The Weasel, or Doctor Grante rather, looked down his long snout of a nose at her. "Remember, Subject 3, failure to thrive will be met with termination from the program." German, her mother tongue. The sweet sound of childhood was no longer sweet. "Weakness is not tolerated."
Three had only nodded, taking the pistol she had nearly refused, before she left for her assignment. It was on the brink of being too large for her small, child hands. It would suffice. Thankfully. Seeing as, from what she had heard and seen, knife work was far more messy.
Her handler, as they called the ones second in command only to the Weasel, was a hard man who preferred physical disciplinary action above any other form of communication. He led her down the hall, gripping her shoulder hard enough to form small bruises, and they stopped in front of the door.
"Subject Three," He said in perfect German, his bulldog face glowering at her, "This seals you to Hydra with blood and is your first step on the path of your true potential as a soldier for the cause." He squatted down, "Never forget that you would be nothing without Hydra to care for you."
His eyes turned into dark pools of black that seeped out of the sockets, his hand now a dark tentacle stretching towards her, "Nothing." Tentacles surrounded her vision and body, squeezing the life out of her. "You are sealed and there is no escape."
Three woke silently but didn't move or change her breathing pattern despite the rapid pace of her heart. Waking up screaming or crying or even in any state of alarm wasn't an option. She would not succumb to fear. It was simply terrors of the mind. Not real. Not an issue. Damn the doctor for putting them there in the first place either way. It was a nuisance and a distraction from what her mind should be dwelling on.
Two pairs of feet were making their way forward. Maybe this would be over soon. Or at least this stage of the mission.
Once again, the door opened and shut behind a pair of people. One was the Widow and the other… Three kept her eyes closed and back to them as she pretended to sleep, taking in the scent of the second one. The big one who had taken her down from the chains.
"We know you're not sleeping." The Widow spoke in Russian. That dreadful language. The Weasel only used it when he was angry or disappointed in her. Russian was the forerunner of evil in her life. Dramatic statement - but close enough to the truth.
Three propped herself up and spun around slowly, her annoyance at the spoken language clear, "I speak English, Miss Romanova." A glance to the other one revealed the big one was none other than Captain America.
The man sat down, bringing himself to her eye line, he extended his hand to her, "I'm Steve." A handshake? Why?
"I know who you are, Mister Rogers." She didn't take the offered hand. Out of anyone in this place, besides the Witch, it was him who could have a fighting chance against her. He was a threat.
No, this wasn't the right way to play the game. Being annoyed and angry wasn't going to get her anywhere. The trait was set, however. Subtle shifts would be in order. Three changed her features to one of slight recognition. As if she'd only just realized who he was.
"You are the one who helped me." The faint smell of blood still lingered on him. Fresh blood. The seeping sort of blood that doesn't like to stop. He was slightly favoring his right side. A wound. "Is your wound healing well?"
Mister Rogers' face turned to a confused frown, "It's healing. How," The Widow glanced at the man. She hadn't known of the wound.
"Your bandage has blood coming through." Three replied dismissively, before cutting to the root of the matter. "You're here. Why?" Captors did not simply come and sit themselves down in front of their captive for no good reason. Unless they were Sandwiches, apparently. He was an odd one.
The Widow lowered herself as well, her face had gone softer than it was before. Something had happened. They knew something they thought she didn't. Their faces told it all.
"We have a deal for you." Miss Romanoff said, looking at her seriously, "We have recovered data from the destroyed base that gives the details of your birth that show that you are the biological child of Steve and myself. The blood work done confirms this." She paused, "Do you understand?"
Three let it sink in fully since Sandwiches had let it slip. Yet another area Hydra had lied about. She wasn't an abandoned orphan that Hydra had rescued. They had created her. Captain America was still in the ice when she was born. Yet, from the various science classes she had taken, she knew it was possible in one way or another. So these were her biological parents? Interesting.
Nevertheless, a mission was a mission. She let her face go slack, revealing nothing, "And what is this deal you speak of, Black Widow?"
Big One's face shifted some. That wasn't what he wanted or expected. The problem was, she was sick of the game. This was why she told The Soldier so often that she wasn't built to be a spy or manipulator. But here she was. In the fight of and for her life as the part she didn't want to play.
"The deal is," He spoke steadily, "We can protect you as your biological parents legally. You will be under our care and neither Shield or Hydra will be able to take you. Not without us trying to stop them."
"Or, if you'd rather make it on your own," The woman continued for him, "We can let you go and it will be a race between Shield and Hydra to see who gets to you first. Though, it will more than likely be Shield as they have men surrounding the building currently."
That was an unexpected twist. Evidently, they didn't know everything.
--
Three was silent for a time, the brief second of surprise at their suggestion gone in an instant. Finally, she looked up a bit, "So I would be under your care. What does that entail?" There was still little emotion to be seen on her face but her voice betrayed her suspicion.
"We'll care for you and protect you much like regular parents would." Natasha answered, her tone and posture far more confident than what she was truly feeling.
"Our aim would be to give you as normal of a life as possible and protect you from Hydra." Steve added, not looking quite as confident but confident all the same.
"So," The girl leaned back, closing her eyes, "Under your control."
To the surprise of the room, Steve chuckled, "That's what most children consider it."
"How old am I?" The sudden topic change was unexpected but the girl still didn't open her eyes, her body feigning a relaxed posture within the muscles that were wound tight. She had the training of a spy. Natasha could tell. But it didn't seem that she was good at it after a time. The cooperating, relatively meek and weak girl attitude was beginning to come away. Was that why she had been in the death hall? Maybe Hydra had given up on her. Her inability to hide her colors their excuse as 'failure to thrive'.
"From our records we found," Natasha replied, "You're about fifteen."
"Mmm." She seemed to relax genuinely, "I'm younger than I thought I was." Her eyes opened and she sat forward. "I'll do it. Under some conditions."
"What might that be?" Dread pooled in both parents' stomachs as they waited.
"First, I get a name."
--
/ Have you received a report from S3? /
/ Negative, expecting one within two weeks. /
/ The mission will be aborted and S3 neutralized if there is none. Your failure to conform to protocol will not be tolerated any more. /
/ Acknowledged. /
Ivan Maslovi sat back in his chair, his sweating palms slick against the keyboard. Her downfall would be his.
A/N ~ Sorry for the late update! I was fighting in a tournament this weekend and didn't have the time.