Echoes

Longing

After the events of the Winter Soldier...

The soldier paced back and forth anxiously in his tiny apartment, awaiting a guest. The first one he'd had since he moved in. He'd cleaned up the dingy apartment as best as he could: he'd straightened the small mattress on the floor, neatly put his few utensils in a jug and wiped the counter.

In the corner of the room lay his backpack, full of memories. Not just the pretty ones, but even the ones that made him sick to think about, right down to the last detail. Yes, his life wasn't pretty, but he wanted to remember who he was, and, what he'd done. 

A knock sounded at the door. Three quick raps. He went to open it. A woman with chin-length black hair and large sunglasses stood at the door. "Mr. Barnes?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"How do I know it's really you?"

"I suppose you'll simply have to trust me. But, you know what they say. When a Widow falls, Winter will come." The soldier moved aside as the woman stepped inside, pulling off her sunglasses and wig. Red hair tumbled down to her shoulders., confirming her to be who she said she was. She was red. Red like a Romanoff.

"Natalia..."

"Do you remember me, James?" she asked as she closed the door.

"I hope so."

"What do you remember?"

"About you or Hydra?"

She laughed. It was, perhaps, one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. " About anything, James. Just tell me what you remember and I'll see if I can fill in any blanks."

The soldier picked up his backpack from the floor. "We'd better sit down," he began, taking his notebooks out of the bag, feeling very self-conscious. "A warning, Natalia. Not everything in there is pretty."

"Neither was my life in the Krasnaya Komnata. I can handle it, James." The Widow leafed through the notebooks, soaking up information. Finally, she put the book down. "You mentioned something about the Red Room. Here." She passed the notebook to him.

"I don't remember much about it," he started. " But I do remember having to make a very hard choice."

"And what was that?"

"My memories or a little red ballerina."

"And what did you choose?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The soldier looked up. "I chose you, ptenets."

Natalia struggled to hide the scowl surfacing on her face. " You remember him then."  Ivan Somordorv. The closest thing Natalia had to a father, and yet the man that she hated the most. "He used to call me that."

The soldier shook his head. "Most of my memories of him are erased. But I remember impressions. I remember that he didn't like me, or Hydra, for that matter. I don't remember much else, though."

"Stupid Hydra, stupid Devushki Ivana," she muttered angrily under her breath. She looked up, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry. Recovering from a mind wipe is... frustrating."

He nodded. "Did you ever fully recover from one?"

Natalia sighed. "Memories resurface in times, James. Although, sometimes I'd say the ignorance is a bliss."

"Some things I'd like to remember, Moya Lyubov'. I want to remember you, Natalia."

"You know I go by Natasha now, James." She studied the creases on the mattress. "But, you know," she said, taking the soldier's hand, " I'd like to remember too."

"Will you stay, Natashka?" The soldier asked, a strange tenderness filling his eyes.

"Oh, I have work tomorrow, and I have to feed my cat Liho and..." She looked up, studying the soldier's expression. " I suppose I could make some time."

He smiled. "Make yourself comfortable, Natalia."

"There is no comfort in my line of work," she said through a smile as she got up. The soldier padded happily after her as she made her way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. 

After fulfilling their mission, the two assassins curled up beside each other in the cold apartment, steaming mugs of tea in their hands. The familiarity and foreignness of the situation gave the soldier a longing for a time long past, before the horrors of war.

But he had Natalia with him now, and this... future, free of Hydra, ahead of him. He could sleep now, with Natalia's presence, stronger than any weapon, to ward off the worst of his nightmares. 

Like Natalia, he was an echo of who he'd once been. But he could try to be better, he could try to redeem his actions as Hydra's puppet. And maybe, maybe trying was enough.