This is a much darker chapter. It dives into Natasha's mind set and reveals some of her past.
Enjoy.
The sun began to set, and colorful festive lights sprang up around the city. There was less than a week until Christmas and people tended to lose their sanity for a few weeks each year; singing, buying presents they couldn't afford, wishing strangers a 'Merry Christmas'. Natasha found the whole thing to be a ridiculous farce. No one ever gave a gift without hoping for one in return. It was how the world worked. Tit for tat.
For the rest of the world, this nonsense had already ended. But Russia liked to hold on to backwards ways, and the church stuck to the old calendar when it came to Christmas. It had been a source of frustration for Natasha while learning History, always having to learn two dates for events.
She found it Ironic that she should be here now, in this city so close to Christmas. One of her first missions had been here; a long term assignment to gather information that turned into a messy affair.
Ilya Demichev was a powerful and corrupt business man, but he loved his sister dearly. She got close to him, became his lover and confidant. The order to take him out came down the pipeline just before Christmas.
But before she could kill him quietly, his brother-in-law and business partner had a heart attack and was hospitalized, prompting Demichev's puppet master to pay a visit. Her handler at the time thought it would be more beneficial to take out all three men at once.
His sister and daughter were not supposed to be there.
Demichev's niece was an angelic little child. She was a delight to all around her, and Demichev doted on her. The little girl had skipped up to her just days before, a jovial smile that was just for Natasha and a small package hidden behind her back. She tugged gently on the skirt of Natasha dress, beckoning her to lean down to the child level.
"Can you keep a secret?" she said in a loud whisper.
Natasha replied with an amused smile, "of course."
"This is for you!" she presented the package to her, grinning from ear to ear. "I know it's not Christmas yet, but open it now! Please?"
Not immune to the child's charms, Natasha slowly pulled open the wrapping paper while the little girl bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet, urging her to open it faster. A beaded necklace, the kind kids string together during crafts, lay nestled in the excessive tissue and wrapping paper.
Small hands plucked it out and reached up to put it around her neck. She beamed up at Natasha for a second, taking in her handiwork and then bounded off once again.
It was a stupid mistake, but Natasha ran back into the burning building to pull her out. She was too late. She found the mother crushed beneath some rubble and the girl cry and screaming next to the corpse as her flesh burned.
Demichev managed to escape, and found her outside on the pavement clutching the child her chest. He fell to his knees next to her and wrapping his arms around both of them, sobbing into her neck.
The child lived, but just barely. She was severely burned and hospitalized for the rest of her life. If you could call that living. It wasn't until a week later, when he caught her slipping a needle into the little girl's arm, that he figured out she was behind the explosion.
He flew into a rage and tried to kill her. She managed to severely wound him, but barely escaped with her life. The bastard survived the encounter and went on to take his boss's place, making him damn near untouchable.
He hated the season even more than she did and was bound to be in a foul mood.
It was late and he was tired. The cold made his knee and burn scars ache even more, a cruel reminder of the past. Christmas was a time for family. So what does one do when they have none? Wallow in sorrow and self-loathing of course! He felt like Scrooge, a grumpy old man who wanted nothing to do with any one.
Bah humbug
Leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way into the study. Flipping on the light, he shuffled into the room, leafing through the mail. Same shit, different day.
"Hello Ilya."
He froze briefly, and then continued what he was doing. Calmly, he opened an envelope and read through its contents.
"What are you doing here?"
"Do I need a reason to visit an old friend?"
Old friend. It felt like a slap in the face. Exhaling heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting too old for this shit.
Finally he turned to look toward where she was perched on his desk, black calf boots, creamy legs, short skirt, and delicious red lips. The ghost of Christmas past, come to haunt him. Her lips curved into an arrogant smile as he met her eyes. She always managed to take his breath away, even now.
Once, a long time ago, he thought himself in love with this woman. Now, he almost choked on the intensity of his hatred for her.
"You have some nerve, coming back here now." He all but growled at her. "You'll regret it."
"Perhaps" she said mysteriously, her eyes challenging him. he had always loved her eyes. she could say so much with just one look.
Using his cane, he rapped loudly against the oak door, calling in his body guards who were never far. They rushed in at his call, stopping in their tracks to stare dumbfounded at the woman who slipped past security.
She made no move toward aggression.
"Sir?"
"Well?" Ilya gestured toward her.
She stood up as they advanced on her, holding her hands up in surrender. She didn't fight them as they turned her around and slammed her down on the desk. They handcuffed her arms behind her back, and none too gently frisked her. Her cooperation unnerved him. She had fought tooth and nail when he found her murdering his precious niece. Her schemes and manipulations knew no end. She was not one to simply lie down and take it, always an ace up her sleeve.
"She's unarmed sir,"
"Well that was unwise." They pulled her up to face him. "Surely you must have known what was waiting for you here." She merely smiled. His anger got the best of him momentarily and he lashed out, backhanding her across the face.
She was planning something, but he wasn't going to allow her an opportunity to cause more damage. He was going to make her pay if it was the last thing he did.
"Why are you here?"
Licking the blood from her lip with a smirk, she taunted him with her eyes. "Like I said: to see an old friend."
He struck again, bringing his cane down in her head. She fell back into one of the guards, but didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain.
She righted herself, and gave him another vexing smile.
This place was all too familiar to her, burned into her memory. One of them sat her down in a cold metal chair that was bolted to the ground, cuffing each hand separately to the back legs. The other picked up one of the large Gas can and began pouring it around the room and making a trail out the door.
"Been planning this for a while?" she teased.
Ilya didn't reply. He stood over her smoking a cigarette, grimly supervising her execution.
"That's a fire hazard."
He laughed then, the manic laugh of a man who's lost everything. He leaned in close, exhaling smoke in her face. "Always so witty." He said, reaching out to caress her smooth cheek. Gathering saliva in her mouth, she launched it at his face.
He pulled back, chuckling. Calmly he shook out a handkerchief and wiped off his face. Without a word he brought his cigarette down toward her, snuffing it out on the soft flesh of her breast.
"see you in hell moya lyubov'"
Shortly after they left, the flames came rushing in to embrace her.
Closing her eyes, she saw the faces of those she had tried to help. Liev, crumpling to the ground dead; the little girl, screaming as she burned. Zhenya. Her name was Zhenya.
She was born to death, it was all she was good at, everything she touched she destroyed.
She relaxed against the chair, accepting her fate. It was appropriate that it end here, where it began.
moya lyubov' = my love
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