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Ever since I can remember, life was like a tipping scale

The next morning, she continued her mission, the little blue ribbon tucked into a pocket inside her coat. She was well-armed and prepared for today's goal. Ghosts from her past could be ignored for now. Fury had sent a picture of Rostov and she is relatively certain she'd seen him before. When she was young, in the Red Room. He might have been a contact or a handler on a mission; she didn't think she had seen him more than once or twice before she left the department to do her own thing.

Previous experience with him or not, she wasn't sure how he would react to her coming out of the blue. So she figured showing up at his house was not the best course of action. Instead, she wrote out a note asking him to meet an "old friend" at a certain café in the afternoon and left it wedged in his front door. It wasn't a foolproof plan, and time wasn't a luxury afforded to her, but she could come by in the evening if he didn't show up. In the meantime, she checked into a run-down hotel and planned which parts of her arsenal to take with her to the meet.

Arriving early, she took a table where she would have a good view of the other patrons as well as of the street, with her back to a pillar, which afforded some protection. It wasn't ideal, but she'd been in worse positions when meeting with unknowns. A cup of coffee settled her nerves and she considered what direction to take the conversation once he arrived. Her red hat was how he would identify her, and she regularly checked for any others with the same distinguishing feature. No one so far. He should have no problem identifying her. Assuming he got the note.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she casually assessed the other patrons. A local man in his late thirties, reading the paper; a young mother with her two children under school-age; a tourist couple, likely European; two older ladies gossiping. No one looked threatening, though Natasha knew better than anyone not to trust appearances. The barista was a teenage girl, and a boy of about the same age was bussing the table. Neither seemed like they might be a plant.

The café was a familiar one to Natasha, though she hadn't been to it very recently. It was on the other side of town from her hotel, which should diminish the likelihood of anyone connecting it to her current location. Or following her home after she finished her conversation with Rostov. He should be in his early forties now, she supposed. Fury had not provided her with any particularly recent photos, but she figured she would have no trouble recognizing him.

As the young woman with the children left, someone outside held the door for them, and Natasha waited as nonchalantly as possible to get a look at him. He was wearing a coat and hat, and headed for the counter, ordering with a forced calmness – she could see his hand twitching a little. When he turned around, she smiled at him. He nodded slightly at her, then faced the barista again to collect his coffee.

She broadened her smile as he headed her way and slid somewhat nervously into the chair across from her. "It's been a while, Andre," she said lightly.

Looking around in far too obvious a fashion, he removed his hat and wrung his hands briefly. His attention fixed on her at last and he frowned slightly before leaning back in surprise.

"Natalia," he murmured. "I… I didn't expect it to be you."

She took another sip of her coffee. "Whom did you expect?"

He shrugged. "Any number of people," he replied dismissively. "How long has it been? I haven't seen you since you escaped."

"Is that what they called it?"

A less than pleasant smile crossed his features. "You were one of our most valuable assets. You had no right to trade your services for him."

Snorting, she looked away from him to survey the room. No one was paying them any attention. "You think that's how that went?"

"Well, I hear you're the only one left around to blame."

"I didn't expect it to bother you so much. Left room for you and the other girls to shine, didn't it?" she inquired politely.

His eyes narrowed. "Sure, until they decided the department must not be able to handle its people, if the prize pupil goes astray. They shut us down because of you, Natalia. Because of your selfishness. It was no surprise that you went over to the capitalist pigs after that," he snarled.

A few glances flickered in their direction, and she took care to look at ease. "You can't think I had any intention of that," she admonished gently.

Apparently noticing the attention he'd attracted, Andre leaned back and contented himself with glaring at her. "What are you doing here, Natalia? You never had much use for me when I worked for your superiors before. Can't imagine what you want with me now."

"I think you have some information I'd appreciate you sharing," she told him.

"Oh, yeah? And why would I do that?"

Licking her lips, she looked demurely down at her cup. "You were fond of us, weren't you? The Widows, I mean," she added, looking up to gauge his reaction.

His discomfort with the question made it apparent that he had been. "Why does that matter?"

"I think we're in trouble."

"You've been in trouble your whole lives, that's the job."

"More trouble than usual," she clarified.

He seemed concerned, or at least interested in what she had to say. "Why?"

"You remember Yelena?"

A smile twitched across his face. "Yeah. She's a good girl. I hear she's hunting bounties now."

Natasha returned his smile. "Yes, Andre. I just ran into her on a job, and you'll never believe what happened."

The color drained from his face. "She's dead?"

"No, but pretty close. If I hadn't been there, they would have gotten her," she told him seriously.

He ran his hand through his hair. "That's terrible news," he muttered, staring at the table.

"Andre." He looked up. "Where are the others?"

"Others?"

"The other Widows," she pressed, trying to pull him back from where ever he'd gone in his head.

Licking his lips, he began nodding slowly. "Yes, the others. Why ask me? From what I hear, you've got plenty of resources these days. A whole branch of our enemy's government," he added snidely.

She was losing him. "I don't know who set up the attack. I don't want to go alerting a whole branch of the government that I'm suspicious," she responded reasonably.

"Yeah? Or maybe they're just no longer taking your calls after what you did."

Her smile grew frosty. "What did I do?"

"Picked the wrong side. Like you always do. How's that working out for you? Where's your husband, Natalia?" he hissed, leaning in close.

She recoiled, resisting the urge to strike him. Definitely should have gotten more sleep, she reflected. "If you're not going to help me, I can take my business elsewhere," she sniffed.

That elicited a harsh bark of a laugh. "Oh, business, is it? What do you have to give me for the information you want?"

"What do you want, Andre?"

His smile broadened. "I'll tell you what your sisters have been up to in recent years, but first you have to do something for me."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

Pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, he scribbled something down before folding it in half. "Meet me at this address at midnight tonight, and you'll see," he replied, pushing the paper in her direction.

"And if I refuse?"

He stood up, shrugging. "Then you'll have to find someone else as well-connected as me," he answered.

Natasha watched him go, then picked up the paper and considered if she really wanted to go to an old warehouse in the middle of the night. Surely someone else would know where the Widows had gone.