JFK International Airport. 2000.
I watched the departure board across the lounge through the lenses of my dark, oversized sunglasses. I was impatiently waiting for the status of my flight to St. Petersburg to change. The death of both Senator Warren and his secretary had sparked an increase in police presence around New York, particularly at the airport. To some degree I had expected it and I couldn't deny that I revelled in watching the public act that little more cautiously. Parents kept their children's hands in firm grips, eyeing the increased security presence monitoring the airport whilst I sat alone, completely lost in a sea of civilians. They had the unknown luxury of their hypervigilance being temporary, given a day or two, the whole event would be forgotten, and they could go back to living their carefree lives. I don't get that choice. I casually glanced at my new identity, smirking at Yuri's inventive mind. It was another Russian passport but again my name had changed. The reason behind my numerous identities were simple, unfortunately, I'd unwillingly attracted the attention of MI6 and the FSS – well my actions had – however the latter wasn't particularly productive, allowing me to live under their noses for a few years without being detected and continue my work effectively with few hiccups.
The brunette wig was heavy and making my scalp itch. My eyes matched and were a deep chocolate instead of my own steely grey. Eva Markov worked at the Kremlin as a simple secretary and is returning from a long weekend away from her demanding job. I sighed as the flight status on the departure board finally changed from 'waiting' to 'boarding' and I picked up the single black hand luggage bag I had and began to approach the check-in desk, falling in line with the other passengers.
The air felt familiarly cold when the flight landed in St. Petersburg and I was one of the first off, the jet and through the arrivals gate. I found myself longing to be back at the small apartment I called my home. It was hardly adequate, but it was safe and that was something I could never truly assure myself of when I was out working.
Shrugging my bag onto my shoulder, I began to navigate my way through the airport. Looking up briefly, I froze in my tracks when I spotted a suited man holding a placard;
Emeline Mercier.
I glanced around at the other passengers who were beginning to surround me as I pretended to occupy myself with examining my boarding pass. When I looked up again the man had made eye contact with me and I felt a swirl of unease in the pit of my stomach when he flipped the placard over;
Eva Markov.
This was it, HYDRA had finally found me. I'd been naïve to think I could escape their clutches, I hadn't doubted their octopus emblem was a metaphor when I was a child. Suspecting they had bases all over the world when I was in Belarus and like the old Soviet regime, there were most likely people still loyal to their cause. I chewed on my lower lip before caving, I wouldn't be able to slip out of an airport if it became a shooting range. I slowly making my way over to the strange man, cleared my throat and plastered a smile on my face.
"Da?" I questioned, slipping back into my native Russian language with ease.
"Miss Markov. I'm here to take you to your meeting." He responded, speaking English but with a thick familiar accent.
"I don't have a meeting. You must have the wrong person." I tried to excuse myself from the situation and began to walk away but he quickly caught up with me, grasping my arm.
"Miss Marakova. Please follow me, I don't want to have to make a scene." I swallowed thickly and despite the warning considered it anyway, there were a lot of people about, but most of them were children and guarded airport security were at the doors. It was a risk I just couldn't afford to take – especially with the Senator's death still fresh back in the States. I took a deep breath and offered the man a small smirk.
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Elena Marakova. The last graduate of the Red Room and Scorpion Programme. The latter also being the alias you are now commonly known by." I cleared my throat.
"Well. If you do know so much about me, it only seems fair that I know a bit more about you." He smiled sincerely and loosened his grip on my arm but not letting go as he escorted me to the exit of the airport.
"I'm Mr Vasiliev and I'm here to take you to your meeting."
I glanced speculatively at the abandoned warehouse that the dated beige car stopped outside of. It was an old Soviet-era propaganda office, the faint printing of the old sickle and hammer insignia could still be seen against the wind battered brick. Some of the glass from the windows were shattered and the whole area was genuinely run down. Mr Vasiliev quickly came from the front of the car to open the back door for me. I took my bag from the seat beside me and gripped the strap tightly, it might not have been easy to get to, but knowing I had a weapon concealed inside gave me some reassurance. Eva Markov's brunette wig was left on the seat and the coloured contacts were back in their small container in my bag, I had chosen instead, ones that would record whatever I saw. I admitted to myself it was a precautionary measure more than anything else. Sometimes, I marvelled at how advanced spy tech was, compared to general technology.
"This isn't exactly the kind of car I expected the KGB to have when they finally found me. It is an organisation known for theatrics, after all. I know you've been underground since '91 but this is ridiculous." He chuckled lightly, once again guiding me from the car and into the derelict warehouse.
"I don't work for the KGB, Miss Marakova." He stated as we climbed a set of stairs – he made sure to stay behind me – and he pushed open a set of double doors.
"Who do you work for, then?" I questioned before a different disembodied voice quickly answered my question.
"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."
"Well, that certainly is a mouthful." I smirked as I took in the appearance of the man in front of me. He was dressed all in black with a long black trench coat and a black eye patch over one eye. A serious expression adorned his face that somehow didn't fade at all when he offered a small, false smile.
"I've been told." He replied simply, briefly gesturing to a table with two chairs facing each other. It was something reminiscent of an interrogation room and I found myself wondering if this was an interview or an interrogation.
"Have a seat, Miss Marakova." I hesitated as he flicked out his coat behind him and took one of the empty chairs.
"No, thank you. I'd rather stand." He smirked to himself as he tugged the lapels of his coat around his chest. My jaw clenched slightly, and I felt Mr Vasiliev leave the room and someone else enter.
"We've heard a lot about you, Miss Marakova." The man began
"So, it's not only you and your retriever?" I questioned rhetorically as the other occupant of the room rounded the table and sat down next to him. I arched an eyebrow at the red head. Her hair a few shades darker than my own, in tight ringlet curls, she was dressed in a black cat suit almost identical to my own that was folded neatly in the bottom of my bag. The only differentiation being that a different logo adorned her left shoulder.
"No, there are many of us and we are all here…for you. Scorpion. That's the name you go by now, isn't it? Naming yourself after the programme that trained you." He explained.
"And how do you know about that?" The other redhead smiled as the man placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm Nick Fury and this is Agent Romanoff."
"Natasha." The redhead began, "They call me…"
"Black Widow. I've heard of you." I finished, remembering her being mentioned when I was still at the Academy. "Who is they?" I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest.
"The same people who whisper your name in fear." She replied, and I couldn't help but smirk. She mirrored my actions causing me to return my expression to a more neutral state. "It's an odd feeling, isn't it? Power derived from the fear others feel when they talk about you."
"I suppose you would know, wouldn't you? The most famous graduate of the Red Room. The infamous Black Widow. Last I heard you were working for the KGB." She shrugged her shoulders slightly and glanced sideways at Fury.
"Things change. We must all adapt, they taught us both that lesson. Besides, I was the most famous graduate of the Red Room…until you came along." She was smiling, this game of verbal tennis was causing her amusement and I could only admit that it did the same for me. I shook my head, a smile spread across my lips.
"I didn't graduate. I never went through the ceremony." Natasha's expression changed to one of sombre.
"Yes, well count yourself lucky for that one. But I've been to Belarus, seen for myself the carnage you left behind, all the other girls…" her words trailed off leaving me with a memory I hadn't entertained for years. I hadn't given anyone who had died that night a second thought, instead choosing to keep my mind occupied on those who still lived and posed a threat to me. But I found my mind wandering back to my actions that claimed the lives of the other prisoners of the Red Room, each one of them innocents that had become entangled in a web of underground espionage. I didn't mourn their loss of life, but I couldn't help wondering if they'd of changed their lives for the better, had I given them the opportunity to live.
"What do you want with me?" I asked. Fury stood and began to approach me and I found myself shifting my weight onto my back foot.
"I want to give you an opportunity. The same opportunity I offered Agent Romanoff a year ago."
"And what would that be?"
"An opportunity at a new life, in America." I snorted against my will and for the first time in our meeting I let my real emotions show.
"I've been promised that before and I think the fact that we're stood here means it didn't work out."
"I know. We've been keeping tabs on you for a while now. Elena Marakova, born in 1984 in St Petersburg. You're an enemy of the Soviet State for destroying their most elusive covert operations programme and you're an enemy of the new Russian Federation because you keep outing prominent Soviet politicians." He paused as he reached into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a photograph. "Like Mr. Volkova." I glanced at the charred remains of the body, still in the front seat of his car.
"You have no way of proving that was me."
"No, I don't, and I'm not here to incriminate you anyway. But we both know you did it and to be totally honest it was impressive. Very few can mask a murder in a car fire and yet you managed to do just that with no questions having been asked. Few seventeen-year-olds can put that on their college applications." He smirked to his own little joke before continuing; "We can offer you protection, the Soviet Government doesn't exist anymore, at least as far as they tell the West. They're no threat to you. The Kremlin cannot afford to pay you attention for risk of indirectly admitting that the Black Widow and Scorpion programmes even existed. As for my government, the U.S doesn't even know you exist, yet. But people are talking, and the word is spreading – they may not know who you are yet…but they will. Eventually."
"That sounds very much like a threat, Mr. Fury." I paused, waiting for a response I didn't receive and bit down on the inside of my lip. I was feeling all my viable options of laying low, slipping away. "So, I should simply take you at your word?"
"No." Natasha said bluntly. "But you could take me on mine." She folded her hands in front of her and I inhaled deeply. "Only we genuinely know what the Red Room was like. We both suffered the same horrors that no child should ever had to endure. But we did, we survived and we're both here. Our ledgers are both soaked in red but mine's beginning to clean…"
"And you want to see the same in me?" I interjected. "How thoughtful of you." I inhaled a shaky breath, laced with anger; "You're right, we have suffered horrors and have been forced to learn the same lessons. Which is why I know they taught us both to lie like it's normal language, to lure targets into false senses of security and to manipulate others to benefit ourselves. I don't take anyone on their word, I certainly wouldn't take me on mine so why on earth should I take you on yours?"
Natasha shrugged and smiled again.
"I guess you shouldn't." she turned to Fury and shrugged again as he stepped forward. I held up a hand and he paused.
"I'm sure that whatever you're about to say has been very well rehearsed and thought out. But I'm not interested. I'm quite content with my life…"
"You live in cash-rented apartments that are barely suitable for human dwelling. How can that be enough?"
"You have read my file. You probably created it…" He nodded in agreement. "You know what my prospects were if I had of stayed in Belarus. I never would have graduated – HYDRA would have killed me first."
"So those were your only two options? HYDRA or this? I'm offering you a third and I think that your parents would want you to at least consider it." I froze, and my gaze turned into a steely glare. This strange man I had never met before had the bare audacity to use my parents against me like he had known them or even had the tiniest idea about the kind of people they were. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, a voice ushered for me to keep calm and not reveal my true emotions, to remember my lessons;
Emotions equal attachments. Attachments make you weak.
"How dare you." I snarled before I realised I was doing it. "You don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. You didn't know them. You don't get to act like you know what they would have wanted for me."
"You're right." He responded without a moment's hesitation, like he knew exactly how I would respond. "I didn't know them, but I knew of them. Of course, I did. I had to, to figure out who the elusive Scorpion was."
"Elena." Natasha interrupted.
"Don't call me that." I demanded through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides and I could feel my supressed emotions beginning to spiral out of control.
"Nikolai and Alyona Marakova." She continued, ignoring me. "They are buried as US Citizens in New York. As far as the government know, with both their daughters."
"Both?" I whispered.
"Their contribution to the Cold War wasn't forgotten." Fury continued for her. "They weren't celebrities by any means, but your Father helped our government and he hasn't been forgotten."
"They would have wanted you to survive, and you did but you don't just have to survive anymore, you can live." Natasha's offer almost tasted sweet in my mouth, the thought of living a life free from looking over my shoulder. I hadn't thought about my parents for years but the more I dwelled on Natasha and Fury's words the more they made sense. Living alone and in seclusion since my childhood had meant I never questioned living any other way when I got older. Seclusion was exactly what the Red Room had intended for me, but if Natasha had got out and changed her life, why couldn't I do the same?
Both of their faces were neutral with only a hint of expectation when I finally opened my mouth to speak.
"I'll think about it." Fury nodded. "My plane leaves tonight. If you change your mind – you come find us."
I shrugged my bag further onto my shoulder and swiftly left the room, letting the heavy door bang behind me. The echo masked the choked sob I couldn't hold in any longer as I stepped out into the snow and icy air. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks as I slipped into a side alley, fighting to keep myself calm as my breathing became erratic and I began to feel as though I was choking. I fell to the floor and curled my hands into fists as I gripped clumps of snow in my palms. I couldn't pinpoint what it was that was making me have such an intense emotional response and it was rather unsettling, but I found there was little I could do to stop it.
Eventually, my breathing began to slow, and my pulse returned to normal. My cheeks were wet from tears and flushed from increased blood flow as I slumped back against the wall of the alley way and inhaled an icy breath, enjoying the constricting feeling it induced in my lungs. The sun had begun to set over St. Petersburg and it cast Saint Basil's cathedral into an almost calming silhouette. As I examined the burning orange hues of the fading daylight, I found that I had made up my mind about what I was going to do without giving any real thought at all. I opened my bag and changed out of Eva Markov's blue suit and into my own black cat suit. I removed the blade from the lining in my bag and concealed it on my suit before I got to my feet and left the alley.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of the coat I'd retrieved from my apartment. I'd stolen it a few years ago from a target's wardrobe and it was one of the few nice things I owned, that and it was able to conceal the guns in my holsters very well.
I watched the house across the road, darkness had set in and the lights were on in the kitchen window where a small family were preparing their dinner. It looked identical to how it had thirteen years ago. A new family lived in my old home, I'd watched them a few times before, hidden in plain sight in the bus stop opposite them. There were two children, two girls, their mother and their father. They also had a cat, a heavily coated blue one that meowed every time it saw me, though they paid it no attention. They would cook their dinner at the same time every night and eat it together, I could never hear what they were saying but they spoke with so much animation I knew that they weren't a family for keeping secrets. I imagined they would discuss what they had done that day and there would never be a night where secrets and totalitarian governments meant they couldn't be a family.
I checked my watch as the last bus of the night came to a stop, dropped off to elderly women who nodded politely at me, and drove away again. It was time to go, a chapter on my life was closing and I was anxious about what the words on the following page would be. I found a sensation of nerves rise in my chest, something I hadn't experienced for years and it was strangely uplifting. I felt my eyes well up as I got to my feet, but I brushed away the tears before they had chance to fall. I spared one last glance at my old home, the last place I can remember being happy before smiling fondly and walking away.
The jet was sat waiting on a private runway, not a registered airport, but then I hadn't expected it to be. As I approached the metal gate, a uniformed guard stepped forward and held up a hand, demanding to see proof of ID.
"She's with me." A voice said behind me and I turned to see Mr. Vasiliev, still in his black suit smiling genuinely at me. I had to admit the man was very good at silently sneaking up on people and I imagined his job had components to it put those particular skills to good use. He guided me through security and we began to walk up the tarmac towards the plane.
"You changed your mind." He stated simply.
"You changed your accent." I retorted, having noticed how the Russian inflection in his voice had vanished, to be replaced by a basic American one.
"You're not the only one who's good at being other people."
"So, you're not Mr. Vasiliev?" I questioned as the rumble of the jet's engines made me raise my voice.
"No. Agent Coulson, Phil. I work with Fury." He smiled again and shook my hand as we climbed the steps to the jet.
Nick Fury was sat with Natasha as the plane door was sealed shut behind me. There was something so incredibly final about the hissing sound the hydraulics made as the door sealed shut.
"Miss Marakova." He said as he clapped his hands together. "You changed your mind." He said it like he knew I would and that it had just taken me time to figure it out for myself. I shrugged my shoulders and tilted my head to one side.
"I got the impression that your offer was the only offer, there was no turning it down."
"You are correct. You haven't caught our attention for being the most well behaved. The order to recruit you came from above me, but you've chosen the right option so there's no need for us to dwell on it, is there?"
I found myself shaking my head in agreement whilst already questioning the integrity of the people Nick Fury worked for. My thoughts were quickly diverted when Natasha stood and guided me to a seat on my own at the back of the plane. Agent Coulson sat with Fury whilst Natasha and I gazed out of the window as the plane taxied down the runway and took off.
"I know how you're feeling." She muttered quietly enough so the other two occupants of the plane couldn't hear. I arched an eyebrow and continued to stare out of the window at the pinprick street lights below.
"I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't have either, a year ago." She got to her feet and for the first time since meeting her I examined her face. It was suddenly clear how young she was, I wouldn't have guessed there was more than three years between our ages.
"I don't trust anyone. Don't take it personally" I muttered in response, she chuckled lightly and turned to sit elsewhere.
"I won't and don't worry, I don't either." I couldn't help but smile as I sunk my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat and drew my knees up to my chest. The sound of the jet engines was soothing and as much as I tried to, I couldn't fend off sleep.