⧗ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ⧗

Budapest was beautiful back then.

But then, what else could a child's eyes see, but the wonder and enormity of a foreign city, clutching the hand of the redhead woman as they wandered the streets. Dmitri was nine and full of himself, thinking he was big enough to walk on his own. But Natalia insisted on keeping him close no matter what.

Dmitri still carried the youthful perception of time, where the hours and days lasted forever and months disappeared without a trace. Dmitri couldn't remember how long they'd been on this mission. Much longer than anything he had done before, except maybe with Yelena. But they had handlers then — none of which they dealt with now. But it made sense. Yelena was still a trainee then, and Natalia had been a Black Widow for a long time now.

So maybe she didn't need handlers. She always brushed off those questions whenever Dmitri asked.

The tall buildings loomed over them, old stone cracked with age but full of life; flower boxes and clothes lines, a sleepy cat or potted plants, and neighbors sharing a smoke across sixth story windows.

They passed a theater, displaying STAR WARS III: REVENGE OF THE SITH, premiering that weekend. The posters showed cool heroes with glowing blades and space fighters, immediately catching Dmitri's attention.

Natalia tugged him along. "No distractions, Dmitri."

He pouted. "But it looks cool!"

"It's American. It'll rot your brain."

"Ugh."

"I'm serious, Dmitri, you have to focus," Natalia insisted, frowning down at him. "I have an important meeting today. You'll have to be there."

Dmitri knew what that meant. "So I'll have to hide again?"

"Just for a little while. It won't take long."

"You said that the last time!"

Natalia heaved a sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead. She had recently cut her hair, and had tucked it under a cap and hood. Dmitri, too, had had a haircut, and Natalia had recently bought dye to fix his roots, which were already coming up red beneath the false brown. "I have to finish a few things here, and then we can leave Budapest. For good."

That mollified him slightly, but Dmitri was still antsy. All this moving around, something didn't feel right. It's been going on for months. They left for their mission last winter, and now it was summer. After a long moment, he asked, "What was the longest mission you've been on?"

Natalia blinked, tilting her head slightly. "Oh, I don't know. Had to have been a few years. I was part of a family unit in America. Why?"

Dmitri didn't know how to answer, so he shrugged. "Just curious. I think this is one of my longer ones. Maybe the longest? I can't remember. I just…I miss home."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Dmitri. It'll be over soon, I promise."

And with that, Natalia squeezed his hand and they walked along a little faster.

Safe houses started looking the same after a while. They started off very nice, a few decent apartments and one really fancy one with an electric fireplace and three bedrooms. But after that they got smaller and smaller. The last two were little more than closets. No bedrooms, just pull-out couches or hideaway beds. But it was better than sleeping on the floor, and Natalia preferred clean water over abject comfort.

This one was a little better. It had a living room, at least, connected to a small kitchen and a bedroom tucked around the corner. Actual room to play, Dmitri thought, and wondered if it was a little lame that's where his standards were now.

It was practically luxurious, more space than they knew what to do with. For three days, Dmitri got to sleep in his own bed, got to get up at a reasonable hour, could find fresh eggs and bread on the kitchen counter to make his own breakfast every morning. He wasn't allowed to leave the apartment, not on his own, but whenever Natalia left he could basically do what he wanted. Usually it was watching TV, trying to parse through today's latest episode of a Hungarian soap opera. The apartment had some ancient popcorn packets that still popped in a rattling old microwave, and Dmitri could indulge himself for a few hours.

It was unusual to be left behind like this. Dmitri knew his purpose was to help provide a cover for Natalia when on mission, but this felt different somehow. Before, he'd been allowed to go outside — not very far, of course, but to allow himself to blend with society, and let people think they were a normal family.

Not anymore. Unless they were traveling together, Natalia preferred that Dmitri never appear in public. She went alone to get supplies. To gather intelligence, to collect information. When Dmitri could've done that too. Two old men drinking coffee and discussing trade offs in low tones never suspect the little kid practicing his futball tricks to be spying on them.

Sure, it kept Dmitri out of danger. But he was so bored.

And it worried him, not knowing what Natalia was up to. She stopped confiding in him their mission parameters after they left Italy. He's not supposed to know everything, of course, but something. Anything. Anything to help him understand his true purpose here.

It was only when he heard the sound of footsteps down the hall, the rattle of the doorknob, multiple voices, male — did he launch from his seat, popcorn flying from the bowl, as he scrambled back to the kitchen. There was no time to clean up; the door was already opening, Natalia and two men already walking inside. The men were big and gruff and old, unshaven for several days and in matching tracksuits that spoke of mafia. Dmitri could already spot the handguns hidden beneath their black velour jackets.

Dmitri didn't know what kind of guests they were. He hoped it wasn't the bad kind. The one where Natalia took them to the bedroom and locked the door. But she hadn't done that in a long time now. She wasn't wearing a pretty dress, either, which was usually the case in those instances. Just regular plainclothes to blend in. And the men weren't drunk or drugged like they should be by the time they reached the apartment. Still, Dmitri opened the liquor cabinet anyway. It was rude not to be a good host, drugged food or not.

The noise he made garnered attention, the living room looking into the kitchen. One of the men leaned over to look, spotting the boy from across the way.

"Who is that?" He demanded in Hungarian, cutting Dmitri a sharp look. It was all he could do not to quail.

"This is my son, Dmitri," Natalia said without missing a beat. Her expression was calm, unsurprised, but he could tell by the tightening of her lips that this was supposed to be when he should have hidden. "Don't worry. You won't even know he's here."

Then, to Dmitri, in Russian, "Водка. Хороший."

Ah. Vodka. She only picked the good vodka when it was business. Dmitri could only nod, stricken, as he pulled the large glass bottle from the shelf, and gathered three glasses from the cupboards. Normally he should not be seen or heard, but he understood that some things could not be helped. Natalia was doing what she could to manage the situation.

If the men found this odd, they didn't say anything beyond a shared look. Dmitri didn't know Natalia's exact age, but he knew Yelena was nine years older than himself, and perhaps that much between Yelena and Natalia — which meant Natalia was perhaps not quite old enough to be a believable mother for a boy his age. With her beauty, she perhaps appeared younger than she looked. But it was not something that usually had to pass the sniff test — only to skirt initial suspicion in a rear view mirror or a glance at a coffee shop. Perhaps she was his maiden aunt, a much older sister, or a nanny.

Now it didn't matter.

Dmitri set the glasses on the coffee table. The men sat on the couch together while Natalia sat on the single seat opposite them. No one spoke a word, nothing said as Dmitri poured each tiny glass. They wouldn't be doing shots, but custom held to finish the bottle in a single sitting. With two large men to split it with, Natalia was unlikely to become intoxicated. Especially when Dmitri ensured she got the trick glass.

It was only after they backed off did Dmitri retreat, leaving the bottle on their table. From there, Natalia would serve the drinks, and insure her own subterfuge wouldn't be caught on. He retreated to the kitchen, unsure of what to do next, besides hide himself in a corner and trying to eavesdrop.

The men spoke in thick Hungarian, some regional accent that was difficult to understand at first, but Natalia's voice was clear and Dmitri could make out the gist of it. Some kind of deal, a hit of some sort? They wanted a rival supplier taken out of business.

It was odd. Why was Natalia dealing with these men? Not that Dmitri knew who they were, but what they were asking her to do, it wasn't what you'd hire a Black Widow for. It was basic work. Anyone lacking scruples could do it. Why would the Red Room assign her to interact with these men? There must be some higher purpose he didn't understand yet.

Along the right wall were a line of picture windows, running from the kitchen to the end of the living room. It was still daylight outside, the sun beginning to lower behind the skyline in the distance. It filled the apartment with warm golden light and long dark shadows. He couldn't see much out the windows themselves.

Which is why he never saw the archer.

"I'll have it arranged," Natalia said, as she stood up. The men followed, and offered their hands. A shake, that's all it took, to solidify the deal.

While Natalia reached for one of their hands, the other pulled out his gun.

Dmitri barely had time to react, it all happened so fast. Natalia was on it almost immediately, still holding the first man's hand when his second drew on her. She was lightning fast - her heel flying out to strike his chest before he could fire. The bullet went wide as the man tumbled backwards over the couch.

She tried to wrench herself from the first thug's grip, but he held on tight, yanking her closer. Natalia struck with her free hand, backhanding a fist across his face, but the thug didn't let go. With a great heave, he lifted Natalia up and smashed her body through the coffee table. It shattered beneath her back.

Dmitri looked around, panicking. What could he do?! He didn't have any weapons! He knew he had to hide, but they already knew he was here. They'd find him, they'd —

"You think we didn't know?" One man shouted over the din. "You think your work is worth more than the price on your head?"

Natalia shouted something, but there was no making sense of it. The first man was already lifting her up again as the second man rose, gun still in hand. His eyes found Dmitri.

Dmitri ran for the knife drawer.

Shots fired, the wall behind Dmitri exploding as he ran. Abandoning the knife drawer, Dmitri dove for cover, hiding behind the little island as bullets fired into it. Dmitri's heart was pounding as he heard the fight continue behind him. He had nowhere to go, cornered, nothing to protect himself with, no way to get Natalia help.

And he could hear footsteps approaching.

He could pray, all he could do was pray that Natalia could win, could stop the other man.

But a shadow loomed over Dmitri. The thug sneered down at him as he raised his pistol. "Clever, bringing the kid."

Natalia's cry echoed. "No!"

But the shot fired did not come from the thug's gun.

It came through the window.

Dmitri didn't even see it. All he heard was the glass shatter, a long spindly shadow flying between him and the thug. The gun flew from his hand — now bleeding with the arrow pierced through it.

The thug shrieked, falling backwards and clutching his wounded appendage. As he fell, Dmitri could see Natalia locked in a tussle with the first thug, his hands on her throat, her legs around his neck. A battle of wills. But the sudden attack had stunned the first thug, enough for Natalia to flip him off her.

The man hit the ground so hard the windows rattled.

Natalia rolled to her feet, lunging for the scraps of the table. The bottle still laid there, and with a great swing, she smashed it against the first thug's head. Glass shards, vodka, and blood flew everywhere. He went down and did not get back up.

Dmitri was already scrambling to the drawer as the second man began to rise. He had hoped Natalia would get to him first, but she still didn't have a gun. The thug ripped the arrow from his hand with a grunt, turning his gaze on Dmitri with a vengeance.

Only to scream as Dmitri plunged a knife into his chest.

It almost drowned out the sound of the door breaking down — more mafia, Dmitri realized with horror.

"Dmitri, run!" Natalia ordered, her pitch rising with panic, as she scrambled for a weapon. She was already pulling the one from the dead man's belt when three more men burst into the room.

Thwap, thwap.

Two more arrows burst through another window, followed by a third. The second one missed, but the first two hit their targets exactly. The second man, only winged, tripped into the first's body and fell right into Natalia's bullet.

And then, at last:

Silence.

There was a long moment where neither of them moved. Dmitri hadn't obeyed Natalia's order, his knife still plunged into the man's chest beneath him. There was already a thick pool of blood spilling out across the kitchen tiles. It was only when Natalia whipped around, eyes wide with panic, falling on him, did Dmitri finally realize that this really did just happen.

"Dmitri!" She hissed, and he jolted to attention. "Hide!"

He didn't question her. Just jumped off the body and beelined it for the agreed upon hiding spot. Bedroom closet. Furthest from the main entry, inside wall, around a blind corner. The safest place when they couldn't run.

Why weren't they running?

Dmitri was sure more would follow, but he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere without Natalia. And she seemed intent to stay.

But it wasn't his place to question. And as scared as Dmitri was, he felt safe knowing that Natalia was in control. She knew what she was doing. In that dark little closet, huddled up with his knees to his chest, Dmitri felt comforted thinking no one could see him. No one knew he was there.

It was a long time before someone showed up.

Dmitri didn't recognize the voice, but he heard the footsteps. Recognized the English, spoken with an American accent.

"Hey there." The man said. A long silence, and he spoke again. "What, no 'thank you'? No gratitude for just saving your life?"

"I didn't ask to be saved." Natalia's voice. Also English. Did she know this man?

"Really? Sure looked like you needed it."

"Oh, please. Don't pretend it wasn't me you were sent to kill, Barton. It's been, what, a year now?"

Now it was the man's turn to be silent. "That was before you left."

"Like hell you didn't. The KGB put a bounty on your head."

"The KGB hasn't operated in over ten years."

"Yeah, sure. And you're gonna tell me it's just a complete coincidence that the bounty was sent through an anonymous Russian source, paying through a Swiss bank account that just so happens to be tied to a former Soviet KGB lieutenant?"

Natalia paused. "…Yes."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Romanova."

"How? There isn't enough to insult."

"Oooh, ouch, my feelings." The man said, and much to Dmitri's surprise, it sounded like a laugh. "So you didn't know about the bounty?"

"I'd assumed. I just didn't think it'd be so appealing."

"I dunno. Twenty million is a nice retirement fund if I do say so myself."

"Twenty?" Natalia actually sounded shocked, but recovered quickly. "I'm surprised you're not tempted, Barton."

"Oh, I am. I just don't like doing the bad guy's dirty work for them. Besides, we both know they'd be even more pissed off if you joined the other side."

"Wow. Not even going to be subtle about it, huh?"

"To be honest, I was hoping the bounty would do most of the convincing for me."

"That just makes me even more suspicious."

"Look, I'm trying to help you here, Romanova." Barton continued, and his voice leveled out in a serious tone. "You know my boss wants you dead. But I know you. I know you're better than this mercenary work. You already left the Red Room. Why not make it official?"

"I don't need your charity work, Barton."

"Oh, yeah? What about the kid?"

"What kid?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Romanova. I know you've got a boy with you. Bet it helps throw off suspicion, huh? No one expects the Black Widow to look like a mother."

"It's not like that."

"Then why did you bring him?"

"I didn't want to. He was assigned to me on my last mission, just… out of the blue. I didn't have a choice. So when I went AWOL, I took him with me."

"You could've left him behind. Could've sent him back. But you didn't."

"No. I didn't."

"Taking a lot of risks, going rogue with a kid on board."

"Piece of cake. He practically raises himself."

"Oh, c'mon, admit it. You've got a soft spot for him."

"No!" Her voice rose sharply, then soft again. "No. He's just a boy. I don't even know his real name. But if you knew what happened back there, in the Red Room — it'd be kinder to kill him."

"…well. You haven't done that, either."

"I don't expect a government stooge to understand."

"Well, that's rich, coming from someone who worked for the KGB —"

"— I am not pulling him from the frying pan into the fire." Natalia snapped. "If you think I'll let Fury pick up where the Red Room left off, you're gravely mistaken."

"Whoa, hey. It's not like that, I swear. That's not our style. And Fury's not interested in the kid. My deal doesn't have anything to do with him. It's just about you. Bringing the kid along, keeping him safe? That's for your benefit, not Fury's."

"And what if I don't want to take him with me?"

"C'mon, Romanova, you can't just leave the kid here."

"Can't I?" Natalia snapped, but then there was a pause. A long pause, followed by footsteps, before the door creaked open and she appeared. She knew right where Dmitri was hiding, tucked in the closet. She knelt down so they were eye level, but Dmitri could still see the man behind her, keeping his distance. "Dmitri."

His eyes flicked up to the man, then back down to her. "What's he doing here? Aren't you supposed to kill him?"

The man had given a little wave, only for the enthusiasm to die immediately. "Wow. What exactly have you told him about me?"

"Not much," Natalia said, not deigning to look at him over her shoulder. "Just enough. And no, Dmitri, I didn't kill him. That would've made someone in America very sad."

Barton snorted behind her.

"What's going on?" Dmitri asked, switching to Russian. This didn't make any sense. The two adults spoke as if they knew each other, yet all Dmitri knew was that Natasha was supposed to have killed Barton — codename Hawkeye — back in Italy. Had she failed? Surely she would've mentioned that before.

"We're leaving." Natalia said, and her grave expression meant more than just leaving the apartment. She held out her hand. "We can find a new home together. Would you like that?"

Dmitri's brain scrambled to keep up, make sense of those words, the choice being given to him. A new home? Where? "Isn't the Red Room our home? Why can't we go back? Why is there a bounty on your head?"

Natalia's expression turned pained, something fragile in her eyes. She looked down and shook her head. "It's too long to explain right now, Dmitri. But I promise it will make sense soon. I will tell you everything. But right now we have to leave. It's not safe here anymore."

And in the end, what choice did Dmitri have? He wanted to go back to the Red Room. But he was afraid to be alone. And he trusted Natalia. She was always the Madame's favorite. She could do no wrong.

So he reached out and took her hand.

~o~

"There's just one last thing we have to do."

Barton, or Clint as he wished to be called, had explained it thusly; in order to prove herself to SHIELD, Natalia had to kill a specific target. A man named Dreykov. A name Dmitri had never heard before, but one that cast a dark shadow across Natalia's face. She had offered no protest to the mission. Only a cold determination.

There was only one problem.

"He has a daughter."

The office building blended right in with the rest. Stately, richly furnished, security in the front lobby and at the door. Dmitri couldn't get in, but they'd leave him alone if he were just a boy practicing with his ball on the sidewalk. He wore a backpack and a cap, as if he were making his way home from school.

"What? No way."

"She's the only way to ensure Dreykov will be there."

"I said no! What if we use Dmitri?"

"No, it's too risky —"

"Says the woman advocating for child murder."

A shiny black towncar rolled up to the office building, a chauffeur stepping out to open the rear door. A young girl popped out, school uniform and pigtails, no older than Dmitri himself.

"You can't seriously be suggesting we kill a little girl —"

"You said it yourself. We can't allow the hit to be traced back to your organization."

The girl skipped along, heading straight to the door.

Only for Dmitri's ball to bounce off her shin halfway there.

"Hey, kid," Barton had bartered. "If you do this for me, we'll go see that new Star Wars together. Big popcorn and everything. What do you say?"

Dmitri had said yes, of course. With Natalia's approval. They'd be close by, she promised. He could see her car sitting at the corner of the street, watching it all. He felt safe, approaching the girl, waving hello.

"Is this your ball?" The girl asked, bending to pick it up.

Dmitri grinned as he reached out for it, but didn't pull away from her. "Thanks! Do you want to play?"

"Really?" She beamed. It was so easy. So easy to make friends, to entice her away.

"Come along now, Antonia," the chauffeur said, trying to guide her along.

"But I want to play!"

"No, we mustn't make your father wait —"

Boom.

A flash of light. The ground shaking. A blast so powerful that Dmitri felt it before he heard it. He didn't even realize he'd been knocked to the round. The right side of his body, from the top down, had felt the worst of the heat — but he didn't think he was burned. His head swam, and when he opened his eyes, he only saw a white haze.

Natalia hadn't said he'd get caught in the explosion.

It was only afterwards did Dmitri consider something had gone wrong.

Maybe the bomb had been set to explode too early. Or wired wrong, or the explosives too powerful. He would never know.

There was a ringing in his ears. And then he heard screaming. So much screaming. The haze, he realized, was dust. Cloudy, ashy dust raining from the sky. As it cleared, he could see a body lying in front of him. The chauffeur, on the ground, unmoving. And beneath him, Antonia. Dmitri's heart clenched at the sight of her bloody hand.

And then her fingers twitched. He heard a cough. A soft cry for help.

Dmitri tried to get up. His whole body hurt. He looked around, hoping that Natalia would be there. She was just right there, across the street. But he couldn't see her car anymore. His view was blocked by falling ash, debris, and a multi-car collision that had occurred right after the explosion.

His ankle hurt, as did his left arm, but Dmitri managed to bring himself to his knees as he crawled over to Antonia, weakly pushing at the body of the dead man off of her. There were sirens, people running to and fro, distant shouts.

Dmitri coughed, his head hurt. At last Antonia could wriggle out from beneath the body, but Dmitri felt dizzy, sick. He heard Antonia cry out, saw her waving her arms, calling for help. The sirens got louder. Dmitri tried to get up again, but his arms collapsed beneath his weight.

"Dmitri!" He heard a shout in the distance. But he was so rattled he couldn't tell if it was Natalia or not.

He could barely make out the ambulance appearing out of the haze. It had come so quickly — there were no other emergency vehicles. No other ambulances. No fire trucks, not even a police car.

Just two women hopping out of the vehicle, and rushing straight to him.

That was the last thing he saw, before he opened his eyes again, and found himself inside the ambulance. An oxygen mask pressed to his face, a gentle hand inserting an IV. As he began to writhe, that hand went to cup his face.

"It's okay, Dmitri, you're okay," A woman spoke softly. So softly. The Russian he knew and loved so well. He recognized the face of his sister Dominika above him. "You're safe now."

"Where am I? What happened?" His voice croaked weakly beneath the mask. "What about… Natalia?"

Dominika's smile strained. There was a spot of blood at the corner of her lips, right before she wiped it away with a bruised-knuckle hand. "You don't have to worry about her anymore, Dmitri."

The bomb. Dreykov. Antonia. The trip. They were supposed to leave. They were supposed to leave and never come back.

"It's all over now, little brother," Dominika stroked his hair from his face. "We're taking you home."