Затворник (MARVEL AU) [ON HOLD]

Blood, Death, and Tears (for the living)

If there was one thing that Yeva Fedorov feared, it was death. Not so much the death part, where you didn't feel anymore, but the part when you are trapped in the between; neither here, nor there; clinging desperately to the breath in your lungs and the steady beat of blood rushing through your veins. The thought of dying terrified her to the point where when deathmatches were held, Yeva killed without hesitation, despite her normal reservations. She didn't like killing. She hated the sound of bones snapping, and the crimson that would stain her fingers. She hated the feeling of her opponent's desperate tears on her skin, and she hated the weight she felt when they gave in to the dark and went limp, the life leaving them; but in the Red Room, it was kill or be killed.

It was for this reason that she stayed stoic, refusing to be any less than frosty to the other girls. The only exception to this rule was Natalia Romanova. Yeva was good at sparring, but Natalia was far superior. Yeva could not beat her if she tried. She figured that at least this way, she would never have to live with being her friend's murderer.

Yeva wasn't quite sure what a friend was. She'd never had a friend before, at least, not one that she could remember. There were not often friends in the Red Room. There were acquaintances, and opponents, and peers, but no friends. Friends were often pitted against each other "for fun". Attachment was not a part of a spy's life.

Strict rising times meant that Yeva woke seconds before Madame entered the room, her keys jangling on her keyring and her steel toes scuffing sharply on the wooden floors. Yeva's bed was second, because of her rank. Natalia was first. When Yeva heard Natalia's handcuff click open, she lifted herself onto her elbow, waiting to be released. Madame unlocked her handcuff, her dark eyes holding a sort of cruel curiosity. She seemed to be considering Yeva for a moment, and then she moved on, leaving Yeva to massage her red wrist. She looked to the bed behind her and caught Natalia's sharp eyes. She had noticed something too.

The only thing that Yeva liked in the Red Room, besides Natalia, was espionage instruction. She was fluent in eleven languages, adept at adapting to each new identity, shedding them at will. Each day started with espionage, hours of ballet, weapons training. Then, when their brains were aching and their muscles like jelly, it was time to spar.

Not every day held a death fight. Death fights happened randomly, spaced out. You could never tell if you were fighting a death fight. If you were the loser, your life was decided by a tit of the Madam's head. Most were lucky. But one slip up could lead to a fall in Madam's favor, and a head tilt in the wrong direction.

It was just not her day as she found herself standing across from her only friend. Natalia's eyes darted from her to the mistress, and back again. Then she straightened as if she finally understood what she had been puzzling over. Their eyes met. Natalia's were sad. A corner of her mouth dipped. Yeva could almost hear her I'm sorry. Yeva understood. Kill or be killed. She gave Natalia an almost imperceptible nod. Then, they dropped back into their stances, ready to fight to the death.

Yeva rushed forwards first, dropping low to get under Natalia's guard. Her fighting was almost all pure instinct. Once Natalia threw her first punch, she didn't stop, leaving Yeva on defense. She did all right for a while, then she waited a moment too long and Natalia's heel caught the back of hers, sending her onto her back. She laid there for a moment, winded, until Natalia was on top of her, continuing her attack. Yeva's nose was shattered. The blood flowed down, dripping onto her ears. Natalia was not without injury. Her skin was split above her eyebrow, blood dripping into her eye, mixing with her sweat. Yeva trapped Natalia's foot and used her hip to throw Natalia off of her, rolling with the momentum. Natalia flipped faster than Yeva could blink, and suddenly she was in a headlock, panting. Both girls turned to look at Madam. The old woman tilted her head, almost smiling, then drew a finger across her neck. Yeva felt Natalia tense. Kill or be killed.

"Do it, Lia," she whispered, reaching up to hold onto Natalia's grip. "Do it fast," Natalia was still trembling, frozen. "Do it, Lia, please. You know what will happen if you don't. It's okay Lia. I'll be okay."

Then Natalia's grip tightened, and Yeva's world went black.

"I'm sorry Yeva. I'm so sorry."

****

Someone once said that death was the greatest of all human blessings, but when Yeva opened her eyes, she was still in the Red Room. It seemed deserted, cobwebs hanging in the corners and flies buzzing at the windows. A floorboard creaked, and Yeva turned to find Natalia Romanova in the doorway.

"Natalia?" She asked with wonder, "Natalia?"

Natalia showed no sign that she heard. Yeva moved until she was standing right in front of her. "Natalia?"

Natalia stepped forward and walked right through Yeva as if she were made of mist. A ghost, Yeva realized. She studied Natalia closely. She looked older. Her eyes were darker than they had ever been, and her bangs had grown so that they framed her face.

She paused at Yeva's old bed, placing a shaky hand on the headboard. She stood in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, she spoke. "I'm defecting, Yeva. Going with S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm going to be an agent there," she swallowed, "I should have done that long ago before I killed you. Would you still be alive then? I've got red on my ledger, Yeva, and some of that blood is yours," her eyes slid shut. "I'll try and make it up to you, I promise."

***

From Yeva's life experience, dead people stayed dead. So when she woke up, she just assumed that she had a nightmare. It was strange though, both of her hands were at her sides. She went to move them to her aching neck and knocked them into something hard above her. She pressed her palms flat against the surface. Wood. The walls were all around her and she started to panic, they felt as though they were pressing in. She banged on the walls frantically until she realized that she could see the backs of her hands and the grains in the wood. She was glowing a shade of pale green that reminded her of a corpse's skin. Was she a corpse now? She was breathing, right? But now that she thought about it, there was no air in her lungs. And when her fingers met her wrist, there was no pulse. Then the glow faded and Yeva plunged back into darkness.

She wasn't quite sure how long she spent in that box. Sometimes the glow was there, sometimes it wasn't, but eventually, she could control it, manipulate it. The light was a comfort to her in a world of darkness. She could've sworn she was finally losing her mind one day when her glowing hand passed through the wall of the box. Yeva spent a long while staring at her arm. It was glowing that sickly green, the wrist cut off where it turned into wood, her hand was out of sight. She turned off the glow, and there was the sound of wood splintering as her hand solidified, causing little bits of wood to cut into her wrist. She glowed again and carefully removed her hand from the hole, dirt spilling in.

Yeva had forgotten how much she loved dirt. Maybe she'd never loved it before, but her stint in the box had given her an appreciation for the stuff. She dug through the earth till she found a worm, twirling it around her fingers, fascinated.

Worms. Worms ate bodies. Worms decomposed the dead, once they got through the wood. Would they decompose her if she was still breathing? Well, not breathing, but conscious? Moving? She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice the light growing, and the worm turning grey and disintegrating. When the worm was dust, the light kept growing until it was almost blinding.

Yeva wanted out of that box. She was tired of the black. She was tired of being alone. She missed color. She missed talking to people. Hell, she would take the Red Room over this. Her eyes were shut against the light now. She wondered how Natalia was. She probably believed Yeva gone forever. Yeva hoped that she didn't blame herself for her death. It wasn't her fault. They both knew what had happened to girls who would not kill. It was a fate worse than death.

The light burning behind Yeva's eyelids faded into a soft glow, and she opened them slowly, closing them against the setting Russian sun.

The sun.

Yeva's eyes opened wide. She was suspended over the frozen soil of the graveyard, a solid three feet above the ground. Above the ground. A wild cackle spilled from her lips as she relished the feeling of fresh air on her face. A twig snapping caused her to fall through the air and topple unsteadily onto her hands and knees. She turned sharply towards the source of the noise and spotted a young boy staring at her in pure shock. She stood up, and the boy disappeared, sprinting into the forest, leaving her alone in a world that she no longer belonged to.