Nadia Margaret Rogers.
Nadia Margaret Rogers.
Nadia Margaret Rogers.
Subject Three looked at the paperwork before her. It was a suitable name. A good name. Her name. It rolled around in her mind over and over and over. Is this what it would feel like if you understood what was going on with the whole name thing when you were born? Maybe.
It had taken some time, but eventually they had come to her with a name and several documents to show she now legally existed. The offer of proof that the Hydra documents were real was rejected as there was no reason to know more than necessary. Not important to the mission. So long as the super heroes didn't find out anything that she had done.
"Nadia," The Widow, her mother, said as she led her towards an elevator. "We'll give you a tour in the morning, but for now let's get you settled in. Okay?"
Nadia. Her name. Right. Maybe the whole name thing wasn't as good as it seemed. Hydra had never meant for her to have an official name but when she was good enough she would have something. Like the Winter Soldier. Not a real name. A title, rather.
Three nodded, "Yes." They would be like handlers to her. They didn't truly fit the description of what a 'mom' and 'dad' were supposed to be. Then again, she didn't fit the description of a daughter. Best to think of them as handlers. Or targets.
The elevator opened to a large half living room and half kitchen dining room area. It was much like the rest of the interior decor had been from the short walk to the evator. Modern, sleek, and metallic. There was a staleness to the air that made it feel unlived in.
"This was my area that I would stay the night in if I needed a place to crash." The Widow explained, "But it has an extra room and Steve's moving in as well. Your room's over here." She was stiff, always glancing at her. Maybe she hadn't expected her to agree. Or it was an adjustment for her. Or what was more likely was there was no trust. This was a widow after all.
The room was big, bigger than anything she had slept in before, and had all the standard comforts. A bed, a bathroom with a shower, a closet, and a desk. It even had windows! There was the same stale smell and the lights were the standard yellow. One day. One day, she would have pink lights. Just not yet.
Natasha shifted some, the scent of her anxiety seeping out, "I'll give you some privacy to change and settle in. Dinner will be in half an hour."
The Widow gestured to the closet, "We haven't had time to go shopping but Steve was the only one close to your size tall wise. So you've got some of your dad's clothes for now. Tomorrow I'll take you shopping for some things of your own." She was good. Not even a stutter when she called Captain America 'your dad'.
Three nodded and gave the standard reply, "Acknowledged."
Natasha glanced at her but didn't say anything about the wording, "Steve will be here in a bit. I'll see you at dinner?" Why was the tone like a question? Orders were orders. It wasn't as if she could say no.
"Yes."
With that, the Widow slipped silently out the door. The sounds of kitchen cupboards being opened and closed sounded soon after.
Half an hour. She had half an hour. To dress and prepare for the meal. So much time and so little to do. Shower first.
Stripping out of the hospital gown, she walked to the bathroom. As the shower started, Three saw a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Or rather what was on her skin. A small smile spread across her lips. Finally!
A scar spread half way around her neck, low and near the base. Something that could be hidden if need be. But it was a scar nevertheless. After a lifetime of getting cut, scraped, and conditioned against torture, there was at last a scar. It must have been pretty bad to warrant it. If even she couldn't escape it without one.
Maybe it hadn't been training after all. If her fuzzy memory served her correctly, they had brought her out through a very specific corridor that no one ever wanted to find themselves in. Had Hydra tried to terminate her? If so, why was she on a mission?
Maybe they had tried. But her allegiance still stood where it always had and always would.
--
The smell of garlic, onions, and chicken wafted through the air as the elevator opened to reveal none other than Captain America. A couple bags were slung over his shoulder and a small box tucked under his arm.
"Whatever you're cooking," He took in a deep breath, "It smells good."
Natasha only nodded, "Yes and if you want it to taste good go drop your things in our room and get over here to help."
Bile turned in his stomach. Their room. Yes, there were two beds and a dividing curtain but it was still sharing a room. He hadn't done that since his army days. The fact that she was a woman and the mother of his child didn't help matters either.
It would be worth it. He wasn't going to live on another floor and come visit Subj- Nadia when he could. He didn't want Natasha to have to do that either. So here he was. Moving in with Natasha Romanoff.
Dropping his stuff off in the room, he stopped at the girl's- Nadia's room. No sound came from it. Nothing he could hear over his adrenaline spiked heartbeat. Fear fell into the pit of his stomach. Had she already made good on the second part of her conditions? Had she already left?
With a soft knock, he called, "Nadia?" It felt strange, naming a teenager who you had only met a handful of days earlier. It wasn't as if she had been born out of love, or been expected by them, or raised by them. Or that they had even known she existed. She had simply shown up.
"Present." The answer came a moment later.
Nadia Margaret Rogers. Natasha chose the first, him the middle, and they both agreed the last name blended in better than Romanoff. Best name they could agree on in 8 hours. All he had known was he wanted Margaret as the middle name and said Natasha could pick the first name.
"Can I come in?" It would be good to say hi and see how she was settling in. Right? Right.
"Yes." There wasn't any emotion in the monosyllable. She hadn't shown much since they gave her the offer to stay with them. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe it was her way of coping?
The door was opened by Nadia. Completely naked. Steve turned quickly, looking away, "I'm sorry, I uh didn't realize you were still getting dressed." The heat was already rushing to his face as he kept his gaze firmly on the outside hall.
Confusion colored her voice, though he didn't see her face - or any of her for that matter, "What difference does that make, sir?" There was the sound of her feet walking away and a closet door opening.
"It's not right." Was all he could get out, stubbornly looking at the door frame. What had she been raised in that it was normal for men to see her naked? His stomach writhed at the thought of finding out what had happened to this - his child.
--
Subject Three paused. Not right? Plenty of men, and women for that matter, had seen her unclothed. Not even just for seduction purposes. If she happened not to have clothing on when one person or another was giving an order it didn't matter. Humans were disgusting. That was the rule. There was no exception.
Yet, here was this man. Breaking the rule. He had looked away and been legitimately uncomfortable. He said it was wrong. It…
Not now. She wouldn't think about it. She had been summoned. To get them to trust her she would have to obey. Not only obey but her biological mother knew how to read people well. Thus, she'd have to be herself. To seemingly let her guard down, eventually. Make them think they had won her over. To be so much in character that her purpose here would be nothing more than a subconscious or hidden thought.
Grabbing a sweater, she slipped it over her head. It smelled of him. His cleaning detergent, the human scent that never seemed to leave clothing, and what was left of his cologne that hadn't washed out either. It was a nice smell. It came to her hips but the rest of it floated around her. Then came the basketball shorts that nearly didn't fit her.
"Do you have clothing on?" He was bright red from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. She had made him uncomfortable. Odd.
--
Steve finally looked at her. She was floating in his sweater and shorts. But all of the length worked rather well. Only a little too long. He gestured towards the door, "Let's go help make supper. Nat - your mom probably needs some help." The smell of burning met his nose. Already?
Nadia walked forward and out the door with him, "We may be too late." There wasn't a smile but there was a small shade of humor in her voice.
Maybe. Just maybe. They'd get somewhere.
A/N ~ Thank you, to everyone still reading this! I hope you're liking it and that you're having an amazing Thanksgiving weekend. :D
