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Chapter Text

Ohio

October 1992

Natalia Romanova, who was now known as Natasha St. Martin in this new American world she could be found in, prided herself on having been one of the top students in the Red Room Academy. Not only was she academically gifted, but she had a natural affinity for athletics – which came in handy. She also wasn’t gullible, falling for the niceties that their professors scarcely gave the girls. Natasha was always aware that it was only a matter of time before the adults went back to being cruel and cunning. She’d discovered long ago that the best way to deal with this was to become separate from oneself – because if they truly saw you, the treatment would be worse.

Since she was one of the best students, the best in her year, she was of course chosen for the Ohio Mission. She remembered the training for it clearly: five of the best girls competing to see who could memorise their given back stories the fastest, who could speak English without the telltale sign of a Russian accent, and who could bond with their chosen younger sister. The younger girls had been chosen from the newest cohort of students – barely old enough to leave the nursery yet to start in the academy.

She had been the best of them all.

Living in America though? It wasn’t as easy as all the training made it out to be. It was an incredible learning curve for the girl – and the fact that she was incredibly talented and adapted well didn’t help. It wasn’t just the daily traditions that were a stark difference from her life in the academy, that was difficult, but it was the Americanisms she had to wrap her brain around, the food that hurt her stomach, and the rapid English all around her that blended into a symphony of gibberish mutterings. But, what got her the most: the familial connections that all children seemed to have with their parents that was hard to fake, and the emotional children with no adults fighting to put them back in their place. Here, emotions weren’t just freely expressed, but they appeared to be some sort of currency that she hadn’t yet figured out. They expressed in a way words could not: from a tantrum at a grocery store to a delighted scream at the park.

And Natasha didn’t understand any of it.

Even at home, this emotional life seemed to be at the forefront of their everyday lives. Yelena had adapted to this new world the best. She was a toddler, just three years old, and children that young understood the world in a way that no older child nor adult could understand. The more English they spoke to her, or was spoken around her by the Americans, the more that Yelena forgot her mother tongue. The more they were around other children, the more the younger girl mimicked the way they were and went from being reserved to being rambunctious and loud.

Despite the logic and reasoning behind her sister’s ability to adapt, it still irked Natasha to no end. While she wasn’t fumbling in social interactions, she saw the way the other girls occasionally looked at her as if she was from a different planet. While she had to hold back in academics, gymnastics, and ballet, Yelena could try her best because her best wasn’t miles ahead of where a normal girl her age should have been. Yelena laughed freely; Natasha laughed without understanding what was funny.

School did help. Since most of what her curriculum called for that year Natasha had already learnt, she was able to pay passive attention to the lectures while actually discretely studying the other students. Watching the way they rested their head on their hands in class like their brains were too heavy to hold up, the way they spoke out of turn and barely got in trouble, the scratching of their 2B pencils on the college ruled paper even when they were so dull that they barely made a mark. She was also able to blend in when playing on the playground: falling off the monkey bars at the correct time, and pretending not to know where the other girls were when playing grounders.

Yes, Natalia Romanova may have may have been the top student at the Red Room Academy; but Natasha St. Martin would be the most unimportant American child in the grade 3 class of 1992.

“What’s this?” she had known the question was coming but still, Natasha ducked her head down as she worked on her social studies assignment at the table. As she did every night, her ‘mom’ was going through hers and Yelena’s backpacks. Mostly, it was to make sure there was no food at the bottom that could go bad, or in her sisters case, rocks that she decided were pretty and needed to come home for the back yard collection. Their mom also went through their agenda’s, signing off on the daily notes their teachers left them, so they’d get their congratulatory stickers the next day.

She had known it was futile to hope that Melina Vostokova (also known as the Iron Maiden; though that title had been revoked for the more mundane title of mom) would overlook something; but still, Natasha had wished it more than anything. Had even wished upon a twinkling star one night like in the stupid nursery rhyme – though she was pretty sure it had actually been a satilite in the sky and not a star. So that could’ve been her issue.

“Natasha?” she could hear the raised eyebrow in her moms voice. Natasha glanced up from under her hair at the flyer that Melina was now looking over with interest. It was colourful, printed on bright orange paper with drawings of pumpkins and bara and Frankenstein’s monster. “A halloween party?”

“I do not want to go.” Natasha muttered towards her homework.

Like with all important American holidays, Natasha’s instructors had insured she knew the history of Halloween before crossing the pacific. It had roots in the Pagen Samhain festival for celebrating the harvest. It was believed that during this time the barriers between the spirit and mortal worlds would open up and allow interactions between the worlds. The jack o’lanterns were originally turnips meant to ward off evil, which was the same reason that other cultures wore scary costumes.

Something Natasha didn’t understand though, was how those celebrations had morphed into what they were now; and why children had such a fascination with it. Ghosts, zombies, and vampires weren’t scary: the men in suits who watched over little girls chained to beds were scary. Everything else was child’s play, which she supposed made sense considering it was marketed for children

“I appreciate that you are voicing your opinions and thoughts.” Melina began, putting the flyer down and walking around the counter. She stopped beside the table, pulling her designated seat across from Natasha out and sitting down. Her hands folded together on the table as if they were entering negotiations, and Natasha mirrored the older widow. Her homework laid forgotten, pushed aside for this more pressing issue. “But I think it would be in the best interest of the family for you to go to this party.”

“Why?” Natasha demanded, brows furrowing and a frown on her face. A startled look crossed Melina’s for a moment before disappearing behind the mask the older woman wore. “I don’t understand the holiday. I don’t want to dress up and pretend to be scary when it’s all stupid make believe.”

Melina regarded her for a second, eyes critical as they analysed her. Natasha looked down, away from her gaze, not comfortable with the amount of attention focused on her. Without meaning to, her mind slipped back to a time with another woman looked at her with this critical gaze. The sound of heels on blood soaked cement as the peer Natasha hadn’t wanted to kill laid prone on the floor in front of her.

“You asked me, when we moved here, what your assignment could be within the parameters of the mission.” Natasha was brought out of her memories, perking up slightly as she looked at Melina. Her whole life before this had comprised of tasks and missions; all this freedom she had been given felt unnatural. This was also the first time in months that Melina had spoken to her directly about the mission. It was an unspoken secret in the household – Natasha only knowing when it was being discussed by the washing machine and dryer being turned on when her parents locked themselves in the basement. So the fact that Melina appeared to be giving her a part peaked Natasha’s interest.

Melina leaned forward slightly, conspiratorially, and Natasha followed suit. “Your assignment is to father information on the others while at this party. Learn about Halloween from a child’s perspective, the customs of the American children and their families.”

Natasha looked at her skeptically. “What would that tell you?”

“What wouldn’t that tell me?” Melina repeated back with feigned surprise, almost as if she was sharing a secret. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know anything about this either. Knowing the traditions of other families not only gives us more information for acting like them, but can be useful for using against them later.” Natasha looked at her unconvinced. “You go to school with many of dads coworker’s children. Finding out information about them could help him while at the institute. Establish a relationship.”

“He does need help.” Natasha acquiesced as she thought about the frustration Alexei had begun feeling. He did try to hide it from her and Yelena, but at night when she couldn’t sleep she could hear him ranting to Melina about her. “Okay, fine. But I will not be happy about it.”

“You don’t have to be happy about it.” Melina confirmed, finally sitting back in her seat. Body language open. “You can feel whatever emotions you want.”

“I don’t let it get in the way of the mission though.” Natasha said with too much seriousness for a seven-year-old. She held out her hand, pinkie out. A piece of American that had wrapped around her without her realising it. Melina looked at her for a moment, glancing between her face and her hand, before reaching out and wrapping her pinkie around Natasha’s. “I promise.

Much to Yelena’s very vocal displeasure, the costume that Natasha wore to the party wasn’t the one she had picked out for going trick-or-treating the next night. Natasha didn’t exactly want to go to a party filled with her classmates dressed as Ariel, though she would later find out that if she had she would have blended into the background more. When she walked into James Costello’s house she clocked at least three other Ariels – with their stringy red wigs and sea-shell bikini tops over plain white long sleeves. Natasha herself has chosen a classic for this party.

A ghost.

“Natalie’s here!” Mrs. Costello yelled out into the labyrinth of yelling children. A pirate with an eye patch and a paper wooden leg taped onto jeans appeared with a. grin on his face.

“Nat!” James cheered, lurching forward and grabbing her hand. He dragged her further into the house, not even allowing her to take off her rain boots. It was decorated with fake cobwebs that clung to the corners of the room, and caution tape that stretched across archways and between picture frames. Plastic spiders were placed in bowls, and shiny foil skeletons hung on the walls. Half the lights had been dimmed, and the other half had their normal light bulbs replaced with bright red ones. “Come on, we’re playing games in here.”

Glancing around, Natasha’s confusion continued to simmer. Wasn’t the point of Halloween to be scary and ward off the evil spirits? Barely any of the kids that surrounded her were dressed scary: the twins with Mickey and Minnie Mouse, there were multiple princesses (another two Ariels, she counted), pirates, and one prince charming. She saw someone else from one of the other grade 3 classes in a skeleton onesie, and someone else in a purple and black vampire’s cape. There was even a Gypsy and a conquistador. Nothing that exactly screamed terror to the red head.

She was brought into the kitchen, where in the middle of the floor sat a tub surrounded by towels. There were red apples bobbing inside (unhygienic), children carving pumpkins with sharp knives (dangerous unless trained, which she doubted any of them were); and in the adjacent living room, kids were jumping, running around, and dancing to so-called Halloween music.

It was all overwhelming, to say the least.

Staring around at everything like a deer caught in headlights, Natasha didn’t realise until it was too late (something that in her real life would have gotten her killed) that she was being dragged over to the bobbing for apples station. She was unceremoniously dropped to her knees in front of the tub, and suddenly she was no longer in a room full of joyful children and instead in an isolated cement cell. A guard standing behind her, tight grip on her hair, shoving her face underwater even as she screamed. Trying to breath when she was let up without the water going into her lunges – gasping for breath as soon as she was let up. Only to be dunked under once again.

“She can’t get to the apples.” Jordan, one of the girls from her class pointed out. She motioned to the sheet that covered Natasha was head to toe – and Natasha was eternally grateful for it hiding her face from the other kids.

“But everyone has to take a turn.” James complained, stomping his foot on the ground in such a fashion that she knew her mom would never put up with.

“She can play later, dear.” His mom said, placating him. Natasha glared at him from under the sheet, though it was unnoticed by the pouting boy. She stood back up, dusted off her sheet, and backed away from the tub as another one of her classmates took her spot in line.

After that she was virtually ignored. Which suited her just fine as she wandered through the rooms and observed both the other children and the activities they were taking part in. As she’d predicted, one of the twins cut their hand while carving a smiling face into a pumpkin; Tommy and Shelby smacked their hears together while playing twister in the living room, and right after another child running through the room stepped on Tommy’s hand. An old Disney Halloween movie played on the television, and for a moment Natasha was mesmerised by the dancing black and white skeletons on the screen before realising that the reason they seemed so different from the last time she’d watched this program, was that were was no long a quiet subliminal voice accompanying the music.

Eventually, as unseen as a ghost, Natasha made her way under the caution tape and headed up the stairs to the part of the house that was off limits to the party goers. First there was James bedroom – messy, with toys and clothes strewn about the floor. There were multiple different Halloween costumes scattered on the bed to choose from. Then there was the parents bedroom, reminding her in a way of Melina and Alexei’s. It was beige with blank walls besides the stereotypical children’s baby photos and wedding photos that hung between the master bathroom door and the closet door. In the ensuite there were small plastic wrapped decorative soaps that smelt like acidic perfume, and a dirty razor. In Mrs. Costello’s bedside table drawer there was a bible, some postcards from Missouri, and expensive lotion. In Mr. Costello’s there were condoms, a pocketknife, and hidden at the back in a small box there was a beeper with a message on it from someone named Barbara.

It was only on her last stop of the exploration that she bumped into someone.

Terrance McLeroy was one of the quietest kids in class – honestly, she was surprised he had even been invited to the party in the first place considering she’d never seen him to talk to James. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, headband with homemade cat ears clutched in his hands, flicking back and forth. She tilted her head slightly as she watched him, confused as to why he seemed to be avoiding everyone. At least she had the mission as her reason.

“I can see you.” He said glumly without looking up. “Just cause you’re dressed like a ghost, doesn’t mean you are one.”

“I know that.” Natasha stepped further into the room, still watching him closely, He was closed off. “I didn’t think you wanted me to say anything.” He shrugged slightly at her words. Finally, she was in the room fully and sat down beside him on the edge of the tub. It was obvious that he was upset, his eyes were downcast and there were remnants of tears on his cheeks. Natasha though had never been taught how to emotionally connect with someone who was upset. Sure, with Yelena it was fairly easy, and she was forging some sort of relationship out of closeness and necessity with both Melina and Alexei. But other children? They seemed to be to be out of her learning level. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

He glanced over at her. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

Natasha bristled slightly. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” She pointed out. It was true. She had a reputation on the playground of calling out the bullies, which made her both a formable ally and enemy.

“I don’t know why I’m here.” He finally confided in her. “Halloween isn’t my thing.”

“I don’t understand it either.” Natasha admitted.

“No, I mean– I don’t celebrate Halloween. My parents don’t believe in that type of stuff. I had to lie to come here. That’s why my costume sucks. And Jonah Williams said that too, because apparently only girls dress up as cats. How was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t think cats are necessarily gendered.” Natasha offered, not really knowing what to say to his admissions. In all her research, American children celebrated Halloween. It had never occurred to her that some might now.

“I just… I don’t want to miss out on this. But, even though I’m here, I feel like I’m still missing out on the excitement that everyone else has.” She had to agree with him on that. Sometimes not understanding was worse when you were around people who did. “I mean… I didn’t go to school on dress up day because mom said she didn’t want me to feel left out. And I always thought I wanted to at least see that was going on. But now I feel more alone than I did when I didn’t.”

Perhaps there was something to going to these things even if they didn’t want to. Just like Terrance, Natasha didn’t understand this part of childhood that she was apparently missing. Dressing up, going out to get candy from strangers like they hadn’t just been taught in school not to take candy from strangers. None of it made sense to her.

Even if he was missing this though, there was still lots he would get to experience. And Natasha didn’t get that. She wouldn’t get a childhood free of the hauntings of an organization oceans away. She could pretend to be a normal kid all she wanted, but nothing would ever make her forget the notion that she was always being watched. The feeling of those who were lurking in the shadows ready to strike as soon as she failed.

Perhaps that was the true horror: not the unknown, but the knowing.

Chapter Text

31 October 2007

What most would notice when first walking into part was the ambiance: the black fabric draped over ornate cloth walls; candles burning low on lace covered tables; dark costumes worn by the inhabitants and glittering masks placed delicately over their faces; and the low string heavy music. What she noticed: the way the patrons eyes shifted towards each other with distrust while also looking as though they were trying to communicate secrets without words; the faint blinking of a green like just barely peeking out from behind the curtains; and the woman in similar masks leaning against the wall waiting for their marks to come and ask them to dance.

From her right, a hand faintly touched her elbow. Even though she barely turned her head, Natasha could see Clint behind the mask beside her. The man who’d brought her into this new secret organisation had gone from being her begrudging partner to now (tentative, because nothing was ever forever) friend. His mask had a plague-doctor bird-like quality to it: the glittering gold faint behind the dark purple accents. In the beading around the eyes, she could see her own distorted reflection – the red of her own mask closer to drying blood than the colour of her hair. So dark, in fact, that in the shadows of the candlelight it looked black. The mask stood out against her pale skin, green eyes striking as she looked around dispassionately.

“Maxwell Dumas – our reports are showing his mask is gold and blue.” Coulson’s voice rung out into their ears as they each scanned different parts of the hall. Slowly, Natasha left Clint’s side and headed into the throngs of people, while her partner kept to the edges. Neither wanted to seem too cozy with the other for credible fears that someone would compromise them; but also, it was easier to gather information when you appeared to be alone rather than in a group. Easier when her full brain could be focused on the mission, rather than recounting all the interactions that led her to that room.

It had been two months since the events of Budapest. Two months since she had set up a bomb in her old world and watched it blow up into pieces. Two months since she and Clint had been stuck in a crawl space in the metro station for two days – playing tic-tac-toe, rationing their already meagre rations, and waiting on evac. Of her watching woman who had been in her place search for them, knowing that even though Dreykov was dead that there would be someone new to take his place; but still hoping that there wouldn’t be.

Never had Natasha wanted to die more.

“Blue isn’t exactly the best descriptor, man.” Clint commented quietly, his ease with their handler still shocking Natasha even a year later. She couldn’t help but note though that Clint was correct. It seemed like almost everyone was wearing blue and gold masks; so much so that she wondered if there was a dress code they’d missed. But then someone passed her in a hideous orange/red mask that they obviously had made themselves and thought was attractive, and realised that it was just some sort of fad.

“What do you want me to say? Dark blue? I’m not an artist, Barton.” Coulson bit back, annoyed.

“Indigo, navy, denim, berry, midnight-” as Clint listed off what felt like every possible shade of dark blue, Natasha glanced around the crowd and zoomed in on one man. His mask was Phantom of the Opera style – but instead of white, it was midnight blue silk accented with gold stars that sparkled as he moved in the candlelight.

His face though, it wasn’t like the images she had been shown. It wasn’t thin, angular, and clean shaven; instead, rounder, cheeks full, white stubble and beady eyes. As familiar to Natasha as staring in a mirror. She stared back at the man who had caught her eyes in thinly veiled shock, only just able to school her facial expression enough not to give away her unease. He still noticed her watching him though, and when his head turned to face her his eyes were no longer dark brown but a lighter hazel. Skin youthful, angular, familiar only because of the photograph in the dossier.

Her mind was screaming.

Natasha blinked. Classical music surrounded her against along with the murmuring of the other guests’ conversations. Clint and Coulson still bickered in her ear. And Maxwell Dumas was walking towards her, having obviously caught her staring. The crowd parted for him as if his very presence commanded it, and it was too like another man for her to feel any ease.

“I don’t believe I caught your name.” he spoke smoothly, lowly, obviously used to women falling for him easily. Natasha was nothing if not dedicated to the part and looked up at him coyly through her eyelashes.

“I don’t believe I gave it.” She tased lightly, holding out her hand. Instead of shaking it, he took it and kissed the back.

“I knew I would have remembered the name of such as beautiful creature.” He winked, the look one Natasha had gotten her whole life. She kept the chill that ran down her spine hidden; and instead of showing her disgust, smiled up at him and fluttered her lashes.

“Natalie.”

“What a beautiful name.” he didn’t let go of her hand. In fact, if possible, he held onto it tighter as he observed her. “If I had known someone like you would be in attendance, I would’ve found you much sooner.”

“Well, I’m here now.” She replied, tucking a piece of loose hair behind her ear with her free hand. He tilted his head towards the dance floor, and Natasha glanced at it for a moment before squeezing his hand lightly. He led her out, hand still in his, the other patrons parting for them like the red sea, stopping to watch the beautiful couple as they made their way out onto the dance floor. The couple joined the formal formation for the next dance, Maxwell finally letting go of her hand so she could move into her spot.

The candles flickered around them with the force of the movements as they started to dance in time with the others out on the floor. The dance was in perfect harmony, so much so that one would think it was choreographed. All the steps in perfect order, on time with the music. It was simple, and Natasha (not having to pay as much attention to where she moved) glanced over Maxwell’s shoulder as she was turned and saw Clint’s blue eyes watching her through the crowd. He nodded unnoticed by all but her, the coms quiet for now as he and Coulson watched to make sure her cover hadn’t been broken. Her eyes were dragged away from him, across the crowd, and back up to the man whose arms she was currently in. This was a dangerous game, one that she had played many times. Yet, this somehow felt different.

“What do you do?” Natasha asked demurely, watching the curiosity behind his eyes as he looked down at her.

“Scoping out the prospects?” he asked back, a hint of a teasing smile on his lips. Natasha simply tilted her head slightly as she regarded him.

“Just trying to get to know you.” She let herself be led into a spin, spine arching elegantly as she turned – memories of a time doing this thousands of times on pointe engrained into her muscles. The violinists started Caprice no. 24, but the duo never changed the pace of their dance. Instead, those moving faster around simply moved around them in neat and practiced twirls that Natasha felt her body yearn to replicate – the years of dancing in conformity attempting to take center stage.

“I run a non-profit for those escaping war through South Africa.” He explained to her as he swept her around the room. The hem of her black dress never quite hitting the floor with the force of their movements.

“South Africa? Sounds interesting.” She said, morphing her facial expression.

“Not nearly as much as it sounds, I’m afraid.” He complained lightly, spinning the two of them in time with the others. “We aren’t working out of any of the metropolitan centres. More near the boarders. Bende Mutale, if that means anything to you.” Natasha lightly shrugged her shoulders. She had no complete memories of it, though some fleeting ones of driving past in a dark windowed van in her mid-teens.

“And what do you do, exactly? In Africa?” he twirled her again, which felt excessive, but she didn’t voice that. He let out a low chuckle, grinning down at her with a look that she supposed was meant to be mysterious.

“That’s classified, love.” She nodded, giving a shy smile as if she was backing down from the inquiry. Truthfully, that was more than they’d known before. Going into the mission, the intelligence had given them a broad location; so as long as he wasn’t trying to trick them, they now had a succinct location to look at.

“Ops is getting the satellites into position.” Coulson updated them. If they were able to verify this information quickly, Natasha could get Maxwell to a private location and she and Clint could arrest him. She was distracted though, when someone else’s movements caught her eyes. She was barely able to stop herself from doing a double take. In the crowd she saw familiar beady eyes watching her – eyes she’d thought she saw early that night. The man lifted a champagne glass to his mouth, eyes never leaving her. Natasha knew she needed to get out of there, but before she could excuse herself, he disappeared from view as she was moved by Maxwell like a boneless doll.

The issue was that suddenly when she focused her gaze back into the crowd there was another Dreykov. He was dancing with a dark-haired woman across the circle from her, a dark red streak coiled into the woman’s hair. He shot a smirk towards her right before she was swept in another direction, Maxwell talking her ear off though she couldn’t hear a word he said as another Dreykov appeared.

Perhaps this was her penance for her actions two months before. The girls had always been taught that the Red Room was their home, their everything, and that they would never truly be able to leave it even if they tried. Perhaps they’d known she would be there and there were agents hiding throughout the room ready to collect the infamous Black Widow? Dreykov would never allow them to kill her, she was too important. But maim? Well, all assets had to be managed somehow.

To be put through the system again and again until they complied without hesitance.

Why hadn’t she gone back? On the way out of Budapest, and the adrenalin that had coursed through her body for days had subsided, she’d realised that she and Clint had never gone back to check for a body. Why hadn’t they gone back to check for his body? As much as she had begged, tried to commandeer the controls, she had been told no. Had been knocked out for her own safety as well as theirs.

Was it so farfetched to think that the man that had been regarded as a god had survived and wanted revenge?

“I’m sorry– I need to–” Natasha cut off Maxwell as she extracted herself from his arms, barely registering the confused look on his face.

“Black Widow? Status?” she could hear Coulson in her ear but couldn’t respond.

“Natasha, what’s wrong?” it was Clint this time, but she was drowning and could only barely hear him through the crashing of the waves. The sounds bubbled away from her as she tried to push her way through the crowd and to an exit. Away from the Dreykov’s who were surrounding her, taunting her. She could feel them closing in. Until, they stopped and parted, all silent and staring accusatorily at her.

She was there.

Natasha hadn’t known her name at the time until the obituary came out. Saw her mother distraught on the news crying about her little girl’s death. Dreykov’s daughter. Burns marring the side of her face, twin braids singed, schoolgirls uniform torn and drenched with blood. Staring at her, large eyes glazed over: dead.

“Are you alright?” Natasha whirled around, thankfully keeping her instincts to lash out under control. Maxwell looked down at her with worried eyes, and she could almost forget for a moment that he was involved with international human trafficking. Coulson and Clint were still talking in her ear, trying to get her attention; there were sounds of the extraction teams being called and SWAT being organised as more people in his organisation were identified at the party. All of it had disappeared for it though behind the sound of her own blood pumping. “How about we get some air, yeah?”

Natasha was unable to reply, all words stuck in her throat as he led her away from the masses. She turned her head to look back at where Dreykov’s daughter had been standing, but all that was left of her was a shadow.

Natasha was so transfixed that she didn’t realise until it was too late that she’d been led out of the ballroom and into one of the back, secluded halls. Out there, the gothic decor had disappeared and in its place was the rich opulence that the wealthy estate boasted. The decorative moulding on the walls was pure white, and the walls a pale blue fabric inset that only looked different from the white because of the light. It was still dim, though more because of the darkness outside of the windows and the scarceness of wall sconces than flickering candles that cast menacing shadows. Looking up at Maxwell, she finally was able to recognise the worry on his face as he looked down at her.

As well as something else more sinister.

“I’m sorry.” She apologised, letting herself slip back into the role she was straying from. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You know, they say Halloween is a time when the veil between the spirit world and our world is at its thinnest, allowing interactions between the two.”

“You can’t actually believe that?” Natasha asked, raising a brow, feeling more like herself as the seconds went on and she was separated from whatever had happened back there. Being more like herself though meant she was more perceptive to the situation she’d found herself in.

She was on edge.

“Black Widow, location?” Coulson asked, worry evident in his voice.

“North exist. Behind the ridiculous moose tapestry.” Clint advised. There was no relief though, so much could happen between now and them finding her.

“I don’t. But do you?” he reached out a hand, tenderly tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear – and expertly pulling out her earpiece and flicking it to the ground. Crushing it beneath his foot. She winced slightly, knowing the grating feedback that Clint would be getting. “Because, really, that’s the only reason the Black Widow would look so spooked.”

Her eyes flickered towards him for a moment, before placing a bored look on her face as he pushed her towards the wall and crowded her in. A bad move if she had her widow bites, but unfortunately those hadn’t been able to hide enough with her outfit. And with the way her arms were trapped, she wasn’t able to reach her knife. Even without those though, she was still a formidable player; she just needed to see what his next move was.

“Who are you?” she asks, keeping her voice low – very aware that only meters away from where they were was a ballroom full of innocent people that didn’t need to be harmed.

“You full well know who I am.” He sneered, pressing her harder against the wall – the moulding pressing into her spine uncomfortably. “What you didn’t take into consideration during your little act, Natalia, was what would happen after you kill Dreykov.” The words sent a cold chill down her spine. “That he would have a contingency plan for your little act. He knew you were coming after him, it was obvious. He knew that he died, you had to, too.”

“Interesting.” She mumbled, acting stunned as his hand travelled up the slit of her dress.

“Untraceable. The dark web is a video game for children. Dreykov knew that. He had a different network. One that made it as easy to take down girls as it was to get them.” Natasha watched him for a moment, letting him have his fun; because really, this was a dance she had done many times. This job, SHIELD, it really wasn’t that much different from the Red Room. Take power and give power. Only now, she was using her body for good.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Natasha said sincerely before ramming her forehead into his nose. Stunned, he stumbled backwards. It was enough time and momentum for Natasha to get her knife out and attack. Maxwell had no chance as she got him onto the floor, pulling out a tie to get his arms behind his back.

The next moment, Clint was there and taking over. Other SHIELD agents appearing out of nowhere to gather their victim. Natasha stood back and wiped the blood off her forehead as she watched Clint manhandle the man into standing up.

“You good?” he asked her, back still turned as he was handed the electromagnetic cuffs. He locked them over the ties she already placed, as well as using a needle to stab Maxwell Dumas with a tracker in case he tried to flee.

“Good.” She confirmed with a nod. “There’s an exit at the end of this hall. We can use that to avoid attention.”

“Alright.” Clint agreed, turning Maxwell.

Except, it wasn’t Maxwell.

Dreykov stared at her, sneering, through his yellow tinted glasses. His hands were still behind his back, but he was powerful enough with just his words. There was a gleam in his eyes, one that told her he wasn’t done with her yet.

“Your sister, she was just as good as you.” He quipped.

“What do you just say?” Natasha growled, hands clenching at her sides. He didn’t look scared though, if anything he was amused. Clint looked at her oddly, his questions of Nat? What’s going on? Were ignored by her as she kept her focus on Dreykov. The General gave her a knowing look and opened his mouth; but before he could speak, she attacked.

Clint’s voice was muddled in the background as she knocked Dreykov onto his back, ignoring the popping of shoulders as they were forced further back due to the impact. Her fists made contact with his face, growing bloodier and bloodier as his bone cracked sickly against the marble – his head hitting the floor repeatedly. All her anger was pouring out of her body at the man who had created her; who’d taken her away from her family and made her into a killer.

She fought until her arms shook and she was pulled away. Clint pressing her back against the walls, her arms held above her head in his hands. His voice was still gone as he tried to calm her down from the rage that spilled over. She looked back over his shoulder.

Dreykov was gone.

Maxwell Dumas laid there, unrecognisable.

Dead.

Chapter Text

31 October 2018

The world had collectively decided, in a rare show of mutual solidarity, that despite the hardships and mass destruction that had occurred over the past couple of months, that life should go on for the children that remained as normally as possible. At least, for one night.

Halloween hadn’t been cancelled despite some calling for it. Some politicians touted that it was too difficult to cancel the holiday since it wasn’t federal – stating people would still do what they wanted; others saying that it would be good for the children to see the world like it had been. One night of costumes wouldn’t hide the chaos that ensued the world, though. Why would they need a night dedicated to horror when someone could just look outside their window and see the disarray left behind from the snap? Parents gone; siblings gone; children gone. Missing posters tacked to the side of buildings and fallen, tangled up on the side of the road – because soon enough they had realised that nobody was missing: they were just gone.

Steve, ever the optimist, had told Natasha he would handle monitoring the channels of communication that night, before pushing her out of the office. Natasha hadn’t stepped outside of the Avengers compound in weeks, preferring to be the one handling all the information pouring in. To be in control of the uncontrollable. Talking to Okoye, Captain Marvel, their other contacts around the world (and universe) who were simultaneously trying to figure out how to reverse this catastrophe without Thanos. Natasha wasn’t naïve enough to believe it would work; but living with the Americans for so long had instilled enough hope in her heart that it would.

Since she was out of the compound for the night, she’d gone to the safehouse that she and Clint had maintained since their SHIELD days in the city. The rundown loft apartment in Bed Stuy had been SHIELD funded once upon a time, and after they’d collapsed, Stark had generously (though she scoffed at that, he always had his own agenda) kept it running for them. Clint had gone their less and less as time went on and his family grew, but Natasha maintained it as almost her permanent residence (as permanent as she allowed herself to be). She’d rather stay there than the old Avengers tower where there were always eyes watching. Now adays, she hoped that Clint would see it as a lifeline and come back to it like the old day; but that seemed unlikely.

His family was gone, so he left too.

A box filled with Halloween Chocolates sat on the bare wooden table beside the door that once held their weapons. The colourful packaging with pictures of the mini bars found inside was almost taunting her as she stared at it from across the room. She remembered the year before, bringing boxes of the different types of themed candy to Russia to have with her family. Yelena convincing them all to dress up for a four person Halloween party on the farm. Melina reluctantly growing her sister pumpkins, only to surprise them by making their childhood favourite pie.

Staring at the box now almost felt like a knife in her chest, so she turned away.

Old Disney Halloween movies she hadn’t seen as a child (either because they didn’t get the channel or because they came out after she’d been sent back) played on the television. The fire escape window open to let in the crisp autumn air, even though the laughter of the children out on the street seemed to puncture a part of her she thought was dead. Their cries of trick or teat! feeling like someone was mutilating her heart as it brought back memories of a Halloween spent in Iowa years ago when Lila and Cooper had dressed up as her and Clint; the three adults trailing behind them drinking spiked spider while the children ran between houses.

Life seemed so much simpler before the Avengers entered her life. Before Fury had tasked her with watching Tony Stark; then her world turning upside down when first aliens invaded and then SHIELD was destroyed due to it having been infiltrated by Hydra. When she was just Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow with a traumatic back story and a best friend whose chosen weapon really didn’t make much sense in a world with guns.

You can't tell what's in a monster's heart just by looking at 'em. I mean, sometimes, some of the slimiest, raunchiest, ugliest little monsters turn out to be the nicest .

Natasha glanced over at the television as the line was spoken, the grandmother character on the screen talking to her grandchildren. Perhaps this was true of traditional monsters: of the Frankenstein creations, those risen from the dead, vampires, werewolves; but, this was also sugar coating the truth about monsters. Those that lurked in the shadows and preyed on the weak, stealing children from their parents, or making the whole world disappear right in front of their eyes.

Real monsters weren’t mythical: they looked like everyone else.

She poured herself another vodka, topping it up with soda water, listening to the sounds of the children running up and down the hallway, laughing. The muted sounds of the children’s parents talking. The loud trick or treat! as they got closer and closer to her front door.

Natasha hadn’t just wanted to stay on duty because she wanted control, to be ready when it was time to save her friends, but because she wanted to avoid the outside world. Avoid the reality that was right in front of her. It was one thing to see life moving on from an office, through screens and holograms and friends who had splintered away to lick their own wounds; it was another to see the direct effects: families trying to hide their grieving, of fruitless wars being fought, of food shortages and wide spread violence.

It reminded her all too much of her own past lives. Of the family she never knew, then the life and family she had loved so much being ripped away and disappearing like it had never happened in the first place, of the new family she created at SHIELD, at the family she created with her stupid team. Natasha wasn’t dumb enough to believe that her family would come back; and likewise, she wasn’t dumb enough to believe half the world would, either.

Knock knock knock. “Trick or treat!”

On autopilot, she walked over to the front door. She took a deep breath before plastering a smile on her face as she opened it to look down at the kids in front of her, not letting her look of happiness waver even as her eyes pinched with pain looking down at the young replicas of her friends standing in front of her. A young Black Pather, Wanda, Captain American, Spiderman. Some gone, some still there, only physically.

She hid her pain like he had always done, ignoring the whispering in her mind about the ghosts standing in front of her as she placed their candy in their bags. The children don’t recognise her – who would with the platinum blonde still mostly covering her signature red hair. The older children run off towards the next door, shouting thank you’s over their shoulders – and soon the younger ones followed suit until there was only one left. A little Black Widow, a girl dressed as her hero: and Natasha wanted to cry out that she wasn’t a hero. She had worked her whole adult life to make up for the sins of her past, only for more to die because of her.

The little girl looked up at her with big, green eyes.

“It’s okay. They’ll come back.” She said with more wisdom than a child that young should have had; then skipped off back towards her family. Natasha watched them all for one more moment, before closing the door and leaning her back against it. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about the ones who should have been there.

The ones who deserved it more than her.