"From first, let's do demi-plié, tendu front, back to the demi and straighten to tendu, closing to the first, demi-plié, out, in, up, two tendus, front, side, back and side and parallel forward stretch, up and back, demi-pointes, demi out and in, two tendus..." the professor explained in her thick Russian dialect as she exemplified to the class. The group of principal dancers watched concentrated, some of them mimicking in a more lax way, only to memorize the new exercise. This was their first class of the day, a 2 hour class they all had 6 out of 7 days of the week, designed to warm them up and correct small technique problems. The class would start slow and increase in pace and demand as the minutes and piano notes rolled into more complex sequences and the dancers would then, at the peak of the lesson, practice technique and form. It was an excellent preparation for the rest of such a demanding day.

As the professor stopped talking, the pianist began playing live and, resting their hands on the bar, the dancers began, professionally and gracefully, to perform.

In a sing-song voice, following the piano, the teacher circled the group of dancers and sang the exercise to them, "Gooood! Demi-pli é, tennndu front, back to first, aaand up, ten-du front, first, tendu front, first, demi-plié, good Natalia," the professor nodded, hand waving with the melody as she assessed her best ballerina, the one the theater was keen to sign as a prima ballerina. The professor stood, looking her up and down and pursing her lips in contained excitement by the red-haired dancer's perfection. "Goood! Stretch the demi, six, seven aaand demi-plié..."

Natalia practiced hard. Everyone at the academy did, but Natalia was the best, she had to be for her own satisfaction, and she'd often stay at the theater well beyond the 6 uninterrupted hours of rehearsal that followed the morning ballet lesson. Over and over she'd rehearse and it was no wonder she was so graceful in her movements that the Bolshoi considered her their personal golden girl.

Natalia stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. The pressure was on, she'd been cast for the first time to perform as Odile, the Black Swan, in Swan Lake and the expectations were always so high regarding this piece at the Bolshoi that Natalia barely did anything else but eat her calories and dance them out. She looked at herself in the mirror before starting the vinyl for Tchaikovsky's Allegro Vivace and assuming her initial position. As the note she was waiting for filled the small studio, she instantly rose en pointe and started her sequence of turns, beautifully, elegantly, practicing the so dreaded 32 fouett és en tournant from the famously known Coda in Act 3. The challenge wasn't completing 32 fouettés. Not at all. In fact, no one would join the ballet, not even the academy as one of the younger students, if they couldn't perform them with reasonable technique. The challenge was completing them, not pirouettes, in the required time and with outstanding form and technique, so they looked fluid, effortless and graceful. Not a finger could falter her at this point, not with Swan Lake and not at the Bolshoi, who admittedly was responsible for the most beautiful version of this ballet. And so Natalia turned, and turned, over and over again, delivering magnificent fouettés, ignoring, as usual, for the next hour, the burning of her thighs' muscles as her leg stretched and whipped out with each single turn.

At 19 ballet was her passion, she was the happiest when she was dancing - her mind would go into this one magical place and her body just knew what to do. It was tiring but the most beautiful thing the young woman had ever done. Once the music started she simply couldn't stop moving with it and she loved the sensation, the freedom, the peacefulness... and how she could express herself and her rawest emotions so artistically. Natalia was fully committed and the lack of personal time in favor of ballet didn't actually bother her. Of course there were days when rehearsing was the last thing she felt like doing, but she was disciplined and her love for the art was so deeply rooted she understood she couldn't give anything but her absolute best at all times. Natalia was dedicated, she was committed to reach the top and to make a name for herself - a name she would be so incredibly proud of. Swan Lake was just the beginning of her dream journey and she was going to be grand on opening night when she'd take the massive and majestic stage of the Bolshoi Theater.

Except... opening night never happened. KGB had other plans for her.

#

Natasha shook her head, releasing an exasperated breath through her mouth. The memories from her past just wouldn't leave her alone no matter how hard she attempted to clear her mind from any thoughts. Not in the hardest of the jobs had she felt such turmoil and perhaps that really was the reason why she couldn't shake her demons away. But it couldn't be. She'd always kept herself in check without needing anything or anyone to help her. This wouldn't be any different. What she really needed was a mission to immerse herself into and luckily, even though Coulson had pretty much shunned her from the team and was actually willing to let her off the bus on its next stop, a mission came up that couldn't be carried out without her help, since Skye was still recovering from the head injury she had caused her.

Skye had been irritable that they weren't allowing her in the field, but Jemma was adamant that 48 hours weren't nearly enough rest time for such a head trauma. With some reluctance she'd agreed to stay on the bus with Fitz-Simmons monitoring hostile activity through her laptop. She'd tried to speak to Natasha right before she left with May and Coulson, but the spy hadn't even showed any signs of acknowledgment. She'd retreated into her shell and was, apparently, as impenetrable as always. Skye didn't press her. It wasn't like the spy actually needed her to wish her good luck. It was her job after all, and one she excelled at. Not only would Skye's words be inutile and be read for their real meaning, of wanting to assess their situation, but they'd also disrupt the mental focus the Widow was known for. Skye just sighed and let them leave, knowing plenty well, despite the success or unsuccess of this mission, Natasha would refuse to come back on board of the bus. With a knot on her throat she joined Fitz-Simmons on Ops room and guided the team through the compound, warning them of incoming threats. Everything was going well, the team had secured the compound and retrieved the 084. They were on their way back when out of nowhere a rather large group of hostiles caught them off guard. She looked from her laptop to Jemma and Leo, her eyes widening as the sounds from the struggle became too loud on her ear. Without thinking she grabbed her gun and took off running. She wouldn't make such a difference on her own, but she certainly wouldn't just stand there and listen when she could be doing something.

"Skye!" Leo shouted after her.

"Where are you going?!" Jemma asked, concerned, running after the brunette.

"I'm not standing here while they need my help!" Skye let out, hopping on May's bike and setting the coordinates on the inbuilt GPS.

"Skye, wait!" Jemma had called out. Skye however didn't even look back. She wasn't going to abandon her team while they were surrounded in an ambush.

#

The first kill always stays engraved in the mind. It marks the moment darkness is allowed to consume the spirit. Natasha still remembered every detail of her first. It haunted her at times, still. Now, given her own instability, more often than it used to. It was no surprise to the spy that Skye was withdrawing: No matter the reason, even if it was to save May, the first kill had the ability to make people question everything they thought was true. She knew, as did May and Coulson, Skye was struggling. From the way she'd just stood frozen, Glock in her hand, aiming at nothing, with her enemy already bleeding out by her feet, from the way her eyes didn't even move, from the way she was led out of the compound without so much as a voluntary reaction and from the way she'd rushed desperately to her bunker the moment they'd entered the bus, they all could tell Skye wasn't doing well. The 25 year old was numb and no amount of talk could possibly erase that trauma. Still, that was the reason why Natasha had boarded the bus and that was the reason why Coulson didn't protest. Skye needed them all and no matter how angry he was at Agent Romanoff, deep down he knew there was more to her incident than he knew and if Skye trusted her, he wouldn't take Natasha from her. Not at a moment like this when she'd have to go through the process of understanding what she did was for a greater good, that she had no burning desire to kill.

Natasha knocked on Skye's bunker door but when she got no answer she just decided to let herself in. It made her heart clench when she saw the younger woman curled into a ball, crying. At this point the spy had absolutely no desire to hide and play the emotionless part, not if she could somehow comfort Skye.

"It gets better", Natasha told her simply, sitting quietly on the small bed next to the younger Agent. She debated with herself for a while before she finally decided to rest her hand on Skye's shoulder.

The brunette tensed and quickly turned her head, eyes wide open, red and dilated in fear.

"It's just me" Natasha tried to sooth her when she realized Skye hadn't even noticed she'd walked in. "It's just me," she said, frowning at herself. As if she was someone who could provide relief to anyone...especially after what she'd done. She would never be able to stop blaming herself.

Skye relaxed visibly and took a deep, shaky breath, turning on her side so she was facing Natasha.

"Please don't leave me alone," she whispered in the smallest tone, curling herself into a tighter ball.

The spy was caught off guard and was sure her heart had just been stabbed, because the pain she felt was not normal. Her own face was, as it was becoming usual with Skye, failing to obey her orders. But she didn't care. She pulled her legs up on the bed and lied down, on her side, facing the terrified mess Skye was at the moment. In a foreign impulse Natasha cupped Skye's cheek and stroke it softly. It was the first meaningful human contact she'd attempted and, contrary to what she expected, it felt right. She didn't even question herself when she just wrapped her arms around Skye and let the distraught brunette clutch to her impossibly tight. How ironic it was to Natasha that the Widow was of comfort to anyone. She felt Skye shaking in her arms and held her closer, tighter against her, legs intertwined. "It's going to be okay, sweetheart. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise. You're safe now." No, this wasn't a persona. These were her feelings, however alien to her, spurting out of an impulse, making a promise to make ammends. She cared for someone, it was her weakness now and she was just going to have to learn how to live with it. She should have been worried, based on her small history she should have ended this exchange the minute it started, she should have retreated, but she couldn't. She didn't want to. Instead, Natasha kisses Skye's forehead so softly she even doubts she touched her at all. Skye wipes her tears with the back of her hand before looking up, deep into revealing green eyes. Natasha is an open book in that moment and Skye relaxes, staring into mesmerizing eyes she's truly seeing for the first time. It is quiet and intense but it's not awkward and Natasha is calm, giving.

"I'm scared," Skye whispers, trying not to disturb too much the comfortable quietness.

The red haired doesn't know what to say. Of course Skye would be scared. She was trying her best to be of comfort but at the end of the day she was still the Black Widow, she was still the assassin who had nearly killed her. Most importantly, she wasn't good enough.

"I can get Melinda if you want," Natasha offers, trying and failing to hide the hurt in her eyes.

Skye feels the older woman closing herself and before more damage can be done to whatever relationship they're lamely trying to hold together she whispers, "I'm not scared of you Natasha."

The spy looks intently at the brunette in her arms who clings to her as if she's going to run.

"I'm just...I don't..." she stumbles with her words unsure of how to describe what she's feeling without sounding pathetic.

"You feel like you will never be the same," Natasha spoke softly, caressing Skye's cheek.

Skye nods, averting her gaze.

"You won't," the assassin tells her. "You will never be the same but if you hadn't taken that shot May would be dead, you'd probably be dead, the entire team would have been compromised. I'm not saying it's alright to find an excuse for a kill, but that guy made his choice to hurt people, to kill whoever crossed his path in defense of HYDRA. Even civilians. If you hadn't fired that gun there would have been one more cancer terrorizing innocents. He needed to be stopped, he wasn't going to change his loyalties. You were brave enough to do what you had to do and spare a bigger amount of lives."

Skye just sighs.

"How can you do it?" she asks. It's not accusatory, it's an innocent question.

"In case you haven't noticed I'm already rotten beyond repair," she jokes. But Skye knows there's no joke in there. Natasha believes in what she's saying. "I'm just good at being cold and detached."

"But you are not," Skye corrects her in a heartbeat.

The red haired raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Cold and detached," Skye adds.

Natasha chuckles, retrieving her hand from the brunette's cheek. She's surprised that she feels like, despite everything that has transpired between them, she may be passing a wrong impression, a better one, that Skye stubbornly clings to and that's impossibly far from reality. At the end of the day she is still an assassin. She's responsible for thousands of deaths. She shouldn't even be touching Skye, corrupting her with her murderous hands.

"You're not," Skye tells her softly, grabbing Natasha's hand. "You would just rather believe so. You'd just rather everyone believed it."

Natasha snorts. "But they do honey. I'm an assassin."

"I don't care. They don't know you."

"Neither do you," Natasha tells her, more brusquely than she intended.

Skye ignores her. "I know you enough. You wouldn't be here with me if there wasn't good in you. You were worried about me. You didn't leave. You care, Natasha," she lets out with so much conviction the spy almost wants to believe her.

"Well." Natasha smiled softly. "Let's just say you're my only exception, then."

"You sound awful corny for someone who practically claims to be heartless."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Looks like you got back your groove."

It's Skye's turn to smile. She stares at Natasha for a while, getting lost in the pool of green once more. Suddenly her face turns serious.

"What's wrong?" the older woman asks, concerned.

"I'm not sure." Skye swallows hard.

"Are you trying to lie to me?" Natasha asks, raising her eyebrow playfully.

The brunette shakes her head. "I just...This is going to sound so ridiculous," she puffs.

"Try me," she says, squeezing the hand that's still holding hers.

"I just feel like I really want to kiss you," Skye whispers. Natasha just stares, but her eyes soften. "Like... Kiss you, kiss you." The young woman blushes.

"It's normal," Natasha replies with more hoarseness than usual in her voice. "You just need something that will make you feel good. Kissing does that," Natasha explains nonchalantly. She knows it's a normal coping mechanism. In situations of extreme stress Natasha tends to turn more to her boxing bag, but she has her fair share amount of meaningless sex to escape from the demons in her head.

Natasha just leaned down and pecked Skye on the lips, before sucking on her lower lip. She traces the younger woman's lips with her tongue and brings her hand to cup her cheek again. When Skye opens her mouth they kiss slowly for a few minutes until Skye lets out a small moan. Natasha smiles, recognizing in that moan the beginning of the body's natural response to pleasant stimulation. She kisses Skye on the forehead and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Better then?" she asks.

Skye only nods, ignoring the thoughts that are threatening to invade her mind. It's her turn to silence them, pretend they're not there at all, and just let Natasha hold her so she can try to sleep and make peace with the day's events. For all she knows Natasha's presence could still be temporary and she's not ready to deal with that. All she really wants is to fall asleep feeling safe and she clutches unconsciously to Natasha, afraid that if she doesn't she'll be gone when she wakes up.

The older woman seems to understand Skye's tension.

"I'll be here when you wake up," she whispers. "I promise you."