Ship to wreck - Y.B.
✵ Yelena Belova x Fem!widow!reader
✵ Summary: You spent your entire life with Yelena, up until a new chemical was developed to make you a living machine. Once you woke from it, you were separated from her and then supposedly killed in an accident. You show up at her door after being presumed dead for years.
✵ Warnings: No use of y/n, angst, dives quite a bit into backstories, the Red Room is its own warning, child trafficking, child abuse, cruel training methods (ballet), unethical medical procedures, mentions of blood and other bodily injuries, briefly addressed mental health issues (depression for the most part), drinking, mild swearing, the mcu timeline got a little compressed. Emotional ending. It’s worth it, I promise.
✵ Notes: Should I have split this into multiple parts? Maybe! But I didn’t lol. It’ll still get a second part because there’s more to unpack here. I hope you love this as much as I do, I’m a sucker for a good tragic backstory and emotional reunion.
“Did I drink too much? am I losing touch? Did I build a ship to wreck?”
Ten years ago today was the day you were declared dead. There was an official statement that followed, which explained how you “suffered fatal injuries in a tragic accident.” In ways, it wasn’t wrong, but it was only announced that way so they would have a halfway decent excuse for giving up the search for you. Regardless, this reasoning was repeated to anyone who asked— not that many did— because it was easier to call you dead than lost.
It took very little time for you to disappear from the world after the decision was made to track down the remaining Black Widow assassins. You were one of them after all, and that meant you had a skill set others couldn’t even dream of. It almost made it too easy.
There was one who had joined in the mission to find you, backed by her own group of widows. Yelena Belova. Even after your unfortunate death, she stayed extremely persistent, leaving you unable to shake her off for the longest time. She was one of the only people who could truly match your abilities.
You met her early in your life, right when you were first admitted into the Red Room. The crucial parts of that memory remained very vivid to you, even though you were barely seven years old at the time. There was a dark room— or was it a vehicle? You could recall movement, but not jarring enough for it to be a van or bus. There were no seats either, just a little open space where the only safety to cling to was the hard floor. It was only lit by slits in the walls, made to resemble windows, which gave off just enough light to see the faces of the other terrified children around you.
You remembered being pressed up to the wall, knees tucked to your nose, and face buried there. It was cold there, far colder than it should have been for the time of year. The metal floor wasn’t helping either. Your hands were damp, and your throat burned from shedding too many tears already. It was the only thing keeping you from crying more. However, that didn’t stop the girls around you. Their weeping and wailing filled your aching head. To try and block them out, you pressed your palms to your ears, but it was unsuccessful.
A different noise caught your attention beside you. It was another girl there, choking out the words to a song you had heard before. It was hard to remember exactly where, but you knew you had. She mumbled out the words between sobs, eventually convincing you to take a look at who the voice belonged to.
Your head tilted a little to free just enough space for one of your eyes to peek out to the left. The girl was small, a little smaller than you, with tangled blonde hair tied messily behind her head. She was in a similar position to you, face hidden from view and hands clasped over her ears. Tucked to the wall like this, she continued with her song slowly, as if she was hanging onto each word. It was comforting for both of you.
Little pictures of where you heard it trickled into your mind; on the radio in the car while your parents hummed along, over the speakers in the grocery store, in your backyard during a family dinner. It was a familiar thing to you in a brand new world where everything was both unfamiliar and terrifying. You liked hearing it again.
With a pitiful sniffle, you lifted your head all the way. “I like that song,” Your little voice squeaked out. It must’ve taken the girl a minute to realize you were talking to her because she didn’t react right away, too busy tuning out the world around her. But after a minute, she registered and decided to risk a glance at you.
“Really?” She asked, looking at you with red, tear-filled eyes. The two of you were a sorry sight, damp and shaking in your little section of the floor.
“It’s daddy’s favorite.” You answered, suddenly wanting to hide between your knees again. The memory turned sorrowful now. Who knew where your dad was now, or if you’d ever see him again. The girl’s expression changed. It wasn’t quite a smile, but if these were different circumstances, you were sure it would have been. You gave her the same face back.
Without a warning, she suddenly scooted over to you and tucked herself into your side, putting an immediate blanket of calm over you. She felt it too, a little sigh leaving her lungs. It was a surprising feeling, considering the current situation. Your arms to hug her tightly to you, giving in to it.
“What’s your name?” She asked quietly.
You told her in a voice no louder than a whisper, as if it were something you weren’t allowed to share. Mama always did say to be careful with strangers, but that didn’t matter much anymore. In the end, it couldn’t save you. These were the worst kind of strangers imaginable. Before you could think about this too much, you returned the question. “What’s yours?”
The girl’s little face disappeared into the fabric of your shirt at your side, leaving just enough space to breathe out the name. “Yelena.” Little did you know then, but that one word would become the most important one in your vocabulary.
After that, you clung to each other as much as you could. She was a source of comfort when you were just a little girl desperate for it. There were many times you were separated, but somehow it never lasted long. You always saw her again.
In your first few years, you both grew to have some of the most promising potential they’ve seen, and it was quickly recognized. You were resilient. Anything the Red Room had thrown at you, you endured, no matter how horrifying it was. Not many girls who were pulled from their lives in such a traumatic way ended up being the right type of person to make it as a widow. But you and Yelena proved you could be.
When you looked back on it, it was clear your talent was the only reason you survived. It made you valuable, which in turn, protected you from their harm. Nobody was willing to waste a girl who performed so skillfully at such an early age.
Tests began to increase, and tasks became more and more violent. You cringed away from the memory. What you had faced already was horrific, but it was nothing compared to what came. At nine or ten years old, your body started to grow quickly. Though you were still very small, that was the age you were pushed much harder physically.
The particular method used during your upbringing was ballet. It sounds harmless enough, but it was far from it. You were taught exhausting choreography and then demanded to repeat it until the point of injury. Many times, you finished a session bleeding and bruised. It made you despise the art.
You watched other girls and learned quickly. The weaker you appeared, the longer you’d be in the center of the room, forced to dance to perfection. So you developed a stoic outer layer, stripping away any emotion from your body and expression. Mastering this allowed you to move almost mechanically, which was exactly the point. They wanted grace, strength, and invincibility. And what better way to teach you than through the most brutal sides of ballet?
There was one particular day that stuck with you the most. Yelena hadn’t yet harnessed the ability to completely shut off her mind. It was much harder for her than it was for you. She was always one to let her emotions guide her, which was truly a beautiful trait if you were raised anywhere other than where you were, under Dreykov’s cruel hand.
You finished your dance and were allowed to stand with the other girls. It was a difficult day. Standing still was a relief, but it was still incredibly painful. The muscles in your feet and legs felt torn apart, and you were sure that if you took off your pointe shoes, they would reveal something horrible underneath.
“Yelena.” A cold and heavy voice spoke, ringing out through the echoey studio. Your head tilted in her direction, noticing the little intake of air before she stepped out of line. It was completely silent other than the soft tapping as she crossed to place herself in the center of the room.
You were the first to dance that morning, and therefore, you were the example. Every girl who followed was expected to have watched your routine and have it memorized enough to perform. Yelena hated going early. It gave her less time to prepare.
After her cue, she began. You watched her closely, studying every movement she made. It was off to an exceptional start; every move hit in perfect time. But as it progressed, you watched her confidence in the choreography start to dwindle, and with it, her form.
Suddenly, there was a cane at her back, roughly straightening her position. “Focus.” The voice hissed. The sudden contact furthered her distress, only causing more corrections to follow.
“Arms straight. Chin up. Do not forget balance.” Each word came with a strike against the area. Yelena winced with every single one, doing nothing but making the situation worse.
Then came the Piourette. She completed the move itself with exactly the grace and fluidity expected of her. It was the landing that did it in. You could hardly see it, just a stumble as her still uncoordinated, nine-year-old feet found the floor. But it was enough.
A strike came down on her so hard, it sent her sliding off the dance floor and across the rough wooden surface, scraping up her palms. It took every bit of your strength not to respond. “Again, Yelena!” The voice commanded. Yelena was on her knees, getting a glance at her now bleeding hands in shock. They had been sliced clean open from the splintering wood. A little stream of red ran down her arms as she held them up.
It only took a step forward from the instructor for her to be back on her feet. Tension filled the room as everyone waited for what would follow. But nothing did this time. She was allowed to return to the center.
Yelena turned to oblige in this invitation and risked a look in your direction. Her eyes begged you for help, knowing full well any “help” you provided would earn both of you a much more severe punishment. You caught them for a fraction of a second, trying to look as statue-like as possible so she’d get the hint to do the same.
Several more mistakes followed. The longer she went on, the more terrified she became. Eventually, when blood had been painted across the floor by her shoes, she finally caught up to reality. She wasn’t getting out of this if she couldn’t pull it together. So she did. For the first time, she was able to appear perfectly mechanical, achieving the skill you had learned to master.
Only when she had completed the routine with absolute perfection (That a girl of her age should not have been capable of) was she allowed to be finished. She practically limped back to her place with the other girls, with an empty expression written on her face. You exhaled for what felt like the first time since she started her dance. Empty was far safer for her here.
That moment had stayed vividly in your mind. To you, it was the day she finally gave in and allowed the Red Room to shape her into whatever they desired. She fought to keep herself harder than most. Even more than you. But after that morning, she was never quite the same. It broke her, but gave her that robotic demeanor.
You only improved from there, fine-tuning your abilities each passing day. Tasks started to be administered in a team setting, pairing two girls together or pitting groups against each other. This was to teach you to work in a variety of different situations, both alone and with other widows.
Due to your and Yelena’s continued display of talent, it was decided to test your abilities as direct partners. Once Dreykov allowed this, it became clear how excellent the decision was. When you worked with her, it was like you were synced in both mind and body. Every task Yelena completed was done twice as well when you were there, and vice versa. The efficiency and abilities were unmatched within the group, making them much more inclined to treat you as a pair. Wherever you were, Yelena was not far behind. That’s how you were able to spend your adolescent and early-adult years right by her side.
The bond that grew was strong, too strong for the Red Room to tolerate if it had ever come to light. But you were both smarter than that. Through an incredible display from you two, it seemed like nothing more than a work partnership from the outside. But that didn’t stop your feelings toward her from developing in secret.
That relationship grew into what you could only identify as love. Even if it was grown through the nightmare your lives were, it was real, and it was yours. You had never loved someone more than Yelena, and you were positive you never would. She was the sun at the center of your otherwise broken universe.
In all the long years you spent with her, your feelings never got you anywhere. Dreykov had particularly severe opinions on having any relations at all, let alone with another widow. It was seen as a tie that could distract you from the mission at hand, and any weakness like that was heavily discouraged. If anything had been discovered, you would never have seen Yelena again. So your solution was to sit with it and push her away when there were any steps taken in that direction. It was a promise you made to yourself to keep both of you safe. Keeping her away would ultimately keep her closer.
You followed through with that promise for years, but you never forgot. There wasn’t a day that went by that you didn’t think about it, about a world where you had been able to do things right. Grow up with her away from the horrors that lurked here, confess how much you loved her when you couldn’t keep it a secret anymore, maybe even marry her one day. God, how you wished you could give that to her. If only reality were as kind to her as this fantasy was.
You held onto a distant hope that one day you could give her a version of this. At least, if nothing else, give her peace and safety. You would. You didn’t have any idea how, but there was this small, unshakable feeling that it wouldn’t always be like this. The torment of the Red Room wouldn’t always have you caged within its jaws. All you had to do was hold onto Yelena until that day came, which you were determined to do.
So when you lost her, it broke your heart.
You were only nineteen at the time; Yelena was eighteen. It was nothing more than a concept. There were these neural implants, all brand new, and none of them tested very widely. Combined with chemicals, it was a way to alter a subject’s mind, surrendering cognitive ability to the controller and preventing any memories of events that occurred while under it from being stored. In short, it was essentially mind control.
Within several months, that concept developed into a working product. A plan was devised to pull widows from all different parts of the world and inject these implants straight into their heads. It started with just a handful of girls, but each successful test subject meant another batch would be whipped up.
It took very little time for it to reach you. But considering that you, Yelena, and a handful of the other widows you worked closely with were their top performers, they took the decision far more seriously than those who had less training and less talent for this kind of work. But, after what you could only hope was careful consideration, Yelena was selected as the first of your group to undergo the procedure.
Of course, you didn’t know any of this at the time. It was the night before, and you were in the shared bedroom, sitting rigid on your thin mattress. Every other bed was full, except for Yelena’s. It was highly uncharacteristic for her to be late, and if she was being held up by something, it couldn’t be a good thing.
Your eyes locked on the opposite wall, studying it as if it were different tonight than every other time you’ve seen it. A couple of the widows around you noticed your tension. “Is something going on?” One asked, sounding like she had already been asleep.
“Just waiting on Yelena.” You answered stiffly, eyes flickering to the girl. She sat perched on her elbow, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
The girl on your other side, past Yelena’s bed, spoke up. “I’m sure she’s fine,” she added. “She doesn’t do anything without a reason; she’ll have an explanation when she gets in.” It wasn’t quite the comforting words she meant it to be, but you nodded to acknowledge them regardless. She seemed satisfied with that and rolled onto her side, sinking into her pillow.
You remained on high alert in that position, listening to the sounds of the sleeping bodies around you. Eventually, there was a click at the door at the far end of the room. Your head snapped in that direction, tension immediately starting to fade as the silhouette of Yelena slid through the doorway. She tried to move quietly, but nobody in there was a heavy sleeper. A few stirred, but most went back to sleep when they realized who it was.
You didn’t move an inch until she reached you. Yelena walked right past her bed and sat down beside you, saying nothing. She only studied your face, her expression completely unreadable. The silence implied something had happened to hold her so late.
Your body was still trying to relax, but no progress was going to be made until you heard her reason. “Where were you?” You asked in the quietest whisper you could manage. There was a long pause before she answered, likely to decide how to explain.
“They have an assignment for me.” She started with a grimace on her face. You read her expression carefully. These words wouldn’t normally warrant this type of concern.
“Just me.” She paused again. “They won’t say what it is.” You both sat in silence for a moment. It was unusual for one of you to be sent somewhere alone, with no other widow nearby. And it was even more unusual to be given zero prior information.
“They didn’t brief you?” You questioned, searching her eyes in the dark for any sign of reassurance.
“No, I was told nothing.” With the words, a crease appeared between her brows, giving away the worry she was clearly trying to hide from you. “I’ll be briefed during transit and have time to prepare then.”
You gazed at her for a long time before speaking. “When are you leaving?”
“And when are you getting back?”
“Tomorrow night, I hope.” Yelena had regained her well-practiced calm and reached out to squeeze your arm gently. The contact helped relieve some of the tension in your body. You let out a quiet sigh.
“Be careful. Please.” You requested and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a lingering embrace. While you meant it to be more comforting for her, it was clear you were more anxious than she was. Yelena was always the better one at staying calm. When it came to her, at least.
I’ll be back before you have time to worry.” She assured you, squeezing you tightly in her arms. Once she felt you relax, she loosened her hold and gave you the gentlest smile. All you could do was drink in the image. That smile could settle you even if you were just minutes from dying.
In a slow and meaningful movement, Yelena brushed a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, letting her fingers brush the skin there, and then turned away to climb into her bed. You wanted to speak in that moment. Say something to her. But what would you say then that wouldn’t just distract her? The words ultimately died on your tongue. Oh, how you’d come to regret that.
That night was the last time you had your Yelena.
The next morning, she was gone from her bed before you ever had the chance to wake up and notice. You spent the entire day preoccupied with thoughts of her, having to focus all your attention on training so it would go unnoticed. Getting into a frantic state over her wouldn’t do anything but raise suspicion. You needed to be able to perform with the same quality in Yelena’s absence if you were going to be allowed to keep working with her.
So you held it together the whole day, exceeding your own expectations. It wasn’t until long after nightfall that you started working yourself up again. You waited in exactly the same position as the night before, eyes darting to the door every few minutes in anticipation. Hours passed, but you waited on. The icy sensation of anxiety slowly tightened its grip in your chest, a little harder to breathe with every second that ticked away.
It was normal to have hold-ups, right? There wasn’t a single assignment in your career that stayed on the plan one hundred percent of the time, and it had only been a few hours after her estimated arrival. Maybe you were overreacting. Yelena would walk through that door any minute and tell you all about this mystery mission of hers.
Holding onto that reasoning, you waited. And waited. And waited. But she never showed up.
The next few days gave you very little sleep, anxiety turning into fear turning into silent panic. It was days after when Yelena finally returned. When she stepped into the room, you practically threw yourself at her, barely catching yourself before crashing into her.
“Lena? What happened? Why were you gone so long?” The questions flowed out of your mouth one after the other, until you realized she wasn’t even trying to answer them. The smile faded from your face as you got your first good look at her.
She stood rigid in front of you, eyes pointed at no place in particular, like she was gazing at something far beyond the room you were in. The difference from Yelena’s usual demeanor triggered the opening of a gaping pit in your stomach. Her expression was completely devoid of emotion, so extreme that you thought she might never feel again. You realized immediately that something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Yelena?” Your voice dropped low as a sudden suffocating feeling crawled into your throat, making it difficult to speak.
There was a long, excruciating few seconds of silence, and then in the most robotic tone you’d ever heard, she responded. “The mission was successful.” It was all she said as she walked straight past you, barely even acknowledging your existence.
Everything changed in that moment, like the flip of a light switch. She was different. You couldn’t place exactly how; it was still Yelena, but it was like only a part of her had come back that day. Like everything that made her who she was left behind on that mission. Realizing this absolutely crushed you.
The implants placed in her head made her practically incoherent. She barely knew who you were past your name, and wouldn’t even talk to you half the time. As time went on, you lost hope that you were ever going to get that part of her back. And being near her like this, like just an empty shell of her usual self, felt more painful than if you had lost her completely. Distancing yourself was the only thing that helped relieve the ache.
It was quickly noticed that something was off between you and her, especially as your performance began to tank. You just couldn't work with her the same way you once had, not when every word you said to her was forgotten by the next morning. This wasn’t your Yelena, and that tormented you every single day.
Once they discovered the dramatic shift in your partnership, you were moved much higher on the priority list to have the neural procedure done yourself. Dreykov wasn’t keen on letting the dynamic between two of his strongest widows crumble this easily. So, only a few weeks after Yelena, you were given the same mystery assignment.
There was very little you could remember about that day. It was partially the loopy, drug-induced state you were in to blame for it; not quite enough to put you to sleep, but enough to keep you from panicking on the operating table. There were a few things you could recall: The cold, gloved hands on your skin, the ink of a marker mapping out your head, the sharp voices of your surgeons, the horrible pain of that first incision.
Everything after that was lost to you. Whatever had been done to wipe your mind had been extremely thorough. No matter how hard you tried— and you tried plenty— there was nothing about those years you could remember.
When you finally woke up from it, it was as if you were stepping back into your body for the first time in years. You were extremely disoriented at first, similar to the feeling when you’ve slept too long, but amplified several times over.
Your eyes snapped open in sudden panic to discover you were lying on your back, looking into the sky. The first thing you noticed was aching pain radiating throughout your body, indicating that you sustained a recent injury. The next was the scene going on above you. Your vision was splotchy, but you could still make out huge chunks of debris raining down from the sky, shaking the earth as it hit the ground. The fact that nothing had landed on you was a miracle.
You lay there for several minutes, shock and terror washing over you in violent waves. It was paralyzing. As your body remained stuck there, you slowly started putting the pieces together in your mind. It wasn’t easy, so you tried to talk yourself through it gently. I fell. I’m injured, but I’m alive. Where am I? The more that came back to you, the more that panic began to set in. What’s going on? Where’s Yelena? The last memories you had of her seeped back into your head, reminding you why she wasn’t there with you. What did they do to me?
Your senses began to return to you, starting with your vision— or more specifically, your ability to register what you were seeing. The world started to slowly come into focus, making you dizzier with every passing second.
Once the initial panic had subsided, you were left in a state of extreme confusion. What were you looking at? Sharp chunks of metal crashed into the ground, far too close to you for comfort, but you couldn’t will yourself to move away. Instead, your eyes fell to the side to observe the scene on the ground. Everything around you was on fire, smoke rising to meet what was falling from the sky.
The next goal you tried to reach was to try and sit up, but the movement made your head whirl, and you began vomiting in seconds. There was no telling what was in your stomach, but it wasn’t there anymore.
You moved bit by bit, occasionally sinking back down and having to start over. It took a shamefully long time, but eventually you were on your unsteady feet. Smaller details were picked up by your eyes again, words and pictures. What caught them was a large symbol, painted in blood red, on what must’ve been a wall at one point.
Suddenly, all realization hit you at once. This was the Red Room.
All that panic came back again, weaker this time, but still there to tear through your chest. The Red Room was currently falling to the ground in a fiery death.
Survival instincts began to kick in, and you whipped your head around to make sure there was nobody near you. If the Red Room had fallen, it wouldn’t be long before they tried to round up the widows and relocate.
Your head spun with scenarios as you went through all your options in only a fraction of a second. Without even thinking about it, your hand went to your forearm, fingers brushing over the spot every widow had a tracker in. Any effort made to escape would be worthless with that little device embedded in your skin.
You looked around for something sharp, but everything around you would risk an infection if used in the way you intended. Options were running out quickly, but then a long, thin, and very sharp shard of metal caught your eye. Hesitation was the only thing preventing you from reaching for it, but you promptly decided it was worth the risk. An infection was far better than being back in Dreykov’s hands. Even a severe one.
You took the blade to your skin and skillfully removed the tracker, blood immediately running down your arm. The amount wasn’t enough to kill you, but it would do significant damage if you ignored it for long. So you unzipped the outer layer of your suit and ripped off a strip of fabric from your undershirt, tying it around your arm as tightly as you could manage on your own.
Shakily set up for action, you decided on your next move, which was something you had never been able to do before. Turning to pick a path across the wreckage, you gauged the distance to the treeline beyond. It couldn’t have been more than a quarter mile.
There was a flicker of movement to your left, yanking your eyes in that direction. Sounds of footsteps and hurried voices came from behind a tangled pile of metal, which thankfully concealed you from their view. Each step brought them closer. Time was running out.
It was hard to tell for certain if they noticed you, but you weren’t going to stick around to find out. In a second, you were gone, sprinting through your chosen route out of the chaos. Behind you, someone shouted, and another began what you estimated was a pursuit. But you didn’t stop or even turn your head to see. They were too far back to catch up on foot anyway.
You ran and ran, using those years of physical training to your advantage. Even after you reached the trees, your steps didn’t falter; the same speed was maintained as you broke right through. It was a panicked move on your part, just placing one foot after the other. The only reason you continued for so long was because your built-in instincts demanded you keep running until danger was left far behind.
You didn’t stop until you physically couldn’t go on, until every muscle in your body screamed at you that it couldn’t take any more, and the trees around you started violently swaying. There was a sudden little twinge of worry that you might pass out.
When you finally planted your feet and skidded to a stop, another wave of dizziness spun in your brain. Dehydration and hunger didn’t help with that. It subsided, but was replaced with nausea, and before you even had the chance to process it, you were hunched over and throwing up again.
So that's how you started the next few months spent on the run. After the Black Widow Program had been exposed to the public, there was a worldwide hunt to track down every last one of them. And your name wasn’t exactly low on the list.
In time, once there were very few of you left unaccounted for, you had become the top priority. It was a government-run hunt, and none of them could compete with the abilities of a widow. However, you were one to give credit where credit was due. They did successfully track you all the way from the crash site in Russia, after it was confirmed you were onboard the floating vessel, to somewhere in America. That was where they lost you.
It took slightly more effort than you were used to, but after a couple of months, the Americans were successfully thrown off your trail. You didn’t find out until after this that there was a second group following you. Widows. And Yelena led them. When you discovered this, you considered going back to her, but your last meeting didn’t necessarily end well. And if there was even the slightest chance that she was working with whatever agency was after you, you wanted nothing to do with it. So as much as it hurt, you continued running.
Exactly six months after the fall of the Red Room was your freak accident. The one you tragically perished in. Although it didn’t actually kill you, it really was just that. A freak accident.
Yelena and the other widows had set up what was supposed to be a harmless trap for you. They had done a fantastic job so far keeping up, but you were always just one step ahead. So they devised a shaky plan to put you a few behind. It was never meant to hurt you, only disable you long enough to bring you to your senses. To this day, you have no idea what went wrong, but something did.
They were right on your tail that night. So far, you hadn’t recognized any of the faces that chased you, but you didn’t necessarily allow much time to examine them. It had been an hour of running already, pushing yourself in hopes that they’d tire first. But their endurance was just as impressive as yours. If you weren’t even winded, it could be assumed your pursuers weren’t either. Minutes continued to pass, and there was no sign of them letting up.
The sun fell behind the trees, casting shadows across the area. If you could keep it up for a little bit longer, you could use the darkness to your advantage. You didn’t realize it then, but the way they were positioned allowed them to control every step you took. Each turn you made was planned out, carefully guided towards their destination.
Suddenly, you broke through the trees, and your steady pace faltered. In front of you was a huge abandoned warehouse, tucked carefully in the wide clearing of trees. Half of it looked like it shouldn’t even be standing.
Stopping wasn’t really an option, so on you ran, clearing a chain-link fence with minimal effort. Your new plan was to try and lose them inside the building, Unaware that it was theirs, too. And you played right into it.
With a mixture of luck and skill, you managed to put a little distance between you. The obstacles that littered the warehouse helped with that. You found yourself sparing a couple of seconds to breathe, hiding carefully on a long, hanging walkway that overlooked a huge storeroom.
Across the space, on the other walkway, footsteps dashed down the metal. You waited in silence, crouched low and body rigid, as a couple of widows ran right by. That was when you realized they lost you.
You leaned your head back against the railing, sucking in sharp breaths while your lungs tried to catch up after the physical exertion. There was shouting far down the room, but it was headed in the wrong direction. So you kept your position, tilting your head to try and make out the figures down below. A few widows, four or five maybe, were scattered in different directions, hurrying across the room. The movement was unusual. It didn’t seem like they were really looking for you anymore.
A voice snapped you back to this level. It was one word, your name, but it was all you needed to recognize it. Heart jumping in your chest, your eyes landed on her, maybe fifty feet away on the other walkway. Yelena stood there, not an ounce of intimidation in her body. She was making it clear she wasn’t a threat to you.
The sight of her, her face in the dark, her eyes. There was so much life in them compared to the last time you saw her. But somehow, it was even more than you remembered from before the procedure. Even under the circumstances, she was practically glowing to you.
“L-Lena?” You stuttered. You weren’t sure what to expect if you ever got to see her again. But it wasn’t this. It was like your whole world flipped, and suddenly, every instinct to flee was gone. She gave you that reassuring smile of hers and nodded slowly. It was the smile you’d seen a thousand times.
It was her. This was your Yelena.
Before another word could be spoken, your moment was interrupted. There was a shriek from below, and a click. And suddenly the whole room was up in flames. It was the result of a poorly placed explosion mixing with an old, rickety warehouse.
The next thing you remembered was the sensation of falling and the pain of landing. Against all odds, you got out of there alive. But obtaining severe burns on the way was unavoidable. You collapsed just before the fence you hurtled to get in, the will to continue vanishing once you were right outside immediate danger. There, with teeth gritted and lungs coughing from the smoke, you watched the building be brought to the ground. And as the terror and adrenaline began to fade, it was replaced with excruciating pain.
Your hand clamped over your mouth, biting back the urge to scream from the burning sensation all over your body. Despite the pain demanding your attention, a new wave of panic shoved itself through as you discovered what was missing from the scene before you. No one else had escaped yet.
Yelena, who you’d just gotten back, was in there still. The realization that she was probably already dead slid into the forefront of your mind, but you forced it away. Panicking would only render you useless here. So shakily, you pushed yourself up onto your feet, fighting through every muscle that refused to respond.
You judged the situation, and there was no way you’d be able to get back inside. Trying to would surely result in a painful death. Even in knowing this, you took a step in that direction. But the moment your foot hit the ground, a different, more shooting pain flew up your leg. It was definitely broken from the fall. You gasped from the discovery, glancing down at the horrible sight. Burns ate right through your pant leg, leaving their marks on the skin below. You couldn’t even tell if the usual signs of a break were there. It was all covered by the wounds.
Your right leg took the most damage, but less severe burns spread across your body in several other places. Even if you could get back inside without being killed, you’d be no help to anyone in there. So you were stuck there, waiting for any sign of movement.
It only took minutes for authorities to be there. The second you heard tires on the dirt road, you sprang into action, fueled purely by the instinct to survive. Your leg screamed at you with every step, but you forced yourself to continue, somehow clearing the fence again and dragging yourself into the woods. After using up any last bit of strength your leg could offer, you collapsed for the second time, hidden well enough within the trees. There you waited, paralyzed from the pain, unable to will yourself to do anything until you knew for sure if the widows survived or not.
The American government was all over this, likely aware of Yelena’s intentions already. Several dozen vehicles, including medical help, were parked at a safe distance from the building. It was tempting to give yourself up and receive treatment, considering how much pain you were currently in, but you stayed right where you were.
There was suddenly shouting from one end of the building, and a group of widows crawled out of the wreckage. You searched their faces, unable to place Yelena’s among them. Fear clawed at your chest. What if she really was dead?
The Americans rushed around them, many getting carried off to an ambulance immediately. A couple ducked toward the spot in the wall they escaped from and helped two more widows out. Behind them, a hand reached in and pulled the last one out and away from the fire. A huge wave of relief washed over you. Yelena was fine. Injured, like everyone else, but still alive.
The moment you knew she was alright, you were able to drag yourself up and away from the site. The wreckage was searched and searched for you. Each widow was recovered alive and injured, but you were never one of them. A week had passed, and all that was discovered were remnants of your gear, dropped carelessly during your quick exit. It kept them going for a while; each piece found was a step closer to you. But a week turned into two and then three. And eventually, your death was called.
It didn’t take long for the world to forget about you, as if you had never existed in the first place. Yelena spent a few more months searching, not quite believing you were gone without a body to prove it. But all traces of you had disappeared completely, and eventually, she was forced to move on, too.
So for the next year and a half, you were on your own. You bounced from place to place, always very careful about leaving behind any hints that you were there. Not one day went by that you didn’t think about Yelena.
One day, after enough time had passed, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the loneliness, or maybe it was the one person you couldn’t seem to forget about, but the isolation was driving you crazy. It was an easy decision for you to seek her out.
Yelena left an easy trail to follow— well, easy for a widow. She was being far less careful than you knew her to be. You tracked her halfway across the world, following a weak lead that was nothing more than word of mouth. But it was the first real hint of her whereabouts you had gotten recently.
During a conversation with another former Red Room agent, one who was present during the warehouse explosion, you were told that Yelena had continued her search for widows who were still trapped by the chemical alteration in their heads and was headed toward the home of one you knew yourself. Ana was her name. She was a very talented assassin among your group in the Red Room. Yelena was convinced she was still trapped in her mind and had been living with it this entire time.
So, using your very useful skill in this area, you found the location of her house and made the journey out there. It was a quiet place, almost peaceful if it weren't for the rising tension in your body. You stood within the trees, gazing out over the snow-covered lawn to the house that stood proudly there. House was an understatement. This was practically a mansion.
You shifted your weight between your feet, trying to prepare yourself for what you were about to do. Yelena was here. In this home. And as far as you dared to hope, she still could be.
Nerves rattled in your body, which was uncharacteristic for you in these sort of situations. Sweat appeared on your palms, so you rubbed them together, eyes locked on the house. Just the thought of seeing Yelena again made you giddy, in a way you’d never felt before. Last time you saw her, you believed she didn’t still care for you the way she had in the past. But she surprised you. If it wasn’t for that damn fire, you would probably be with her right now. It gave you hope that she might respond the same way this time.
There were two options here: You could either knock on the front door and hope nobody in there is hostile, which seemed like a fragile thing to rely on, considering these were widows you were dealing with. Or you could break in and find her by force, doable but bordering on stupid for the same reason. You wanted to start this off on good terms anyway, considering you spent the past couple of years running from them.
So the latter option was ruled out.
You took in a deep breath, letting the cold air fill up your lungs. This was stupid. Nobody in their right mind would so carelessly waltz up to the door of these people, even if they were once your closest partners. It was a good thing you weren’t in your right mind.
You shoved your hands into your pockets and stepped out into the open, the cold biting immediately once you were exposed. It was only a hundred yards or so from where you stood to Ana’s door, so it only took a minute or so to reach it.
A hand lifted to her doorbell, but your entire demeanor shifted before you pressed it; your body was relaxed but steady, so you could be as non-threatening as possible while ready for defense. The skill was mastered in your first decade of life. Your thumb found the button, and a loud ring echoed inside the house.
There was silence. The longer it drew on, the more you considered retreating to the trees. You listened for any sounds of movement or footsteps, but there were none— you’d be surprised if there were. Suddenly, the door slid away from its home in the frame, and you tensed.
It was a quick movement, barely giving you time to respond. Ana was suddenly positioned in front of you, a gun pointed directly at your head. You raised your hands in surrender, meeting her eyes past her weapon. A flicker of recognition appeared there, and suddenly the gun was lowered.
“Ana?” You asked, hands still hanging in the air.
“Oh my god,” She muttered, her weapon disappearing to her side. She examined you for a long moment, brows pinched together as she processed. “I thought you were dead.”
Your lips twisted into a frown, arms falling to your sides. “You and everyone else on earth.” Ana considered your words and then gave a little “hm” in acknowledgment. You thought back to the night of the accident and tried to recall if she was one of the widows with Yelena, but you couldn’t remember seeing her face.
After a moment, she slid the door open the rest of the way to allow you inside. You obliged and stepped into the grand foyer that greeted you. It was even bigger inside than it looked. How could she have all of this?
The awe must’ve been written on your face while you examined your surroundings because Ana let out a breathy laugh. Your eyes fell back down to her. “This is your house?” You questioned.
Ana nodded, clicking the door back into place. “Let’s just say, I used our talents to my advantage.” She said this casually, as if she were simply talking about the weather.
There was a moment of silence as both of you gathered your thoughts. You began first. “I’m sure you want to know why I’m here.” She leaned back against the door behind her, studying your expression as you spoke.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not for me.” She breathed out another amused laugh. “If you’re back from the dead, I doubt I'm the first person you’re hoping to find.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but hesitated. She was right. You didn’t come all this way just to visit with her.
“I’m sorry to say, she’s not here. Yelena.” She added in before you could speak. You sank a little on your feet. “She was. Just this morning, actually. She was telling me about her big plan to free all the widows— that’s why she was here, to give me the counteragent to Dreykov’s chemicals. But I was never under it in the first place.”
Your brows pulled together for more reasons than just one. “She wasn’t working with the agency in America?” The moment the question left your mouth, you knew how stupid it sounded.
“The Americans? God, no. They chased her tail forever before they let it go.” She explained. “She said she finally shook them off after she lost you. I guess they weren’t too interested in getting involved in that mess.”
“Oh,” was the weak response you came up with. What else could you say to that? You ran from her for how long? When the entire time, she was just trying to get you back. The realization made your stomach turn.
Ana gave you a sympathetic look. “Yelena was pretty upset when I asked about you. The whole thing sounded devastating.” She added, reading the emotions right off your face. You didn’t put much effort into concealing them. “She really thinks you’re dead.”
“Well, she did watch it happen. There’s no reason I should have survived.” You stated, carefully pulling yourself back together. Yelena had every reason to believe you died in the fire that night.
“And yet, you’re still here.” The way she said this gave away her curiosity for more details.
“It’s a long story, Ana.” You were in no hurry to tell it again, so before she could get a response out, you added in. “Did Yelena mention where she was going?”
Ana’s face turned into a grimace, which put a crease between your brows. “No, actually. I thought she went into the bathroom, but she just disappeared. It only happened a couple hours ago.”
“Disappeared?” You repeated, thinking back to the time you spent together. Yelena wasn’t one to vanish without an explanation.
“Mhm. Maybe she was in a hurry to find the next widow.” Ana’s tone was as lighthearted as she could manage. But her attempt at easing the situation couldn’t cover up that it was weird. You both knew it.
Another round of silence. Your brain whirled with scenarios, disappointment, and now worry sinking into your chest. Not only were you just a couple of hours too late, but you had no idea where she would be next. “I’ll find her,” You stated to break the tension. Although it sounded like you were telling that to yourself more than to Ana.
“I’m sure you will,” She sent you a toothless little smile, reaching across the little space between you to rest a hand on your shoulder. “Maybe avoid dying again, though.”
The comment pulled a laugh from you— a sound you hadn’t heard in a long time. “No promises.” You responded and leaned in to embrace her. “It is good to see you, Ana.”
She squeezed you gently. “You too.”
You had barely made it a couple of hours from Ana’s when news of the rest of the world reached you. Empty backroads had taken you most of the way so far. When you tried to get onto the highway, it was closed off due to several accidents across all lanes. That was your first sign that something was wrong. So you detoured to a nearby town, pulling into one of the grocery stores after spotting several more pile-ups on the road.
In the parking lot, the scene was chaotic. Cars were parked at random, people gathered in groups or dispersed across the area, carts were filled and being loaded into vehicles. It was a mess. And it was making you uneasy, being so unaware of what was going on. You would have to get access to the news.
You parked the car far away from other people and dug through your bag for a hoodie. Once you found it, you slid it over your body and pulled the hood up. There really wasn’t a reason to hide yourself; you doubted anyone would be paying attention now anyway, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
A few spaces down, you noticed a man loading groceries into his car. His cart was parked far enough out that you’d have to go adjust your path to avoid it. Inside was his phone, left unattended.
You made your move quickly, walking as casually as possible down the line of cars. The timing was beautiful. As you passed, he was leaning across the front seat, completely occupied. All you had to do was lift your arm and scoop the device up on the way, and it was in your pocket before you could blink.
With the object safely hidden, you wandered through the store, picking up a couple of essentials as you went. Everyone around you had a panicked air about them. It made your heart skip nervously in your chest. Eventually, you had enough and stopped in the middle of an aisle to open the stolen phone. There was no password set. Perfect. You loved it when these things were easy.
It only took seconds to find what you were looking for. It was all over this guy’s phone. News articles, social media posts, texts from loved ones, they all said the same thing. That first headline you read froze you in place. “Half the world, suddenly vanished.” You dug through every article you could find, but nobody seemed to have a real explanation. The only certain thing was that exactly half of the earth’s population was gone, just like that. Well, that explained all the car wrecks…
Realization hit you like a truck. You knew someone who had disappeared this morning.
Suddenly, you understood the group terror radiating off of everyone around you. It was tempting to jump into panic as well, but you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.
Yelena was a part of the half that was gone.
The stolen phone fell right out of your hand and shattered on the ground, little pieces of the screen spreading out at your feet. Gone. The reality of the situation was starting to set in. Yelena was gone.
Your whole world was taken from you in that moment. It was cruel, really. After all the time you spent pushing her away, you came to get her back, and now she’s gone. Was she dead? Maybe. There was no telling for certain at this point. But clearly you weren’t going to be reunited with her after all.
The next few days were some of the worst of your life. You spent most of it in a disoriented, tearful state, just trying to process the world around you. It was a shameful response that you wouldn’t normally allow yourself to have, but you didn’t care anymore. This was harder than anything you’d ever dealt with before. Yelena, the person who meant everything to you, was gone. No matter how many times you said the words to yourself, you couldn’t quite fathom it.
But time passed on. Winter moved into spring. You spent weeks hovering near any news source you could find, hanging onto the shred of hope that something might be discovered to bring them back, but it never happened. That hope began to diminish, and soon you truly believed them when they said the victims were gone permanently. You would never see Yelena again.
Months quickly turned into years, far faster than you thought they normally did. To occupy yourself, you took Ana’s idea to put your skills as an assassin to use. Although it was never quite as lucrative as hers. You mostly dealt with low-end jobs, easy ones that would stay as far under the radar as you could get.
But eventually, even that wasn’t enough to keep you sane. You tried plenty of healthier options: picking up another hobby (nothing held your interest for very long), physically training until you were exhausted most of the time, you even tried to meet people. You had a couple of chances, but you really couldn’t get into a relationship with someone when nothing you said about yourself was true.
It got dark for you after that. When you weren’t on a job, there was nothing to occupy you except your mind, and that wasn’t always a pretty place to be. Often, you’d use a few drinks as a way to silence the constant buzz in your head. But even that wasn’t enough.
Right when you were at your lowest point, however many years later, the entire world was flipped around again. You were at home this time, with the news playing in the background. It was just supposed to be noise to avoid the regular silence of your room. Reporters talked back and forth about local updates, mainly uninteresting to you. So you sat at your table, picking through a plate of food you weren’t really hungry for and staring at the opposite wall.
But all of a sudden, the screen changed, and a more urgent topic was being discussed. Several hurried voices spoke over each other. You checked in at the word “blip”, your head snapping to the TV.
“The Blip” was the name given to the event that day that caused half the world to suddenly vanish, like they never existed in the first place. The day you truly felt like you lost everything.
“Everyone who disappeared in the blip five years ago made a sudden reappearance earlier this evening.” A woman spoke quickly, doing her best to maintain a calm stature. You didn’t even register the words at first. They just circled around your head until you could process them.
When it did sink in, that previously dead hope flickered to life in the deepest part of your chest. You crossed the room and sat yourself in front of the TV, watching the images from around the world rotate on the screen. Those who reappeared were disoriented, confused, and reasonably terrified.
Your mind jumped to Yelena who, if this was true, was back at Ana’s house where you missed her five years ago. This time around, you weren’t going to waste a second of time.
You switched off the TV and sprang to your feet, gathering as many of your essential belongings as you could and packing them into a bag. It only took you half an hour to be out the door, with no plan and nothing but you against the clock.
Yelena wouldn’t stay there long, only long enough to regain her senses and formulate a plan. It was probably foolish to even hope she’d still be there when you arrived, considering she was hundreds of miles away. But if there was even the slightest chance you could fix the mess you made with her, you were going to take it.
18 hours, two stolen cars, and a bus ride later, you proved yourself correct. When you showed up on Ana’s doorstep for the second time, you were met with a frown. Yelena was already gone.
She really freaked out,” She explained to you, pouring a cup of tea and setting it down in front of you. You nodded in thanks. “I mean, I don’t blame her. Can you imagine? In a second, five years have gone by, and it’s like you didn’t exist for any of it.”
“I can imagine, actually.” You muttered, palms wrapped around the teacup. You watched the ripples move through the liquid’s surface with every movement of the table. “It’s not that different than waking up from Dreykov’s control.”
Ana sent you a sympathetic glance, but said nothing. There weren’t really words appropriate for that situation, anyway. You finally took a sip of the tea and felt the warmth run down your throat.
A moment of silence passed. You set the cup down with a little clink and spoke up again. “Did you get anything from her about where she’s headed?”
She leaned onto the table with her arms folded. “Not really. Like I said, she was kind of panicking. I don’t think she really knew where she was at first.” There was a pause as Ana brought her cup up to her mouth. “She was asking about her sister, Natasha Romanoff. You met her, right?”
“A few times, but it’s been years.” You abandoned your drink for now and leaned back in your chair.
A pained expression suddenly formed on Ana’s face. “Well, she was killed recently. Just days ago, actually.” She explained. Your eyes snapped up to hers.
“What?” You questioned. Ana nodded slowly, seeming like she was still processing this herself.
“I haven’t heard anything yet on exactly how. It’s something to do with those Avengers.” She sighed dejectedly. You stayed silent for a moment, trying to remember if you saw anything on the news, but you barely ever listened to it. At least, you barely paid attention to it.
Your eyes fell to your half-empty teacup. “How did Yelena take it?” You tried to imagine her in this room, confused and scared enough as it is, and then to have this news dropped on her. A wave of sadness drenched you.
Ana gazed at you for a moment, trying to decide the softest way to explain it to you. “You have to remember, those five years never went by for her. In her mind, she just lost the two most important people in her life in a very short time frame.”
You tried to keep your expression calm, but every time you pictured her reaction to all of this, your features threatened to twist in grief.
“She kinda just ran out after that.” Ana continued. “I tried to convince her to stay, at least until she could fully comprehend what was going on, but she wasn’t going to listen to me.”
You sighed, the crushing weight of hopelessness making home in your chest. How ironic that you were here again, in the same house, looking for the same person, about to say the same thing.
Ana gave you a similar expression to the one she did last time you told her this. She knew just a small fraction of the pain you felt in Yelena’s absence. No words followed for a while after that, nothing but the sound of the overhead fan filling your ears. Then she shifted in her seat and replied. “She’ll want to know what happened to Natasha. I’d start there.”
You nodded slowly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Any information you could find on Natasha’s death will be another hint at Yelena’s whereabouts. It made you want to stand up and start looking right then.
It was clear that was all the information you were going to get there. So you thanked Ana and departed her home for the second time with the same objective. To find Yelena. This time, you were determined to succeed.
And you did. But it took much longer than you had hoped. Right away, it was clear that Yelena was erasing her tracks. She had a particular talent for disappearing when she wanted to. Even from you. If she didn’t want to be followed, she wouldn’t be.
After several weeks, you caught word that she had taken an assignment, which would explain why you were struggling to track her down, but you never found out where or from whom.
After that, you lost her again. It frustrated you to no end. Someone of your abilities should not have this hard a time using them. But this was Yelena Belova, the person who almost perfectly mirrored you. Of course, she would be able to put up a challenge. Actually, it was more impressive that she was doing this unintentionally.
It was happenstance when you finally got a clear word on her location. You were on a plane back to America after a new lead had failed in a very remote part of Russia. A few seats over, a guy had his screen set to the news. They briefly mentioned an event that took place in New York a few weeks ago. Something about shadows, and a new guy with superpowers and evil intentions. Like New York didn’t get enough of those.
It didn’t really concern you until the conversation shifted towards the events that followed. The announcement of the “New Avengers”, particularly. Suddenly, on the screen, they showed them: A couple of guys you’d seen on the news a little while back, a woman you’d never seen before, a guy who apparently was the same guy that tried to put the lights out on Manhattan, Ale-Alexei Shostakov? God, you hadn’t seen him in a long time. But if he was…
And then there she was, standing at the end of the line. You practically jumped out of your seat when you saw her, startling the passenger beside you. He eyed you, clearly irritated, but you didn’t care. You were looking at Yelena.
You watched the little TV in disbelief. Shit, it had been how long since you last saw her? Even just on a screen. She looked amazing. Her hair was shorter than normal, which seemed like a silly thing for you to notice first, but you couldn’t help it. Your eyes were locked on her picture until it flashed away, and the reporters moved onto a new conversation.
It was like a light switch had been flipped on in you. Even just seeing the image of Yelena brought life back to your body. You sank back into your seat, ignoring the looks from the people around you. They didn’t matter to you; only one thing did. You finally knew where she was, and you were already headed in the right direction. In less than a few hours, the plane would touch down in Maryland, and you’d be high-tailing it up to New York.
That was it, only a few hours between you and her. Just thinking about it made you restless. You desperately hoped that it was true this time.
The seconds ticked by at an excruciating pace. For the first hour, you studied the news channels, waiting for any mention of her. Right when you were sure they wouldn’t talk about the New Avengers again, one of the reporters looped it back into the coverage. The most important piece of information they dropped was the mention of the newly renovated tower (Previously what you remembered to be Tony Stark’s), where the group would base out of. That was exactly what you needed.
After this, you did nothing but switch between looking out the window and staring at the clock. Finally, after what felt like forever, your plane had landed. You were the first one out of your seat, grabbing the small bag you brought from the overhead bin and rushing to the door before most could even stand up. You earned some more annoyed glances for that.
Once you were on the road and headed in the right direction, you calmed down a little. It was a miracle you were already traveling back to America, and to an airport less than four hours away from Manhattan. That didn’t prevent several speeding laws from being broken in an attempt to shorten the time.
It was well after sunrise when you arrived in New York, and that tower came into view. Your feet suddenly felt ten times lighter. She was right there, less than a mile away.
You dropped the car as close as you could to the building and stepped out into the chilled autumn air, shivering a little from the sudden loss of warmth. The door to the tower’s main floor was less than a few hundred yards away, so you weaved through the flow of people to get there. God, New York was even busy at six in the morning.
Once you stepped through the wide doors, it was a whole different world. There were people everywhere: at desks, lounging with their morning drink, hurrying across the lobby to their next destination. You looked severely out of place among them, dressed in cargo-style pants and a half-zipped sweatshirt and gazing around the room like you’d never seen anything like it before.
So when you walked up to what you hoped was the receptionist, it wasn’t surprising when she eyed you suspiciously. “How can I help you?” She asked in a cold tone, which made the corner of your mouth tug to one side.
“I’m looking for a woman. Yelena Belova.” You started. There was recognition in the woman’s eyes when you said her name. So you were in the right place. “I’m a… friend. Of hers.”
Her narrowed eyes never changed, rising tension in your body. Without a word, the woman rose and stepped over to a very modern-looking phone hanging on the wall and muttered into it just quietly enough so you couldn’t hear the message. When she returned, she pointed a finger to her left, pointing out a large set of elevator doors.
“That’ll take you up. You don’t need to touch anything. I’ve already set it to the right floor.” She explained to you. With your eyes, you followed her until you spotted the elevator. “They know you’re coming.” The last bit sounded like she meant it as a warning.
“Thank you.” You muttered, stepping away from the desk in the direction she pointed. It was clear when you stepped up to the doors that this was a very high-tech facility. The moment your feet stopped in front of them, they slid open swiftly to allow you inside and then closed at the same speed once you were.
Instead of the traditional floor buttons, there was a large screen. But it was shut off. In about ten seconds, the little box began its ascent, leaving you with no idea where you were going.
As you sped upwards, there was a sudden spike of nerves, taking you by surprise. All this time you spent looking for Yelena, you never actually decided what you would say to her. I mean, what do you say when the last time you really spoke to her was back in the Red Room? That was so many years ago.
Then a new thought crossed your mind. What if she didn’t care about you the same way anymore? The more your mind raced with it, the more you convinced yourself it was true. To you, Yelena was everything. Your whole world. Your whole life. But to her, you were just the girl she knew from her twisted childhood. She probably didn’t even think about you anymore. No, that couldn’t be true. Could it?
You were really just working yourself up. There was nothing to be scared of here. You were a Black Widow assassin, for god’s sake. You could handle every obstacle you’ve faced so far, and you could handle this.
The numbers flew by as you raced to the top of the building. You decided to just go in with no expectations. Even if she had moved on, at least you could give her the peace of knowing you didn’t actually die that day.
You started climbing into the upper eighties, and you knew you’d reach your destination soon. Your heart thumped in your chest, and your palms began to sweat. As they did whenever you got severely anxious. You wiped them on your thighs and took a deep breath. Pull yourself together.
There was a ding, which seemed out of place for such a modern elevator, and then the doors slid open to spit you out on one of the top floors. You were frozen for a moment as you processed. A few yards in front of you was an oddly shaped door with a huge letter A on the front of it. Same as the elevator, as you stepped up to it, it responded. The A spun counterclockwise until it was lined up sideways. From there, it slid open like a giant metal mouth.
You stepped through quickly, just in case the door decided to shut in the same manner it opened in. But just feet within the room, you stopped short. Standing a little way away from you was a tall guy— one of the guys you saw on TV— with his arms crossed in a defensive stance. The first thing you noticed about him was that one of his arms wasn’t his at all. It was solid metal and much more threatening than any normal prosthetic.
“Who are you?” He asked in a harsh tone, every muscle in his body rigid as he studied you.
You paused before answering. No matter how you put this, you were going to raise more suspicion. “I used to know Yelena Belova. We’re both former Red Room Agents.” The man raised a brow. “She knows me to be dead.” The addition didn’t really help your case.
Across the room, A woman entered, fully dressed in a tactical suit, when everyone else was in casual clothing. She was followed by a man who, despite looking very physically fit, was hunched over to appear smaller. Both of them took on a surprised expression when they spotted the two of you near the door.
“Who is this, Bucky?” The woman questioned. The guy, Bucky, tilted his head in her direction, not willing to face away from you any more than that. On the other side of the room, another man walked in, already on defense. He hauled a very damaged-looking shield in with him, unless it was supposed to be bent around his arm.
“She says she’s looking for Yelena,” Bucky replied, letting his arms fall to his side without losing the intimidating position. After a pause, he added. “She’s a Widow.”
“What, like a Widow? Like Yelena?” The smaller-looking guy asked. You glanced in his direction, trying to figure out how this was the same guy who tried to disintegrate the entire city. At his words, all eyes turned to you.
“Yes, like Yelena.” You answered calmly, holding your composure well amongst the unfamiliar people around you. “Is she here?”
Before anyone could speak, a very large man strode into the room. He didn’t need an introduction. “Who is this?” Alexei asked in a much more lighthearted tone than the rest of them had treated you with. But when you shifted your eyes to meet his, he no longer needed an answer. This wasn’t the first time you had met.
“Hello, Alexei.” You greeted him, which only brought all the eyes back to you. Unlike everyone else working with the Red Room at the time, you never had many reasons to hate Alexei. He was Yelena’s adoptive father, after all.
“This is great news!” He exclaimed in his very thick accent, crossing the room toward you. The attention of the room had suddenly turned on him. “You were dead, but now not. Yelena will be so happy; she speaks of you often still. It was so hard for her when you died.”
The sentence made your heart flutter a little in your rib cage. Maybe you were wrong before. Maybe she really did care about you still. That rush of excitement suddenly turned into guilt and regret. You wasted so much time you could have been spending with her.
“What’s going on?” A voice came from across the room, the direction most of them had come from. The three words filled your ears, and suddenly, it felt like all of time had ceased moving. Your legs threatened to buckle under your weight.
Everyone stepped swiftly out of her way to let her enter the room. When she came into view, her eyes fell on you, and she completely froze, looking just as paralyzed there as you felt on your end of the room. All the others around you seemed to disappear entirely.
There was nothing but silence as you both processed. You could hear a pin drop in that room. Nothing you had imagined over the last several yours could have prepared you for this, for seeing her again with your own eyes. It made intense emotion well up in your body, and any thought you had of how you would greet her was out the window. “Lena?” Was all you managed to get out through your suddenly constricted throat.
Her eyes were immediately wet with tears and a little gasping sound escaped her throat, feeling like a knife right to the chest. When she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. You watched as she took a sharp breath to clear her throat and tried again. “H-how are you here?” The words were filled with so much pain, it made your heart lurch in your chest. “You’re dead.”
You were the first to break, tears escaping your eyes as you shook your head. “I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Yelena.” You apologized, regret attacking you in your moment of weakness. How could you have stayed away for so long when it caused her so much pain?
You thought back to that day, right before the fire started. You’d never forget the way she looked at you in that moment, like she’d found everything she was looking for. It punched you in the gut as you stood there. You never should have walked away from her.
“You’re sorry?” Yelena questioned, suddenly wiping tears out of her eyes. “I thought I’d killed you! It was my fault.” The expression on her face made your stomach twist. Had she really blamed herself all this time?
“It’s not your fault, Lena.” You insisted, willing yourself to take a couple of steps toward her. “I walked away that night. Once I knew you were okay, I took off. I never should have. I thought- I thought it was for the best, but I was wrong.”
She threw any care for her dignity out the window and wept, turning away with a hand covering her mouth. The way she stood there, like she was holding herself together, felt like a shot to the heart. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then made up your mind. In a messy few steps, you closed the distance between you and threw your arms around her. She responded by moving to cling to your torso, burying her face in your shoulder.
You thought your heart might just give up then, as she let you hold her. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, but nothing seemed good enough. So you just held her as tight as you dared, as if you’d never be willing to let go again.
All the years of pain and suffering seemed to escape both of you in that moment. You stood there until the tears stopped flowing, and your chest seemed to loosen again. Yelena lifted her head first, studying your messy face with an expression you had trouble reading. You brought a hand to the side of hers, wiping the damp skin under her eye with a swipe of your thumb. The careful move made her body shake with a choked laugh.
Yelena leaned into your hand, savoring the touch she hadn’t felt since her young adult years. “I didn’t think I would see you again.” She whispered, the last tears that still hung on, slowly falling down her cheek. You couldn’t do anything but give her a watery grin.
She took in the first calm breath and scanned your face slowly, moving onto your hair. “You’re wearing your hair differently.” It hadn’t actually changed that much since the last time you saw her, but she still noticed the difference. Of course she did.
A quiet scoff left you as your other hand moved to hold her face in your palms. “My hair?” You ran your fingers through a few of her blonde strands, admiring it more than anything else. It suited her. She gave you a half-laugh, half-hum in acknowledgment.
It was hard to process that this was even real. You were really standing here, holding the entire world you thought you’d lost in between your hands. All your previous doubts vanished just like that. Yelena felt exactly the same way she did when you were still partners. No amount of time could take that from you.
The way she looked at you, her eyes filled with so much meaning, you’d have to study it for hours just to absorb it all. It made all the weight of your heavy world lift off your shoulders.
This was your Yelena. It was such a long and hopeless fight to get her back, but you won in the end after all. She was here, back in the tight hold of your arms. And as that reality began to sink in, you made a promise to yourself that you were never going to let go of her again.
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