┌──────────⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────────┐ BUDAPEST , 2016 └──────────⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────────┘
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─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Ahh," Yelena groaned out as Anastasyia tied the piece of cloth on her wound, pulling the material tight to stop the bleeding. Taskmaster was now long gone; following the fake trail they left behind. The collective silence only broke when the vent was echoed with sounds of a train below.
The fifteen year old frowned as she watched her aunt's pain filled face. When Yelena noticed her concerned look she sent her a small smile before sitting up and leaning back against the wall. From a few meters way, Natasha watched with envy at the sight of her daughter and sisters obvious bond.
Never did she think she would see either of them again. Especially not together. She never thought Yelena would get the opportunity to meet her daughter. After leaving them both behind to fend for themselves, the guilt never once faded. No matter how hard she tried to free herself of it, to leave the past behind her. She couldn't.
"You okay?" She asked interrupting their moment.
"Yeah, great plan. I love the part where I almost bled to death," Yelena snarked back as she looked around the vent, "This is cozy."
As she looked around, Anastasyia took notice of the drawings on the walls, small grids with crosses and circles in the boxes. It looked like some sort of game. "You've been here before," she stated looking over her shoulder at the red headed woman, "how did you find it?"
"Barton and I spent two days hiding out up here."
Yelena chuckled humourlessly, "That must've been fun."
"Who was that guy?"
Anastasyia's head propped up at the question; it was one she often asked herself. She knew who they were but not their real identity. She didn't know who was behind the blue mask. Over the years she had trained with the task master many times. She knew they were one of Dreykov's most prized possessions, Her being his most.
"One of Dreykov's special projects," The blonde responded, her eyes discretely moving over to Anastasyia. Unlike the girl herself, Natasha noticed her shift of her sisters focus, the observation only fuelling her questions. "He can mimic anyone he's ever seen."
"When you fight him, it's like fighting a mirror," the auburn haired teen cut in quietly; the girl speaking from her own experiences.
