Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That’s My Bed  

The trailer was supposed to be empty. No one was supposed to know about it. That’s the deal. That’s what her contact said. An empty safe house where she could bunk for the time being while on the run from Ross, while figuring out her next move. But there’s a motorcycle propped up beside the trailer when she gets back from picking up groceries, one she knows isn’t supposed to be there. 

She spotted it far enough away that she was able to park out of sight. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t seen anyway, so she approaches with care, gun in hand. 

There’s no movement inside the trailer as she approaches. She sticks to the blind spots where she knows they exist. She’s going to have some words with her contact if this place isn’t secure, Natasha swears as she pushes open the door. She winces at the noise it makes, but even that doesn’t provoke a response from her mystery guest. 

She relaxes when she spots the recognizable body on the bed. She doesn’t let it deter her from checking for any other uninvited guests as she calms herself with the knowledge that there’s no threat. She kicks his boot to wake him, smothering a smile when his soft snore turns into a snort as he jackknifes up in bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

The fact that he let his guard down that much in her place makes something warm flutter in her chest. Natasha ignores it in place of a cutting remark. “That’s my bed.” 

Steve blinks and looks around before giving her that smile which is closer to a smirk that it would have been when they were combing the world for the Winter Soldier. He looks like he’s finally set down a burden. It looks good on him.

“I take it things went well with Bucky.” She drops on the bed beside him as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. His stubble is growing out and she has to admit that the lumberjack look is working for him. 

“Yeah. He’s getting the help he needs.” He leans back on the bed and looks her over. It’s the same look he would give her out in the field, laced with a bit of concern. “You’re looking good.” 

She shrugs. “All in one piece. What are you doing here?” 

It’s close to being dismissive. Steve shrugs it off and reaches over to pull an envelope from the duffle bag he dropped beside the bed. “Maria sent me. Said you’d need these.” 

Natasha takes the package and flips idly through the cadre of identities which all feature her picture in various states. “I’m flattered she remembered.” 

“You burned your old ones when the SHIELD files went live. She figured you’d have your own contacts but,” he shrugs as his words trail off. 

They sit in silence for a moment, the quiet a far cry from anything they’ve done as Avengers. It feels weird to be sitting still, to have to lay low. She’s not used to down time quite like this. She doesn’t imagine Steve is either. He’s been on the move since the serum entered his system. 

“This is a nice place.” 

She snorts and looks at Steve with a smirk. “You gonna ask about the weather next?” 

He runs a bashful hand through his hair as he smiles at the floor. “Right. Sorry. I just don’t know what to say. You let us go and now you’re on the run.” Soulful blue eyes meet hers. “I don’t know how to repay you. Any of you.” His hands curl into fists. 

Natasha shrugs. She knows he’s thinking about Clint, Sam, Wanda, and the shrinking man who are trapped in the Raft. “We knew what we were getting into.” 

“It doesn’t seem right that we’re the ones walking free while they’re locked up.” 

Natasha knocks her shoulder against his to try to dissipate his guilty conscience. “They’ll get out. Either they’ll make a deal or you’ll get them out.” 

Steve sighs. “I know. It’s just...I got Bucky but lost everyone else.” 

“It wasn’t just Bucky.” She can’t speak for all of them, but she knows that wasn’t the only reason why the divide occurred. “It was brainwashing and the Sokovia Accords…” Steve can read between the lines on that one. His expression conveys a silent question about her own choices. “I don’t like people I don’t know pulling the strings.” She’s had too many people dictating her life choices. This was a decision she made herself, one she felt comfortable with even if it has her on the run. Being on the run isn’t new. 

She appreciates how Steve accepts the answer and moves on without asking a hundred questions. He points to a box beside the door she hadn’t noticed before. “I brought some stuff from your place in Budapest. Before everything, Barton mentioned it was one of yours. There was some mail.” 

“It’s junk,” she says immediately, startled by the mention of Budapest coming from someone other than Clint. 

He raises a brow at her. Steve’s eyes see far more than she hopes he does. She thinks it has to do with his infinite sadness of missing 70 years and waking up to find that everyone he knew was dead or dying. The mail shows that her former life wasn’t forgotten, that someone had cared, even if it was just junk. 

“Some of it looks pretty recent.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, Old Man. I’ll deal with it.” There’s a beat where he rolls his eyes at the jab. “You sticking around, soldier?” 

He glances at her in surprise. “Do you want me to?” 

She shrugs. “I…” She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s still dealing with the fallout of everything. There’s Banner leaving just when she thought there might be something there, which just follows a long line of people leaving her - After years with Clint and SHIELD, she thought she had worked through her abandonment issues, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Now she’s floating without an allegiance for the first time since she escaped the Red Room and she’s not sure what she wants to do with her life.

Maybe she’ll catch up on some tv shows. It’d be nice to do something normal for the first time since that undercover job in Ohio. She’s not just biding time between jobs anymore.

Steve nods, like she actually gave an answer. He stands in that matter-of-fact way that screams Man with a Plan even if he’s not in a uniform. “Maria made sure you’ve got my number in there, just in case you need something. We’re currently working on a way onto the Raft.” His eyes search hers. She’s not sure what he’s looking for but he nods again. “I’ll call you if anything changes. Stay safe.” 

He slings his bag over his shoulder. With surprise, she notes that she can see where he’s packing heat. Not nearly as many weapons as she’s got on her person, which is hardly a surprise. Steve just holds himself like a person who doesn’t use weapons aside from his iconic shield. 

“Hey, Steve.” She pauses in the doorway and he looks up from where he’s securing his bag on the bike. 

Natasha wants to thank him, to say that he’s been like family to her, that this isn’t the end and that she cares for him. It’s emotional and broken and she wants to blurt it out. She’s never had a family, not really. Instead of those words what comes out is: 

“It’s Budape scht .” She internally winces as she stuffs her feelings down with pronunciation. 

Steve raises an eyebrow that says he knows that’s not what she meant to say. Thankfully, he doesn’t call her on it. “I’m pretty sure it’s Busapest.” 

“Pescht,” she corrects with a smile. “It’s pronounced Budap escht .” 

He repeats it back the same way and she shakes her head. She knows he speaks enough languages to get the pronunciation. It turns out light-hearted Steve is a troll. He tosses her a salute before he straddles the bike and rides off into the sunset. 

Natasha smiles as he rides away and then glances down at the box from the apartment in Budapest. She sighs. It can’t hurt to take a look, right?

Chapter Text

The Package  

Yelena rolls the sleeves of her oversized jacket up as she sips her cup of coffee and pokes around at the smartphone she picked up on her way out of South America. It doesn’t have as many pockets as she’d prefer but she’s made some modifications. The same with this smartphone. Technology is not her strong suit. She prefers things she can shoot at or stab. Her knowledge of the tech is surreal in that all her aptitude is tied to the brainwashing and chemical treatments she got. She spent a good couple hours playing with the preference settings and personalizing the phone while she was tracking down Natalia. Or rather Natasha as she’s now known. 

From her limited memories, her sister was always needlessly dramatic like that.

She replays the footage on youtube of Natalia in battle, clumsily filmed and posted on social media. This compilation has proven to be quite amusing. She snorts as “Natasha Romanov” strikes that ridiculous pose when she lands and does that over the top hair flip. She rewinds and grabs her box of sugary cereal. She likes the one with the marshmallows. It’s colorful and sweet and nothing like what they were served in the Red Room. 

An alert flares from her phone and Yelena quickly downs the last of her coffee. She wasn’t sure how long it would take Natasha to get the package when the hulking superhero came and picked up the mail that had been piling up. It had taken her some time to track down Natasha’s safe house despite knowing her final job was in Budapest. This place hadn’t been burned when her sister made the foolish move of dumping SHIELD’s information online. 

She might be a little salty with Natalia for burning SHIELD to the ground when she left the Red Room standing to torture more girls. If she didn’t need Natasha’s help, they might be having this conversation in a very different form. With more weapons and less espionage. 

Running into an undercover Captain America was a surprise. He’d looked different, but Yelena knew there were only a few people Natasha would trust with the safehouse location. It seems that number included the new family she had chosen.

She pulls out her gun and checks that it’s in working order. She trusted that the famed Captain America would ensure the package got to Natasha, that she would recognize the photos inside, and that she would track her down. She’s going to make Natasha help her rescue the rest of the widows and destroy the Red Room once and for all. If she wants to recruit a certain Captain who’s on the run, Yelena wouldn’t complain.

Professionally, she’s intrigued. She’d love to spar against him. She’d watched the footage with the Winter Soldier, recalls going up against him once or twice early in their training when they broke into a HYDRA base. She wonders what it would be like to go up against the man who fought and broke the Winter Soldier. Those fights were always fun. 

She places her cup in the sink and stows the cereal in the cabinet. She probably won’t come back to it, but she does want to keep him safe.

“I know you’re there.” She calls when she hears the door open as she settles into a loose stance and checks her grip on her weapon. “There are no traps. Why are you tip-toing around?” 

Yelena could make nice with her sister. She is the one who left the calling card and took over Natasha’s safehouse. She glances at the Avengers photo she put up last night - held to the wall by the knives she’d used for target practice - and affirms her resolve. All her life she’s heard how great Natasha is. She needs to make sure that’s accurate and that Natasha can help her. 

The door clicks open, the lock picked. She has to listen carefully to hear her footsteps over the floor, the slight displacement of air as she moves. Yelena turns to face the opening into the small kitchen area.

“I got your message,” Natalia calls as she moves slowly through the space. 

She sighs. If she wanted Natalia dead, there were so many other ways for her to have done it. “I figured. Your friend was sweet. He’s shorter in person.” 

Natalia rounds the corner, gun first, and twists to face Yelena who already has her weapon pointed at her. 

“You saw Steve.” 

She shrugs. “He was nice. Boyfriend?” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “First time seeing me in years and that’s all you have to say. I don’t think this conversation passes the Bechdel Test.” 

Yelena shrugs. “I was taught to blend in by watching American television and movies. Do you know what they teach American girls? Ridiculous.” 

“We don’t have to fight.” 

“Then lower your gun,” she challenges. 

“You first.” 

Yelena lets her approach. As the distance closes, the guns become less and less effective. They both know that. It’s a game of chicken.  

“Why did you send me that package?” 

“Did you even try to look for me?” Yelena asks, aware she sounds like a petulant child. She remembers Natasha getting between her and the big men with guns, demanding they leave her alone even when their so-called parents couldn’t seem to care less. She’s clung to those pictures ever since they were separated - hiding them from prying eyes in any way she can. She’d heard rumors of her sister, hoped she would be sought out by the idolized Widow who was top of class, the perfect assassin. 

Instead she was left behind.

Natasha’s jaw clenches. “I destroyed the Red Room. I figured you got out.” 

Lie. 

Her tell is in the cageiness of her eyes. Even with her unwavering attention to Yelena’s stance, Natasha is uneasy with the question. She didn’t bother to check on Yelena.

Yelena laughs out loud at her statement. “Destroyed it? All you did was trap the rest of us.” 

“I killed Dreykov. Without him, the Red Room would have crumbled.” 

“Except it didn’t.” Yelena shoves down her anger. It won’t be helpful. “You didn’t even think to check. Isn’t that the first rule? Always confirm your kill.”

Apparently, that’s a challenge large enough that Natasha makes her move. She goes for the gun, same as Yelena does and they’re still at a stalemate, now holding each other’s guns. 

“Did you check the body?” 

“He was in the building,” Natasha grits out as she lunges for Yelena. “It exploded. There’s no way he survived.” 

“And you thought that was it? Kill one man and destroy the whole Red Room?” Honestly, she can respect Natasha getting out while she could. She gets it. Leaving Yelena behind hurts. It feels like the only family she ever remembered wasn’t worth finding again. If she’d been the one to get out, she would have gone back for Natasha. 

“It was his project. He was the head of the organization.” Natasha grunts as Yelena lands a hit. Her moment of victory is negated when Natasha gets in her own punch. 

“Come on, Tasha. You’re not that stupid.” She reels back from a punch to the face. She wipes the warm rush of liquid with her hand, staring at the bright red blood. She spits out the blood in her mouth onto the floor. 

Natasha shakes her head as they circle each other again. “Clint and I went back. The school was cleared out.” 

Yelena grimaces. “They moved us.” She strikes as she speaks, channeling her frustration into strength. “You broke the psychological conditioning so they pushed us harder.” She takes a hit, tries to flip Natasha only for her to counter the move. “Changed protocols. Turned to chemical conditioning.” 

“Chemical conditioning?” Natasha asks, slightly breathless as she locks Yelena in a headlock. 

Yelena gets in a good stab and frees herself. She doesn’t go for the knife strapped to her leg. She doesn’t actually want to kill her sister. As angry as she is, this is supposed to be a friendly spar. “You can’t tell what’s you and what’s programing. Your body responds and you don’t know if it’s you telling it to do something or not. And you don’t even question it.” 

Natasha disengages and stares at her in horror. 

“They moved the base. Started knocking the widows out on entry and exit so we couldn’t find it again. And they did all of that because of you.” Yelena screams the last bit. 

She swipes at the hot, angry tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t meant to cry. She’d planned on being cool and collected the entire time they spoke. She’s supposed to be level headed. Ice cold and now… 

“You left us behind. You left me behind.” Her face twists into a scowl as she sees turmoil in Natasha’s eyes at her pain. “I thought we were sisters.” 

“It was never real.” 

Another lie. Yelena scowls at Natasha. “It was real to me.” It was real to Natasha too, even if she wouldn’t admit to it. She’d seen the loss in her eyes. Yelena switches tracks instead of digging into that emotional pain. “I have to ask: what kind of gun makes those holes in the wall?” 

If she’d hoped for a distraction, Natasha isn’t going to be that easy to be distracted. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she answers. “Arrows. Clint tracked me to the safe house.” She strikes out as she speaks and Yelena finds herself struggling to keep up, and proud at the same time. 

Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Another Avenger. She should have known that even Natasha had help getting out.

“You’ve gotten better.” Natasha says in Russian. 

“You’re rusty,” Yelena responds as she manages to take her down, yanking the curtain from the window. 

Her upper hand doesn’t last long. The length of cloth is wrapped around her neck and Natasha’s. With their similar stature, she and Natalia are truly evenly matched and both losing air quickly when Natasha’s grip slackens with the soft offer: “Truce?” 

Yelena nods. She releases the curtain and yanks at the fabric around her neck so she can get a proper breath of fresh air. Natasha looks like she might be feeling her bruises more, which Yelena takes some relief in as she sits up quickly. 

“Did you bring the vials?” 

Natasha nods, pushing loose hair out of her face. “What are they?” 

“Chemical agent. Removes the neural pathways which allow for total cognitive function override.” Yelena bites the words out, repeating them as she’s heard them thrown back and forth in the lab, when her body was used for experiments while her mind was fully awake. When they used those same elements to remove any bit of control she might have had over her own self. 

“In English?” 

Yelena stares at her blankly as she says it in Russian. It’s their native tongue after all, not that Natalia seems to care to remember it. 

“Cute.” 

She sticks her tongue out, regressing to the child she used to be in Ohio - the last time she remembers being free and having her own choices. It’s refreshing to be speaking to someone else who also got out, even if she has conflicting feelings about all of this. 

The peace is shattered by a secondary alert. She glances at her phone and curses in Russian. “They’re here. Were you followed?” 

Natasha moves closer to look at the footage. “There was a car moving in the other direction when I was leaving my safe house. Then an explosion but I don’t think they followed me.” 

They could be tracking the case. Or maybe they just finally caught up to her. Yelena grabs her go bag and turns to Natasha. “Where are the vials?” 

She holds up the wad of vials, which must be made of some heavy duty stuff in order to still be intact after their fight. “Exit strategy?” 

“Motorcycle. East side of building. If any of them get close. Use the vials. I promised I would use those to free the rest of our sisters.” Yelena doesn’t wait to see if she follows. They don’t have the luxury of time to hesitate. If the Widows catch up, they’re dead. 

She can’t let that happen before she completes her mission. She sent the vials to Natasha, hoping it would get her to help. Or maybe shame her into helping. Either way, they’ve got to make it out of this corner first. 

Well, at least a car chase is not a terrible way to die. 

She can think of worse.

Chapter Text

Pit Stop  

It’s far too easy for Natasha to fall into old patterns with Yelena. She thought she had managed to shut off that part of herself, to lock it away as just another mission that happened during her childhood. Traveling with Sam and Steve always managed to pull those memories back up. The lightness of those interactions even with the darkness closing in. It’s always stuck with her. To be honest that’s part of why she loves spending time at the Barton’s farm. It reminds of how her life could be. If Ohio had been real.

But even that time in Ohio was colored by what she could remember about the Red Room, and her own jealousy over how Yelena was able to be a child and have genuine fun during that time. She lived on the edge, knowing that they would go back and that her innocence would be stolen from her. It was a dream fated to end in a nightmare.

Despite how hard she tried, she’d failed to stop it from collapsing into ruin.

Natasha stares at the woman across from her, drinking the beers they’d bought at the gas station and contemplates the story Yelea is spinning: that the Red Room was never taken down, that she’s suffered because of it. It’s a tale supported by the fact that Yelena’s sitting across from her now, telling her about the imaginary life she’s given Natasha.

“It’s not Ohio,” she says softly, “but my partner...his family lives out on a farm. I’m Auntie Nat.” 

“The guy with the arrows?” Yelena asks, face guarded. 

Natasha nods. “Clint.” She can share this. Not the specifics, nothing that will put his family in danger, but she can share this part of her with her sister. “He got me out, brought me home with him.” She twirls her bottle and stares at the green glass instead of into Yelena’s green eyes. “He helped me kill Dreykov. We were holed up in that air vent for a couple days.” 

They played tic-tac-toe and he told her corny jokes until she considered whether death would be swifter than continuing to listen to more puns. “It was too hot for us to travel into Russia immediately. So he took me back to the farm and the first thing I thought was: Yelena would love this.” 

She looks up at Yelena. The alcohol is affecting her system and she looks a bit softer. 

“Two weeks later he came with me to sweep the Red Room. It was cleared out.” She chews her bottom lip. Her hand clenches around the bottle. 

She hates to think about those weeks when she first defected. Clint finding her was supposed to be her way out. She’d been ready for him to shoot her dead, prepared to die rather than go back to the Red Room. Instead he’d offered her another choice: a chance to bring down the man who turned her into a killer and to right some of the wrongs she’d done. 

Just thinking of those weeks causes a burn of shame. If only she had been better - stronger - then things might have been different. At the time, she was barely functional as she fought through her brainwashing and programming, locked in a room in the farmhouse. She barely remembers what she was going through, who she called out for when Laura or Clint came in to bring her food and talk to her. 

By the time she’d been well enough to go back to Russia, everything had been gone. She shakes her head to come back to the present. 

“We found paperwork, official, which showed the program had been dissolved, the girls sent to families to live a normal childhood,” she tells Yelena, begging her to understand that she tried, that she thought she had done all she could. She thought she was leaving Yelena with a loving family. 

Yelena tilts her head. “That’s it? You just bought that.” 

“I had made promises to SHIELD,” she struggles to explain. “I was doing the same thing. I chose to keep being a spy for another country. You deserved a family. I thought you were happy. That’s what I always wanted for you.” 

Yelena chews on the inside of her cheek as she thinks about her answer. “This Clint...he’s your family now?” 

“He offered to find you,” Natasha says, quietly. She’s still running from that question. After all, then she’ll have to think about how she’s leaving him to rot at the Raft right now.

“You told him about me?” Yelena smiles, despite herself. 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head. We spent a lot of time in that vent. We had to talk about something.” 

“Well, I am fascinating.” 

She’s preening and Natasha laughs at her expression. “I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he ignored me. He had a thing with his brother…” She trails off and tries again. “Family is important to him. So he tried to find you.” 

Natasha reaches out to grab Yelena’s hand, squeezing it for this part. “There was a death certificate. A grave. I thought you were dead.” She stares into Yelena’s eyes. “If I knew you were alive, I wouldn’t have stopped looking. Not until I knew you were happy.” 

Yelena leans forward. “I’m free now, but there’s others, other girls. They deserve to be saved too. I can’t do it on my own.” 

Natasha stares into her eyes. “I don’t even know where to find the Red Room. I don’t even know where to start. It’s not like I have any contacts.” 

“The Avengers,” Yelena teases with a laugh. 

She shakes her head, even as her mind spins with the start of an idea: someone who will know what happened. “No. But I do know someone who might know where it is. Alexei.” 

Yelena blinks. “Dad?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes at that descriptor. He was completely disinterested in undercover work, and barely passable as a father. Although he did always remember their favorite foods so she figures that’s something. “He got thrown in prison. If anyone has any idea, it would be him.” 

“So...we’re doing this?” 

Natasha nods, already formulating her plan. “We’ll need a ride. Did you see where he put the keys?” She nods her head toward the gas station. 

“Green box.” 

With a look, they’re both on the move. Something clenches in Natasha’s heart. The only other people who can read her so well are Steve and Clint. It’s been twenty years and Yelena is still her little sister. 

The heart-wrenching moment when they were returned to Russia and ripped apart has starred in her nightmares for years, the terror keeping her from sleep. Her sister was stolen from her and Natasha was thrown into her own training, which had picked up where they left off after 3 years undercover. The program became more and more intensive. She would see Yelena in passing from across the school, checking in on her classes. 

She wasn’t allowed to close the distance. The teachers monitored them constantly and she couldn’t show emotion for fear of what might happen, so she threw herself into her work. She became the best she could be. She told Yelena that what happened in Ohio wasn’t real, but it was Ma’s words that kept her going: Your pain only makes you stronger. 

Despite the pain in her limbs from the fight, she’s actually thankful that this brought them back together. She hadn't let herself really think about that until now, as she sits in the driver’s seat and Yelena attempts to find a radio station, fiddling with the dial, muttering in frustration at the choices until Natasha reaches over and shuts it off. 

Yelena pouts at her. Then she perks up as a thought crosses her mind. "So when you say partner…" 

Natasha scrunches up her nose. "What? No. Clint's…" she searches for the word. "Clint." 

"You never even thought about it?" 

Natasha sighed. "No." Which might not be strictly true but Yelena doesn't need to know that. 

"And the Captain?" Yelena's grin grows at Natasha's silence. "Really?" 

"No," Natasha intercedes quickly at the suggestive tone. "No." 

Yelena cackles. "Can I be there when you tell Dad? 

"He's not our real dad," Natasha grumbles. "And there's nothing between me and Steve." 

"Okay." The disbelief is clear in Yelena’s inflection.

Natasha did not miss this part of being a sister. It's like Clint but a thousand times worse. So she deflects. "What's with the vest?" 

As Yelena goes on about pockets, Natasha prays that Steve won't physically be there at the next drop point. If he is, she'll never hear the end of it.

Chapter Text

I Asked for a Jet  

“I thought I asked for a jet.” 

Maria glances up from her phone at the familiar voice and hops down from the bird. She notes the blonde beside Natasha who looks exactly like the one in the security footage from Budapest that found its way into her hands and then was accidentally deleted. Oops. 

She looks back at the copter. “This was the best I could do.” She shrugs and drops the additional bag on the grass. “It’s not like I had a lot of time. Along with your other requests.” 

The women circle the helicopter, putting it through the same checks Maria did when she pulled the copter from an old SHIELD base. It was mostly defunct, replaced by the quinjets for modes of transportation. They were mostly sold off to private owners, with a few exceptions. 

“You know, most people would say thank you.” 

Natasha smiles at her, but the other girl coos at her. 

“Oooh, look. She’s sensitive.” 

Natasha swats at her. “Ignore her. Thank you, Maria. Stark give you trouble?” 

Maria purses her lips. “Technically I’m on mission.” It’s a little more complicated than that. She’s certain Stark surmises she’s in contact with at least Natasha. There’s no way he can prove it, but he’s probably guessed, and dropped some fairly ridiculous hints. “I can handle Stark.” 

Wisely, Natasha looks unswayed by the answer. “Seriously, Maria. Thank you.” 

“Yes. Thank you, Maria,” the other girl echoes as she pokes around the bag Natasha had her grab from New York. She pulls out a candy bar with interest and Maria scrunches her nose in distaste. 

“I stashed that five years ago,” Natasha warns before the girl takes a bite. 

Maria is impressed when the girl - despite making faces - continues to chew. “It’s dry. Very dry.” 

“Friend of yours?” Maria asks as the girl moves into the copter. 

Natasha shrugs and looks after. “Sister.” 

Very few things shock Maria, but the Black Widow having a family is one of them. She looks back at the girl with interest. “I didn’t know you had family.” 

“I don’t.” Natasha clenches her jaw and then sighs. “It was...it wasn’t real. We were young and undercover. But she’s still…my sister.” 

Maria nods. She gets it. She doesn’t usually ask too many questions about Natasha’s past. Everyone deserves their secrets. “Little siblings are the worst.” 

“Tasha, it’s time to go!” 

Maria grins at the look of pure exasperation on Natasha’s face. That could only happen with a younger sibling, cover or not. 

“One minute!” Natasha calls back. She mutters something in Russian too soft for Maria to hear before she turns back to their conversation. “I called Steve.” 

“And Steve called me,” Maria says with a shrug. “He wasn’t able to make it. Said that you just needed supplies not back-up. Has that changed?” 

It will take Maria some time, but she can get someone here. That actually wouldn’t be too difficult. Despite him passing the demand on, Steve is probably the closest. She doesn’t know exactly what they’re planning to do with the helicopter. She’s got an idea that it’s likely crazy and that no sane person would attempt it. Which probably means it’s not something anyone else can do. 

Natasha chews on her lip as she stares at the plane. Her sister is already performing flight checks with a proficiency Maria probably shouldn’t be surprised at.  After a moment, Natasha shakes her head. 

“No. This is personal.” 

Maria purses her lips. “Look. I know we don’t talk about personal stuff. At all. But it doesn’t matter to Steve. He’d be here in a heartbeat if you need him.” 

“We’ve got this handled.” Natasha says with more confidence. “Steve’s got enough on his plate. Have you figured out a way onto the Raft yet?” 

“We’re getting there.” 

“Let’s go, sestra! Before I decide to go blow something up without you.” The blonde shouts again. 

Maria barks out a laugh. “I like her.”

“Of course you do,” Natasha says. She takes a deep breath. “Thanks for this, Maria.” 

“I’d say any time but your constant demands are actually bringing me too much attention.” 

“Oh, you love me,” Natasha teases. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Maria doesn’t do feelings. “Remember to call if you need me to send Steve.”  

Natasha waves her off. “We’ll be fine. Call you when it’s done.”

Maria stays to watch the helicopter disappear into the distance, making note of the direction in which it’s moving. She sends a quick text to Steve to let him know Natasha’s off the ground. While she highly doubts Natasha will reach out, she can’t help worrying about what rocks Natasha might be turning over, and what might be crawling out from under them.

Chapter Text

Here Comes the Cavalry 

They’re not even on the helicopter for five minutes and Natasha is already done with Alexei. One look at Yelena confirms that he’d be dead already if they didn’t need him to find Melina and lead them to the Red Room. 

“Does he realize we’re not children anymore?” Yelena grumbles as she flies the copter. “We should have just called in Steve.” 

Natasha narrows her eyes in a glare directed at her sister. Yelena shrugs. If Alexei hadn’t been listening in, she’s sure her sister would have some variation of Captain America but neither of them are interested in listening to Alexei’s fantasies about the fights he had with the Star Spangled Man. 

“Steve? Who is this Steve? Does he need to be taught a lesson?” Alexei cracks his knuckles threateningly. Then he seems to realize something. “Wait...Steve? As in Captain America?”

Natasha ignores him, thankful Yelena does too instead of sniping back at him. She glances at the fuel gauge and then at Yelena. She shrugs. 

“He said we could make it.” 

She’s highly dubious of that claim and clearly so is Yelena, but she’s nothing if not stubborn. And Natasha has to admit that falling out of the sky in a copter is probably less dangerous than half the things she’s done as an Avenger. 

“I asked about you girls, does no one want to ask about me?” 

“You’ve been in jail.” Natasha tells him in Russian. “We know exactly what you’ve been getting up to.” 

He pouts and drops into the back seat. “You could have at least pretended to be interested.” 

“Should have brought an ipod,” Yelena grumbles. Natasha is thinking the same thing. 

It’s some time later that the engine shudders and fails as the oil runs out, causing the copter to plummet. Yelena drops the controls and heads to the back to grab her bag while Alexei shouts and clings to the back of his seat. Natasha reaches for her own kit and couches to absorb the impact as Alexei flounders about. So much for the super soldier he always brags about being. 

Even knowing the craziness of her team, Alexei is ridiculous. If this ends up being all for nothing, she’s going to take him right back and drop in that frozen hellscape to die.

“Did you get it?” 

Steve leans against the side of his borrowed car as he pumps gas, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his ear. “Yeah. Delivery go okay?”

“She’s got back up.” 

He pauses. One part relieved Natasha’s not going into whatever alone. The rest of him is itching to be there for her. But she turned him down when he offered. “Good. That’s good.” 

The constant flow of gas stops and the counter stops on a number that he still hasn’t adjusted to. He didn’t do a lot of driving back before he was deployed and it’s been years since he was defrosted, so it’s not the cost that throws him. It’s the currency which feels like it’s changed three times on this trip alone that’s jarring. If he wasn’t searching for a way to free his people from the Raft, he might have actually enjoyed touring Europe while not at war. 

“A sister,” Maria adds. “Spunky. I liked her.” 

Steve blinks, a pause before he climbs into the car and starts the engine. “Didn’t know she had a sister.” 

“Kinda out there. Fan of explosions. Whatever they’re mixed up in seems gnarly.” 

Steve hums. He sits there in the car, unmoving as he waits for more information. 

“I think she’s off the radar for now. Told her she could call if she needed you.” 

“Did you tell her about the plan?” Steve asks. He hadn’t wanted to burden her when he stopped by her trailer. He didn’t want to drag her back into the mess when she wasn’t ready, not until they actually had a plan in place to get to the Raft. 

“No. Didn’t want to distract her.” 

He nods and finally moves the car into drive. “That’s for the best.” Steve watches the snowy landscape pass by. The package isn’t going to move. It’s waiting on him to pick it up, but his gut is screaming at him to be there to support Natasha. 

“You want to be there, don’t you?” Maria asks with a sigh. 

He runs a hand across the beard, scratching at the new growth. “I do, but she didn’t ask for me.” 

Steve glances at his GPS, silently estimating his proximity to Natasha’s last known position and where his destination would place him in relation. If she’s in a situation where she needs help, where every moment counts, then he wants to be as close to her as he can get. To be there to catch her if she can’t catch herself. 

“I’ll be more helpful if I’ve got the package,” Steve concludes out loud, as much as he hates to admit it. 

“I’ll handle things on my end,” Maria promises. “And if I hear from her first, I’ll let you know.” 

It’s as good a plan as they’re going to get with so many questions about Natasha’s plan. “Take care, Maria.” 

“Bye, Steve.”

Chapter Text

Mother Dearest  

Anxiety bubbles up inside Yelena as they approach the pig farm Alexei claims belongs to Melina. It drowns out her desire to kick Alexei in the face even as he transitions from crowing about his glory days to primping in preparation to meet Melina for the first time. There’s no earthly power that can convince Yelena they’re not a family because the thought of her fake-parents having sex causes a visceral reaction and she wants to throw up. 

Natasha is clearly over it too. 

Yelena has been through every weapon on her person and the creative ways in which she could dismember Alexei. It’s a painful reminder of everything that was stolen from her by the Red Room, a reminder that they gave her a family and then ripped it away. 

She was too young on the mission to Ohio. For her, it was real. Everyone around her knew that it was a lie and they didn’t bother to tell her. Not Ma, or Pa, or even Natasha when they crafted their blanket forts and whispered secrets to each other, giggling in the dark instead of going to sleep like they should. 

It was real. Those moments gave her strength in her darkest days. They pushed her through and gave her something to cling to in the Red Room when she didn’t know up from down or left from right, herself from the killer they made her to be. 

Alexei talks about his service with pride. He chose to do his duty for Russia. He never had it forced upon him. Yelena wishes she had been put away on a shelf. They made her a trained killer after giving her a childhood filled with fireflies and family moments. It’s all she knows now, but not all she ever wanted. 

She wanted to be like Natasha. She wanted her family to be proud. 

Yelena just hadn’t realized how much it would cost her until it was too late, until she was frozen while her body was picked apart for science experiments, while she was transformed into the weapon they wanted. 

When she’d asked Natasha about children the other day, it was because she saw her staring at the kids outside the gas station with a soulful longing. For Yelena, family was different. The only family she knew was the one she chose: in Ohio, and then again with her sisters in the Red Room. She can’t lose another family, not when they don’t have the freedom to make their own choices. 

She smells the pigs before she can see them. The farm itself looks dreary. Like the model Russian home, designed with efficiency and honor. They haven’t tripped any obvious alarms as they approach but if Melina has intimate knowledge of the Red Room, she’s likely got defenses. 

As they turn to face the path into the house, Yelena spots Melina standing on the other side of the chain link fence. There’s a rifle in her hands, pointed in their direction but not carefully aimed. They keep moving closer. Each step means it's a little less likely to be used. 

Melina stares at them, even as she raises her rifle to point toward the sky. There’s a tension in the air, full of uncertainty. Natasha is combative, prepared for a fight - physical or verbal. Alexei is disgustingly excited. Yelena wants to believe that Melina won’t hurt them. However much she doubts. 

This is the woman who kissed her scraped knees and told her about bioluminescence. It’s also the woman who she swore she saw out of the corner of her eye throughout her years in the Red Room. Logic says that the indoctrination of the Black Widows got progressively more controlling over the years, which means that whatever they did to Melina was nothing. 

If the psychological conditioning Natasha went through was nothing to Yelena’s suffering, it’s possible Melina even volunteered for this. She was the role model for the widows before Natasha. In getting out, Natasha became legendary. It gave the next generation hope that they could follow her steps, even when it seemed futile. 

“Mother.” 

“Melina.” 

Yelena squashes her wince at the childish quality of her voice while Natasha sounds so composed as she says Melina’s name. She hates that she’s been reduced to this state of dependency, of reliance on her happiest memories to have some iota of truth to them. 

Natasha still viewing her as a sister helps, even if it’s a little strained by the intervening years. Alexei is just as droll as she remembers him to be, more self-centered than she remembers when he’s not playing the role of doting father.  

The tension stays as Melina leads them inside. “You’re all grown up.” She smiles. It looks like pride. The kind she used to show to Natasha when she did something right. It was a look Yelena craved when they were in Ohio. That little girl inside her preens at the praise finally directed her way. The grown woman knows that Melina is part of the reason she went through hell for the last twenty years. 

Inside hurts even worse than the outside. It looks like a home. There are warm colors and so many books. It’s lived in, with hints of comfort that Yelena has been denied for years. She grew up in a sterile environment and this was right here. 

Alexei grabs a bag on top of a table and cackles at what he finds inside. He disappears into a bathroom as Natasha follows Melina to make sure she’s not calling for reinforcements. Yelena doesn’t know what to do while she waits. The colors and furniture are reminiscent of the house in Ohio. Or she thinks they are. She’s not sure she can trust her memory on this. 

She lets Natasha and Melina move around her, still connected in ways she cannot imagine. Melina is bringing out food and pushing them into chairs like it’s the house in Ohio. Natasha looks as tired as Yelena feels. 

“There,” Melina says once the table is set. “Sit. Sit, girls. You look starved. You need to eat.” 

Yelena meets Natasha’s eyes across the table. Unlike her, Natasha is patronizing, speaking softly to Melina like she can convince her to help them. “Melina, we need you to tell us where the Red Room is.” 

“Oh, so demanding. We have time for a meal. The Room isn’t going anywhere. Stop slouching.” 

“I’m not-” 

Protest as she might, Natasha still sits up straighter. Yelena tries to turn down food but Melina bulldozes along. Then when Alexei returns, the two of them speak about this as if it was all a grand adventure, as if this is nothing more than a happy reunion. 

Her gloves creak as her hands curl into fists. 

Then Melina shows them what she’s been working on: pigs. 

The way she talks with pride about the work they’ve done, the knowledge she’s accrued for the Red Room. Yelena’s breath stops in her chest, the same way it does with the pig. This is what she’s been enslaved to in the years since Natasha fled. 

She speaks about it with pride while inside Yelena is panicked. 

“And you, my darling,” Melina says as she cups Yelena’s face. It’s all she ever wanted to hear. Love and affection from a mother she thought was lost to her. “You were my greatest triumph.” 

Yelena’s hand wraps around the table knife, intent to stab it through the heart of her traitorous mother. Melina’s hand clamps down over hers, stronger than it should be and Yelena finds she can’t move. Her chest tightens in panic. 

She reaches across with her other hand, but her body feels lethargic, tired. It’s not responding the way it should. She’s been drugged. It must have been in the vodka. Natasha staggers to her feet only to collapse into her own chair. Alexei lasts half a second longer before he collapses across the table. 

Melina releases her grip and leans back in the chair.

It’s the last thing Yelena sees before she blacks out.

She wakes up in a lab, the one from her nightmares where she was held in place by neuro programming while they cut up her insides and violated her body. Her eyes dart around as she takes stock of her surroundings. 

There are straps across her body, holding her secure to the bed like they used to do in the first trials she remembers. They never really needed them after their new...control methods were put in place. 

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” 

Yelena’s eyes find Melina immediately. Gone is the pig farmer look, with flyaways in her hair and streaks of dirt on her face. She stands tall, resplendent in a fitted blouse and pencil skirt, hair pulled back immaculately in a bun. It’s as far from the image of a warm mother as Yelena can imagine. As a widow, she’d learned the value of dressing for your target and this outfit screams psychopathic business woman. 

She struggles against her bindings, but her body barely responds, still sluggish from whatever Melina gave them on the farm. 

“Now, now, darling. The drug is still working its way through your system. We need you aware for this part.” 

A scientist in a white lab coat comes over and draws on her forehead with the soft tip of a marker. Yelena swallows thickly. She used to call out for her mother during these procedures. Does Melina know that? That Yelena cried out for her: the woman doing this to her now. 

Melina steps closer and offers her a smile, squeezing her unresponsive hand. The comforting effect is ruined by the cold clinical interest in Melina’s eyes as she looks Yelena over. “Unfortunately, since my programming is no longer effective you will feel this. It will hurt. But that’s important for us to know too. You can be a big girl, right?” 

Yelena refuses to cry at her own helplessness. “Go to hell,” she spits at Melina. 

“I know I raised you better than that, Yelena. My little girl should not curse.” 

She lifts her head as much as she can with the restraints in place and enunciates as clearly as she can: “Fuck. You.” 

The slap is swift. There’s a delay before she feels the sting. Yelena moves her jaw to work out the tension and then pointedly turns away to stare straight ahead. She won’t give Melina the satisfaction. 

There’s a soft touch to the side of her face. Yelena recoils internerally a the sensation. She doesn’t let her outward appearance show how much she wants to scream, to throw up, to get free of the torment coming from the same face which once kissed her scraped knees better. She can’t look at her. 

“Natasha was a perfect Widow, but you were my masterpiece. The information in your head will lead us to new heights.” Melina presses a kiss to her forehead and then walks away. 

Yelena can’t stop a tear from slipping out. She came all this way and lost everything along the way. The click of Melina’s heels recede and the door slams behind her. Her eyes fly back open. There are still two scientists preparing things out of her sight, but they’re not paying attention to her anymore.  

Her fingers twitch as she finally gets sensation back in it. They graze against her empty weapon holster. She would be insulted if they hadn’t disarmed her. She stretches just a bit further, fingers sliding under the strap of her holster where she’s got a tiny ceramic blade. It wasn’t a trick she learned from the Red Room. It was taught to her by Natasha back in Ohio when it was just candy and notes they needed to hide from their parents. 

She blinks back tears of relief when she feels the blade. Yelena only takes a beat to appreciate the relief before she makes her move, slashing the straps and dispatching the scientists. The dream of the family in Ohio is gone, but Yelena will raze the Red Room to the ground in retribution. 

It’s time to save her sisters.

Chapter Text

  Don’t Let Them Take Your Heart  

“Dance class is my favorite.” 

Yelena swings from Nat’s arm as they walk home from the dance studio. She jumps in the air over cracks, a huge smile on her face. One leap wrenches her arm from Natasha’s and she takes off, leaping and twirling like her class had taught her to do. 

“Come on, Nat!” 

Her joy is contagious, and Natasha finds herself laughing as they cut through the field on the way home, spinning and dancing through the flowers. 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

It’s night now, the stars overhead twinkle from where they lay in the grass beside the old swing set that the prior owners left and which is dangerously close to breaking from use. The question is a stab in heart for Natasha, an innocent question with an answer that means nothing but pain and sorrow. The future isn’t theirs to pick. 

“I’d be a ballerina,” Yelena continues after only a beat. 

It breaks her heart that Yelena’s never going to have that chance. Natasha loves the joy and freedom that comes with dancing. It’s like combat training except more graceful, beautiful. If she could be anything, that’s what she would want to be too. Natasha whispers a “me too.”

“We could dance together!” she exclaims, twisting around to lie on her belly to face Natasha. 

 She smiles at her little sister as though she hasn’t spent every minute of this mission worried about what comes next when they go back to Russia. This isn’t permanent. She envies her sister’s freedom. 

“NATASHA!” 

Her body moves to defend her sister before her brain can process what it means. Her hand is wrapped around the gun, Yelena clutched to her side as she points it at the three grown men surrounding them. “Stay back! I will shoot you.” 

If they can get out of here now, then maybe they can avoid the inevitable return to the Red Room. She can save Yelena from the horrors she remembers. She switches between Russian and English. “I need you to hand over the gun, sweetheart. Okay. It’s over. Alright. You’ll be safe.” 

She blinks and she’s being dragged away from Yelena’s reaching fingers, her cries echoing in her ears. The photobooth pictures rip in her hands and she shoves it into Yelena’s reaching hands. There’s no way she can get them out of here, not hopelessly out-numbered like this. She doesn’t have time to say what she wants to say. 

Yelena’s teary eyes meet hers. He cries grow louder as Natasha is ripped away again and thrown with another group of girls. Yelena’s green eyes are emblazoned on Natasha’s soul, pleading for safety, for the warmth of home. 

And there’s nothing she can do...  

Natasha comes back to consciousness all at once. Methodically, she takes stock of her own body, testing her limbs for any side-effects from the sedative she ingested. There’s a cold metal bracelet on her wrist - either a tracker or a handcuff of some sort. She lies on what might even be considered a soft bed. It’s a thin pad through which she can still feel the cool metal of whatever it sits on. Alexei is already awake and raging at their captors. He sounds nearby, but underneath his yelling, she can’t hear any sounds of life. 

Natasha’s eyes open on the handcuff which secures her wrist over her head, an old training practice from back in the starting days of the Red Room. She snaps it open quickly using a bobby pin that wasn’t taken from her hair. They have to be expecting it, although the cell she’s in looks surprisingly comfortable. 

There’s a camera trained on the cell, tamper-proof where it sits outside of her cell. From the bed, Natasha can’t see movement or personnel in the room beyond. She rises to her feet and crosses the cell to get a better view of the room. The weight is gone from her weapons holsters, evidence that she was searched. 

“LET ME OUT OF HERE! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” 

She rolls her eyes as Alexei’s words pound into her head. She moves forward to see if she can spot Yelena. It looks like there are only two holding cells. They’re by some sort of med bay, if she’s reading the room right. 

The locking mechanism looks to be a computer pad outside the cell doors, tied to a sensor on the inside. It’s been a while since she had the pleasure of breaking out of a cell, but she’s also had years of practicing with Stark’s high-tech gadgets. 

As streamlined as the panel inside the cell is, the edge of the snapped bobby pin slips under the edge and she’s able to pop it open and expose the wires. From there, the process of disengaging the lock is simple as soon as she finds the right wires. The glass slides open. Alexei doesn’t even notice. 

Natasha moves to one of the computer stations. The light is enough to disrupt Alexei’s current rant. 

“Natasha! You’re awake. This is good. They have no idea. Now just get me out of this prison and we can…” 

The computer has plans for the Red Room layout. The lab they’re in is apparently not in active use. It’s an old location for punishments and programming that’s no longer needed with the new protocols. Instead it’s used for visitors. It looks like Melina’s been using the controls for more than just the widows: select politicians, corporate stakeholders, anyone she needed something from in order to maintain power. 

And of course her own private army of Black Widows, loyal to her without a doubt. 

“Natasha!” 

She glances up from the schematics to the cell where Alexei gestures at the lock. “You going to let me out or what?” 

She looks through the drawers at the desk and around it, eager for something that might work as a weapon. “Leaning towards the ‘or what’,” she mutters. “Far as I can tell, you’re useless.” 

“Ouch. You hurt my feelings.” 

There are orders to bring Yelena into a lab on the upper floor, a record of tests to be done. It’s all meticulously planned in disturbing detail. With the memories of her youth fresh in her mind, Natasha can’t be so callous with her dismissal of this. Back then Melina was the one who told her “don’t let them take your heart.” 

She clung to those words for so long. But her heart isn’t a stagnant memory. It’s attached to a person, to the people who have wormed their way into her heart. The first person to do that - even before Yelena - was Melina. She was the embodiment of the mom Natasha had always wanted. The pain of her betrayal is staggering. 

Pain only makes you stronger . 

The serum Yelena had is stored on their floor, which is kind of surprising given the chance of their escape. She glances at Alexei and stands. There’s no traditional weapons around, and at the very least Alexei can cause some trouble somewhere. 

“Who’s side are you on?” 

“On your side.” 

Natasha scowls. “See, I’d love to take your word for that, Alexei, but I know you. You’ll say anything to get out of that cell. So here’s the deal: I’m getting out of here. With Yelena. And the rest of the Widows. You try to stop me, you get in my way, and I will take you out.” 

“You’re my girls,” he says, a curious earnestness in his eyes. He was never an attentive father and was a bit of an idiot. “I thought we had something and she put me in a cell.” 

That’s the sticking point with him. Natasha can see it now. Melina betrayed him and he genuinely felt something for her. He’s lost by this, his whole foundation shaken.  

She walks up to him and contemplates his face, weighing her chances. 

There’s running footsteps in the hall. Natasha spins around to face the enemy, ready to fight. 

“Oh good. It’s you. We have to move quickly.” Yelena says as she enters the room. She tosses a knife towards Natasha. She catches it easily and flips it around. She holds out a gun as she tucks another one into an empty holster. She glances at Alexei. “He with us?” 

“He was just giving me his pitch.” Natasha reaches up and cups Yelena’s face to get a look at the smeared black marker across her forehead. She doesn’t see any blood or injury. “Are you alright?” 

Yelena’s eyes look anything but okay as she meets Natasha’s gaze and says in cold Russian: “I won’t be okay until we make the world burn.” 

Natasha nods. “Then let’s make it burn.”

Chapter Text

The Queen’s Gambit  

Half the serum is in Natasha’s possession, the other half in Yelena’s. Yelena stares at the red liquid as she wraps all but one into a bundle on the grenade. The plan is to strike while the trainees are in practice, to hit the greatest number of widows in a single strike. She’s got a USB with Melina’s records. Natasha is going after Ma. 

The training room is up ahead and she needs to get there before the alarm is sounded. She needs to hit all the trainees now, to break the cycle with the youngest girls, the ones who aren’t yet deployed. They’re in the beginning of their conditioning, just children. Too young to really be the monsters the Red Room turns them into. 

Or maybe she’ll have shit luck and the girls will have no chemical conditioning and the serum will have no effect. Fear kept them in line for the most part when they were younger, which means Yelena will need to get them to trust her quickly, to demonstrate that this isn’t a test and that they can leave without punishment. 

She pauses right before the dormitory and takes a deep breath. She bounces on her toes and shakes out her arms, stretching in preparation of what she’s about to do. Her whole body aches from what she’s pushed it to do over the last several days. Nothing is broken or failing to work correctly so she can continue to push forward. 

The human will is an amazing thing. 

Burn it to the ground, Lena , she whispers to herself. Before she can throw herself around the corner, she spots a vent in the ceiling and is reminded of Natasha’s story about her defection, about how she escaped Budapest with Clint. Yelena grins and turns back toward the maintenance closest she just passed. 

There in the ceiling, she spots the access to the air vents. The shelves provide what is essentially a ladder right into the ceiling passageway. A huge oversight in an otherwise covert organization. The vent themselves are odd to crawl through. To be honest, it’s not as cramped as she thought it would be. In fact, it’s almost cozy. 

At the first intersection she had to reorient herself now that she’s in the vents. A quick peek through a grate directs her left. She can see a couple older Widows as guards along the corridor. There are a couple who are at rest. 

Yelena debates dosing each of them individually but really she needs to get them all in one place and set off the grenade. There’s no other way to aerolyze them. So she continues her crawl down to the classroom. 

It’s set up for combat training, with thirty trainees and five teachers shouting orders through the room. It’s set at the end of the hallway with one door in and one door out down the main hallway. Tactically, it’s a good place to make her stand. It’s a bottleneck for the widows who will come to capture her. 

Assuming the trainees don’t give her any trouble. 

Well, there’s only one way to find out. 

Yelena positions herself over the ceiling vent closest to the door. She can lock the door so no one can get behind her. She doesn’t want to set off the grenade before she can get the widows in the hallway, which inevitably means she needs to take out the teachers in the training room. 

With a swift kick, Yelena knocks the vent out and falls to the floor, landing in a crouch that rivals Natasha’s overdone poses. She flips her hair back and grimaces as she straightens. The room is frozen as everyone turns to stare at her. She grins at them and tosses her grenade in one hand while the other locks the door behind her back. 

“Yelena Belova,” one of the trainers says, stepping forward. 

He’s a new one, from before her time. There is only one widow in the room and she’s moving closer, face blank even as her eyes scream. Yelena keeps her eyes on her sister, ignoring the man. 

“I can’t let you take them, Yelena,” the widow says. Her voice holds the barest hint of emotion. 

Yelena sighs. “I know, Sasha. I’ll do it anyway.” 

Sasha nods as she settles into a fighting stance. 

“There’s no way you will succeed,” the man says. His hand reaches for his taser - there are no live weapons allowed on the floor before the trainees have gone through conditioning. 

Yelena slips the grenade and the serum under her belt. “You take small girls, rip them from their families, and turn them into killers. I’m here to set them free.” 

The trainees look between her and their leaders, caught on the precipice of action or not. 

There’s a pounding on the door behind her. Yelena sighs and sinks into her own fighting stance. “I can’t release the serum just for you,” she says to Sasha. “But I promise to get you out of here.” 

“I have orders to kill you.” 

“You can try.” Yelena throws her a grin she doesn’t quite feel. Then the fight starts in earnest.

Natasha stands in the elevator as it glides upwards and checks the weapons strapped to her body. She checks her watch as the alert goes through the base. Yelena has reached the training floor, which means a congregation of staff there, and likely a protection detail around Melina. 

The cure is strapped around a grenade for the widows gathered around Melina. It’s Yelena’s design, claiming that the serum was best delivered in airborne form. Natasha hadn’t been able to find something in the labs which would work better. She did however find explosives which she placed in strategic locations on a timer. 

She checks her watch and then pulls a burner phone out of her pocket - the last of her pilfered tools. The number is half punched in before Natasha realizes who she’s calling. She lifts it up to her ear and pinches it in place with her shoulder, watching the numbers on the top of the elevator as they climb. 

“Speak.” 

Natasha grins. She pulls the pin from the grenade and drops it to the floor. “Knew I could count on you to answer the phone.” 

The background noise on the other end of the phone dims and a door closes. “I wasn’t sure we were going to hear from you any time soon.” 

“You worried about me, Maria?” Natasha pulls a baton from its sheath and flicks it so electricity crackles at the prongs on the end. 

“You know how Cap gets.” 

It’s a neat sidestep of the teasing question, even if there is truth to it. Natasha smiles sadly. “He’s a worrywart.” 

Maria hums in agreement. There’s a moment of silence and then: “So what can I get you?” 

Natasha watches the second to last floor light up. “I just wanted to let you know. Yelena and I are in the Red Room.” 

“What?” 

“You know what that means,” she continues as if Maria didn’t interrupt. “We’re going to burn it down.” 

“What do you need?” Maria repeats. “I can track your phone and-” 

The door opens just enough for Natasha to confirm the crowd of widows waiting for her and Natasha tosses the grenade before she throws herself to the side. Shots are fired. Natasha catches the phone as it slips from her shoulder and holds it to her ear. She turns around and jabs the first person through the door. 

“You’re calling me in the middle of the battle now, aren’t you?” Maria asks. There’s the sound of clacking. 

“You can tell Steve I’d love a ride if he has one. In twenty minutes this place is going to be a smoking crater.” 

Natasha is running out of what she can do without jumping into the fray. The red mist from the serum is starting to dissipate and the attacking falters. “I’ve got to go, Maria. See you on the other side.” 

She let’s the phone fall to the ground. The Widows are still disoriented from the serum. Natasha is able to slip through them to the accompanying guards, who apparently aren’t subject to the same conditioning as they’re still firing. 

“The Widows are down!” One of them shouts.

She takes one down with a flip before going for the next. One of the Widows gets to the third before she can reach them. She bursts through the office door to watch a second elevator door close from the other side of the office. 

Natasha throws a knife and watches it slide through the closing gap and embed in the metal beside Melina’s head before she vanishes from sight. She turns to the Widow beside her. “Where does that lead?” 

“You’re Natasha Romanov,” she answers, a hint of awe in her words. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow and glances around. There’s a squad of about ten Widows. The alarm is still sounding. “The elevator?” 

“Leads to a private jet.” 

“The alarm-” 

“Yelena is in the training room. She’s going after the rest of the Widows. Half of you get down there and help her evacuate. The rest of you, with me!” She doesn’t check to see if her orders are being followed. She forces the elevator door open. The elevator shaft is a straight shot down seven floors. Natasha secures the end of her grappling reel to the side of the tunnel. The special wire comes straight from the lab of Tony Stark. It’s not as great as Clint’s grappling arrows but its perfect for this. 

She turns to look at her back up. The widows are securing a rope to the desk inside the office. The one who answered her first question nods at her. “Ready when you are.” 

“You should know: I’ve rigged the building to blow. We have…,” she checks her watch, “fifteen minutes.” 

“Then we better get moving,” another Widow says, walking up to the elevator shaft and throwing the long coil of rope down. She looks to Natasha with a challenge in her eyes. 

Natasha grins and jumps into the abyss.

Yelena doesn’t pull her punches as she fights Sasha. She cannot allow herself to be distracted, especially as the other trainers are not foolish enough to wait for the fight to finish before they join in. They have the advantage of numbers. She struggles to keep an eye on all of them as she dances around. From the corner of her eye, she sees one of the trainees engage one of the other trainers. 

That action pushes the room into chaos. Not all the trainees are on the same page in terms of supporting Yelena in breaking them out. She doesn’t have the capacity to be distracted by the rest of the conflict. She is still dealing with three trainers when other trainees jump in. 

With a jump, Yelena manages to get Sasha in a headlock which failed on Natasha. Sasha fights Yelena’s grip but she hangs on. She presses against Sasha’s airway and chances to look around at the room. The other trainers are being subdued quickly. 

“You’re really here to rescue us?” A young voice asks as Sasha passes out. 

Yelena waits a beat and then releases her sister. She jumps to her feet. 

“We’re getting out of here,” she says. There’s still a banging on the door. She pulls the grenade out and looks it over to make sure it’s still intact. 

“What’s that?” Another trainee asks. 

“Serum. To break through the conditioning.” Yelena takes a deep breath and looks back up at the ceiling. The vent will be better than opening the door. “I need a boost. I’ll drop this on the other side of the door. Wait for my knock before opening.” 

Two of the girls are already crouching to give her a platform to vault her up into the vent. They’re older, further along in their training. Yelena notices a couple girls who seem to be reluctant to act, hanging back. They don’t appear to be actively helping the trainers, which is a plus. Yelena remembers little about the years between training and her first assignments. She remembers being eager to serve and then blood and death but she doesn’t remember when the chemical compulsion took over her natural good sense. It’s all a blur. 

“How will we know your knock?” The girl who asks is tiny, hidden partially behind an older girl’s leg. She can’t be any older than Yelena was when she was wrenched away from her fake American family and thrown back into the training program. 

“Listen to the pattern.” She claps out the precise rhythm and sees the older girls finish the call and response. She grins at them. Apparently the old code isn’t forgotten. With a nod, she accepts the help into the vents and crawls along the cold metal to the opening on the other side of the door. 

She pulls the pin from the grenade and checks her watch. They’re cutting it close on time. “I hope you were precise with your timing, Natalia,” she mutters as she kicks the vent out. She tosses the grenade, waits a beat and then follows it down to the metal floor. 

Those closes to the blast are disoriented as they fight off the serum. Those further away have enough warning that they struggle to escape the fine red mist, covering their faces as if that will stop the agent from working. Yelena goes after those ones first: stunning them so they will drop their guard and give the serum a chance to work. 

By the time she reaches the door, several of the widows are coming back to themselves. The door opens at her signal and the trainees fall out, taking in the scene with shock. 

Yelena steps over bodies and looks at her gathered sisters. “Listen up! We need to gather ourselves and move. We don’t have time for distractions. We have seven minutes to evacuate. If your sister is unconscious, pick her up. We get out of here together. Widows, guard the injured and the young. Stick together.” 

“Yelena?” A couple voices ask, rough with the recent recalibration. If anything, the trainees are the keenest to follow her orders. She notices Sasha, propped up between two of the older girls. 

She walks over and warns them. “She might not have gotten enough of the serum. Watch for her when she wakes. She may try to fight you.” The girls nod. 

“What is going on, Yelena?” 

She moves to the front of the line. “Natalia has rigged teh building to blow. We’re all getting out of here.” 

“What about Melina?” Another asks, falling into step as Yelena leads the party, realizing that none of the group will move if she doesn’t push them to. “She has a squadron with her-” 

“Natalia is handling them. She has the serum too,” Yelena adds at the girls’ shocked faces. “I promised I would burn the Red Room to the ground so that’s what I’m doing.” 

There are hard nods all around and the one who questioned her says “good” with authority. 

There are no more questions as they move progressively faster through the hallways. A few Widows fall back to cover their tail, Irina takes the lead when Yelena passes it off to her so she can help with some of the injured or slumbering Widows. 

“Where exactly is our extraction point?” Viktoria asks from the other side of Sasha’s slumped form, having taking over from the two girls so they could have a rest and move faster. 

Yelena rolls her shoulders as she takes stock of her new aches and pains before pushing them away to the back of her mind as a momentary annoyance. She can tend to all that later. “First, we get out of the building.” 

“We don’t have an extraction point?” Viktoria’s voice is whispered to prevent panic but it still carries to the surrounding girls who look at them nervously. 

Yelena shoots her a glare. “You can blame Natasha .” She slips back into the American name. She was never this sloppy as a Russian Assassin. Or rather, it’s one of the things that make Natasha brilliant at what she does but that fails to take a team or a group of civilians into account. Apparently that’s not necessary as an Avenger . 

“What the hell kind of rescue is this,” one of the girls mutters. 

Of course, Yelena is the one stuck with all the whining. You would think they would be happy enough with the whole rescue saga, instead of bitching about it. “The impromptu kind. Quit bitching. We’re almost there.” 

Shouting up ahead has Yelena and Viktoria passing Sasha back off to the trainees so they can help face the threat, which reveals itself to be another group of Widows. 

“Wait!” Yelena shouts, bursting ahead of her trudging group of graduates and trainees. The other group slows, shoulders sagging in recognition. Yelena doesn’t let her guard down yet, pulling out a baton as she ventures into the space between them. “What are your orders?” 

“Natasha sent us to help you liberate the trainees. It looks like you got them already.” The girl gestures to the crowd. 

Yelena nods, checking her watch. “Come on. We don’t have much time.” The girls nod, falling into line and reorganizing themselves as necessary. Yelena and Irina push the group faster. They meet patches of resistance that they put down - one person at a time, occasionally having a widow fall back to finish off an opponent so the group can continue their steady march onward.  

There’s no room for second guessing or slowing down. 

Irina is the first one through the final door and Yelena stands beside it, ushering each person out, performing a headcount as she goes, as if she has any idea how many widows and trainees are on base (she doesn’t but counting helps her feel in control). 

The entire group makes it twenty yards from the building before they hear the first crash and Yelena feels the burn of fire at her back. She turns to watch the reds and oranges light up the sky and the rubble of the building come crashing to the ground. Elation dances through her veins at the sight, spilling laughter from her lips and causing her heart to beat in time. She’s tackled in a hug which grows as the girls cling to each other in shock and amazement as the Red Room burns.

Chapter Text

When the Dust Settles  

Natasha truly hadn’t expected the fight to happen on the jet. She had hoped they would be able to cut Melina off before the jet took off, and barring that, would be able to get her off the plane. Fighting while balanced on the top of the plane as the recently liberated Widows took control of the cockpit? Not the plan. 

That said, she’s gotten scarily good at adapting to crazy plans, which might largely be the influence of a certain man who likes to run around in garish red, white and blue. 

Natasha sighs as she rubs a sore spot on her shoulder, settling into one of the bench seats. She’s not being fair to Steve: he’s actually far more rational in his color choices than being Captain America would lead one to believe. 

“It’s over?” A Widow asks, dropping into the seat beside Natasha with a first aid kit in hand. 

She nods and waves away the first aid care. “It’s over. The building?” 

“Destroyed.” 

“Casualties?” 

“Two injured taking the plane but otherwise alive. Nadia is circling to find the trainees. We haven’t heard from the other team.” She pauses and lifts a hand to the earpiece that sticks out of her ear. “They’re spotted. East side by the forest. Looks like they were able to get out. No numbers yet.” 

Natasha nods and forces herself into a standing position. She feels warm, fresh blood seep from some of her larger wounds. Nothing fatal so she pushes it away. The priority is checking in on her charges. She needs to lay eyes on Yelena and plan the next step. 

“Can we fit the survivors on the plane?” The question is thrown not just to Nadia but to the plane at large. 

Nadia answers promptly with a swift shake of her head. “Not likely. Even packed like sardines it would be hard. Not taking into account the injured.” 

She sighs. “Then we’ll need to plan for a place to bunker down.” 

There’s an affirmative from the cockpit. Natasha sways as the small jet maneuvers to a clear area to land. She grips the netting over her head, wincing at the jerky movements which jar her body and aggravate her internal aches. Not the smoothest ride. It feels like they’re fighting the jet for control. Probably some damage done in their taking control of the ship. It won’t be reliable for any length of time. 

Quiet fills the space as the jet sets down and the engines shut off. The door before her hisses as it lowers, pressure releasing into the open air. The sharp scent of smoke assaults her senses first as her eyes adjust to the brightness of sunlight. 

She takes a heavy step forward onto the ramp. Widows are arrayed at the edges of the clearing, various weapons held in preparation for a possible confrontation. They lower as they get a look at Natasha. She walks out onto the dirt, stepping around the rubble from the building that flew the distance to the trees. 

A familiar blonde separates from the group, her white suit recognizable in relation to the black suits and dark training clothes of the younger girls. Yelena looks a little worse for wear, her suit torn and bruising starting to show. She moves with purpose, a bit looser in her stance than Natasha. 

“Looks like you survived.” Yelena looks her over. “Took you longer than I expected.” 

Natasha snorts and looks over the other survivors of the Red Room. “I could say the same. Looks like you took your time getting out of there.” She’s quietly pleased by the lack of blood on her sister’s uniform. 

Yelena similarly looks her over with a critical eye and then pokes at her upper arm where Melina got her with a fairly consistent electrical shock which radiated up her arm and is almost certainly burned through the thin layer of clothing. She slaps at her hand and scowls at Yelena.

“Viktoria thinks you are foolish. No extraction plan. Very sloppy.” 

“Sorry. My partners are usually more prone to throwing themselves off buildings and out of planes without parachutes.” 

Yelena pauses. “So what you’re saying is you’re surrounded by idiots.” 

She grins at her sister. “At least you’re aware of it.” 

Yelena throws her head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, very funny. You think you’re so clever.” She glances back at the girls and then to Natasha and the plane behind her. “So now what? What is your great plan?” 

Natasha looks around, squinting up at the sky. “We wait.” 

“For what? A superhero going to swoop in and save the day?”  

She shakes her head and winces when the movement makes the world spin. She staggers a step to get her balance back and Yelena is suddenly there, slipping under Natasha’s arm so she can lean on her and stabilize herself. She takes a deep breath as the world stabilizes and she gets a better headcount of the Widows and trainees.

 “There are more than I expected,” she admits. 

Yelena glances at her. “After you defected, they stopped eliminating entire classes. Why kill off little girls when you can just remove their free will?” 

Natasha grimaces, remembering her final exam painted with blood and death. “We won’t all fit in the jet.” 

“It looks like shit,” Yelena agrees. 

“Do you know if Alexei made it out?” She asks. 

Yelena is aware enough not to shrug and jostle Natasha as she indicates her lack of knowledge. “We haven’t seen him. And someone blew up all the vehicles that might have been of use.” 

And the food, Natasha adds mentally. Water. Any and all resources. “I’ve got a call out.” 

“Oh? Is Steeeve going to come save the day?” Yelena teases as she walks Natasha closer to the rest of the Widows. 

Natasha rolls her eyes. Maria will likely send Steve since he was in the area most recently. He’ll likely be easier to mobilize than any of her other contacts. “We need extraction. Maria was tracking my phone. There’s a chance Ross will find us first.” 

Yelena sobers up. “We should send the girls and the injured to safety. They will be a liability.” 

She glances at the jet. “It would need to be ditched sooner rather than later.” 

“We really don’t have a plan.” 

They don’t. Neither of them really thought this far as to what the next steps would be. “I have the connections to get them new identities around the world.” She sighs and thinks of her trailer in the middle of nowhere. “I’ve got a place for us to meet. Regroup.” 

“Let me guess: too far to walk?” 

“Why are you such a brat?” Natasha shoots back, teasing. “I’m getting us a ride.” 

“So there is an extraction plan?” 

Natasha turns to look at the Widow who speaks up, arms crossed over her chest. Her ebony braids fall over her shoulder as she narrows her rich brown eyes on Natasha. 

Yelena chuckles. “Apparently we’re important enough to rate an Avenger .” 

Excited whispers spread through the group at that announcement. The girls look significantly more excited at the news than the older Widows. They appear uncertain about what this means. 

“I thought the Avengers were arrested.”

 “Do we even need them?” 

“Why didn’t they come with you?” 

The noise starts to get louder and Natasha feels her control of the situation slipping. Not that she was ever a good person in charge of operations. She sits in the background and lets others take charge. She lies in wait for the perfect moment to make her move. She goes in with the knowledge that she will have to improvise her extraction more often than not. 

Which is fine when it’s just her, or her and Clint, or any of the Avengers who tend to just smash their way out of the situation. Here, with 40 Widows and trainees, the game is different. 

Yelena looks sideways at her, eyes serious and calculating. She’s waiting for something, for Natasha to step up. Instead of answering anything, she holds up a USB and a spare vial of serum. 

“Melina’s notes. And the rest of the Widows currently deployed. You’re going to need to replicate the serum to save them all.” Natasha hands them over and pulls away from Yelena, standing on her own two feet. “This is your mission, not mine.” 

Yelena narrows her eyes. 

“I can connect you to some people, but I’ve got another family I need to help. I’m not a leader.” Natasha glances up as she hears the tell-tale noise of a Quinjet coming in to land not far away. “I have my own mission for redemption. You’re the one who pushed for this. I’ll get you to my safe house and to the appropriate connections. You can take it from there.” 

“Natalia-” 

“I’ll help however I can.” She grabs Yelena’s hand and squeezes it. “You’ll always be my sister.” 

Yelena leans forward and rests her forehead against Natasha’s. She closes her eyes and breathes out, sinking into this moment of silence as the girls around them shift at the new presence that has now joined them. 

“Looks like I missed the party.” 

Natasha leans into Yelena, even as she turns to face Steve. He stands a bit away, hands held away from his side to look as unthreatening as possible. His facial hair has grown into a fuller beard and it does weird things to her inside. It also obscures his patriotic jawline further, which is probably the purpose for it. 

“Has anyone ever told you that straight men shouldn’t wear flannel? You look like a hipster.” Yelena says frankly. 

Steve raises an eyebrow and glances at Natasha. She shrugs. It’s not as if she has any control over her sister’s sass. 

“Contrary to conservative belief, I have never claimed to be straight,” Steve throws back. “I left the leather jacket and hoodie combo on the plane.” 

“Someone’s been doing their reading. Seems like a quick learner.” This part is thrown toward Natasha. “I see what you like in him.” 

She scowls at her sister and resists the childhood urge to tell her to shut up. 

Yelena cackles and pulls away from her, clearly reading the annoyance in her facial features. 

“I take it you’re the sister.” 

Yelena hums and then makes a show of peering around Steve. “So where’s your friend? Russian? Murder strut? Good with his hands?” 

Steve stiffens. Natasha resists the urge to groan. “Yelena-” 

“Kidding,” she assures them, waving it off. “You’re too uptight. Although, it’s a pity he’s not here. We had a fun run in Prague.” 

 Natasha stares at Yelena’s back as she flounces off. She looks over at Steve who is frowning at her back with a frown on his face. He looks at her and Natasha can’t do anything but shrug. It’s probably just as likely that Yelena is fucking with them as telling the truth. 

The Widows remind Steve of Bucky when they found him in Romania: skittish and wary. It’s how he imagines Natasha was when she first defected. They all look like they’ve been through battle and none of them are too interested in talking, least of all to him. They speak in whispers and all in Russian as they gather aboard the quinjet. He doesn’t bother telling them he learned Russian after the fall of SHIELD. 

“Hey,” Natasha whispers as she ducks into the cockpit and sits next to him. “I’m going to go with a couple girls in the other jet. Yelena will stay with you. She has the coordinates.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got a safehouse for all of them?” 

“It’s a way station.” She looks back at the crowd of Widows, sorrow in her eyes. “Yelena will use it as a headquarters, and you and I can figure out how we’re going to get our team off the Raft.” 

Our team . Steve likes the sound of that. He’s a bit apprehensive about spending any amount of time alone with Natasha’s sister, but he supposes he doesn’t have any choice right now. 

“You’re not gonna stay with them? Kind of assumed this was part of your making amends.” He speaks evenly, non-judgmental. It’s clear this was something she took personally. 

She smiles. “This wasn’t my mission. It’s Yelena’s. She gets it.” 

“We’re ready back here,” Yelena announces, leaning into the cockpit. She smirks at them. “Are we switching rides? I can guide the other jet.” 

Steve shrugs. This isn’t his rodeo. “I’m just here for whatever you need.” 

The sardonic expression on Yelena’s face makes him question if she and Natasha really are related by blood. It’s definitely an expression he’s seen on Nat’s face more than once. Enough times at any rate that he knows now to shrink under it or shift away. Her expression is sharklike. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Natasha warns as she stands. It’s directed at Yelena, although she spares Steve a final glance before she departs the ship. 

If their relationship was a bit more tactile, he would have squeezed her hand on her way out, but they’re not like that so he settles for a nod before busying himself with take off protocols. Yelena drops into the seat Natasha just vacated and props her booted feet up on the dashboard like it’s nothing. She speaks to tell him the coordinates of their destination and just watches him as they take flight. 

She starts humming once they reach cruising altitude, her foot tapping along to the beat as her eyes rove over him. It takes Steve a moment to recognize the song, but he quickly does thanks to Tony’s goal of only playing songs with America in the title whenever Steve walked into the room. 

He shoots her a look. “Really?” 

She pauses and then grins at him. “It was my favorite song when Natasha and I were undercover. I thought Captain America was all about apple pie.” 

He shakes his head. If she’s met Bucky - and he’s not sure he believes that - then it wouldn’t surprise him they have the same sense of humor. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. And that song’s not about pie.” 

“No, it’s about losing love and everything you believe in.” The green eyes she trains on him are disturbingly perceptive in that moment. She lets that hang in the air for a moment before she looks through the windshield again. “So you and Natasha?” 

He adjusts the flight path with a sigh. 

“Or should I say Natasha, you and Maria?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at her. “Maria was right about you.” 

Yelena grins. “Oh, you’ve been talking about me. So sweet!” 

He snorts. 

“You know I grew up hearing stories about you,” she says conversationally. “Alexei would rant on and on about fighting the mighty Captain America. Started talking about it again when we broke him out of the gulag.” 

“Who?” He can’t remember ever fighting against Russians during the war. Or after it, aside from Natasha and Bucky, if you count Russian operatives. 

She throws back her head and laughs. “I knew he was full of shit.” 

They settle back into silence. Yelena drops her feet from the controls and starts rifling through the pockets of her vest. He spots a variety of weapons, a USB drive, something red, and blinks when she crows in delight and holds up a bar of chocolate. 

She takes a bite and moans in delight. “I would have cried if they took the chocolate,” she tells him. 

“So what are you going to do next?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to attempt to make conversation with Natasha’s sister. 

Yelena stares at him as she eats her chocolate, weighing her desire to answer. Finally she says, “I’m going to protect my family. What about you, Steeeeve ?” 

He doesn’t understand the emphasis on his name, only that it makes him want to blush. 

“What are your intentions with my sister?” 

“If this is where you threaten to kill me if I hurt her, I’m pretty sure she’s got that covered.” 

She grins. “Oh, I know. She guards her heart viciously. And she protects those most important to her.” She looks out the window again. “She considers you family.” 

His heart leaps in his chest. He decides to be honest with her. “She’s my family, too.” 

He doesn’t bother saying that she’s pushed him away in the past or explaining any of it to Yelena. He’ll support Natasha in whatever she wants to do, in whatever capacity that looks like. His hope is that she’ll allow him to be there. 

Yelena grins. “Good answer, Boy Scout.” 

Steve’s jet takes off first. Natasha watches it disappear into the sky, eyes squinted against the dust as the last couple girls climb into the patched-together jet. A couple have already disappeared into the woods, eager to indulge in their hard-won freedom. She feels a bit conflicted about releasing trained assassins into the world but technically she’s on the run from the law so it’s not like she has any right to judge. 

“We’ve got trucks incoming,” the pilot reports. “Looks military.” 

Natasha steps back from the door. “Probably Ross and his goons. Must have gotten a lock on us with the explosion. Better get out of here before they find us.” 

It’s odd being back in the company of so many widows. SHIELD tended to have more male agents than female, especially on STRIKE teams like she was on. With the Avengers it was just her. And then Wanda. Sometimes Maria. But in all honesty, Natasha never felt she fit in well with other women. It was easier to tell where she stood with men. 

The girls around her are hardened and jaded, just as she is. They aren’t openly hostile but clearly cautious around her, not trusting. Even in the brief time since the building exploded, Natasha was able to recognize that they clearly looked to Yelena to lead. 

She joins the pilot at the front of the ship and gives her the coordinates. The girl doesn’t make conversation, only identifies herself as Sofia and then sends Natasha back to get a bandage for her wounds. The widow who has appointed herself medic tends to her wound with silent efficiency. 

“You were the first.” The voice is heavily accented and comes from one of the widows across a bench, IV bag hanging over her head. “Why didn’t you come back?” 

Natasha tugs off her jacket. It’s torn beyond repair or use. She stares at the hourglass logo for a moment before she looks up. More than just the widow who asked is staring at her. “I thought destroying Dreykov would end the Red Room.” 

“You didn’t check the kill,” came a cool voice. 

“Yelena already gave me the speech.” She knows it was a mistake. It’s also the reason why Yelena is the right person to lead the widows as they retire and start their new life. 

“Good.” It’s final. This widow is sitting up, even if she’s nursing her own injuries. Her eyes are cold as Natasha stares at her. “You left us behind, and they tightened the leash.” 

“I’m sorry.” The words are pitiful and they all know it. The truth is that when she got out, she did what she could to end Dreykov but she never checked that the Red Room was gone, not thoroughly. She was just happy to get out. The rest of them suffered. 

“Are we just supposed to follow you now?” The first widow asks. “Do we become part of the Avengers’ rehabilitation program?” 

Natasha huffs. “The Avengers are gone.” 

“Then I must have imagined Captain America flying the other quinjet.” 

“We split up,” she amends. 

“So you decided to rescue us? Good to know where we rank.” 

“You were right. I should have checked the body. I should have come back, but I didn’t. I’m here to help Yelena and then I’m gone.” 

“Abandoning us again.” 

“You don’t need me,” she says softly. “Not any more.” The widows in general were never her family. That was reserved for Yelena. Once Melina and Alexei fell in that category but no longer. “Yelena has what she needs to get the rest of you set up with new lives. You can find the rest of the Widows, make more antidotes, live your lives.” 

“And what will you do?” 

It’s a good question. The judgment in the room has decreased, placated by some semblance of a plan. “Steve and I have our own jailbreak to orchestrate.”

There are nods all around. The jet shudders a bit from air and turbulence, breaking the tension. No one tries to talk to her again, instead having conversation amongst themselves. Natasha rises to her feet and walks back to the cockpit. The adrenaline leaving her system makes space for the pain. She’s reminded of the gas station and Yelena commenting about needing ibuprofen after a fight. 

Sophie looks over at her as she sits down. “Are the Avengers really gone?” 

Natasha gingerly lowers herself into the seat. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?” 

She doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s complicated and nuanced. “We had a difference of opinion on operational restrictions and oversight. And now I’m on the run.” 

Sophie’s eyes dart sideways in surprise. “You?” 

“I had enough of agencies telling me I was doing good and then using me as a tool.” 

Sophie hums in agreement. 

Natasha stares at the sky through the windshield. “So what will you do now?” 

Sophie purses her lips in contemplation. “Eat ice cream.” 

She blinks in surprise. 

“Donuts.” 

Natasha laughs. “Really?” 

Sophie shrugs. “We were on a strict diet. I want to eat everything.” 

“I’ve always been partial to peanut butter and fluff sandwiches.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff, usually on potato bread.” She smiles. “It was the first thing I ate when my partner brought me to his home.” 

“I’ll have to try that too.” 

Natasha shares her grin. She thinks she’s going to have one of those once they reach safety too. Maybe she’ll make a whole batch to share.

Chapter Text

Family Reunion  

“You want to tell me why we’re waiting around in the middle of nowhere?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and lightly tosses the ball in his hands to Sam instead of answering. It’s one of the cheap plastic ones he picked up at a gas station on the way to the safe house in the lovely unpopulated mountains which Sam so eloquently described as the middle of nowhere. He’d prefer a baseball if they had to be throwing a ball around, but according to Shuri, this was best for training Bucky on his new arm’s sensitivity. 

Sam chucks the ball at Bucky, with more force than necessary. It doesn’t mean much as it’s a light ball and Bucky is enhanced, but what follows is more bickering which devolves into a game of dodgeball. 

Steve leaves his friends to it and joins Natasha on the steps of the cabin’s porch. “I don’t know why I thought bringing them along was a good idea.” 

Natasha smirks at him. She passes him a bottle of water. “They’re your friends.” 

“Yeah, Steve. You’re stuck with us,” Sam declares as he falls down on the deck in an ungainly sprawl. “Besides, I’m starting to think you like people who are just as thick-headed as you.” The purple ball bounces off his head. Sam swats at it ineffectively and glares at Bucky. 

The corner of Bucky’s lips twitch in an almost smile that’s become more familiar since his stay in Wakanda. “What does that say about you, Tweety?” 

“Watch it, Tin Can.” 

“Boys, boys,” Natasha cuts in. “Play nice.” 

Bucky responds in Russian. 

Steve picks up the sound of tires on gravel. He tunes out the conversation and taps Natasha’s knee to let her know there’s one car coming. They’re waiting on her contact so it stands to reason that she would know who to expect. 

Bucky twists to look over his shoulder. “You expectin’ someone?” 

The jovial mood has disappeared, replaced with the tense anticipation of action. Steve wishes this wasn’t his reality, that he could just settle down somewhere quiet, but he doesn’t think that will ever be his lot in life. The approaching car fiddles with their radio, adjusting the volume in a pre-agreed upon signal and Steve relaxes a fraction. 

“It’s them.” He reports and then frowns. “And a friendly.” 

“Great. Want to share what the fuss is about?” Sam asks, sitting up and adjusting his shirt. Steve blinks as he realizes it’s got the Captain America shield on it. 

“A friend needs some help. Since we’re not doing much of anything, I offered.” Natasha stands up, brushing non-existent dirt off her pants as a car pulls up. 

Yelena emerges from the driver’s seat, looking a split second away from killing whoever’s with her. A sentiment echoed when the first thing she says to Natasha is “if he talks to me one more time, I’m going to kick him in the face.” 

Yelena pulls away from Natasha and practically shoves her at the passenger side door. Steve doesn’t get a good look at the figure who falls out the door before Yelena is pushing past him. “Please tell me you have vodka.”

“CAPTAIN AMERICA!” 

Steve jerks at the shout reflexively and twists back toward the approaching figure in all red, only for the man to rush past him, eyes fixed on Sam, who looks bewildered.  

“Alexei!” Natasha calls in exasperation. 

“You owe me a rematch! Russian might versus American pie. Let’s go.” He hold his fists up in front of his face, lurching a little from side to side. “What? You afraid to fight me? Ha!” 

“Um, who are you?” Sam asks, looking to Steve for help. 

“Alexei Shostakov,” Yelena introduces. She strides from the house with a bottle of vodka in hand, one which Bucky and Natasha had been sharing, claiming that the rest of them would be unable to handle it. “Red Guardian. Always claimed he ‘beat Captain America,’” she mocks as she drops to the steps. “Meanwhile he can’t even tell who Captain America is.” 

Alexei frowns. “Of course, I know who Captain America is. We fought before. Tell her.” 

Sam looks around for help. Steve pinches his nose. 

“Yeah, tell her, Cap,” Bucky goads. 

Steve opens his eyes only to see that Bucky is teasing Sam. Alexei looks at Bucky, eagerly nodding. 

“Yes, this one knows the truth. He owes me a rematch, doesn’t he?” 

Bucky nods seriously. “Definitely. You deserve the chance to prove yourself against Uncle Sam.” 

“Man, you are so full of shit,” Sam declares. 

“Russian might,” Bucky says with a grin. “Against...what did you say? American pie?” 

“Da! Super soldier against super soldier.” 

“Nope.” Sam declares, standing up and shaking his head. “I’m not gonna get pulled into some overblown contest involving super soldiers. Had enough of that years ago in DC. As far as I’m concerned, the two of them sorted that out when they almost killed each other. I am not involved.”

Alexei blinks in confusion and seems to notice Steve standing there for the first time. He looks between him and Bucky, brows furrowed. “So then...who is Captain America?” 

Steve looks at Yelena, choosing to ignore whatever that is that’s happening. “You need our help?” 

“You look familiar.” 

To his eternal relief, Alexei has turned his attention to Bucky and not Steve. Bucky is looking amused and more than a little bewildered at this encounter. His mechanical hand is shoved in his jacket pocket so it can’t be seen by the newcomers. 

“You’re the Red Guardian,” Bucky fills in for the rest of the crowd. His eyes take on a bit of a far away look which means he’s remembering something from his time as HYDRA’s assassin. “Russian super soldier created by the Red Room.” 

“Another one?” Sam mutters. 

“So you’ve heard of me,” Alexei announces with a huge smile. He turns to Yelena. “Told you I am famous.” 

She snorts and takes a sip from the bottle in her hand. 

“The Red Room?” Steve asks. 

“Not HYDRA,” Bucky says.  

“HYDRA! Pah! Winter Soldier was pale imitation of true Russian might.” Alexei flexes his muscles in demonstration. 

Steve looks from Natasha to Bucky. Natasha looks exasperated. She crosses to Yelena and grabs the vodka bottle to take her own pull of the alcohol. Bucky looks amused by this interpretation of the Winter Soldier as opposed to pained by the reminder of his past. 

“So you’ve fought the Winter Soldier?” Sam asks. 

“I crushed the Winter Soldier. Why do you think he has metal arm?” 

Steve coughs to cover a laugh at the look of incredulity on Bucky’s face. 

Yelena cackles. “You have never fought the Winter Soldier.” 

Bucky grins, the first true one Steve’s seen in this century, and winks at Yelena. Natasha scowls at him, eyes narrowed with a silent threat of death. Yelena looks delighted. 

“You never believe me.” Alexei complains. “It was a dark night. In Moscow. It was snowing.” 

“When was this?” Sam seems curious almost despite himself. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Natasha warns. She steps forward and gestures into the cabin. “Let’s go inside and you can tell us what you need our help with.” 

Alexei grumbles about being promised a fight. Sam leads the way inside, slapping Alexei on the back and assuring the man that he’s sure they can find someone for him to fight. Natasha intercepts Yelena as she saunters over to Bucky. 

“Nope,” Natasha says as she pulls Yelena toward the house. She turns to point threateningly at Bucky. “No.” 

Bucky shakes his head. Steve grins at him and bumps his shoulder. Bucky knocks him back, but he can see the somber mein has returned to Bucky’s stature, the way it does in his quiet moments, like he doesn’t know how he can continue being to carefree after everything that he has done in his long life as the Winter Soldier. Bits of his personality shine through in these little moments but Steve knows that all the death he caused weighs on him. 

“Punk,” Bucky mutters in response to his look. 

“Jerk.” The standard call and response is a confirmation that he’s okay. Sam can pull out the old Bucky in a delightful way but he does then need those moments of quiet. The flirting is more subdued than it was in the 30s but it’s nice to see it all the same. 

Inside, everyone gathers around the wooden table. There are only 4 chairs around the table so Natasha is perched on the counter with Yelena leaning against the space next to her. Sam tosses Steve’s canteen and Bucky’s water bottle at them before he collapses into a chair. The Red Guardian is leaning forward in his seat, eyes focused on Sam.

“So the Winter Soldier-”

Bucky grabs an apple from the counter and sits at the table. “You didn’t fight the Winter Soldier. He trained Widows but he never fought the Red Guardian.” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” 

Steve blinks at the change in Alexei’s joking manner. His eyes sharpen in anger as he leans forward, elbows on the table. 

Bucky shrugs. “Could have been one of the secondary soldiers, but you’re not responsible for the metal arm.” 

“Ripped it right off. Want me to show you?” 

Bucky pulls his glove off and holds up his mechanical hand, now vibranium on loan from Wakanda scientists. “I lost my arm falling off a train.” 

“Alexei, meet the Winter Soldier,” Natasha says blandly, gesturing at Bucky grandly. “If you’re done-” 

“Bullshit,” Alexei declares. 

He devolves into rapid Russian. Steve’s learned a lot of the language but he doesn’t bother trying to follow along too closely. Sam looks alarmed by the shouting in Russian from Natasha, Alexei and even Yelena. Bucky looks amused as he munches on his apple. 

“Even my goats are quieter than this lot,” he mutters to Steve. “Nicer, too,” he adds after a sharp comment. 

“People who shot me don’t get to make commentary,” Natasha interjects, in English again. 

“He shot you?” 

Steve decides it’s probably better to intervene now, before the conversation devolves once more into pointless arguments. “Yelena, you wanted our help?” 

She nods decisively and steps forward, dropping the vodka bottle on the wooden table with finality. “Right. As you know, we have been tracking down and resettling Widows. One week ago, Nadia and Iris went to extract a Widow from France. Alexei was the last to see them and they sent him to me. Last missed check in was five days ago. No contact since. Yani followed to recon and we lost contact with her too.” 

“What do you need from us?” Steve asks. 

“They’re expecting Widows.” Yelena stares at him pointedly. 

Despite not speaking to him since he dropped the liberated Widows as Natasha’s way station in Siberia, Yelena has somehow managed to get a hold of his phone number and continues to send him out of context memes. She doesn’t continue conversations or maintain any kind of steady stream but she’s managed to threaten him creatively none-the-less. She wouldn’t respond to his texts, so he started sending her back memes and gifs, and they’ve actually been in contact more than anyone since he came out of the ice. Which might be because he’s on the run now. 

“What’s the plan?” Natasha frowns at her sister, arms crossed. Steve’s noticed she’s a bit more protective of them since they broke the rest of the team out of the Raft. She’s settled more into the idea of the team as family. He knows it’s painful for her not to be able to reach out regularly to Clint, Laura and the kinds but she’s pushing through. “None of them are spies. Infiltration is not their specialty.” 

“Not covertly anyway,” Sam mutters. 

Steve sighs. “I don’t know why you think I can’t be covert. I’ve been on the run quite successfully for almost a year now.” 

“Well, Stevie, could be that you spent most of your time in tights so bright they could be spotted from outer space,” Bucky drawls. “Or the fact that you’re a tank who runs right up and bashes in the front door.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s an argument disproved by his recent history but it’s also true that covert infiltration is beyond him. 

“I’m thinking sending a tank at the front door and a smaller team covertly to locate the operatives.” Yelena points to him as the tank and then Natasha. She gestures next to herself and Bucky. 

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky says, pushing back from the table. “I don’t do that anymore. It’s a condition of my parole.” 

Yelena narrows her eyes. Steve prepares to intervene if necessary, but she simply shrugs. “I don’t care who. You can infiltrate without death as long as they don’t get back up, I don’t care.” 

Maria isn’t sure what she was expecting when she showed up at the safe house. She’s heard about the appearance of fugitives in France, and how Ross and the Accords had gotten wrapped up in a multinational power scheme involving an international security syndicate which got tangled inexplicably in with Ross’s attempt to apprehend Falcon, Captain America, and the Black Widow. She knew vaguely that they were going to help Natasha’s sister with something but, as per her usual standard, Maria had refrained from getting any details, choosing instead to hang on to her plausible deniability. 

The clearing with the cabin is empty, or at least appears that way. She parks her car at the end of the driveway, tucked in beside a neatly stacked pallet of wood. Maria’s phone lies in pieces in the passenger seat beside her, disassembled so that she can’t be tracked by overzealous and suspicious employers (*cough* Tony Stark *cough*). 

Gravel crunches under her feet as she makes her way from the driveway over to the cabin. The place looks more lived in than when she last visited to set up for the visiting fugitives: the light debris on the porch was cleaned up, the layer of dirt removed. It even looks like someone did some gardening. 

“You made it.” 

Maria grins. “Wasn’t sure I’d make it in time.” She turns to Natasha, heart swelling as she finally lays eyes on the red head. “Didn’t want to get your hopes up.” 

Natasha rises on her toes to press a light kiss to Maria’s lips. It’s chaste but it lingers on a contented hum. Maria leans in to Natasha’s touch, closing her eyes to savor the moment. Her hand cups Natasha’s cheek. If she were any less a spy, there might be tears in her eyes. She thought she had lost this with the Accords. She rests her forehead against Natasha’s and breathes in her subtle, warm scent. 

“You okay?” 

Natasha hums in an affirmative, brushing a thumb over Maria’s cheek. 

Maria opens her eyes to stare into Natasha’s green eyes. There’s a light dancing in them with an abandon she hasn’t seen before. Freedom she hadn’t witnessed in their years together and with SHIELD. There had been glimpses before after the Battle of New York, when she was joking with Clint’s kids, but this is new. 

“I missed you.” Natasha’s eyes catch on something behind Maria. She doesn’t have to look to know who it is as Natasha’s grin widens. “We both did.” 

Maria twists to look at Steve leaning against the cabin door without actually separating from Natasha. They finally have time. There’s no immediate danger, no threat they have to run from right this instant. 

“How was Paris?” Maria walks arm in arm up to the porch, eyes darting around for the terrible twosome who follow Steve around. They made quite a mess. 

“Is that really what you want to talk about?” Steve asks, pushing off the door frame. 

Maria raises an eyebrow. 

“Sam’s bringing Bucky back to Wakanda. Yelena is already gone. It’s just us,” Natasha explains to the unasked question. Her fingers intertwine with Maria’s and she walks backwards into the cabin, pulling Maria along as Steve captures her with a deep kiss, filthy in complete juxtaposition to Natasha’s chaste peck.  “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

It’s been too long since they were all in one place together and they don’t waste any more time, surrendering to their desires. For the moment, they’re free. And they’ve learned to capitalize on every moment they can get.