Chapter Text
"You might not want to pull on that thread." And then she walked away.
That was how the script was supposed to work, what the training had taught her: when you're burned, you run to ground and stay there until the smoke clears enough to see past your hands. Leave the weak behind, move forward, eye on the horizon. But this time, Natalia Romanova couldn't walk away. She had too much red in her ledger, much more than giving Steve Rogers the dossier would ever clear.
So she pulled some threads of her own, tearing open seams for the possiblilty of redemption.
--
His last three safe houses had been compromised shortly after he had gotten settled in (not settled, too permanent; acclimated) and he'd been sleeping under bridges for a week before he saw the notice. When he had been on assignment with no direct contact possible to his handlers they had used innocuous seeming posters to share intel. Sure, everyone saw "LOST DOG" but who really looked any closer - and if they did, how could they find something that didn't actually exist?
The plea for help was ordinary enough, but the picture...
He traced the image with a steady fingertip - behind the animal, a poster of the constellation Орион, the hunter. It was simple enough to put together the information: an address, a time. Not a location he had used before, but something caused a whisper in his mind. "Brooklyn," he muttered, brushing the pads of his real fingers across the paper again and willing the whisper to become something louder. "My mission."
--
The children were filing out under his steady gaze as he stood in the shadows of the alley across the street. An operative was never on time, to be so would mean being early to their death. His internal clock had adjusted to this time zone weeks ago and he knew he was 53 minutes early to meet his handlers, but he wouldn't risk any traps they would have laid for him. An innocent enough city block for this area, not apartment buildings crushed together but singular residences, their own existences separate from each other and the mainland.
He couldn't properly classify the use of the building before him, however. This many children should have meant a school, but from what he knew of American culture their learning would have ended hours before and none of them carried any visible books or papers with them, just duffel bags and backpacks stuffed with what looked like cloth. The front of the building was large panes of glass showing an open room, the mirrors on the other wall reflecting the ending day and the images of the youths. He watched as a small blonde woman swept the floor after everyone else had left, her movements graceful as she cleared away all evidence, and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as if to will himself from harming her.
"Incredible, isn't it?" He had sensed a presence behind him but assumed it was a cat; plenty of wildlife on the streets that had made him jump at every sound his first weeks outside until he adjusted his senses. Knife immediately in hand, he whirled around to face the voice and assess the situation until the whisper in his head caused him to focus on the woman's features.
"You're..." His voice cracked, trying to find the right words. <<красный.>>
"Yes, but I prefer black." Her lips tightened into a smile. <<черный.>>
Neither of them moved until a crash sounded from the end of the alley. Attuned to every movement now, he hesitated a fraction of a second, allowing her to step forward into his arm's reach as she raised her hands peacefully."I won't hurt you. I'm here as help."
"Help?"
"If you'll accept." She lowered her arms partially, holding them palm up towards him as if in offering. "I know what it's like to come in from a Russian winter."
"You know him. My mission." He glared at her hands; she was offering him something he didn't want to willingly take. "You are his ally, my enemy."
She shrugged, slowly stepping around him toward the mouth of the alley. "You are burned, Winter Soldier. Your handlers are gone. There are no other missions left for you. He is hunting for you. Do you think you could complete your mission in this state?" Deliberately turning her back on him, she began to cross the street. "It is your choice."
He waited in the growing gloom, watching her walk towards the building.