Someone requested more of the Romanoffs, so I wrote this!
Seven Hours, Five Thousand Miles:
There was a seven hour time difference between Volgograd and New York City. Just over five thousand miles separated the two cities. Alina felt like her daughter lived in a completely different world, one which she could never visit. Her and Ivan's only opportunities to peek into this world were Natasha's phone calls, always too infrequent and too short for Alina's liking. But it was impossible for her to ask for more when Natasha always sounded so tired.
They didn't even get to speak to her until a week after they separated at the airport. Alina and Ivan spent that week balancing on the razor's edge between barely functioning and spiraling endlessly, desperate to know what was happening to their daughter and wondering if it was better or worse than the horrors they imagined. She knew next to nothing about leukemia treatment, but the minimal research she allowed herself to do scared her so much that she immediately stopped. When they were finally able to call, Alina gripped the phone so tightly she worried she might break it, as if holding it tight enough would feel like hugging Natasha.
"Malenkiy pauk, how are you?" she asked, starving for information.
"I'm tired," she sighed. From the weakness in her voice, that was a gross understatement.
"Did you get the blanket?"
"Yes, Mama. My nurse took it away, but he gave it back. I think he washed it, it smells different now."
"He didn't tell you why he took it away?"
"He tried, but he knows no Russian. Nobody does."
"Nobody?"
"Just me."
Alina bit her lip. She'd expected some degree of language barrier, but she thought a big hospital in America would have access to people who speak many different languages. Russian wasn't even all that rare.
"It's okay, Mama," Natasha assured. "I'm learning English."
Alina smiled. Of course Natasha would take this as a learning opportunity. "What have you learned?"
"Yes, no, sleep, blanket, all done." She explained what each of those words meant.
"That's great." She paused. Alina wanted to know what was actually happening, what these nurses and doctors had done to her daughter, but she wasn't sure how to ask. It was highly possible Natasha didn't want to talk about it. Ivan was also standing by eagerly awaiting his turn. "Do you want to talk to Papa?"
"Okay."
Alina handed the phone over. Ivan put it on speaker; he always preferred to talk with the phone on a table rather than hold it to his ear. "It's so nice to hear your voice, Natasha."
"You too, Papa. I haven't cried, just like you said."
His face scrunched up briefly, clearly overcome with emotion. "You're so brave."
"I'm trying. This is really scary, but my nurse is nice."
"That's good. Do you want to tell us what's been going on?"
Natasha hesitated. "A lot of needles and medicine. But medicine makes me feel worse, not better. It's very confusing."
"I know. But I promise the doctors know what they're doing. They're going to make you better."
"I trust you. I think I should go to sleep now."
"Okay. We love you."
The blatant declaration must've caught her off guard, because it took her a few moments to reply. "Good night."
The phone fell silent. Alina and Ivan met eyes.
"She's so strong," he declared.
Alina agreed. "You raised her to be."
He shook his head forlornly. "I never thought she'd need to use that strength for this."
~0~
It was another week and a half before they heard from her again. Natasha had a lot to report. They had a nurse who spoke fluent Russian now, she'd shaved her head (Alina failed to imagine what she looked like now but was too scared to ask for a picture), was allowed to stay awake during spinal infusions (which she reported like it was a good thing), had abdominal surgery, learned she could never dance again because the medicine broke down her ankle bones, and visited with therapy dogs. There was such a mix of good and bad news that Alina's head spun. Natasha stated it all with a degree of indifference despite how objectively devastating some of those events were.
"Can you put Liho on the phone?" she asked. "I miss him."
"Of course." Alina tracked down the cat and told him Natasha was here. He perked up at the sound of her name, but stopped when he realized she wasn't actually here. She laid the phone down next to him and began to pet him the way she knew he liked best. He began purring after a few moments. "Hear that?" she asked Natasha.
"Yes. Thank you, Mama. I'm sorry I can't talk longer, but I have a headache and want to sleep. I just really needed to hear Liho."
"It's okay, malenkiy pauk. You rest up."
Alina didn't go back to sleep that night, even though it was only three in the morning. Natasha glossed over it like it was nothing, but Alina could tell by her tone that it distressed her. Losing dance forever wasn't something she ever imagined could come from this horrible chapter of their lives. She never imagined that Nutcracker last Christmas would be the last time she watched her daughter dance on stage. Natasha used to dream of dancing professionally, for the Bolshoi or Moscow Ballet, and all her teachers agreed that she could've made it. To have that future cruelly ripped from her like this hurt Alina almost as much as it inevitably hurt Natasha.
~0~
As the weeks wore on, Natasha reported spending time with other kids like her. She sounded so much happier. The intensity of her treatment hadn't lessened, but having friends clearly helped immensely. Alina learned all about Clint, Steve, Carol, Nick, Parker, Thor, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce. There were so many names she couldn't keep them all straight, except for Clint. Clint was Natasha's best friend, and he was teaching her yet another language. Natasha explained that his treatments damaged his ears so he couldn't hear very well anymore and used sign language sometimes. When Natasha first left for America, Alina worried about the break in her education, but now she recognized that she was still learning, and learning arguably more valuable things than history or math.
Natasha stopped discussing her cancer treatment almost entirely. Her phone calls instead consisted of recounting the latest adventures of her and her friends. Alina could tell these friends were far more beneficial to her mental strength than the therapy dogs or anything of the sort. It eased her worries to know that her daughter wasn't alone when Alina still felt so incredibly isolated. None of her friends knew what to say to her anymore, when all she desperately wanted from them was to say the same things as usual. They all danced around the subject of Natasha as if she was a ghost. Nobody understood what they were going through, and those that tried to say that they did fell hopelessly short when they talked about their kids going away to university or being sick with the flu for two weeks. As Natasha grew closer with her new friends, Alina and Ivan grew more distant from theirs. It didn't even bother her until Natasha's calls grew less frequent. That used to mean she was too sick and tired to talk, but now it meant she was too busy talking to her friends. As much as Alina loved that she wasn't alone, it made those five thousand miles feel a hell of a lot farther. She couldn't wait until Natasha came home to them and she could hold her daughter in her arms once more.
