𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.
chapter twenty—one
a family reunion
The crash landing isn't too bad. They don't die, at least, which Svetlana considers a major plus. When they more or less safely emerge from the creaking helicopter, she sees black smoke from the top of the propellers. This thing is definitely never going to fly again.
Svet coughs at the smoke in her lungs and shivers a little, taking a better look at their surroundings. The pale sun is hovering close to the horizon, threatening to set and leave them in a bitterly cold darkness. Her white suit helps against the chill which is a relief in the Russian wasteland where only a few shrubs can grow.
Alexei looks at Natasha with a frown, "You should've brought the Avengers' superjet."
Svetlana drops her forehead onto her palm. Her mother tightens her hands into fists, turns on her heel, and begins stalking down the hill. The two younger girls quickly fall into step, Alexei trailing behind them sadly.
"I swear, if I hear one more word from him, I will kick him in the face." As Svet giggles, Yelena softly groans, "He's the worst."
Even so, Svetlana adores him already.
"Natasha?" He chases after them, jogging a few steps, "Natasha! Svetlana, stop your mother. Come here, I want to ask you something. Come, it's important."
With a huff, her mother half turns to look back at him, "What?"
The man suddenly slips his hands into his pockets, feigning nonchalance, "Did he talk to you about me?"
"What?" Natasha squints.
"Did he talk to you about me?" His voice drops as he shrugs a shoulder, looking across the landscape, "You know, trading war stories?"
Svet is just as confused as Natasha is, "What are you talking about?"
"Captain America."
Svet cocks her head thoughtfully, "You mean my uncle Steve, Dedushka?"
"Uncle... He is your uncle?" Alexei's eyes are wide when he snaps over to look at his daughter, "Uncle to my little vnuchka, Natasha, how could you?"
Her mother looks completely whiplashed, eyes squinted and lips pinched, "What?"
"My great adversary in this theater of geopolitical conflict. Not so much a nemesis." He shrugs casually, puffing his chest and raising his chin, "More like a contemporary, you know? Coequal. I always thought there was a great deal of mutual respect..."
"Wait." Natasha stops and glares at him, "You haven't seen either one of us in twenty years and you've never even met my daughter, and you're gonna ask me about you?"
Dedushka paces away, hands extended through his pockets, "What is with this tension? Did I do something wrong?"
Svet sighs and puts her hands on her hips in great remorse. This can only go badly.
Yelena scratches her brow in disbelief, "Is that a serious question?"
"I only ever loved you girls! I did my best to make sure you would succeed to achieve your fullest potential, and everything worked out."
Natasha's gaze sharpens, "Everything worked out?"
"Yes. For you, yes! We accomplished our mission in Ohio. Yelena, you went on to become the greatest child assassin the world has ever known. No one can match your efficiency, your ruthlessness." When the blonde woman gives him nothing, he quickly turns to his oldest daughter, "And Natasha, not just a spy, not just toppling regimes, destroying empires from within, but an Avenger. Then Svetlana, a granddaughter I only just met, a child assassin whose expert anonymity means the greatest possibility for murder and sabotage. You all have killed so many people." He tugs each shocked girl into his chest, "Your ledgers must be dripping, just gushing red. I couldn't be more proud of you."
Svet makes a face from where she's been squished into his chest between the two sisters. She's not so bothered by the whole 'child assassin' — murder and sabotage bit, it's just... her dedushka smells really funny... Natasha immediately scoffs and shoves him viciously away. With one more threatening look, she takes Svet's hand to free her from Alexei's grasp and then marches them both down the slope. The big man watches after them with a hurt expression, though still holding tightly to Yelena, kissing the top of her head.
"Okay. You can..." Even she slowly peels away from his tightened grip, "No. Let go of me now. You smell really bad."
Alexei stands on the hill, arms still outstretched, smelling bad and standing alone.
As the sun starts to set over the orange and purple horizon, they continue down a long dirt road and seems to lead into nothing but more wilderness.
"So." Yelena is the first to break the silence, "Are we there yet?"
"You'll know when we're there."
Svetlana jumps at the sound of Alexei grinning and snorting, not at all sure what this could mean. That is until that same sound comes from down a grassy hillside where a small compound with high fences and razor wire, a small garden, a noisy pig pen, and a woman await.
My grandmother, Svet assumes carefully. She looks like one of those statues she saw briefly when in Europe, in some of the books she stole in a safe house she can barely remember. The women is tall and lithe, all muscle, with dark—hair and dark eyes that time and experience have given depth.
These people around her stare at each other, decades later and older and irreparably changed yet also still somehow the same.
Svet peeks up at Natasha who's looking off into the distance, trying in vain to school her expression.
"Honey." Alexei smiles, "We're home."
The severe—looking woman stares at them. Then she walks by, without saying a word, and they watch her go.
"Come on, girls," her grandfather motions them onward towards the main house.
They have no choice but to follow.
"Welcome to my humble abode." The woman, Melina, murmurs as they step through the front door, "Make yourself at home..."
It's exactly the sort of place Svetlana might imagine a home would be. Startlingly normal and wonderfully comfortable. So many windows and curtains and a dining table with five chairs, enough for each of them. A bud of warmth begins to grow in the center of Svet's chest.
"Let's have a drink," the older Black Widow heaves a heavy sigh, disappearing from sight.
Feeling curious now, Svetlana follows Natasha studiously into the kitchen. It's much the same as the rest of the house — homey, quaint, cozy even. She tries to picture a family of her own moving about in this kitchen, but it wasn't easy. She can picture her papa and she can picture her mother, but they are separate entities. They are like two parallel lines, forever a distance apart, never to meet.
Melina moves aside a false wall in the panty to reveal a gun locker and the picture of a happy family fades. It isn't at all surprising; they all are spies and assassins, after all. Besides, it doesn't matter so much. Svet is far more used to weapons and ammunition than she ever will be to warmth and safety.
"Hey, no funny business," Natasha warns.
As she sets down her rifle, the woman looks almost hurt at the insinuation, "I am putting away my weapon."
Natasha swallows thickly and sharply turns away. She busies herself around the kitchen, clearly trying to distract herself from the tension and mistrust all around them. Svet can't help but sink a bit. This isn't home. This isn't family. This isn't her grandmother.
And yet...
"Hello." The woman's thick accent gets softer somehow, peering carefully at the younger redhead, "And your name is...?"
"Svetlana, I'm..." Svet is more certain now, proud of who she is, confident of who her mother is. She draws in a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and lifts her chin, "I'm Natasha's daughter."
Natasha stops her activity by the counter, hands frozen in the sink, the tension in her shoulders seeping away.
"Yes." The older woman's dark eyes look heavier, a small sad smile on her lips, "I can see resemblance."
Svet's heart jumps with hope, "For true?"
"Yes. It is true. Strong. Relentless."
Both look over at Natasha, but she doesn't acknowledge either of them. Instead, she's staring intently out the window to check for any sign of danger.
"Are there any booby traps around here?" She asks casually, glancing back at the older Widow as she moves about the kitchen, "Anything we need to know about?"
"I didn't raise my girls to fall in traps—,"
"You didn't raise us at all," Natasha cuts back instantly, pouring her and her daughter each a glass of water. It should satisfy her to say these words with such barbs, meant to sting and hurt, but it doesn't. It just hurts Natasha in return.
"Oh, maybe so." Melina quietly concedes, "But if you got soft—,"
Natasha glances back and their gazes catch.
"—It wasn't on my watch."
Soon, all the women in Svetlana's family are sitting at the table, Svetlana safely at Natasha's side across from Melina and Yelena. They linger in an uncomfortable silence, only interrupted by the sounds of the midlife crisis Alexei is currently facing in the bathroom. She can't help but study these people who are trying desperately not to make eye contact with one another.
Svet wonders if she is the product of each of these women who came before her. Natasha is her mother, her strength and power exists in her very blood and bones. Strong. Relentless. The same can't be said for Melina and Yelena, but they are in her spirit, aren't they? She can feel pieces of them in her mother's presence, in the softness amidst her sharpness, goodness amidst the gore. She hopes she has half of their courage and their resiliency.
She hopes one day they might love her the way she knows they love Natasha.
Finally, Melina breaks the awkward silence with a definite, "Let's drink."
She's busy pouring them each a glass, even Svetlana, when suddenly from the corner of the room, Alexei clears his throat. And there, leaning casually against the wall, stands Svet's grandfather dressed head to toe in a tight red and white suit.
"Still fits," he beams.
Melina whistles his way while Svet rather painfully swallows back an excited squeal, eyes wide in genuine awe. The Red Guardian is in uniform!
Natasha just frowns while Yelena sharply looks away in embarrassment, "Oh, my God..."
Each reveling in their glory days, Alexei bursts with laughter while Melina applauds him proudly.
"I never washed it once," her grandmother grins, motioning him to the seat at her side, "Come and drink."
Alexei does, pulling off the helmet to plop down at the head of the table, happily singing, "Rise, you workers of salvation..."
He looks and quickly motions to Svet to join the song once again, but she subtly shakes her head. It doesn't really feel like an appropriate time.
He doesn't seem to get the message, "Family... back together again."
"Mmm." Melina shifts a bit uncomfortably, eyes darting from each of their faces, "Seeing as our family construct was just a calculated ruse that only lasted three years, I don't think that we can use this term anymore, can we?"
Svetlana sinks a little further, disappointment like a rock in her stomach.
"Agreed." Natasha tightly says and leans forward to get to the task at hand, "So, here's what's gonna happen—,"
"Okay." Alexei cuts her off, scooping food onto his plate, "A reunion then, huh? And, uh... I want to say something right off the bat." He turns to Svetlana's grandmother, eyes drooped low and voice purring, "You haven't aged a day, huh? You're just as beautiful and as supple as the day they staged our marriage."
Yelena takes a shot while Natasha's expression curdles and Svetlana feels a little bit nauseous.
"You got fat." Melina whispers, head tilted and a small smile his way, "But still good."
Svetlana's nose scrunches, asking for permission, "Mamulya...?"
Immediately understanding, Natasha slides her a shot, "Just this once."
Together, in time with one another, mother and daughter each throw the shots of vodka back.
"I just got out of prison. I, uh..." Alexei chuckles and glances between the younger girls and Melina, lowering his voice just not quiet enough, "I have a lot of energy..."
The two oldest adults chuckle with one another, and Svet suddenly wonders if it's a good thing she's never had to endure having both parents in the same room for long. Because... gross.
"Please don't do that," Her mother chokes, looking quite ill, "So, here's what's gonna happen—,"
"Natasha, don't slouch."
She immediately straightens, "I'm not slouching."
"Look at Svetlana's posture, so straight—"
"I don't slouch."
"You're going to get a back hunch!"
"Mm," Alexei grabs her shoulder to straighten her back, "Listen to your mother."
"Oh, my God, this—,"
"Up, up!" Alexei adds, encouraging her just as he did when she was a child.
"All right, enough!" Natasha finally snaps, glancing around the table, "All of you!"
"Svetochka and I didn't say anything!" Yelena whines, "That's not fair."
Svet doesn't mind so much. She's simply enjoying the show as she eats her dinner.
"Here's what's gonna happen!" Natasha cries over all of them, trying to get everyone to listen.
Unfortunately, it's not working very well because Alexei is taking gulps of vodka and Melina is scooping food onto each of their plates, no matter how much Yelena would like her to stop.
"I don't want any food," the blonde groans and hisses, throwing back another shot.
"Eat a little something, Yelena, for God's sake. And you too, Svetlana, you're too skinny!"
Melina drops heaps of food onto the grateful girl's already very full plate.
"Mmm," Svet mumbles through a full mouth and puffed cheeks, "Spasibo, babushka."
Natasha talks even louder to be heard, "You're gonna tell us the location of the Red Room!"
This is enough to make everyone stop, shifting the mood in the room entirely.
After a moment, Melina sharply inhales before tsking a little at Alexei, "You know, it's like when you told them that they could stay up late to catch Santa Claus."
"What? That was fun!" Alexei defends himself, "You know, 'He come down the chimney, girls. Look out. Where is he?' You wait for him, and then when the cookies are gone, then you see he's there—,"
"No, no," Melina sighs.
"What? I want them to follow their dreams!"
"Who is Santa Claus?" Svet's accent is thick over the foreign words, her little mouth twisting at the sound.
He sounds like a pretty bad man, Svetlana thinks, if he sneaks into people's houses and steals their cookies.
"I'll explain later," Natasha sighs.
"No good," Melina still shakes her head in disapproval.
"Reach for the stars, girls," Alexei advises them all.
"Finding Dreykov is not a fantasy." Natasha determines firmly, "It's unfinished business."
"You can't defeat a man who commands the very will of others." Melina tells them all, eyes deadly serious, "You never saw the culmination of what we started in America. Nor did you."
Suddenly the woman stands from the table and takes hold of a tablet, tapping a few buttons on the smooth screen.
"Natasha, always focus, focus." Alexei tsks at Svet's mother, "Get what you want."
Natasha frowns. On second thought, it might have been better if they had thrown Alexei out of the helicopter.
"Come in," Melina calls towards the foyer, returning to her seat at Yelena's side.
Svetlana tenses when the door opens, but it's not an enemy. In fact, it's something much more surprising. It's a pig. A big black and brown pig who joins them at the table with quiet content snorts.
While Yelena's mouth gapes, Natasha is very still, "Did that pig just open the door?"
Svetlana slowly tilts in her chair to get a better view of the fat creature. She's not sure she's ever been this close to a pig before. He's... cute!
"Yes. It did." Melina is glowing with something akin to pride, "Good boy, Alexei. Good boy."
Alexei's face turns very sad, "You named a pig after me?"
"You don't see the resemblance?"
Alexei looks even sadder, though Svet doesn't think Melian means it rudely. In fact, Melina seems to be a genuine honor in her mind as she then proceeds to show all the various tricks and orders the pig can obey all from the counsel in her hand.
"Stop breathing," Melina's final order shocks them all.
The pig grunts but obeys all the same. Svet finds herself doing the same.
"We infiltrated the North Institute in Ohio. It was a front for SHIELD scientists. Actually, it was HYDRA scientists at that time." Melina is instructing them all as she pours herself another small glass of vodka, "In conjunction with the Winter Soldier project, they had dissected and deconstructed the human brain to create the first and only cellular blueprint of the basal ganglia. Was the hub for cognition. Voluntary motor movement, procedural learning."
Svet is suddenly no longer feeling well. The Winter Soldier project. This woman, her grandmother, helped in the Winter Soldier project? Natasha somehow senses the shift in her daughter without a word benign said. Her hand finds Svet's under the table, holding it tight.
"We didn't steal weaponry or technology." Melina's eyes glow, "We stole the key to unlocking free will."
The pig Alexei grunts and then collapses to the floor.
Svet gasps and stands from her chair, peering worriedly down at the animal.
"What are you doing?!" Natasha demands.
"Oh, I am explaining that the science is now so exact, the subject can be instructed to stop breathing and has no choice but to obey."
"Okay, you made your point. That's enough!"
"Yes, all right. Well, don't worry! Alexei could've survived eleven more seconds without oxygen." The pig pops back up to his little feet as Melina encourages the chubby animal, "You go. You go back home, back home where it's safe. Good boy, Alexei." As the pig makes his exit, the older Widow informs them, "The world functions on a higher level when it is controlled. Dreykov has chemically subjugated agents planted around the globe.
"And do you know who they test it on?" Yelena cuts in, voice a bit hoarse.
Svet looks down at her plate, not hungry anymore, stomach churning.
"Hmm..." Thinking, Melina eventually shakes her head, "No. That's not my department."
"Ah, come on, come on." Alexei scoffs, an embittered smile on his face, "Don't lie to them. Hmm?"
"I'm not lying."
"You're Dreykov's architect, huh?"
"What were you?!" She argues back, her own voice bitter and strained, "If I was his architect, you were his partner. You were his business partner!"
"No, no, no. I was patsy!" He bangs the table, rattling all the plates and containers, "He sell me ideology. Stop with the politics. All the while, bigger—,"
"Don't give me that—,"
Natasha looks at her sister and daughter as these people who were meant to love and protect them continue to argue. All Natasha sees are two scared little girls.
"Shut up!" She suddenly snaps, shocking the room into silence as she looks into her faux father's eyes, "You are an idiot."
Alexei recoils, unable to meet her gaze.
Natasha turns on her fake mother, tone just as venomous, "And you're a coward."
Melina doesn't look away.
"You're a coward." She repeats herself just as harshly, tears threatening to spill as she spits, "And our family was never real, so there's nothing to hold on to. We're moving on."
The whole table reacts in their own little ways, each feeling pain in their cold bleeding hearts.
"Never family, huh? In my heart, I am simple man." Alexei's voice turns gruff, his own eyes glimmering, "And I think that for a couple deep undercover Russian agents I think we did pretty great as parents, huh?"
"Yes, we had our orders, and we played our roles to perfection."
"Who cares?" She counters, "That wasn't real."
"What?" Yelena's voice is impossibly small.
"It wasn't real." Natasha insists hoarsely, putting her hand on Svet's shoulder in display, "This, this is real!"
"Don't say that!" Yelena pleads, voice breaking. "Please don't say that. It was real."
Another traitorous tear slips from Natasha's eye and she subtly swipes it away with the back of her hand. Svetlana holds tighter to her hand, her breaths shaky and low.
"It was real to me. You are my mother." Yelena cries as she looks at Melina, "You were my real mother. The closest thing I ever had to one. The best part of my life was fake—," The blonde girl exhales sharply and unsteadily, banging the table softly, "And none of you told me!"
Melina stares at her, speechless, aching.
"And those agents you chemically subjugated around the globe?" The girl stares at her mother, dealing the blow with a sad acceptance, "That was me." She points to Svet, finger shaking, "That was us."
Svetlana covers her mouth with her hand.
Then she turns on Natasha who sits on the other side of the dining table of their childhood.
"And you? You got out. Dreykov made sure no one could escape, not even your own child. Are you gonna say anything?"
Natasha feels everyone look at her, but neither Melina or Alexei's accusations would ever mean as much as Yelena's at this moment. The pain she's been running from ever since she was a little girl of eleven finally catches up with her as all the suffering that Yelena and Svetlana have been put through comes to light. Then again, she never has been very good at protecting them. Natasha looks away.
"No." When Melina goes to touch her shoulder, she brushes her hand aside and shoves up from the table, "Don't touch me—"
She already has a bottle of vodka in hand when she strides away from the dining table, leaving everyone staring in her wake.
"Yelena..." Natasha tries.
"No."
She disappears behind a closed door and shuts them all out. It's what most of them deserve.
"I had no idea," Melina softly shakes her head.
"That's okay, that's okay." Alexei comforts her instantly, nodding and standing, "I'll go talk to her."
Alexei leaves, and then there were three. Svetlana still is hiding her face from the table. Natasha knows the argument, the truth, it frightened her. Overwhelmed her. Natasha stares at this woman who was assigned to be her mother. A long time ago, years and stories apart, they were each entrusted to take care of their daughters. They have both failed. But Natasha can still make this right, and she will.
When the others still don't return, Natasha shoves back her chair and says, "Come on, Svetti, we're leaving."
Svetlana stands, not knowing what else to do, and follows her into the kitchen.
Melina watches them leave with wide eyes, "Where are you both going?"
"To do this ourselves."
"Don't." She stretches out the words, "You won't survive."
"I wish I could believe that you cared." Natasha scoffs, already handing weapons of destruction into her daughter's hands (she will not let her daughter be defenseless like she was), "But you're not even the first mother that abandoned me."
"No, you weren't abandoned!" Melina strides into the library to see through to them in the kitchen, "You were selected by a program that assessed the genetic potential in infants."
Natasha stops and turns back, sudden traitorous tears glittering in her eyes.
For so long, she had believed — she had been told — that her mother threw her away like trash. The Red Room were her saviors, those who rescued her from freezing to death in the cold snow of some Moscow street. When she was younger, and her own baby had just been taken, she thought she hated her mother. She wished she had smothered her infant—self with a pillow or perhaps drowned her in a tub or left her to die in an alleyway where her helpless cries could have gone unnoticed. At seventeen, she knew the importance of making sure one's target was dead before completing a mission. This was what her mother had failed to ensure, and she was the reason Natasha was vile and hard and without her own daughter.
But it's a lie. It's another lie of far too many.
Natasha whispers, almost too afraid to hope, "I was taken?"
"I believe a bargain was struck, your family paid off. But your mother, she never stopped looking for you. She was like you in that way, like your daughter. She was relentless."
Svetlana catches her breath, glancing between these two women. Her heart thumps painfully in her chest, almost deafening her to the conversation with the rush of blood to her head.
"What happened to her?"
"Dreykov had her killed." Melina confesses softly, "Her existence threatened to uncover the Red Room. Normally, the actions of one curious civilian wouldn't warrant an execution, but, as I said, she was relentless."
This seems to be the way with the Romanoff women. Grandmother. Mother. Daughter. Each of them redheaded and relentless.
"I thought about her every day of my life." Natasha's voice is slightly choked, so she swallows hard, "Whether or not I admitted it to myself, I did."
Melina steps slowly forward, hand settling gently on Svet's shoulder, "I've always found it best not to look into the past."
"Then why did you save this?" Svetlana watches Natasha reach into the bookcase, pulling free a photo album with a meadow of yellow flowers on its cover. Inside are full of pictures of a childhood that wasn't real, a childhood that Svet never got have either, "I remember this day. We shot Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter and summer vacation all in one day. Different backdrops."
"Mmm," Melina softly confirms, her back pressed into the wall.
She isn't staring at the photos like Natasha is. She's staring right at her daughter, her little lost girl. Svetlana wonders if her mother knows how much she is loved.
"I knew all the presents under the tree were just empty boxes, but I didn't care. I wanted to open every single one... so just for a second it would feel real."
"Let's stop this," Melina says suddenly, taking the photo album away and holding it close to her chest, protectively.
Natasha stares at her, and knows they're not that different after all, "Why you doing this?"
"Why does a mouse born in a cage run on that little wheel?" Her voice is hoarse with memories of a childhood of abuse and use, "Do you know I was cycled through the Red Room four times before you were even born? Those walls are all I know. I was never given a choice."
"But you're not a mouse, Melina." It's certainly not the image that Svetlana has of the woman in front of her. She is powerful and strong, too fierce to a mouse in a cage. "You were just born in a cage, but that's not your fault."
Melina scoffs, but there are tears in her eyes, "Tell me, how did you keep your heart?"
Natasha tightens her jaw and tries to control her tears enough to say, "Pain only makes us stronger. Didn't you tell us that?" Her voice drops to a whisper, "What you taught me kept me alive."
Melina draws in a small breath, eyes glittering. The moment lulls. There is healing in this moment, sadness but comfort as well. Warmth. Home, Svetlana thinks.
But then, "I'm sorry... I already alerted the Red Room. They'll be here any minute."
Something snaps in Svetlana's chest. She silently catches her breath and looks sharply at Natasha, but her mother just nods in resignation. As if she should have known this was coming. As if she didn't expect any less. As if she knows this woman didn't have any other choice.
But then something shifts and Melina stands taller, not a mouse in a cage, not something to be used and abused, but a mother, "But I'll help you. I'll help you all. We'll bring him down. Together."
Natasha smirks through her tears.
Svetlana stands numbly in the kitchen, listening to the plans, to the tricks, to the games they hope to play if everything should turn out as they hope. Melina and Natasha move in swift easy motion, back in mission—mode, where they both excel and feel most comfortable. Meanwhile, Svetlana feels as if she is sinking.
Back to the Red Room. Back to the place of nightmares. Back to the horrors. Back to Hell.
She can feel a strange tingling in her fingers, creeping up into her chest and then her brain. She can't seem to get her lungs to expand in her chest. Tears stream down her cheeks, each drop leaving a burning streak. Terror has a taste, she realizes; it tastes like iron — from biting down until her tongue and lips start to bleed.
At the age of six, pain and suffering were all Svetlana had ever known. That was all the Red Room gave her. She was small for her age, but she was faster and stronger than most, excelling at both dancing and fighting. Who knew such small fists could cause such damage? Who knew that such an innocent girl could cause such misery?
I'm sorry, Papa, Svet thinks through her sinking, I'm so sorry I let them have me again.
Lips on her forehead, a hand in her hair, disgusting pride in Dreykov's lifeless eyes.
He'll want her back. He's wanted her back for so long. And now she'll never get away.
Natasha notices when Svetlana begins to drown. She's hiccuping, suffocating on nothing but air, though it feels suddenly so hard to drag in. Her mother is in front of her in the next instant, hands on her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her saltwater tears.
"I don't want to go back there." Svet's raspily gasping for air, shaking her in terrified desperation, "I want to stay here. Please. I'm sorry, Mamulya, I can't, I can't—,"
"Shh, it's okay." Natasha hushes tenderly, foreheads pressed, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."
Svetlana's breath evens out as she focuses on her mother's breathing, matching it in an easy rhythm of in and out and in and out.
"It's not fair, none of this is." Natasha tilts her head a little, brow wrinkling, "And I'm so sorry, but we have to go back to the place it all started, to make sure it never happens to anyone else. They're coming for us, but I promise you... I will keep you safe and I will get you out. "
Svet catches her breath, forcing her lungs to obey, "Do you promise?"
"I promise."
Her mother has never lied to her before. Svetlana believes her.
Natasha presses her lips to Svet's forehead, like she might have if she had turned out the kind of mother she wanted to be, "I'm sorry. Be safe."
"For the plan to work, we will need it to be convincing." Melina casts her granddaughter a sorrowful stare, "I am sorry, Svetlana, but you will need to be unconscious for our arrival."
She swallows hard, head spinning when she stiffly nods, "I understand."
Because she does. She understands. They're right. Her fear doesn't matter in the face of what they could accomplish. It's just another mission. It's just another hit. They'll bring down the Red Room and they'll be free. Svetlana thinks of the girls she trained with, the girls who were her sisters, her adversaries, her competition. They deserve love and safety, too. Svetlana is willing to fight for them to have that.
The house descends into darkness and the world outside is engulfed in white light. Jets full of soldiers land in the small compound, circling the home, threatening to break in at any moment. Mother and daughter share one last glance. Svetlana smiles reassuringly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. It's okay, her smile seems to say, Just make it quick.
"I love you," her mother breathes.
Svet doesn't have time to respond before Natasha raises her fist and electricity shoots and crackles through her entire body.
Svetlana's vision goes black.
━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━
*cue me screaming* this chapter is just too much emotion for me to talk about and the next chapters are only going to get worse. who's ready to suffer and be happy about it?
much love xx
chapter twenty—two: love and war
"Nobody leaves this room until she's dead." Dreykov strokes a cold tender hand down Plan B's face, "Make her suffer."
Natasha struggles to her feet, bleeding from her back, choking for air, "Svetlana? Baby?"
Plan B is at the forefront of them all, their self—imposed leader, a group of Widows circling around like predators. Her sisters. Her competitors. All hungry for one final kill.
"I don't wanna hurt you." She whispers desperately, tears mixing her blood, "You don't wanna hurt me."
Natasha is so certain of it, so certain she can't snap her out of it.
But then a terrifying thing happens: Plan B smirks.