A/N: until this exact moment I didn't realize they never gave a name to the brainwashing thing in the movie so! Now it has a name! I updated previous chapters to reflect this smh. So for future reference:

Bliss - chemical brainwashing compound

Rue - Antidote

Chapter Fifty
✭

Eventually, I managed to escape the closet, with only a mild disturbance to Yelena and a greater disturbance to Alexei, who had no idea I was there while he was belting out the bridge lyrics to American Pie.

"Lenka!" He admonished as I darted out of the room, dutifully avoiding eye contact with either of them. "Did you know she was there? Ach, you have terrible manners! Could have invited her to sing…"

I was feeling just better enough to leave the confines of the closet, and maybe attempt to put some more food in my stomach. The dining table was empty and plates cleared away; the kitchen still smelled faintly of food, and I peered inside to see if there was still something I could snatch. I didn't immediately spot Melina, whom I was most wary of; it wasn't until I stepped inside the kitchen did I notice that the hidden pantry door was still open. Inside, the eponymous woman sat, cleaning her rifle.

Her eyes flicked up to mine. She didn't blink. "There is still food if you're hungry. You have Alexei's appetite, hm?"

My cheeks grew hot. "I'm not his —"

"I know," she said in a curt tone, looking back down to her rifle. It occurred to me that Yelena, and by extension Natasha, kept their trove of weapons in the exact same way in their safehouse, an entire pantry dedicated to its storage. "Alexei is a romantic. He sees what he wishes to see. Try not to eat me out of house, yes?'

Embarrassed, I could only nod quickly and step quickly past. I didn't want to linger any longer in her presence than I had to, and try not to be too snoopy or choosy in her kitchen.

"There is jerky in the left upper cupboard," Melina called from her weapons nook. "For protein. You will need it."

Jerky sounded pretty good to me. Salty. Filling. I grabbed what appeared to be a pouch of fresh jerky, smelling strongly of its marinade even sealed inside the bag; as well as some kind of juice or soda to wash it down with. I couldn't tolerate vodka anymore.

Natasha and Antonia were in the living room together, though sitting apart. Antonia had a handheld radio, scrubbing through channels in search of a signal. When I found Natasha again, she was sitting on the living room couch, with an old photo album spread open in front of her.

Such a mundane, normal thing, and yet it seemed completely bizarre that it was Natasha Romanova appearing to be walking down memory lane. My immediate instinct was to assume she was pursuing someone else's memories, looking for information as one does in the movies. But as I got closer, I could see a majority of the photos were of children.

Children with familiar faces.

"What's that?" I asked, when she noticed me approaching.

"It's… some old photos, from before our mission in Ohio," Natasha said, and after a moment, scooted over so I could sit next to her. Taking a seat and munching on a stick of jerky, I studied the images closer as she continued, "Our lives came premade. All of these pictures were taken in a studio in Russia. We had to look like we were a real family, even in our own home. Just in case a guest went snooping."

The pictures showed an array of childhood memories. Christmasses and birthdays. First time trick-or-treating, and hunting for eggs on Easter. The photos had aged, that grainy quality of their time; the theme, extremely American. Always smiling, frolicking with joy. Yelena couldn't be more than two or three years old in those pictures. I wondered how much she understood what was going on.

"You were a cute kid," I said, when at length I realized I didn't know what to say. That seemed like a pretty normal thing to tell a person that had been raised since infancy to become a deadly assassin.

Natasha chuckled dryly, "I suppose I was. To be honest, I forgot what I looked like back then. We don't keep memories."

"Then why do these still exist?" I asked, looking up as if I could spot where among the shelves this had come from. "Is this Melina's?"

"Yes." Natasha frowned slightly, tilting her head as she turned a page. Another array of photos, this time for their first days of school. Cute outfits that were painfully Eighties. "I never took her for the sentimental sort."

"I didn't think any of you were," I said, and at Natasha's look I winced. "I mean. You know. How you were trained to be."

"Yeah," Natasha murmured, turning to another page. Then she smiled faintly, and pointed to one photo in particular. "This one's my favorite. It's real — we took this one when we were in Ohio."

The photo in question was of Natasha and Yelena on bikes — hers a two-wheeler, and Yelena's a miniature with training wheels. Both riding down a street, the image slightly blurred as both they and the photographer were moving at speed. Both girls with big grins on their faces, hair whipping behind them, caught in a single moment of motion and thrill.

"We were teaching Yelena to ride a bike," Natasha said softly, her eyes glazed over with a distant memory. "She used to be so scared, but she hated that she couldn't keep up with me either. I think she saw the training wheels as annoying, but then — I don't know. She was just happy. We were both happy."

She went silent again, biting her lip, lost in thought. "I didn't realize how important that time was."

"For her?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. Yelena's outburst at the dinner table earlier seemed to have surprised everyone. But there was something else to Natasha's words, as well. "Or for you?"

She glanced at me, then back at the photos. "For all of us."

"Ha!" An exclamation caught both of our attentions, and we looked up to see Antonia grinned at her radio, holding it up in victory. When she noticed us staring, she laughed nervously. "I finally got a channel. No news, though. Just music."

It wasn't a good signal — the music crackled in and out with Antonia's own movement. But as she tested its location and propped it just so on the coffee table, the signal remained steady and played a slightly scratchy rendition of one of Mozart's pieces.

Antonia's satisfaction seemed short-lived, however. She sighed forlornly. "I wish I knew what was going on out there."

"Don't we all," Natasha smiled wryly. "But if there's anything we need to worry about, Melina will let us know."

"It may not look like it," Melina's voice cut in, so loudly it made us all jump. I hadn't realized she'd stepped into the room; how long had she been standing there, in the doorway, so still I hadn't even detected the movement? Melina gestured to the house at large, "But this place has state of the art security system. When Dreykov's men find us — and they will — we shall be ready for them."

"You know that for sure?" I asked, and with growing alarm looked to Natasha for confirmation.

"Sooner or later, Dreykov will find us," Natasha nodded grimly. "After everything we've gotten away with so far — he knows what we're trying to do, and he'll do anything to keep it from happening."

"Given that you have him by the ball hairs," Melina said, with a significant look towards Antonia, "I suspect it will be quite soon indeed."

"He tried to have me killed," Antonia said, her brow furrowing. "When he dropped Kitezh onto my house."

"I imagine he will try to do the same here," Melina replied, not looking at all surprised by this. "Better to have you dead than in the hands of the enemy."

Antonia went pale, and Natasha jumped in quickly before Melina could say anything to make it worse. "It won't come to that. We'll be ready. And in the meantime, we can figure out how to free the widows he already has. Reverse engineer the Rue antidote if we have to. It would help if we knew how he created the original Bliss compound to begin with."

Melina barked out a laugh, earning startled looks from us. In turn, she frowned at us, "What? That is not joke?"

Natasha scowled. "I know it sounds impossible —"

"No, no, I mean," Melina gestured towards Antonia. "I thought that was why she was here. You had already figured it out. You're keeping Dreykov's prized resource away from him. It's a daring play."

Natasha looked to Antonia. Looked to me. Looked back at Melina. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"So you didn't take Dreykova to solve the chemical problem?"

"What? No?"

Now it was Melina's turn to look confounded, perhaps even offended. "So, what, you just kidnapped her? For fun?"

"No!" Natasha snapped.

"I was trying to run away!" Antonia protested, also looking deeply confused. She wrung her hands in anguish. "My father did something to me — to my head! I can't trust what I see anymore."

"But you didn't know that when you took her," Melina replied, throwing a hard look at Natasha.

"What's going on here?" Alexei's voice boomed from the hallway, his large hairy head peering around the corner. "What is with all the yelling and the shouting?"

Behind him, Yelena swaggered in and, despite having appeared to have downed half a bottle of vodka, seemed surprisingly sober. She took stock of the room and said, "Are we finally discussing how we're going to kill Dreykov? Because I call dibs."

"I think the only one who gets dibs is Antonia," I said.

"I don't want to kill my father!" Antonia gasped.

"Alright! Dibs," Yelena threw me an evil grin.

"Yelena!" Her mother barked, putting an end to the argument. "Is it true you kidnapped Dreykova?"

"Hm," Yelena pursed her lips. "I was definitely in support of the idea."

"Why?"

"Why?" Yelena did a slight double-take. "Uh, to fuck with Dreykov? What else? Thought we could do a little blackmail or something, get a little creative, see how much he cares? But then he dropped a flying castle on top of us, so… it didn't work out."

Melina stared at her, then to Alexei. "I already know you have no idea what is going on."

"Ach! You know how the girls are," Alexei could only sigh, shoulders sagging. "They never tell me anything! Always keeping their secrets…"

"Since it appears I have raised fools for daughters," Melina grimaced, pinching the bridge of her nose before pointing with her other hand to Antonia. "Then it is my job to inform you that Antonia is not just the daughter of General Dreykov. She is the source of the Bliss."

Yelena looked like she'd been slapped across the face. Her finger jabbed towards Antonia. "HER?"

Antonia raised a trembling finger towards herself, her voice tiny. "Me?"

"You said you experience things that are not real, yes?" Melina said, now stepping further into the room. She came to kneel in front of Antonia, taking the hand that was covered in scars, and gently inspecting the flesh, turning her palm over. "Intense visual hallucinations? Perhaps your other senses as well; audio, tactile, scent… Your father locked you away and created an entire imaginary world for you to live in, one where you would never wish to leave. Because if you did, he would lose the ability to create more of his Bliss, and could no longer steal the widows he cannot create."

Antonia stared at her, swallowing thickly. "The house. The house I lived in. I couldn't see it for what it was. But the others said —"

"It was in ruins," I told Melina, who did not deign to look up at me. "Completely abandoned and falling apart. She was living in squalor for years, it looked like."

"Dreykova also ate —" Yelena began, before stalling on the memory, going a little green. She made a face. "Offal. Straight from a jar. It was the only thing that was….fresh… in that goddamn place."

"Yes, you would need to consume copious amounts of raw organic protein to produce the amount of the chemical hormone your father needs for production," Melina nodded, as if this all made sense. "Perhaps he convinced you it was something else so that you would find it more appetizing, hm? Not easy to convince a little girl to eat raw organs, even if she did know how important it was to him that you did so."

"It was chocolate muffins," Antonia whispered. "My favorite."

"And then you would undergo many medical procedures, no doubt framed as follow-up surgeries to treat your ongoing health," Melina continued, inspecting the marbled flesh along her arm. "You healed quite nicely, though. Nearly ten years and you've made a full recovery. You underwent extreme treatment just to save your life. I doubt you remember me, you were in a coma for most of it. Your father enlisted the aid of his KGB allies and managed to secure a proprietary technology, very new for the time. They called it the Cradle; a regeneration pod if you will. I believe the technology has since advanced. It would no longer irrevocably alter your DNA after use."

"This Cradle —" Natasha leaned forward, but Melina held up a hand.

"—Is gone. Dreykov had it destroyed when he had no more use of it," Melina said. "I thought it was foolish, but, well, he is a man. Anything he cannot use he will destroy, so that others will not have it. But you already know that others exist. South Korea, yes?" She threw Natasha a pointed look, then continued, "At any rate, there were kinks to work out back then. When you woke, little one, you were not the same. You were hurt and hungry and the only thing you would eat was raw meat. And, as your father later found, your mind was highly vulnerable to suggestion. He developed his method on you, and then he considered what if he could manufacture that same effect on others? On Widows?"

"And that's why he wanted everyone to think she was dead," I said, as Natasha scrambled for her backpack, pulling out the medical documents she had grabbed from the Dreykov home. "So no one would come looking."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure the Madame would make a fine prize out of you," Melina said, cupping Antonia's cheek with a sweet smile. "But she does not need the help."

"Can you tell us what all this means?" Natasha asked, spreading out the old sheets across the coffee table.

Melina leaned over to peruse, tapping the image of the brain. "This is where the Bliss activates in the brain. For Antonia, it begins in her pituitary gland, generating a hormone that can alter her very perception of reality, and can render a type of obedience that is difficult for the subject to perceive. Dreykov synthesized that aspect when he ran her bloodwork. Through this Bliss hormone, he created chemical subjugation, rendering the subject completely obedient in body if not mind. Alexei was one of his first test subjects."

Alexei stumbled forward and caught his balance on the back of the couch. All the color had drained from his face. "W-what? Melina, no —"

"Yes, my darling, it's true," Melina sighed. "I was not there for that. It began after you were imprisoned. You were not the only test subject, but through you we learned we cannot recreate Antonia's experience exactly. As a foreign compound introduced to a new subject, Bliss cannot force the subject to live in an altered reality. But, we found it could create new memories. Perhaps even erase old ones. And, of course, the requisite obedience that Dreykov truly desired; that was perfected in the Bliss agent. I cannot say if this Rue antidote will fix the memory problem, but it will certainly free the subject from further influence."

She patted Antonia's knee. "Tonya, I'm afraid, will not be affected by the Rue. It is in your blood, my darling. This very moment, it is being produced within your thyroid, protein synthesis ready to be harvested."

"Hormones?" Antonia repeated, her eyes growing wide. Her hands rubbed against the top of her thighs anxiously. "Then that means —?"

"To receive any sort of cure, you will need to excise the organ," Melina affirmed with a slow nod. Then shrugged. "Or you can just kill everyone who has ever manipulated you, and with them their invented realities die. Yours were fixed to only certain locations. Outside of them, you see the world for what it is. But yes, removal will ensure you will never be victim to it again."

"And to create more of the antidote?" Yelena demanded, coming around behind Antonia's chair, gripping the back with white knuckles. "Is she a part of it, too?"

"The antidote is synthetic, so I do not think so," Melina replied, as Natasha held up one of the glowing red vials. "But of course, it was crafted by a genius woman. The Madame must have figured out the recipe if not Antonia herself. She would have wanted to ensure an antidote was still possible, in case Dreykov got rid of his daughter."

The room fell silent as we all absorbed this information. Alexei still looked beside himself in shock, coming around to slump in a chair, head in his hands. "It was all a lie…"

Then, with a mighty crash, he slammed his fist through the coffee table, smashing a hole through it. Melina made a noise of complaint, rising to her feet to soothe him. "Come now, Alexei. All is not lost. You are not a slave to Dreykov's will."

"I was a puppet!" He moaned. "A little dancing toy for his entertainment! How will I know what was real anymore? They all feel the same!"

"Ohio was real," Yelena said softly.

Alexei lifted his face, big wet eyes meeting hers. He nodded slowly. "Yes. He did not take that one away from us, did he?"

"This Bliss," I said to Melina, while the other two seemed to be having a moment. Once more, Melina seemed to turn chilly as she looked to me, but I forged on, "Yelena was exposed to the Rue. Will the Bliss work again on her if applied?"

Melina frowned. "Perhaps. Rue is a cure, not a shield, I suppose you could say. It was most effective on Widows; the removal of the uterus creates a certain hormone deficit; the Bliss takes advantage of that. Rue clears it from the system. It means Alexei is no slave. It means you may not be susceptible, either. Of course I cannot say for sure, and there is no safe method to test it. I have no doubt Dreykov had larger plans for his Bliss. More assets he would've liked to bring under his control."

Her gaze held mine for a moment, and I understood her meaning. A man like Dreykov would've certainly loved to have had the Winter Soldier in his arsenal.

Natasha, too, seemed to understand. She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. "You don't have to worry about that. I won't let it happen again." And then, to Antonia, "And you. When this is over, we'll get you that operation."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

Natasha held up her hands. "Scheduling a surgery is about the easiest thing on my To Do List so far."

Antonia smiled weakly, then seemed overwhelmed with emotion, sucking in a deep breath and pressing her hands to her face. Only one eye leaked any tears. "All my memories… are they really fake?"

"Your entire being was at your father's mercy once you left that Cradle," Melina told her. "Your entire personality, identity, at your disposal. Even memories from before your accident would not have been safe. So yes. They may all be fake."

"I remember…" Antonia's cheeks flushed red, and I couldn't tell if it was from anguish or fury. "Father was kind to me. He was there for every birthday. Every Christmas. I remember… all these gifts I opened. All these things that just… disappeared when I wasn't looking. Like they were never there to begin with."

"He probably wasn't there, either," Yelena drawled, voice thick with skepticism. "The General doesn't seem the kind to celebrate his daughter's milestones, hm? No offense."

"I was just his— his golden goose! A glorified chemical factory." Antonia only shook her head, brows furrowing. "All those lies. And to inflict me with them. How much time and effort would that have taken him? More than actually just… showing up?"

Yelena scoffed and Natasha said, "Even a lazy father will work twice as hard to avoid doing an easy task he doesn't like."

Alexei tensed at this, perhaps trying to detect some subtle slight aimed his way. Melina patted his back. "Not you, darling. Would Dreykov ever dress like Santa Claus for his girls?"

That got Antonia to forget her grief for a moment, laughing dryly. "Not even in my fake memories he did that."

That, at least, seemed to brighten Alexei's expression. "Bastard. He's taken too much from us, my girls. I think it is time we take it back."

~o~

"Please try it on!"

"Ugh. Do I have to?"

"Yes!" Both Yelena and Antonia insisted in unison. They were the most enthusiastic in seeing me dressed up like a clown. Antonia clasped her hands together and added, "We'll help make it fit!"

"Besides," Yelena added, as she shoved me into the bedroom again. "You can't go on a mission dressed like that."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" I asked, holding out my arms and looking down at myself. After the gulag mission, I'd returned to my old clothes, jeans and boots and worn out jacket. The dogtags hung from my neck, and my hair had come loose from its braid ages ago.

"You look like a punk," Yelena said, and at my expression, she added quickly. "The good kind! But, you know, not very Terminator. You must be Terminator! What would he wear if he were going on this mission?"

"Dark sunglasses and a cool leather jacket!"

"Pah! You have no imagination," Yelena jerked a finger towards the wardrobe. "Change. We won't let you out until I see Soviet heart-throb and not American depression."

We both knew they were definitely not capable of any such thing, but for the sake of the moment, and the fact that jeans really weren't the best material to be going into combat in — I relented and shut the door.

Heaving a sigh, I threw open the closet door and pulled out the little red number I saw the last time I was in there. It had to be Alexei's — no one in this house had legs that long. Or needed shoulders that padded. I determined that it was indeed vaguely me-sized, and reluctantly began the changing process. The red jumpsuit was a single piece, and after scrounging around I found matching boots, and found that it happened to accomodate my shield harness quite well.

Outside, the sky was well and truly dark. The analog clock on Melina's bedside read sometime after midnight, though the house was fully lit and everyone wide awake. So far, it was agreed that Dreykov would attack us by morning, though there had been no sign of him yet.

The legs and sleeves were too long on my by far; I had to roll up the sleeves to my elbow, and fold the hems so I could tuck them comfortably into the boots. The cut of the jumpsuit was definitely for a man; my shoulders were just broad enough that there wasn't too much sagging in the torso, and my narrow hips didn't cause any uncomfortable stretching. But the waist was dropped too low; very unflattering even on my angled frame.

But there was nothing I could do about that. I wasn't a big fan, but decided that I met the qualifications and called in Yelena and Antonia.

I heard their giggling after the door creaked open and barely managed to restrain an eye-roll. "You don't have to sound so giddy."

"You have no idea," Yelena grinned that evil smile. "How much Alexei will love this. But first, you need a belt."

"Definitely a belt." Antonia said, puttering to the closet. "And some gloves. A woman needs her accessories."

The way she said that made me think of Tony's little nickname he used once: KGBarbie. I decided not to share that one with the class.

After they spruced me up a bit, Yelena spun me around to face the mirror again. "There! Stand up tall, shoulders back. Ha! My god, you look amazing. Now that's a Terminator."

In the mirror stood a woman over six feet tall, head to toe red with a white star emblazoned on her chest, and white accents throughout. It wasn't quite the same outfit that Alexei had on now, the one from his hey-day. This was perhaps an older, lighter model, less armored, more flexible to move in. I couldn't exactly call it stealth when I'd resemble a red hot cherry in the middle of a white tundra landscape, but I suppose an attempt had been made.

"Now go show them!" Antonia insisted, pushing her hands against my back to force me out the door.

The other adults were waiting in the living room. They were discussing gameplans, I figured, and perhaps it was juvenile of us to be playing dress-up when there was important shit to sort out. Yet there I stood, like a 1980's cartoon version of a Russian super soldier, for the whole world to see.

Alexei's reaction was the most enthusiastic. He jumped to his feet, hands clapping together. "Ah, look at you! Glorious! Just glorious. They should call you… the Soviet Dream!" Alexei gasped at his own brilliance, then turned to his not-wife. "Melina, Melina, do you see it? My daughter—"

"No, no," Melina hushed him immediately, shaking her head and pressing a hand to his chest. "None of that now."

Natasha looked like she was genuinely fighting a smile. I threw her a droll look. "This was not my idea."

"I can believe that," She said, standing up to inspect the fit closer. She cut a look to Yelena, who stood off to the side, innocently quiet, like she had nothing at all to do with this. "Got it to fit quite nicely. Think you can fight in it?"

"As well as anything," I'd fought for my life in hand-me-down rags before, this was basically haute couture as far as I was concerned. I looked between them, Yelena, Natasha in their white, and Antonia in black — she, too, had changed, a widow suit of her own, though she looked vaguely uncomfortable and didn't carry any of the weapons one would usually see attached to the attire. "What's the plan now?"

"Now?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "We wait, and we —"

In the distance, I heard a low humming.

Yelena, noticing the sudden tilt in my head, straightened. Her smile disappeared. "What? What is it?"

Still listening, I jolted when I realized everyone's eyes were on me. The humming was getting louder. My stomach dropped when I recognized the sound. "He's here."

All I saw were the whites of everyone's eyes as they reacted in shock.

And then the lights went out.