Head Is Not My Home

This Head You Dwell In Is Not My Home, Made a Vow to Cut it Out

She hadn't known her parents. She couldn't remember anything about them. Well, nothing directly. There had been the opportunity to research them in the intervening years, but the only parent she had ever known was Ivan.

Ivan Petrovich had told her the story so often it almost felt like a memory. He'd been in Moscow, he'd say. A lowly soldier, exploring the town, when he noticed something amiss with a nearby building. He couldn't say what about it brought his attention, but he hadn't been looking at it for very long before he noticed the smoke. And heard the baby crying. Dashing young hero that he was, he rushed inside. And that's where he found the little redheaded girl, who stopped her crying and smiled as soon as she saw him! The beautiful child was orphaned by the blaze and he didn't hesitate to take her in as his own.

Now, she wondered how much of that story were true. Ivan was never a mere foot soldier. Whatever had brought him to be near her parents' home that day, she prayed it wasn't related to the fire. The doubts that had plagued her since she was a teenager had never been enough to cause her to confront him. He was still, essentially, her father. And he'd been a good father, throughout her childhood and early adulthood. She couldn't imagine who she would have been if not for him.

Especially because he was the reason she had gone to the Red Room.

They were living in Moscow again. She always liked it when they returned here – it was where everything important was happening, after all. Their work took them all over the country, and to other countries besides. Ivan didn't like to tell her everything, but he understood her usefulness. Someday, hopefully soon, he would realize what a good partner she could make. He had allowed her to take on jobs on her own ever since becoming an adult, and she hoped that his trust in her would increase.

Ivan had no shortage of compatriots. A revolving door of muscle surrounded them, and a handful of lieutenants kept everyone in order while Ivan was busy. He worked with people, and for people, from all over. His business was getting people what they wanted for favors to be granted at a later time. It was complicated, but she had been allowed to join him from a young age and felt she was getting the hang of things.

She returned from the store to find their front door hanging open at an odd angle. Automatically, she tensed, walking warily inside, listening hard. All was silent. Then – a cough. A wet cough. Sprinting into the next room, ignoring the general debris everywhere, she found him. Ivan was on the floor, in a bad way. There was a lot of blood.

It took her a moment. She stared at the scene, uncomprehending. Then realization hit her like a truck. Ivan was going to die. She would be an orphan again. She had no connections, or few, and no options without him. He would be gone and her whole life would be empty. She wanted to scream or cry or run away, but, instead, she just knelt beside him.

"Ivan, I've got some water," she said, surprised at how calm her own voice was, holding out a bottle, knowing that water wasn't going to help.

"Just you from now on. Proud of you, my little girl," Ivan replied deliriously.

There was a sound near the front door, almost a knocking. She jumped, startled, and stared wildly around, wishing she had some kind of weapon. Ivan would have a gun stashed nearby, she knew. But it seemed unlikely he wouldn't have used it himself during the attack. Still, she forced herself to leave his side to search.

A knock on the door frame stopped her and she looked up sharply.

The man in the doorway was not anyone she knew. Being good with faces was an important part of their work, and, anyway, she didn't think she'd ever seen someone with such a blank expression. He took in the state of their home and Ivan bleeding out on the floor without batting an eye. And not in the way that suggested he had expected it, either. Just unimpaired calm, like he could handle any situation.

Her hands clenched at her sides as he regarded her, and she thought she saw the spark of something besides indifference – no, that wasn't the right word. He wasn't indifferent to the world around him. And he was certainly aware of it. Her analysis of him came abruptly to a halt when he took a few measured steps into the room. In the place of his left arm was a robotic replica. She wanted to look at it more closely, but she forced herself to politely hold his gaze.

"The comrade needs medical treatment," he spoke quietly, his voice almost gentle.

Hope swelled in her chest at that. Ivan made some sound then, and she looked down at him. He was staring up at the man with wide eyes and she thought he might be afraid.

"Don't, don't," he whispered, and her brow furrowed.

"My superiors offer you both this chemical in exchange for your loyalty," the stranger said, holding up a vial. "It will heal him – and increase your lifespans. But there is an extremely limited supply, comrades."

Ivan was still shaking his head, though his eyes were closing. It was too late – too late, she thought desperately.

"We say yes," she told him adamantly.

The other man glanced down at Ivan and a flicker of emotion crossed his face. It was gone too fast for her to be sure what it was, but then he nodded, impassive again. His movements were meticulous as he prepared a syringe, which he handed to her.

"Hurry," he told her, looking at her intently and making her think he deviated from some script he'd been sent here to follow.

She didn't hesitate, plunging the medicine into Ivan's arm. Biting her lip, she sat back on her heels to wait, watching him for any change. Slowly, slowly, his breathing became more regular, more obvious. His eyes fluttered and he glanced at her.

"Natasha," he murmured.

"Ivan," was her tear-choked reply. That seemed to comfort him, because he drifted off to sleep. She took that as a good sign, and looked up to find the stranger regarding her again.

"You are to return with me," he said quietly.

Rising to her feet, she considered. Ivan's life had just been saved. Their home was destroyed, and the people who had done this would hardly hesitate to do so again. So there was hardly any sacrifice in leaving. Still... "To where?"

"The Red Room."

She had heard of the place. Everyone had. Well, everyone in their line of work. It was a place only the best of the best could survive. "Why?"

"That was the bargain," he stated emotionlessly.

"I mean, what do they want with us."

There was a pause as he obviously considered how much he was at liberty to say. "Ivan Petrovich is a powerful ally. My superiors have been trying to convince him to serve Mother Russia with his gifts for a long time. And you..." He paused again, assessing her reaction. She took pains to assure that she had none. "They believe you will make a good agent."

"Who are you?"

He blinked and frowned a little. "Codename: Winter Soldier."

There were stories of the Winter Soldier, even then. Enough that she swallowed and wondered what she had gotten the two of them into. "Very well. Let's go."