Functional

5. Between Progress and Decline

He sighs.  “Bring them here.  Now.”

“But, sir,” she protests.

“Your dancing skills are more than adequate.  Your time would be better spent practicing something more in need of attention,” he responds, folding his arms across his chest.  A flash of anger crosses her face, but then she nods and leaves the room quickly.

He waits patiently, considering the order of skills he needs to address for them to rival him in small arms weaponry.  He wonders if he should teach them to use a knife as well, since that is a weapon more suited to stealth.  While he waits, he searches the range and finds a trunk containing several kinds of knives.  He is testing these out when the Widows arrive, with their handler.

“What is the meaning of this?” the handler demands, stalking over to him.

He throws one more knife, hitting the bulls-eye squarely, then turns to face the smaller man.  “Natalia’s skills are inadequate.  I assume the others’ are as well.  There isn’t much time left to address them,” he explains calmly.

“They are going to be auditioning for the Russian ballet in a matter of weeks!  They will not get in if their dancing is not perfect, and we do not want to screw things up at the beginning by arranging it for them to get in.”

He notes that the Widows are looking on in interest, perhaps previously unaware of what their handler is saying.  “They will be unsuccessful if their weapons training is neglected,” he replies, eyes narrowing.

The man takes a step back, glancing around the empty room.  “Fine, but do not think the Commander will not hear of this,” he snaps, and stalks out of the room.

“Stealth is going to be your best asset.  We will start with knives,” the Soldier says, handing them out.

His days are full, and he sleeps less.  The dreams do not come as often, and he feels more rested.  The Widows train with him all day, though more time is used on combat training than language as their skills progress.  He doesn’t mind; it is easier for him to train them in something in which he received training, rather than something he just inherently knows how to do.  He cannot help feeling a sense of pride when he watches them fight or fire expertly.  They are ready.

The officer in charge, the Commander, apparently, does come to see him.  He does not bring up the problem the Widows’ handler had, but instead asks him for an assessment of each agent.  He explains the skills and weaknesses of each pupil, and the officer is very pleased.  When the man leaves, he wonders if this marks the end of his time working here.  Though he knows little about the Black Widow program, he is aware that there is no discussion of bringing in more recruits.  And the other programs here have not been brought to his attention.

It is evening.  He is standing in the courtyard, which is surrounded on three sides by buildings and one side by a wall.  Looking over the wall, which is only four and a half feet high, he can see the rest of the mountain range in which they are settled.  With the snow still in the peaks, he cannot help but think of how beautiful the view is.  Something about it stirs his memory, but he hasn’t been able to place such things and no longer tries.

Footsteps to his right force him out of his thoughts, and he glances over.  Natalia is approaching.  He hopes that he has not shown favoritism toward her when he gave her assessment to the commander.  She has not spoken to him outside of training except once, though the others have not at all.  He shifts his weight and wonders what she is doing here.

“You told him we were ready,” she says quietly, coming to a stop a yard or so away, her gaze on the mountains ahead.

“You are,” he replies, returning his attention on the view.

“I’ve been on missions before.”

He glances at her.  Her jaw is set, determined, but she’s not looking at him.  “Have you?”

“Yes, when I was a child.  I… wasn’t properly trained for those.  They ended badly,” she explains.

Frowning, he isn’t sure what to make of the statement.  “I’m sorry,” he says at last.

She turns to face him, and he meets her eye.  “Don’t be.  This time, I’ve been trained.  By the best.  So, if you think I’m ready, I’m sure I will be successful.”

He smiles tentatively.  “You will be.”

Her eyes flicker toward the ground, but she keeps her emotions off her face.  “I just wanted to thank you for teaching me,” she mutters.

“You were easy to teach,” he responds, cocking his head at her.

“I heard that… that you said I was the best,” she says, raising her eyes to look at him quizzically.

“Your initial skills were adequate and you approached all lessons with intensity and determination, never allowing emotions to keep you from being successful.”

“Is that how you became what you are?”  Her brow furrows slightly.

He looks away, out into the distant mountains.  “I don’t know,” he admits.

“You don’t know?” she questions, surprised.

“I don’t remember,” he clarifies.

She seems taken aback by this idea.  “What do you remember?”

Her voice is barely a whisper; perhaps she doesn’t really want an answer.  “Waking up here before I started training you.  Just a few impressions from before that, nothing concrete.”

“Soldier…  What’s your name?” she asks, taking a step closer to him.

He frowns deeply.  “I have a codename.  Nothing else.”

She shakes her head slowly, one hand gripping the wall beside them tightly, the other presses against her sternum.  “I’m sorry.”

He folds his arms across his chest and tries not to be bothered by what is apparently a distressing state of affairs for him.  “You must give up much to serve a country, to be the best, Natalia,” he explains quietly.

Her hands go to her sides, tightening into fists.  “I am ready,” she insists.

He smiles slightly.  “I know.”

She clears her throat.  “We have our orders.  We are leaving in the morning.”

Taken by surprise by the feeling of despair that fills him at this statement, he manages a nod in response.

“I wanted to say goodbye, and thank you.  Maybe I will see you in the field sometime,” she adds, tone hopeful as she extends her right hand.

He takes it gently in his and shakes, fighting the fact that the prospect seems to fill him with hope as well.