Widow of Siberia

Phase 2 - Chapter 1

2024

Her body still ached from the day before, and the one before that. Natasha had never been in a place so disorientating and hopeless as Siberia. No one was secretive about where they were, they all knew escape only meant freezing to death. Not that Natasha could leave her cell. She would have to go through her changed baby sister for that. Vienna. The only person she saw apart from the doctor. 

Her body shivered with the cold, deep throbs in her muscle each time she moved. The cold concrete wall pressed against her back leeching all the warmth from her body in the weakly lit room. Despite the beatings, and the training, and the conditioning that Vienna relentlessly inflicted onto Natasha, the Red Widow still found time to avoid the bright florescent light in the ceiling and give her eyes a break. Using a torch propped up beside them, Vienna fed Natasha a slightly sweet, hot soup that flooded her head with memories of the Headmistress’ smiling face. A reward for good work. A special reward just for her favourite student. 

“I'm sorry.” Natasha’s voice was rough, tired, and sore as she spoke, muttering her words as Vienna let the spoon settle in the red soup. 

“There is no need,” Vienna said softly, sitting quite comfortably with her legs crossed on the floor. “This was always going to take time. And when it's finished we can be together again properly.”

“No.” Natasha sat up a little more, her tired eyes watching the scars around Vienna's. “I'm sorry for leaving. I left you—”

“You're here now,” Vienna cut her off with a wave of her hand, giving her the bowl of soup to eat. “You're back where you're supposed to be. In your own country, with your own people.”

The words hung in Natasha’s ears. She meant every one of them. Vienna wholeheartedly believed that Widows were the silent heroes of Russia, that what they did helped the people. 

“Have you ever wanted to be free?” she asked, eating the soup while it was warm and letting it heat her up. 

“No,” Vienna said simply, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she sat with her back straight, “freedom from here is meaningless. I'd rather be on a leash I can see than in a void I can't.”

“You have no idea what the world is, Vienna,” Natasha almost pleaded with her, trying to get her to look outside of her cell. 

The Red Widow shook her head. “You need to let go of those thoughts. It'll be much easier for you to do it now. Or I'll have to cut them out later.”

A shiver ran down Natasha’s spine, the threat soft but clear. Her voice was still even so Vienna probably wouldn't hit her again. The Red Widow’s moods were fleeting though and unpredictable, so it was best to drop it. 

#####

2025

An eerie darkness suffocated dive bars. It was the perfect environment for watching, or speaking without being seen. Natasha Romanoff sat with her back to the wall, a clear line of sight to the door and a good view of most of the room. Her red hair was carefully held under a dark cap as she wrapped herself snuggly in a jacket so common no one would look twice. 

“Do you have any idea where she is?” Her voice was low as she looked out at the bar, not looking at the man she was talking to. 

“Krasnyy doesn't tell us anything,” the gruff voice of Mikhail Ursus said as he took a large swig of his beer, hunched over the table with his beanie pulled down to his eyes. 

“But do you know?” Natasha asked, more forcefully this time before she caught herself and took a deep breath. 

“Eh…” Mikhail groaned, swilling his beer around in the glass as he looked down at it, “word is she went back to the Red Room, the assumption is Novikoff.”

“But Sidorov is dead?” Natasha frowned, finally looking over at him in his dishevelled human appearance. 

“And she is still a loyal dog,” Mikhail shrugged, downing the rest of his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You can kill the ringmaster but the lion will never be able to live in the Savanna again.”

Natasha hummed in response, turning her head away again. Her own drink sat untouched on the table. She had no interest in drinking. Not here. Not with him. 

“You can't save them all Tasha,” he said, tapping his hands on the table as he stood up, “every time you try, they put another padlock on the ones left behind.”

Unmoving, Natasha watched the patrons of the bar wandering to their tables and chatting like the ordinary civilians that they were. It was a hard truth, but Mikhail wasn't wrong. Every time she thought she had taken the Red Room down, it always came back with worse methods, better security, and always with young girls that had no choice of their own.