It's a small world. It's a red world.

She doesn't fully remember how she came to be there. She doesn't understand why Ivan, her foster father, had just suddenly, on her 5th birthday, led her and 25 other girls her age into that place – Department X, she remembers the sign.

Natalia looked around. For some reason she couldn't seem to move anything but her head. She was having a hard time breathing, her mouth wouldn't open and she desperately needed to suck in the air. She blinked, trying to see clearer but it was so hard… it was so hard making out what was what. Her body ached and she looked up, frowning at her tightly bound small wrists. Her eyes opened wide and her heart exploded into a frenzy. She fought hard to try and loosen the bounds but the more she struggled the tighter they became. She groaned, the searing pain in her body finally being fully noticed.

That had been her first beating. On the day after her 5th birthday. It had become a routine after that, all the way until the day she became an active NOC and really learned why she'd been in the Red Room and that she was a human killing machine designed by KGB.

When she was finally put down that day no one explained why she'd been beaten. She didn't ask. She came to learn there was never a reason, it just so happened. It was to toughen them up, the leader would say, to make them obedient soldiers, indifferent to the body's weaknesses, indestructible, incorruptible.

She quickly learned she'd never return home. That was her new living arrangement.

Less than a year into her training she had already made herself forget about a past life where she'd been treated very differently. She learned that in order to survive she'd have to do whatever they wanted. At first it was mostly beatings and interrogations, teaching them not to reveal some piece of information, anything really. Then she got exceptionally good at being tortured, she wouldn't even blink anymore, and so her conditioning training became more intensive, happening often under and going far beyond exhaustion… agility training, speed training, endurance training… later on she was introduced to martial arts and she was a natural, the training in acrobatics provided a complementary kick she mixed naturally into her combat style, making her quick, versatile and unpredictable. At the same time she'd been learning languages, and there was no option but excellence in that room. Provide or be killed. She was fluent in more languages than any 10 year old outside that room. Stealth was Natalia's personal favorite, she just loved being able to creep up on people without them noticing, it made her feel empowered – she could do anything she wanted. By the time she was 11 she was a master of manipulation, she was cunning and brilliant in her acting, perfectly brainwashed into knowing that seduction and sex were the most powerful tools in the game of espionage. Natalia could also infiltrate any building. She was a skilled climber and proficient with various firearms. At 12 she too conquered knife throwing, properly weighted knives made specifically for this reason and any other knife of any weight and size. With that came her first kill. She'd been ordered to kill one of the other girls, the least skilled of the lot – teaching her that attachment is hindrance. A fight to the death. It was the survival of the fittest. Do or die. After that first kill she started being sent out in missions, accompanying senior agents – that's when she learned the world wasn't red as the academy she'd been locked in for the past 7 years. No, the world was a giant, explosive headache of colors and shades unknown. The world's brightness hurt her. Red was her safety, red was her rule, red was her only option – red walls, red curtains, red furniture, red clothes, red hair, red lamps, red lights, red food, red ink. She even dreamed in red. Red was truth, everything else was a threat. By the time she was 14 and WWII broke in 1939, she was ready, a finished project. Her mission: Terminate. Kill and paint the world red. And just like that she became KGB's deadliest – ironically, the Black Widow.

Natasha woke up abruptly, taking a sharp intake of breath. It was the first time in a very long time that she dreamed of that particular time frame in such detail. In a swift movement she got out of her bed and walked, barefoot to the kitchen area of the plane.

"Jesus! Fuck!" Natasha hears someone shrieking the minute she turns the light on. She stands, looking with a blank face as Skye brings her hands to her chest, glaring at Natasha. "You scared me!"

"Took you a long time," Natasha darts out, smirking.

"How the fuck do you get all the way here without making a fucking, shitty noise!?" Skye ignores her comment. "Fucking spies…"

"I assure you we're louder in bed," Natasha jokes, knowing plenty well the young brunette would turn a deep shade of red. For some reason she enjoys it.

Skye coughs loudly, averting her gaze. "You don't seem like you're the loud type," she eventually lets out. "More like the quieter, passionate kind."

Natasha calmly takes a sip from a glass of water and raises her eyebrow. Not because Skye has clearly debated about her sexual profile, but because, once again, she didn't judge and just assume whips and paddles.

"I could tell you, but I'm pretty sure you want to figure that one out by yourself," the older woman winked. It didn't even take a spy to figure out Skye was attracted to her body.

"I do not!" Skye protested nervously.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart," Natasha told her with smugness all over her face. "What are you doing up?"

She completely changes the topic. Sex was just sex. For Natasha it was a tool, a work instrument sometimes necessary to dig deeper and retrieve the whole piece of intel she wanted. Sex was impersonal, a mastered chore and it was so easy for her to seduce and bed her targets into spilling everything she wanted to know she couldn't but consider it a weakness. Sex meant nothing and she certainly couldn't understand the hype. Sure it felt good on occasion, but it didn't justify the desperateness she saw in her targets, the foolishness with which they put their lives at risk just for the sake of fucking someone – it was all so unnatural, so predictable. And though sex doesn't bother her, though she's comfortable being daring, she knows even if Skye is the first one to make a sexual joke, there's insecurity in her regarding that subject. Natasha doesn't like to assume why and so she doesn't, but she's not willing to make the young woman become too self-conscious, so when Skye's body language changes to something she recognizes as anxiety, Natasha changes the topic.

"I usually stay up late," the brunette tells her, resting her elbows on the counter and playing with the rim of her glass. "What about you?"

"I don't usually sleep much." She isn't lying. She doesn't want to lie.

Skye nods, shifting her weight on the chair and looking up to glance at the other woman, whose eyes are trained on her. "It must be hard. I'm sure you've seen pretty ugly stuff. I wouldn't sleep either."

The spy doesn't react to Skye's comment. Instead she shapes the conversation to fit her own interest. "Do you stay up late because of something ugly you've seen?" Natasha knows perfectly well the reason why Skye avoids sleeping is because of Agent Ward, she's heard her screaming in her sleep, she's heard Fitz-Simmons talking about it. But the Russian doesn't press. It's another new thing for her because normally she would just be blunt about it. She's finding, however, previous experiences seldom seem to apply to Skye. She feels protective of the younger Agent.

She's never felt protective of anyone.

"Yeah. You could say that." Skye sighs. "So, anyway, how long are you staying with us? Coulson never said anything," Skye asks, diverting her gaze. She has a feeling Agent Romanoff knows more than she's letting out, but she can't be sure and she really doesn't feel like finding out.

Natasha smiles with a hint of playfulness and leans against the side of the fridge. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

Skye shrugs. "Just wondering about your Avengers team."

"What about it?"

"Don't you have business with them?" the brunette presses.

Natasha knows there's something else bothering the younger Agent by the way she's moving and catching her lips. Skye is debating something. Still, she replies, being as evasive as she can as to frustrate the younger woman into really spilling the beans. "I'm a great multitasker."

"Natasha?"

Finally. The red haired woman lifts her brows and sets her glass down on the counter, straightening her back, readying herself for what will certainly be an emotion-filled question. "Mmm," she hums simply, letting Skye know she's listening but conveying she's not all that eager to participate in the exchange any further.

"Why do you hide?"

Natasha actually frowns and resists the urge to cross her arms. Instead she refuge in an apple, grabbing it without hesitation from the fruit bowl between her and Skye and taking a bite. "What do you mean?" she asks, as she swallows the piece of apple in her mouth.

"Why do you keep up a mask when everyone else is around?" Skye wants to know. She's noticed the spy can be so much different when no one else is watching. She doesn't understand what she's so afraid of. What intrigues her the most is why she seems like she's more at ease with her, but not the rest of the team. It's not like the two of them have much shared experience. If anything Agent Romanoff should feel more uncomfortable around her, see her as a liability, as May once saw her.

"What makes you think this isn't the real mask?" Natasha asks her as if it's the most obvious thing. As if she's too dumb she hasn't noticed before.

Skye swallows in embarrassment. "Oh… okay." There she was again, being a fool. She's gotten too comfortable in this bus that even after she was played by Ward she can no longer see everyone else may very well be doing the same. Her eyes fall again and she misses the moment when Natasha's soften.

"I can't say this," the red haired woman waved in front of her face before she developed, "isn't a mask right now. But it is one I wouldn't mind keeping if I could."

Skye looks up at the red haired woman, trying to read her, but her eyes can be so cryptic she feels exhausted and confused by her. This is an algorithm she's yet to master. "Why not just be truthful about yourself?"

"That would probably mean I knew who that is," Natasha tells her promptly. Her voice sounds huskier than usual as she conveys the honesty in her words. "Plus," she continues. "I'm going to explain it to you as I once explained to Rogers, the truth is a matter of circumstance. It's not all things, to all people, all the time. Neither am I."

"Okay," Skye tells her simply, with one strong nod. And then she smiles, happy with the reply because she's sure the spy wasn't lying.

"Are you always this complacent?" Natasha jokes, smiling back.

"Not quite, no. I guess I just like who you are with me, even if that's another lie," the brunette admits, softly.

"Does that bother you?"

"That it may be a lie?" Natasha nods, staring at big brown eyes trying to absorb hers. "Is it?"

"I don't know."

"I guess I don't care anyway. It's not like I'm not used to people using me and leaving me."

"You know that will happen eventually, right?" Natasha feels guilty, but it's just the way it is. She can never stay for long. It will just be a matter of time until a mission pulls her away for months or until she feels the need to run.

Skye shrugs. "Like I said, the people I care about always leave and you're definitely not the type who stays long."

Natasha raises her brow.

"Oh please… You have commitment issues written all over your face," Skye teases.

Natasha laughs, but doesn't reply. She doesn't have to. She doesn't need to confirm what Skye already figured out.

"So… how fast could you kill me right now exactly?" the brunette asks out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"Considering your obvious lack of training?" Natasha ponders. "2 to 3 seconds."

Skye gulps. "How about you help me get that to 10 minutes?"

"Survive the Black Widow for 10 whole minutes?" Natasha smiles, impressed.

Skye nods.

"You realize I'm not going to downgrade my level to make it easier on you, right?"

"I wouldn't expect anything else."

"I suppose it could be fun." Natasha smirks.

"Beating up someone?"

"Yeah." Natasha shrugs with a grin.

"You have a terrible sense of fun Natasha."

The spy smiles and she's left with the sense her facial muscles are getting a workout they're not used to.

"It's not everyday people volunteer to let me take them down!" Agent Romanoff states simply.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

The spy shrugs not bothering to hide her enthusiasm. "Probably."