It's kind of been a while guys, and I apologize for that. I have to move again soon (I think I'm an expert at it by now) and I've been prepping for college and all of that. This one is incredibly serious and might be awkward to some people for mentions of uncomfortable sexual situations. As per usual, tell me what you think and if you have any ideas or suggestions!

Regression: A return to a former or less developed state

The last time she was kissed, she was fourteen and she drove a knife in his throat, blatantly ignoring the look of hurt and betrayal on the man's face as he choked on his own blood and bled to death. She didn't kill Ethan, but she sprang back, the disgusting memory surfacing. She ran out of his room and out the door of his house and jumped into her car, starting it and driving off before Ethan even had time to make it out the open door. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. It beat against her head as she saw the blood on her hands, the blood on her shirt, the blood on her shoes, the blood that settled in the body after a death.

She wanted to slam her car into a tree but fire—that could spread—so she got home, narrowly avoiding the mailbox and barely taking the keys out of the ignition before she walked in, making a beeline for the kitchen. She pulled the vodka from the top cabinet and started drinking it straight from the bottle, gasping and choking with the burn. She had to get out of this world of civilians and dance competitions because she was a bloody mark upon them all.

She didn't understand how Natasha could love Bruce. It was such a foreign concept to Tatiana that most of the time she didn't try to wrap her mind around it. He was kind, aesthetically pleasing, and served several purposes but there was something more that Tatiana assumed had been beaten out of everyone in Tatiana and Natasha's situation. In theory, Natasha was too old to be rehabilitated, and Tatiana was the best case of the other girls her age. She didn't have to be stuffed in a hospital the moment Natasha found her like those girls, but she wasn't rid of her scars as easily as the younger ones. They were all trying and she was trying just as hard as the rest of them but something was gone.

Originally, Tatiana thought that it was just another thing that the Red Room ripped away from her, but watching Natasha and Bruce together made that theory shaky. Maybe Natasha was properly loved once and not a hated burden until she was finally dumped off at the gates of hell. The more Tatiana thought about the things that she did to stay alive, the more she regretted ever being alive. She felt like a stain.

She took yet another burning gulp of Natasha's vodka and cringed at the taste. Natasha was physically incapable of getting intoxicated so Tatiana didn't understand the point of having something that tasted so bad. Yet the more she drank, the more she liked it, if only for it's ability to make her numb. The therapist referred to this as self medication and Tatiana knew it was unhealthy but there were so many things unhealthy about her that she figured one more thing wouldn't kill her just yet.

"What are you doing up, Tati—?" Bruce stopped, staring at her for a moment before sitting down in front of her, pulling the chair so close that their knees touched. He took the bottle from her limp hand and set it to the side, "Tatiana, tell me what happened."

She thought about replying. Bruce and Natasha made it so easy to simply speak her mind but she didn't know what she wanted to say. There were no words, not in English, not in Russian, not in Ukrainian, for what she wanted to say.

Instead she slid her hand up the inside of his thigh and he bolted from his seat, stuttering and blushing like no one had ever done that before. It was ridiculous, preposterous, she didn't even find him attractive but that never mattered when she was ordered to touch and caress a target until it was time to stab him in the neck—Bruce stumbled away from Tatiana as if he had been stung. Good. She should still have that effect on people. Immediately she felt bad. She hated the lack of disconnect between her actions and emotions.

"You're the only person I've ever done that to that didn't want it." She felt her voice slur a little and her posture slackened and slumped, "You're a good man. Such a—such a good man. I didn't like to do things like that."

"Tatiana." Bruce said firmly, suddenly close to her again, clasping her shoulder in such a kind and fatherly gesture that Tatiana felt sick, "You never—ever—have to do anything like what they taught you in the Red Room. Natasha's told me stories—"

"What about when I want to? I've never wanted to." Tatiana felt tears rolling down her face and she felt so weak and silly, "I—he looks at me like I'm wonderful. Like I'm not a killer and he doesn't know, he doesn't—" Tatiana let out a little hiccup, "I'm so, so sorry—but I hate feeling everything like this. I hate it—I hate it—I'm sorry. I should've died there. I should've—"

"Tatiana. God—Natasha would be so much better at this—Tatiana, you are here—you are living and there are so many people that want you here and living. It hurts. I've been here—"

"You tried—you can't die."

"You're right. So I'm stuck here constantly trying to do the right thing. And so are you."

"I don't know what it is."

"That's why trying is the key word there. You don't have to do anything. No one expects you to." Bruce was so earnest. So honest. Tatiana managed a small smile. "You'll feel better tomorrow—that is, after the hangover. Let's get you to bed."

She did feel horrible the next morning, but she still got up to stretch and do bar exercises. She was the only one that still did all of her practice in the morning and some more in the afternoon. Everyone else had been rehabilitated. Tatiana was resigned to the fact that she was simply going to graduate with A LOT of physical education credits.

She didn't like the song she was doing anymore or the choreography that went along with it. It was a judge favorite but it was too happy. Lena walked in as she went through the music selection, each one more depressing than the next.

"Find an angry song." Lena dropped on the floor and started using an exercise band to flex her foot.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had a panic attack at school yesterday."

"I didn't know."

"You weren't there and then you were drunk." Lena leaned forward to touch her toes, taking deep and even breaths.

"I'm sorry."

"We were never good at comforting each other anyway."

Tatiana frowned, picking up the phone and turning off the music. Lena looked just as tired and worn out as she was. The now thirteen year old was in an awkward place, developmentally, with barely emerging breasts and a training bra and the start of a little acne on her chin. The Red Room would've hated that.

"Was it another flashback?"

"I was just suddenly there again, Tatiana." Lena whispered, "I was there, right in the middle of math and I couldn't do anything about it." Tatiana shifted across the floor and embraced Lena. "I would've never thought about these things if we hadn't been taken out. They would have shaped me into a complete monster. I'm glad I scream and cry and have nightmares. I'm glad I see how horrible I was and how horrible I could've been. It was the ruler. Mr. Hong accidentally hit the board too hard."

"It just—hurts." Tatiana's phone buzzed again.

"Ethan?"

"Yeah."

She didn't text back.

That night, she caught the scream in her hand and bit into it so hard that she tasted blood. She got up and washed her face. She desperately wanted the enemy to have a fact outside of her dreams. On nights like these, usually when Natasha was away from home, eleven months until eighteen sounded like a long time. Tatiana looked around her room. It was only her room now. The youngest girls—the ones without the scars of killing their sisters in spars—went to members of SHIELD that had families of their own or trusted adoptive parents. Viktoriya and Alisa still shared the room next door. Lena and Svetlana took the rooms on the other side. Two of the four girls Natasha found lived in the living room. The other two lived in an institution. Tatiana found that she didn't want to be one of the lucky ones anymore.

Ethan called five more times. His last text, a mere two minutes ago, was threatening to come to her house. Tatiana sighed, clicking his name and holding the phone up to her ear.

"Ana? Ana—hey I'm sorry, I didn't mean I'd come it'd trip the alarms and wake everybody up and I'd probably get shot but yeah." Tatiana smiled and bit her knuckle, but didn't say anything, "I know I screwed up but we—can't we just talk? I want to just—please? Please, Ana."

Tatiana hung up. She stuffed the pills back into her purse and walked out to her car again. The drive was the same as it always was but it felt both endless and short as she drew nearer to Ethan's house. She rang the door and stepped back as if she wanted to make a run for it. That awkward time spent waiting increased her anxiety until Mrs. Ortega opened the door.

"Oh—hi Tatiana! Was Ethan expecting you?"

"I don't think so." Tatiana replied.

"Come in, come in, he's in the basement." Mrs. Ortega shooed Tatiana in and let her gestured towards the stairs.

Ethan was slumped on the sofa, staring blankly at the television screen, his phone on the coffee table.

"I'm here." She said quietly.

Ethan jumped like a gun shy dog, turning towards her. He continued standing as she came closer and sat on the sofa, tugging him down to fall beside her. Ethan kept his eyes on his hands.

"Ana—Ana I'm sorry—"

"You said that already." Tatiana replied flatly.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. I—I should've known—"

"Should've known what?"

"Somebody like you wouldn't like somebody like me. I'm—you're so beautiful and I—it was stupid."

"You thought that was what this was about?" Tatiana shook her head, a tiny wisp of a laugh escaping her.

"What else was I—"

"Stop it."

"Ana—"

"I had some things I needed to sort out. I told you some things—about how I was raised." Tatiana found that she couldn't look directly at him, "I killed people."

He let out his breath and it sounded like a mix between a gasp and a sigh, "I didn't know for sure—but the Red Room was all over the Internet and I wasn't—"

"I had to do things—that were—" Tatiana didn't know how to say these things, "intimate."

Ethan looked up, his wide and horrified eyes trained on her. Tatiana wanted to disappear into the cushions, "I'm so sorry," he said, surprising her, "I shouldn't have been so forward with that—I didn't mean to hurt you." He reached out and almost took her hands before freezing, suddenly hesitant in his action.

"You didn't."

Tatiana finished for him, lacing her fingers with his and resting her head against his shoulder. Ethan reached over her shoulders with the arm closer to her and drew her closer. Affection—not lust or desire or anything too sudden—was pleasant, and Tatiana had to make up for years of lost time.