RESURRECTION OVERTURE ▹ barnes-romanoff

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𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.
chapter twenty
what they deserved

They're safe. At least for now.

The Taskmaster goes after them in the wrong direction, climbing down instead of up where they've hidden away in the crawlspace. People still run and scream in the subway station below, but no one knows where they are. Svet stays huddled up against her mother, hand fisted into the back of her jacket, trying to control her panting breaths.

When Yelena quietly groans, Natasha looks quickly at the blonde, "You okay?"

"Yeah, great plan!" She sasses as she slowly sits up and ties off a makeshift bandage for her bleeding arm, "I love the part where I almost bled to death."

Natasha nearly rolls her eyes while Svet giggles a little, wiping her cut and bleeding palms on her black jeans. They sting at the contact but the sting also feels good. It reminds her that it could be worse. A little glass and blood is nothing compared to everything else before.

For a moment, both Svetlana and Yelena take a look around. The crawl space is small but not uncomfortable, and it looks nearly as if... well, this is the sort of safe place that has been used before.

"This is cozy."

Natasha glances up, "Barton and I spent two days hiding out up here."

Svet lets her finger trail along the games drawn onto the metal wall, head cocked thoughtfully, lips pulled into a small smile. Bucky taught her a few of these, on those many hours sitting in the middle of the night, unable to sleep in some safe house in eastern Europe. When she wasn't telling him stories, Tic—Tac—Toe became the game of choice. Papa always let her win.

Yelena makes a face, "That must have been fun."

They sit in silence for a few more moments, just their heavy breaths filling up the emptiness now between them.

"So, that was the Taskmaster?" Natasha finally asks, "Who the h—ll are they?"

"Dreykov's special project. He can mimic anyone he's ever seen. It's like fighting a mirror. Dreykov only deploys him for top—priority missions."

Her mother squints a little, shaking her head, "This doesn't make any sense."

"Well." Yelena lowly bites out, "The truth rarely makes sense when you omit key details."

Natasha snaps around, asking through gritted teeth, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You didn't say one word about Dreykov's daughter."

Svet glances cautiously between them, feeling tension ripple like electricity through the air. She never knew that Dreykov had a daughter, nor does she know what this has to do with her mamulya.

But then Yelena accuses, "You killed her."

"I had to." Natasha's voice is purposefully flat when she nods, "I needed her to lead me to Dreykov."

A chill sweeps over Svetlana's skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms on the back of her neck.

Natasha remembers that day. So clearly. As if it were only yesterday.

She remembers Barton's voice in her ear, the way her accent still sounded Russian, sitting in a car down the block, watching a child enter her father's building. She was just a little girl, like her own daughter. Natasha thought about her baby, then too, as she watched someone else's baby climb the steps. Dreykov's daughter would have been only a few years older than Natasha's, just starting school, two braids hanging down her back.