The Widow's Daughter ✔︎

Chapter Six

"What?" I demanded, switching back to English. "I didn't even realise..." My heart was pounding, and not because of the fight. I looked in shock at Natasha and hugged myself, realising that I was trembling. "How do you know?" I broke down into a whisper.

"You never went to an orphanage," said Natasha, her voice devoid of all emotion. "You were born in Russia, probably in the same place where I grew up." Her voice broke. "The Red Room."

Those three words made my heart pound even faster. I didn't know why, but for some reason I felt strongly compelled to run and escape, escape from all of this craziness that was my life. "I remember being at the Bardasen Orphanage," I breathed. "My parents obviously didn't want me, so they gave me up." I paused and sat down on the padded floor of the training room, hugging my knees. "That's what the matron said, anyway."

Natasha sat down next to me, her viridescent emerald eyes kind as she said, "The Red Room wiped your brain, kid. They must have sent you to the orphanage when you were ten, hoping you'd forget everything." She looked out into the distance. "A small mercy, one that I never received."

I froze and looked at her. "How do you know all of this?" I barked a dry laugh. "You Avenger guys seem to know more about me than I do myself."

Natasha smiled. "That's often the case around here," she said. The smile disappeared as she said, "We've been looking over your file and it appears that you were part of the same program I was... the Black Widow program. That's why you're so good at fighting."

I tugged at a strand of hair. "So... they wiped my brain?"

She nodded.

"That's messed-up."

She nodded again.

"So they replaced my memories of my time in the Red Room with orphanage memories?" I asked. "Does the Bardasen Orphanage even exist? Because I remember it pretty clearly." I snorted.

"Can you tell me about these memories, kid?" Natasha asked softly.

I shivered and gave a small nod. "I was three when I arrived there." I took a shuddering breath. "I don't remember anything about my parents other than my mum, who had this short red hair, kind of like yours." I saw Natasha, while listening to my story, impulsively tug at a strand of her hair. I continued: "I strongly remember the Matron of the Orphanage putting me to bed the first day I arrived there. She said, 'your name is Kira and you've been through a lot. Your parents didn't want you. They thought you were a disappointment, a failure. You're going to be here for a while, possibly for your whole childhood. Don't come running to me when you're sad or scared, because I won't care. Nobody here cares. You have to survive for yourself, not anybody else.'" I broke off and snorted. "She was a real angel. I remember making a friend, Tori, who was small, with crimson hair. She was a year older than me but tinier than any of the other kids. She was really good at fighting - she once beat up this kid who was in high school when she was six. Tori was the best." 

"Was?" I could see that Natasha was getting nervous as she listened to me. She'd frozen when I'd said that Tori had red hair, and now she was deeply engaged.

I wiped a tear from my cheek. "Yeah," I said. "She died when she was eight. The Matron said she was undergoing surgery and that she didn't survive through it." I heard Natasha take in a deep intake of breath. "I was devastated."

Natasha finally spoke up. "It sounds like you still remember some of the Red Room. They often did that, telling us that kids died when they underwent surgery." She looked at me, our eyes locking. "That must have been terrible, Kira. I'm sorry."

I looked at the ground. "I always hated it when people apologised for the deaths of my friends. The Matron would come out and look at me, saying, 'I'm sorry, Kira, but Tobias is dead. And Tori. And Anastasia. And Micah.'" I blinked back tears. "So many of them died in this supposed surgery. I was terrified that I'd be next."

"That's the Red Room," Natasha said, touching my arm comfortingly. 

I smiled at her softly. "And then something weird happened. When I was nine, I was the only kid left in the Orphanage, and I remember the Matron saying, 'well done, little Kira. You've passed.'" I broke off.

"What did she say next?" Natasha pressed.

I gasped, the memory hitting me like a punch to the face. "She said that I was the next Black Widow."

Natasha's eyes widened in shock. She stood up and offered me a hand. "You were part of the Black Widow program," she said. "Kid, we need to access your memories. This is super important, alright? We need you to remember everything that happened in those ten years of your childhood."

I looked up at her. "Why?" I breathed. "I mean, I'll do it, but it'll hurt."

"It won't hurt a bit," Natasha said. "It's a completely harmless process." She began walking out of the room. 

I broke into a small jog to keep up with her, her legs being significantly longer than mine were. "Nat," I said. "That's not the kind of hurt I'm worried about."

Natasha froze. She dropped into a kneeling position, so we were eye-to-eye, and placed her hands on my shoulders. "You don't have to do it if you think it'll be too hard, Kira," she whispered. "But it'll help the entire world in so many ways."

I nodded. "Just tell me why and I'll do it."

Natasha took a deep breath. Her hands trembled and she locked eyes with me. "It's because I think my lost daughter went through the Red Room too, and she would be your age. She is a weapon, like me, and we need to find her, before it's too late."