Vanko was working on. She had been too focused on the old wounds of Alexei's passing to ask questions. Unless they didn't know either which was a possibility, riddled with doubt as it was.
Newmark chuckled. "Your ignorance on the subject is exactly what I expected. They're human, yes, but only to a point. HYDRA cannot have them, Miss Romanoff, you understand that of course."
Piecing her composure back together, Natasha slid the pictures across the table.
"How did you come by these photos? Vanko's been in hiding for months."
"That's the unfortunate bit. They were taken before Vanko went into hiding. I'm working under the assumption that he's sent the twins elsewhere for safekeeping."
"So you're trying to hook me with outdated information?" Natasha shook her head. "Try another angle."
Newmark's mouth tightened, a mere flash of anger and then her usual cool, collected demeanor returned.
"It's more than what you have," she replied.
Another point to Newmark, Natasha thought.
"These kids could be dead for all you know," Natasha said.
"Oh no, no, they're not. They're the only ones that have survived these experiments so far."
At the look of confusion that flickered across Natasha's face, Newmark smiled again with the realization that the upper hand was still hers.
"You wouldn't tell me this if it didn't come with a price," Natasha pointed out.
"Everything has its price, true. This is particularly dear to me as these twins," she tapped the pictures with one long, perfectly polished black fingernail. "These twins are the secret to keeping my people safe. As well as yours."
Those poor kids, Natasha thought. They were going to get jerked around their entire lives, treated as objects, as weapons, rather than allowed the innocence of childhood. She knew what that was like, seen as a tool not a human being. She pushed the thoughts away, too bitter, too honest, too close to home for her liking. It wasn't her job to feel pity for these kids, no matter how many things they might have in common. She had to protect Russia first and foremost.
"What will this cost me then?" Natasha asked, gesturing at the pictures.
"I want in," Newmark said simply.
Natasha gave a short laugh of disbelief. "Not gonna happen."
"You dare to put your precious Russia at stake?" Newmark raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not the one up for discussion here," Natasha shot back. "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you aren't lying and you doctored these photos?"
Newmark ran one finger around the rim of her teacup and cocked her head to the side. "You don't. Risks must be taken in order to gain the upper hand on your opponent, Miss Romanoff. First rule of war, though that must be common knowledge to you, of course. You're desperate, aren't you? At a dead end with Vanko, no good leads to follow up on, biding your time." She paused then added in a deeper tone. "And it's driving you crazy."
Natasha gritted her teeth. Newmark was toying with her and she hated it. She tolerated no one toying with her, tossing her around as if she was a frightened, helpless mouse. There were few options left open to her at this point and none of them held much appeal. She could make a run for it but Newmark would more than likely blow Natasha's cover at the Bolshoi out of revenge for snubbing her offer and the whole job would go to pieces. Or she could take Newmark's deal and let her in, work with her to find Vanko. Natasha smelled a rat somewhere, foul and stinking, but she couldn't quite pin it down in this whole mess.
"You can't lay a finger on him," Natasha said. "The KGB needs him alive. We have questions that he'll need to answer."
That slow, cat-like smile crept across Newmark's face again in triumph. Natasha's fingers convulsively bit into the cushion to stem the rising tide of her frustration at being cornered.
"There's no need to be defensive, Miss Romanoff," she purred. "I only wish to be kept in the loop regarding Vanko and his whereabouts. Since my people will be collaborating with yours, I don't want there to be any confusion and no accidental deaths to either side. I need those twins contained and far away from HYDRA."
Newmark held out her hand. Natasha shot her a look full of barely controlled disdain but shook her hand anyway.
"I look forward to working with you, Miss Romanoff," she said.
Natasha couldn't get out of The House of Lotus fast enough. Strucker was going to shred her when he found out that she made this deal without consulting him first. She wouldn't be pulled off the job, not with her experience, but once word reached Tarasova, she'd get another earful there too.
No, Natasha decided, she didn't have to tell Strucker yet, she didn't have to tell anyone. She was the one in the field, she was the one making the calls. Her expertise was the sole reason she was put on this job, because she had experience no other KGB agent possessed. She was damn good at what she did and she would turn this around to a win in her favor just as she'd done many times before. Vanko would still be hers and all this was nothing more than a hiccup, a necessary risk she had to take to get to him. There were far shadier deals in her past than this.
Over the course of the next three days, Natasha had very little time to think about Newmark. The ballet was in overdrive with the impending premiere. Despite the need to focus on getting to Vanko, this night would make or break the ballet. Critics would be there, hungry for the first sign of a bobble or a slip-up. Natasha knew she shouldn't care that much, especially since Vanko could come out of hiding any second and her cover at the Bolshoi would no longer be necessary.
But the Bolshoi was where she met Alexei, where he taught her dance could make everything go away for a little while – her past, the Red Room, the faces of those she killed who haunted her at night. Everything. She really did want the ballet to succeed. It couldn't get in the way of her job but while she waited for Vanko to make his next move, she might as well look after one of the very few places she found solace in this world.
The night of the premiere, she felt a flutter of nerves she hadn't experienced in…years. Well before her training in the Red Room, maybe even longer than that. This was the first time she would be performing without Alexei in the audience, without him anywhere in her world and it sent her balance off kilter. Seven years had gone by and she still craved his presence, still stutter-stepped when she thought of him. It was a weak spot she couldn't afford but she never wanted to shut it out, shut him out, either.
The lights cast the rest of the theatre in darkness as she stepped onto the stage. There were people out there, somewhere, but she couldn't see them and she didn't want to. Alexei's face wouldn't be among them, he would never be among them but tonight they weren't the ones she was dancing for. Tonight, on her first official return to the stage after losing Alexei, she would dance for him. A handful of soft, lilting notes trickled out over the stage and swirled around her. And she began to move.
Just as Alexei had taught her, the world fell away. This could very well be the last time she allowed herself to let her guard down on the job, to stop thinking about how to get to Vanko or how Newmark would later stab her in the back. She forgot everything for a few, blissful moments in the beat of music and the pulse of movement.
All too quickly, the ballet was over and the roaring rush of applause washed over her, shattering her reverie into pieces at her feet. She could barely breathe as she took the customary bows, desperate to escape and rebuild her defenses again. The other dancers lingered, mingling with some of the more elite sponsors granted access backstage to shower them with flowers and gifts but Natasha fled to her dressing room.
Once the door was shut, Natasha pressed her back to the wall and sucked in a gulp of air, sounding more like a rattling, wheezing sob than the steadying breath she had intended. She covered her mouth with both hands and closed her eyes. It had been so much harder than she had imagined, dancing without him. It was yet another way he was slipping away from her, piece by piece. First, it was the sound of his laugh. She couldn't hear it anymore in her dreams. Then it was his touch. God, how she missed his touch, like she was the most precious thing he had ever held in his hands and not some mindless killing machine with the blood of countless lives on her hands. She didn't know it on stage but she felt it now, in every muscle, every nerve, and it ached like no pain she had ever felt before. She was saying good-bye for the last time.
A light tap came at her door then and Natasha dashed her hands over her eyes, smoothed her skirt and tipped her chin up. The world and her mission had returned, demanding to be let in. Her good-bye was done. Alexei was in the past. She had but one choice and that was to keep moving forward, always.
Natasha took one second more to ready herself then opened the door.
Mila beamed, her petite frame hidden behind a massive teddy bear. She had her arms wrapped around its neck and its legs dragged along the ground.
"We did it," she squealed. "The critics loved it, they loved you, they can't stop talking about you, Miss Romanoff."
"Where on earth did you get that bear?" she asked.
She squeezed it tighter and propped her chin atop its head between the fuzzy ears. "Henry gave it to me."
A small cough echoed off to her left. She turned to see Barton hunch up his shoulders, spread his hands, and his face flushed with a faint pink. Natasha raised an eyebrow. He must be picking up a little Russian to understand what was going on.
"Henry?" Natasha said in a flat voice, looking at Barton but directing the question to Mila.
Mila's enthusiasm never waned under Natasha's intimidating gaze. "He insisted that I call him by his first name. I tried to explain how you wouldn't approve but…"
Natasha held up a hand and Mila fell silent, nuzzling her face into the bear's fur, her eyes wide and innocent.
"Make sure you thank him," she said.
Mila's grin grew even wider if that was possible and reached up on tiptoe to kiss Natasha on both cheeks before she hurried off to her dressing room, the bear bouncing against her knees as she walked.
"Most would have brought flowers," Natasha said.
Barton shrugged. That blush still lingered a bit, she noticed.
"I thought about that but then I realized it didn't really fit her. She's a kid, for pete's sake. Besides, I didn't want to be like everybody else. She works so hard, she deserves to have a little fun. So that's how the bear happened."
Natasha nodded and paused a moment before saying, "It suites her."
The blush returned in full force but a pleased smile teased at the corners of his lips as well.
"I got you something too," he said. "Sort of. It goes along with your offer to show me around Russia."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a rolled up, wrinkled piece of paper. He stretched it out so she could get a better look.
"A circus?" she asked.
"It's for Mila too. I get that your schedule is crazy and all, it's just for the day. I asked permission from Madame Bolishinko. She's a scary woman by the way, I see where you get it."
"You could have come to me first, you know," she said.
"Well, yeah, but I just…"
"Go, Natasha."
Natasha glanced up at Madame Bolishinko's dusky, commanding voice. Automatically, her spine straightened, her posture corrected itself, her body naturally slipping into the role of student in the presence of her mentor.
"Mr. Jones expressed concern that you've been working too hard, Mila as well," she said. "I am inclined to agree with him. Especially in light of tonight's performance, I believe you and Mila deserve a break. The rest of us can manage without you two for an afternoon. There will be plenty of time to rehearse when you return."
Natasha nodded. She hadn't planned on turning Barton down but now, with Madame Bolishinko backing him up, there was no getting out of it.
"All right," she said to Barton. "The circus it is."
When Natasha spotted Ivan waiting for her outside the theatre, the emotional weight she'd been struggling under all evening eased a little. He had never been a more welcome sight than he was now. She escaped into the back seat and kicked off her shoes with a sigh. She ached in a way that was more than just sore muscles and the fatigue that set in after the high of a performance. She'd opened herself up after seven years of shoving down all that pain when it came to Alexei and it was taking longer than she would have liked to build her walls back up again.
"How did the big night go?" Ivan asked.
"Exhausting," she muttered.
"Maybe this will help."
He waved a small rectangular box towards her, wrapped up in a red ribbon. She untied it and tugged the lid off.
"Chocolate," she breathed. Her fingers floated over the perfect, uniform domes of sweets nestled in their ruffly white wrappers. "I haven't had chocolate since I started this job."
She could hear the smile in Ivan's voice when he replied, "You never grew out of that sweet tooth. Back to the hotel then?"
Natasha turned to look out the window. "Actually, no, I think…I could use a good long drive for a while."
Ivan gave a sharp nod and steered into traffic. Neither of them spoke until they were outside the city and Natasha crawled into the front seat. She had no idea where he was taking her until the headlights swept across a rolling hill peppered with gray tombstones, jutting out of the earth like stubbly teeth.
She glanced over at Ivan, silent. Hadn't she been through enough today? Ivan reached under his seat and pulled out a bouquet of deep red roses.
"He's waiting, little one," he said. "He would have been there tonight, if he could."
Natasha's throat tightened as she accepted the roses and slid out of the car. Alexei's grave was only a few feet away but the walk felt like a lifetime, each step clawing at her, dragging her down. She nestled the roses next to his grave and brushed her fingertips over the cold stone. Alexei never missed opening night on any of her shows. He was always the first one to greet her backstage. Natasha closed her eyes at the memory, faded and gray now, as he swept her up into his arms and kissed her, smiling against her lips.
She knew she had to let him go. Seven years, she'd been holding on to a ghost, a weakness she couldn't shake. He'd always been her Achilles' heel. He still was.
Natasha didn't know how long she remained huddled on the ground, lost in thought, until Ivan came out and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders. He eased himself to the ground next to her, his movements stiff from arthritis he refused to complain about. She rested her head against his shoulder and he tucked his arm around her.
"I can't come back here anymore," she whispered.
Ivan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I know, little one."
They were still there when the sun came up.