Whaaaaahhh! Finals are coming up and everyone's panicking-oh wait, I'm not because I've kept my grades way up all semester, know what's going on, and could totally bomb everything and still get a pass. So what am I doing? Haha, still studying and writing another chapter, of course!

The chat with Alexei Shostakov was interesting at best and absolutely world shattering at it's worst. Bruce bolted out into the snow with no real sense of where he was going. He always worried about his place in the world and his place next to Natasha for a multitude of reasons, but he never imagined that she was more of an outsider than he was. One of the things he told himself when he left was that she was better off without him. He assumed that what Natasha had weighing her down was reversible. She was completely human after all. There was some part of him that thought that seeing a psychiatrist, meeting some nice normal man and adopting children was all that Natasha needed if she would only just leave her uniform and her ledger at the door. He thought it would be an easier, cleaner exit from her, simply because she looked the part.

Natasha was not Betty. She was just as lost in the world and he refused to see past his own nose. Married? Natasha was married? She danced in a ballet in Soviet Russia and the rest of Europe until she disappeared in a blood bath? He didn't feel angry—well he did, he was always angry—but he felt a little dead inside. He stood up as straight as he could after years of trying to make himself smaller. He would find Natasha. They were going to try to make sense of all of this together.

Maybe they couldn't run away together to Calcutta but he'd at least be able to properly breathe again if she was there. He didn't hope that she felt the same, he just wanted her with him again. Even if she was all lies and manipulation, he wished he had never left.

The ballet company was a dead end. Bruce spent a week pacing back and forth. Nothing was happening. The whole of Russia, let alone the world, was an enormous place for a spy that didn't want to be found.

"Nat's back!" Clint ran into the room, startling everyone, "She's on the grid again, contacted me and everything, I know where she is."

"Couldn't that be a trap?"

"Do you care, Wanda?"

Wanda thought for a moment before shaking her head, "Let's go find Natasha."

A small figure waited for them, shrouded in mist and snow.

A little girl with a pale face and shocking red hair sat on the rail overlooking a river. Her hair whipped around her in the snowy wind, long and loose. Her eyes were the same color as the Other Guy's skin. They were fixed on Barton. Her fur lined hood was down but she paid no attention to the cold. Beside her was a long rifle. Barton stepped forward, and Bruce supposed that made sense. He was the only one of them that had kids.

"Tattie said that you wouldn't even consider killing me, even if I tricked you to get you here." She jumped down from the rail and steadily walked forward, "She said that the archer is my new handler." Her English had a tinted and tinny sound to it, like she spent a long time working on intonation but never actually used it in a setting with English speakers.

Clint warily drew close to her, kneeling to accommodate for her height, "Tattie—you mean Natasha?"

The girl nodded and repeated, "She said you're my new handler." Bruce thought his heart died a little, "She said that you could help me like you helped her. She said Peru—and Budapest." She drew a bundle of papers held together by a rubber band and gave them to Clint.

"What's your name?'

"Yelena." Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment before she spoke up again "I want to be Lena—Tattie—no Natasha said I could."

Clint held his hand out to Lena. It reminded Bruce of the way that Natasha held out her hand to his. Bruce watched in fascination as a number of emotions subtly flickered across an otherwise schooled face. She was too young to behave like that. Her mouth finally curved upward slightly, and she reached out to take his hand, shaking it like they had completed a transaction. Lena stepped back, biting her lip.

"I specialize in razor wire."

"—That won't be necessary, Lena."

"Spying then?"

"Lena—"

"We can settle this later." Wanda cut in, "Tell me, now. Where is Natasha."

Lena frowned, shaking her head, "No."

"Lena, you must tell us—"

"I didn't want to—I didn't—she didn't—she told me to." Lena bit back everything else, "I didn't know—she was acting odd—"

"What is it?" Bruce decided that it was a good time to speak up.

Lena looked at him like it was the first time she noticed him, "You're the green man."

"Well—not right now but yes—"

"You weren't supposed to be here." She said flatly, "She said you'd be angry."

"Lena, I'm your handler right?" Clint waited for the nod, "Tell me where Natasha is and if she's okay." Lena glanced warily at Bruce. The feeling he had was a sinking one, "No, no, no—Bruce isn't going to hurt you. No one here is going to hurt you. No one wants to."

"You will. I didn't want to. She was nice. She let me get chocolate." Lena's face became expressionless again, "Read the papers, please. Don't say anything out loud."

"What happened?" Bruce asked. He hated it when people omitted anything because he operated under the assumption that something went horribly, horribly wrong. Natasha could have been sick or kidnapped. What turned out to be the case was much, much worse.

"I stabbed her and threw her in the river."

Bruce didn't even remember changing.

Natalia blinked up at the ceiling and let her head lull over to see a bag of fluids being transferred to a tube inserted in her arm.

"Welcome back, Natalia. It's been a long time."

"Still alive, Ivan?" She laughed despite the pain. It was a relief. Her old handler was still alive.

"Is that disappointing to you?"

"No—it really isn't. I am so glad to see you." Natalia wished she could get up from the table and claw his eyes out, yet another part of her wished that she could embrace him. He was always a solid and familiar figure in her long life. "Why did you save me?"

"My dear girl—"

"No lies, Ivan. I need to know what you want."

"Why?"

"How can I get it for you if I don't know what it is? The other one is gone for now. She's locked up but I need to figure out how to get rid of her."

"That can wait. You must get better, Tattie."

"Tattie—I missed that name."

"It was special—just for you."

"Just for me." Natalia muttered before another wave of pain overtook her.

Clint immediately knew to take Lena far, far away from Bruce as he convulsed on the ground. Lena was already several yards away, running very fast and gracefully for a girl practically running across solid ice. Steve and Wanda were already in action, providing a very flimsy barrier between the growing Hulk and the girl. Clint didn't know if he really wanted to keep her out of harm's way, but the situation gave him no time to ponder it. He dragged her into the car and slammed the door shut behind her. He started it, and hit the gas.

"Careful on the ice—"

"Shut up!" Clint needed a moment to think. Finally, he came up with a decent question. "What happened? No omissions, no bullshit, no nothing."

Lena stared out the windshield, "She said if I helped her, I'd be free. I wouldn't have to listen to my Red Handler anymore. I didn't believe her. I really didn't. It was a trap or a trick and I knew it—but then she started being nice. She let me buy dessert at a restaurant—they never let me do that. Never. I thought it was a trick but it was a nice trick. But she knew I'd think that. She knew and let me, I think. All she did was talk about you—all of you. How her life was not secret anymore. How she had a family to protect at any cost. She let me get chocolate at a train stop."

Lena spoke calmly, staring ahead even as she spouted such sentimental words. That was a tell of Natasha's in those first hard months after he found her. It was a little off putting at first, but Natasha said things that she meant in a blank and expressionless tone. Any frown, smile, laugh or cry, no matter how genuine it seemed, was an act. For a long time, Natasha was a blank slate. Lena was the same to an extent, but she didn't have so many years of conditioning and brainwashing under her belt. Clint snorted. Apparently with Natasha there were many more years than anyone ever thought. That was still a trip. Clint tried to get himself to refocus on Lena. Her eyes widened slightly when she heard a crash and a roar.

"I—he wasn't supposed to be here." Lena turned towards the sound of the violence, "Natasha said he was taking a break from world." A flash of panic came over her face and she clutched her head, "The world. The world—articles—"

"Shh—it's okay. No one's grading your grammar, Lena. Can you tell me for certain that Natasha is dead?"

"It's highly—"

"Did you drag her out of the river, check her pulse, and cut off her head?"

"Well no—"

"Then we operate under the assumption that she's alive and we keep you away from Banner until he's in a more—reasonable—state. Why did she ask you to kill her?"

Lena looked at him, and he found himself taken back by her eyes, even as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. They were so empty and full at the same time. They were intense at the same time that they were dulled over. Six years ago, those were Natasha's eyes.

"Because she's like him." Lena pointed in the direction of another roar. "There's two minds fighting where one should go. "The nice one is not in control anymore—she was starting to really take over by the time she met me—at least I think that's what's going on."

Clint slammed on the breaks, sliding to a stop. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Natasha's not in control."

"What, like she's under mind control?"

"—No." Lena's eyebrow furrowed, "I think Natasha is the mind control."

Another roar—did it sound anguished? Perhaps. Clint sighed, pressing his forehead against the wheel, "She's not dead."

"No—it would have been better—"

"She's not dead." Clint repeated slowly, "That's all we need right now." He plucked up the communicator, "Steve? Steve—we've got—Natasha's not dead."

"What? Really?"

"Really. Think you could try passing along the message? Maybe you should try the sun's getting low thing—or whatever."

Natasha is the mind control? What the hell did that even mean?

I adore reviews! Good reviews, bad reviews, indifferent reviews, doesn't really matter. My self esteem depends on validation from people on the Internet I don't know. Not really, but reviews are still nice!