Different Strengths
Title: Different Strengths
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13 for referenced drug use
Disclaimer: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to other people, and I am just playing in their sandbox for fun. Russian available via Google Translate, so if the hover text is wrong or the Cyrillic is wrong, please let me know so I can correct it.
Summary: High school can be hell for some people. Natasha Romanoff, newly minted SHIELD agent, had never been to a "normal" high school before. Now she was about to experience the hell of high school for herself.
"I can be anyone I want to be."
Clint didn't look suitably impressed by Natalia's - wait, Natasha's - claim. Still, he was also an agent of SHIELD and used to seeing agents in the field pretend to be someone else. They didn't know what it was like to be someone else completely, to become the one the mark needed them to be.
"So who am I to become?" Natasha asked evenly. "What is this job I'm being sent on?"
"Infiltration," Clint told her finally. "No killing, no maiming. Just getting close to the target and finding out if she has anything to do with a smuggling ring. We know someone in the house is involved, so we have to investigate them all."
"What's the big deal?" she asked, sensing his reluctance.
"Your target is a seventeen year old high school girl," Clint mumbled, looking away.
"Oh, is that all?" she asked, unperturbed. "Am I to seduce her? Or simply pretend to be her friend?" she asked bluntly.
Clint sputtered, unused to her frankness. "It wasn't specified. Whatever you feel comfortable with doing, I guess."
"I have no comfort or discomfort. There is only completing the mission."
He sighed and shook his head. "That is so unhealthy, I don't even know where to begin."
"I get the job done," she declared. "Results are all anyone cares about."
"Because the people that trained you are fucked up monsters. I care about you being okay with this. Undercover ops can mess with your head if you're not careful."
Natasha shook her head. "I can be anyone. That is the way of it. I do as I am instructed to get the job done."
"We expect you to make sure you take care of yourself, even if you have to scrub the mission."
She frowned at him. "Like leaving me alive." He nodded, shrugging in an offhand way. "Your handlers were displeased with you. Punished you."
"Worth it," he replied with a grin.
Now she rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."
"And you're alive. I can't be sorry for that."
Though she frowned at him again, Natasha felt a little pleased by that. The Red Room wouldn't have saved her, and the other mercenaries would cash in on any rumors of killing her. Clint really didn't care about reputations or orders exactly followed, only doing the right thing and saving lives.
It was new and strange and something she wanted to be.
"Give me details on the job," she said.
Paige Greenbrooke was the eldest daughter of Ambassador Nigel Greenbrooke. She attended an elite private school in New York City, and was friends with a number of other girls from wealthy or influential families in the city. Suspicion had fallen on the Greenbrooke family because of their sudden rise out of significant debt and the appearance of proprietary technology in the hands of Hydra agents.
Natasha was assuming the role of Julia Nicholaevna Nenasheva, a recent arrival to New York City. Her father was a rich businessman from Seattle, and her mother had died of breast cancer years ago. Her maternal cousin Stephen had stayed with them because his parents traveled frequently, and he was a good companion for Julia. When Julia and her father moved to New York, Stephen came with them, continuing his role as her companion at times. He generally stayed in the house; with the move, he was no longer attending college, but was thinking about transferring to Columbia or NYU.
Julia was assigned to Paige as her guide through the school. Paige was a haughty, self-assured girl, blonde and blue eyed, slim and vicious at times, the leader of her group of friends. "They assigned you to me because I'm important here," she told Julia after exchanging names. Her perfect Received Pronunciation accent sounded dulcet and wholesome, hiding the determination within. "If you listen to me and follow my lead, you just might do well here."
"What do you mean?" Julia asked.
She gestured toward another table in the lunchroom. "Those girls there? Nerds. Unpopular and useless, really. You don't want to be like them."
"So what do you think of the classes they gave me?" she asked, handing over her schedule.
Looking it over, Paige was surprised. "We have three classes together and the same lunch period. Oh, yeah, you really want to stick with me."
They shared math, American History and English. Paige didn't enjoy math, and tended to copy answers off of her friend Caitlyn, who sat next to her. Seated next to Paige in all classes, Julia offered to tutor her in math and work as a study partner for history and English.
"Oh, you poor thing. You actually study?"
"Um. Yes. Of course."
Paige rolled her eyes. "You are in desperate need of my help, then. There's no need for studying if you know the right people."
"Right people?"
"Seriously," Paige replied with a nod. "Without me, you'd be such an outcast. I know everyone worth knowing here. I throw the best parties, and I will be able to get you into Barnard even if you don't get good grades or SAT scores."
"How can you do that?"
"Trust me, I can. So I don't need to study. That's for nerds and losers." She grinned at Julia. "I know people, Julia. That's the important thing."
"That's amazing," Julia gushed.
"I know," Paige preened. "You're so lucky I was the one assigned to show you around."
Later, Natasha seethed at Clint, complaining that these elite girls were horrid examples of humanity. Still in his Stephen persona, Clint lounged in front of the TV with a remote in hand. "They're spoiled, is what you're telling me."
"They're horrid examples of capitalist decadence, caring only for themselves and their own gain," Natasha spat, feeling the loathing rise and threaten to choke her.
"They're teenagers, Natasha," Clint reminded her, grinning at her discomfort.
"I hate them and their useless selfishness!" Natasha hissed. "No sense of purpose, no aid for others, no need to better themselves. Instead, they focus on minutiae and idiotic social status. It won't even matter in a few months!"
"Welcome to high school politics in America."
"You're enjoying this!" Natasha accused.
"Maybe a little. You've never done the high school thing. It ought to be interesting."
Not amused, Natasha stomped off to her room.
Over the next two weeks, Natasha was fully ensconced in Paige's circle, staying for dinner on most nights. There was no obvious indications of Hydra information in the house, let alone any ill-gotten tech. Natasha looked in every nook and cranny, but gave it up as a lost cause. There was no tech to be found, just drugs that Paige dealt on occasion. Paige controlled the flow of it at school and in a few homes around hers; the money paid for her expensive makeup and clothes, which she bragged about to Julia.
"Doesn't your father get all that stuff for you?" Julia asked, curious.
"Hell, no. he has no money. Some kind of bad business deal," Paige said disdainfully. "Frittered away my college fund. Just as well I never wanted to go. My trust is locked tight, or he'd steal money from those accounts as well. My grandfather knew what he was about."
Julia goggled at her. "But what could he possibly be spending the money on?"
"Don't know, don't care," Paige replied vicious. "He lost ridiculous amounts of money, has no interest in anything I do and hardly cares about Mum."
"What? That's horrible."
"Yeah. So forget that he even exists. That what I do most of the time." She stomped up the stairs to her room, expecting Julia to follow her.
It was Natasha's job, so Julia followed her.
She listened to Paige's ideas on fashion, music, movies and the drugs she picked up and resold at twice the cost. Asking about that business, it was clear that Paige had no idea what Hydra even was, or how most advanced technology even worked.
Paige likely wasn't the one stealing tech and selling it to Hydra. By her way of talking about her father, that was the more likely target. It certainly would have been very neat, though something about it bothered Natasha. Maybe because it seemed too neat, and even Hydra agents weren't this sloppy.
Clint thought she was crazy, or wanted out of high school that desperately. "It's been what? Two months so far? You think you can do a better job than our seasoned agents?"
The look she shot him could have blistered paint, but he seemed unaffected. Considering the way he drank coffee right from the pot most of the time, ate cold pepperoni pizza at any time of day and thought glazed donuts was a healthy alternative compared to his usual Boston cremes, it was likely that nothing would make a dent on that composure.
So she got herself invited over to Paige's home again. It was meant to be a sleepover with Caitlyn, Corinne and Avery; it wasn't odd to them that Julia didn't feel like taking any of the drugs that Paige dealt, as Caitlyn didn't take any either. Corinne and Avery seemed to be her biggest customers, and neither seemed to know or care about the hefty markup in price. Natasha still had her unerring internal clock, so that even though she fell asleep, she still woke at three in the morning, eyes snapping open. Corrine and Avery were sprawled on the floor, and there was a thin line of drool coming from Avery's mouth. Both had snorted two lines of cocaine each, and then crashed from their high a little after 11 pm. Caitlyn hadn't bothered with anything more than a few sips of alcohol, and Julia had only pretended to drink. Paige had imbibed heavily, smoking pot and going through fashion magazines with vicious comments about the models.
Natasha crept from her bed and then out of the room. She went through the halls with preternatural skill borne of necessity in the Red Room, and made her way into the home office she had seen. Julia had no reason to be in it, and whatever SHIELD agent that had been assigned to Nigel Greenbrooke had already declared the office to be empty of anything interesting. She wasn't so sure, and began to comb through the files present in the office. Most really weren't useful to track down anyone stealing or selling tech.
Hide your tracks in obvious places. Give them an obvious answer so they won't look for the real one, she had been instructed as a child.
Booting up the computer, Natasha rifled through the drawers in the desk. There was a picture of Paige, Nigel and Gabrielle Greenbrooke in England lying facedown in one drawer. Curious, she picked it up and looked very closely at it. Paige was young, maybe eight or nine, her hand caught in Nigel's and she beamed at the camera. Nigel seemed far more carefree than he did in more recent photos.
Gabrielle Greenbrooke caught Natasha's attention. There was a blankness in her eyes, a tightness about her lips that was subtle but still present. She was a marionette, strings still attached, doing what was expected of her, but without feeling.
It was the same expression Natasha saw in the morning.
Though she didn't think Gabrielle used the computer at all or had a user ID or password on it, she searched it anyway. Nothing useful. Natasha went back over Nigel's datebook, looking to see if anyone else wrote on it. At first she thought it was nothing, but there was a small post it note stuck on the entry for Paige's last birthday, right about the time suspicion started falling on the Greenbrooke family.
You remember what you need to do was written in a feminine hand.
Perhaps Natasha would have to talk to the agents in charge of the absent Gabrielle's case.
***
"You're grasping at straws," Clint tried to tell her.
"You don't understand how they think," Natasha told him darkly. She didn't pace, though there was a restlessness beneath her skin. She knew the Red Room had existed in some form or other for decades, and there had always been talk of former denizens coming back to teach the newer generations. They were so indoctrinated, so sure that the work they did was in the overall greater good. The decadence of the United States had to be defeated. The glory of the Russians had to be salvaged from the ruins of war and greed. It might have been a failed experiment, but the USSR had at least given them all something to be proud of.
She could recite all the propaganda, and thought perhaps Gabrielle Greenbrooke could, too.
"She wasn't even there the sleepover night, you said. And neither was the Ambassador. Some gala in Washington, probably."
"Who looked into her?"
"Sitwell assigned someone, I think," Clint said, shrugging. "He's a gunner." At her sharp look, he sighed. "Meaning, he wants to get promoted so badly, he'll kiss ass to get there. He would have dotted all the I's and crossed all the T's. She got a degree in literature, was a socialite and didn't always get out much. She spent her pregnancy in seclusion at the family home and gave birth there. Apparently, she helped really put her husband on the map in politics. Look," Clint added in a conciliatory tone. "Sitwell's a stuck up ass sometimes, but if he said nothing's there, then nothing's there."
Natasha wasn't sure, and she didn't trust in SHEILD enough yet.
Sitting beside Paige in English class, Natasha barely even paid attention to the prattle from the teacher. They were discussing Crime and Punishment, which seemed to go over the heads of most of the students. Paige was doodling on her notes, no doubt counting down the minutes until she could make a mad dash for the hallway.
"Julia?"
Her attention snapped back to the teacher. She could rattle off any information at all about the book, having read it three times. She could be astute with her assessment, or could be fluttering like a socialite without two brain cells to rub together. For an impossible, unforgiveable moment, Natasha almost forgot what she was supposed to be.
Dropping her eyes to her lap, Natasha pulled the threads of Julia's persona around her. "I'm sorry. The words..." She paused and took a deep breath, as if she had been thinking hard. Cobbling together a response was easy, almost reflex. Paige looked up with a slight furrow to her brow, which was unfortunate. The girl wasn't supposed to notice anything odd with her.
"You okay? You're always so brilliant, and the Dragon Lady loves you," Paige asked afterward.
It figured that she would be somewhat more kind if she thought someone was less than her in some way. But Natasha merely pasted a smile on her face. "It's nothing."
Paige gave her a sidelong glance. "C'mon, something's bothering you. We're cutting math."
By the time the two of them were ensconced in an empty girls' bathroom on the third floor, Julia was put back together. "I'm sorry if I worried you," she began with a sigh. "But you know that I'm Russian. Or, I was. Before." Paige nodded and dug around in her purse for a cigarette. "Well, my mother died. And it's not a big thing, it happened a long time ago, but..."
"This stupid book. It's just awful," Paige said, lighting up and taking a few hurried puffs.
"It's... Not exactly what's in the book," Julia clarified, "but... I'm not anything. Not making any sense, am I?"
"No, I know," Paige said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. She pursed her lips for a moment, then tapped out her ashes in the bathroom sink. "You think my house is so glamorous, don't you?" she asked, jaw set.
"Isn't it?" Julia asked with guileless eyes. "You're the one that knows everyone else."
"Yeah. And my own goddamn mother checked out when I was ten. Oh, she's still there in body, but in spirit? Not so much. I don't even know what the hell happened. But she's fine one moment, and then it all goes to shit. Dad moved us here, but he's fairly absent. She was fine for a while, but a couple months back, things changed again. She was talking with my uncle, and then bam! I can't call it depression or drugs or anything trendy like that. It would be better if she was a booze hound, you know. At least I would know why."
Julia blinked at her in surprise. "Your friends don't even know this, do they?"
"Nope," she replied, shaking her head and then taking a drag off the cigarette.
"So why are you telling me? I've only known you a couple of months. Something like this... It's huge. This is important."
Paige gave her a level look. "Because you've only been here a couple of months. I don't have the image to protect. I don't have to be a hardass bitch just because it's my reputation. I don't have to be heartless and cruel. I don't have to pretend everything's okay." She looked away and took a deep breath. "Because it's not. But at least a dead mother is kinder than one that's physically present but can't bear to even fucking look at you."
"Maybe it is depression?" Julia offered.
"She's not sad. She looks like a dead woman walking."
Oh, yes, Natasha knew how that could be. "That can be depression, too. And that's a cruel reality, one I've seen in my father, too. It takes strength to be gentle and kind," Julia murmured. "If they're so lost inside themselves, they can't ever find that kind of strength." And Natasha knew it to be true, deep down. The words resonated with her, making it click as to why she felt more comfortable with Clint and his belief in SHIELD.
Stubbing out her cigarette viciously into the sink, Paige looked back at Julia with suspiciously shiny eyes. "So now what?"
"Help her find her way back. Maybe she thinks she's a lost cause."
"Maybe she is," Paige said, a vicious edge to her voice.
"Everyone's worth saving," Natasha said quietly. "As long as someone's alive, as long as they can do some kind of good, they're worth saving."
"You really believe that shite?" Paige asked in disbelief.
Natasha gave Paige a sad smile. "Yes, I do."
She wouldn't have still been breathing if Clint didn't believe in that, too.
***
Gabrielle Greenbrooke was every inch a socialite, even down to the expensive champagne she drank as if it was water. Her gaze was distant, and she didn't even seem to notice Julia during the introductions that Paige made. Paige's jaw tightened in hurt, but stood there hoping for some kind of acknowledgement.
While she had hoped that her instinct was wrong, Natasha saw the faint scars around her wrists, the same flattened expression. Her stance fractionally shifted when Natasha approached, nothing obvious, but just enough so that she could defend herself or go on the offensive if Natasha was going to attack.
"Я понимаю," Natasha murmured. "Я знаю что вы." She brought her hand to her chest, indicating without words that she was also a Red Room graduate.
Her gaze sharpened, and Paige's breath whistled in through her teeth in surprise. "Вы можете мне помочь?" she whispered, not even looking at Paige. That had to have hurt.
"Что тебе нужно?"
"Они угрожают моей дочери," Gabrielle said, voice tight with barely repressed anger. Paige stepped back, staring at them both in horror.
"How do you know I'm not one of them?" Natasha asked in English.
"Not one of who?" Paige blurted, looking between the two of them. "What the hell was that just now?"
Gabrielle merely smiled thinly. "They wouldn't kill me yet. Not while I am still useful to them." Her gaze flicked to Paige, but didn't soften. "But I can't afford to be weak, not now, not when your father has no spine to speak of."
"What the hell?" Paige repeated. "I know I'm not dreaming this!"
Natasha pushed her phone into Gabrielle's hands after hitting the number for Clint. "Let me explain it to Paige. You talk to the agent on the phone." At her narrowed eyes, Natasha gave her a humorless smile. "He brought me in."
Gabrielle snorted. "Hydra will devour everything in time."
"Поговорите с ним," Natasha snarled, taking Paige's arm. "Your handler was a joke, and I'll have to fix your mess."
Now the older woman's spine straightened and she looked down at Natasha, looking ready to toss the phone aside. "And who are you to speak like this?"
"The Black Widow that destroyed the Red Room."
Her eyes went almost comically wide. "They cannot be destroyed," she breathed.
"I did it. They're gone, they aren't coming back. Now talk to him, and I will fix this."
Paige looked at Natasha, stunned. "I'm not actually high, am I?" she asked in a warbling voice.
"Unfortunately, no."
"What's going on?"
"There's a great deal of classified information," Natasha murmured. "But what I can tell you is that my name is not really Julia. Someone in this household was selling technology to others, and was trying to make it look like your father was at fault. But it appears to be your mother, possibly because she was threatened to, and thought it was the best way to spare your lives."
"The... the rest of it? The language? The destroying comment?"
"Very classified," Natasha told her gently, suddenly feeling sorry for her. The irritation she'd had with this girl and her ilk earlier was gone. "And it's safer for you if you know nothing about it."
She looked up at Natasha and suddenly seemed very vulnerable, very small. "Is everything about her a lie, then? Like you?"
Natasha managed not to wince. "Maybe some of it was real," she said softly. "If she didn't care, she wouldn't have done what she could for you." Tucking some stray hair behind Paige's ear, she tried to smile. "There will be many questions for you and your father. Maybe a deal of sorts for your mother."
"And you?"
"On to the next job they give me."
Paige sniffled. "Sounds lonely."
"It is what it is." Natasha wasn't particularly bothered by it, because she had known it was the price to pay for her life. She had a ledger to balance.
"So that's your strength. What you said earlier," she clarified when Natasha stared at her. "You said something about different kinds of strength. That kindness could even be a strength."
"I didn't think you were really listening."
"I've been a right twat for a spell, haven't I?"
"Maybe it's time to grow into the woman you were meant to be," Natasha said, backing up a step as she heard Gabrielle approach. "Time to find out what your strength is."
"Maybe we'll meet again," Paige murmured lamely.
Natasha nodded, but she didn't think so. SHIELD would send her somewhere else, and she would be someone else. That was her lot in life.
Maybe acceptance was her strength.
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13 for referenced drug use
Disclaimer: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to other people, and I am just playing in their sandbox for fun. Russian available via Google Translate, so if the hover text is wrong or the Cyrillic is wrong, please let me know so I can correct it.
Summary: High school can be hell for some people. Natasha Romanoff, newly minted SHIELD agent, had never been to a "normal" high school before. Now she was about to experience the hell of high school for herself.
"I can be anyone I want to be."
Clint didn't look suitably impressed by Natalia's - wait, Natasha's - claim. Still, he was also an agent of SHIELD and used to seeing agents in the field pretend to be someone else. They didn't know what it was like to be someone else completely, to become the one the mark needed them to be.
"So who am I to become?" Natasha asked evenly. "What is this job I'm being sent on?"
"Infiltration," Clint told her finally. "No killing, no maiming. Just getting close to the target and finding out if she has anything to do with a smuggling ring. We know someone in the house is involved, so we have to investigate them all."
"What's the big deal?" she asked, sensing his reluctance.
"Your target is a seventeen year old high school girl," Clint mumbled, looking away.
"Oh, is that all?" she asked, unperturbed. "Am I to seduce her? Or simply pretend to be her friend?" she asked bluntly.
Clint sputtered, unused to her frankness. "It wasn't specified. Whatever you feel comfortable with doing, I guess."
"I have no comfort or discomfort. There is only completing the mission."
He sighed and shook his head. "That is so unhealthy, I don't even know where to begin."
"I get the job done," she declared. "Results are all anyone cares about."
"Because the people that trained you are fucked up monsters. I care about you being okay with this. Undercover ops can mess with your head if you're not careful."
Natasha shook her head. "I can be anyone. That is the way of it. I do as I am instructed to get the job done."
"We expect you to make sure you take care of yourself, even if you have to scrub the mission."
She frowned at him. "Like leaving me alive." He nodded, shrugging in an offhand way. "Your handlers were displeased with you. Punished you."
"Worth it," he replied with a grin.
Now she rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."
"And you're alive. I can't be sorry for that."
Though she frowned at him again, Natasha felt a little pleased by that. The Red Room wouldn't have saved her, and the other mercenaries would cash in on any rumors of killing her. Clint really didn't care about reputations or orders exactly followed, only doing the right thing and saving lives.
It was new and strange and something she wanted to be.
"Give me details on the job," she said.
Paige Greenbrooke was the eldest daughter of Ambassador Nigel Greenbrooke. She attended an elite private school in New York City, and was friends with a number of other girls from wealthy or influential families in the city. Suspicion had fallen on the Greenbrooke family because of their sudden rise out of significant debt and the appearance of proprietary technology in the hands of Hydra agents.
Natasha was assuming the role of Julia Nicholaevna Nenasheva, a recent arrival to New York City. Her father was a rich businessman from Seattle, and her mother had died of breast cancer years ago. Her maternal cousin Stephen had stayed with them because his parents traveled frequently, and he was a good companion for Julia. When Julia and her father moved to New York, Stephen came with them, continuing his role as her companion at times. He generally stayed in the house; with the move, he was no longer attending college, but was thinking about transferring to Columbia or NYU.
Julia was assigned to Paige as her guide through the school. Paige was a haughty, self-assured girl, blonde and blue eyed, slim and vicious at times, the leader of her group of friends. "They assigned you to me because I'm important here," she told Julia after exchanging names. Her perfect Received Pronunciation accent sounded dulcet and wholesome, hiding the determination within. "If you listen to me and follow my lead, you just might do well here."
"What do you mean?" Julia asked.
She gestured toward another table in the lunchroom. "Those girls there? Nerds. Unpopular and useless, really. You don't want to be like them."
"So what do you think of the classes they gave me?" she asked, handing over her schedule.
Looking it over, Paige was surprised. "We have three classes together and the same lunch period. Oh, yeah, you really want to stick with me."
They shared math, American History and English. Paige didn't enjoy math, and tended to copy answers off of her friend Caitlyn, who sat next to her. Seated next to Paige in all classes, Julia offered to tutor her in math and work as a study partner for history and English.
"Oh, you poor thing. You actually study?"
"Um. Yes. Of course."
Paige rolled her eyes. "You are in desperate need of my help, then. There's no need for studying if you know the right people."
"Right people?"
"Seriously," Paige replied with a nod. "Without me, you'd be such an outcast. I know everyone worth knowing here. I throw the best parties, and I will be able to get you into Barnard even if you don't get good grades or SAT scores."
"How can you do that?"
"Trust me, I can. So I don't need to study. That's for nerds and losers." She grinned at Julia. "I know people, Julia. That's the important thing."
"That's amazing," Julia gushed.
"I know," Paige preened. "You're so lucky I was the one assigned to show you around."
Later, Natasha seethed at Clint, complaining that these elite girls were horrid examples of humanity. Still in his Stephen persona, Clint lounged in front of the TV with a remote in hand. "They're spoiled, is what you're telling me."
"They're horrid examples of capitalist decadence, caring only for themselves and their own gain," Natasha spat, feeling the loathing rise and threaten to choke her.
"They're teenagers, Natasha," Clint reminded her, grinning at her discomfort.
"I hate them and their useless selfishness!" Natasha hissed. "No sense of purpose, no aid for others, no need to better themselves. Instead, they focus on minutiae and idiotic social status. It won't even matter in a few months!"
"Welcome to high school politics in America."
"You're enjoying this!" Natasha accused.
"Maybe a little. You've never done the high school thing. It ought to be interesting."
Not amused, Natasha stomped off to her room.
Over the next two weeks, Natasha was fully ensconced in Paige's circle, staying for dinner on most nights. There was no obvious indications of Hydra information in the house, let alone any ill-gotten tech. Natasha looked in every nook and cranny, but gave it up as a lost cause. There was no tech to be found, just drugs that Paige dealt on occasion. Paige controlled the flow of it at school and in a few homes around hers; the money paid for her expensive makeup and clothes, which she bragged about to Julia.
"Doesn't your father get all that stuff for you?" Julia asked, curious.
"Hell, no. he has no money. Some kind of bad business deal," Paige said disdainfully. "Frittered away my college fund. Just as well I never wanted to go. My trust is locked tight, or he'd steal money from those accounts as well. My grandfather knew what he was about."
Julia goggled at her. "But what could he possibly be spending the money on?"
"Don't know, don't care," Paige replied vicious. "He lost ridiculous amounts of money, has no interest in anything I do and hardly cares about Mum."
"What? That's horrible."
"Yeah. So forget that he even exists. That what I do most of the time." She stomped up the stairs to her room, expecting Julia to follow her.
It was Natasha's job, so Julia followed her.
She listened to Paige's ideas on fashion, music, movies and the drugs she picked up and resold at twice the cost. Asking about that business, it was clear that Paige had no idea what Hydra even was, or how most advanced technology even worked.
Paige likely wasn't the one stealing tech and selling it to Hydra. By her way of talking about her father, that was the more likely target. It certainly would have been very neat, though something about it bothered Natasha. Maybe because it seemed too neat, and even Hydra agents weren't this sloppy.
Clint thought she was crazy, or wanted out of high school that desperately. "It's been what? Two months so far? You think you can do a better job than our seasoned agents?"
The look she shot him could have blistered paint, but he seemed unaffected. Considering the way he drank coffee right from the pot most of the time, ate cold pepperoni pizza at any time of day and thought glazed donuts was a healthy alternative compared to his usual Boston cremes, it was likely that nothing would make a dent on that composure.
So she got herself invited over to Paige's home again. It was meant to be a sleepover with Caitlyn, Corinne and Avery; it wasn't odd to them that Julia didn't feel like taking any of the drugs that Paige dealt, as Caitlyn didn't take any either. Corinne and Avery seemed to be her biggest customers, and neither seemed to know or care about the hefty markup in price. Natasha still had her unerring internal clock, so that even though she fell asleep, she still woke at three in the morning, eyes snapping open. Corrine and Avery were sprawled on the floor, and there was a thin line of drool coming from Avery's mouth. Both had snorted two lines of cocaine each, and then crashed from their high a little after 11 pm. Caitlyn hadn't bothered with anything more than a few sips of alcohol, and Julia had only pretended to drink. Paige had imbibed heavily, smoking pot and going through fashion magazines with vicious comments about the models.
Natasha crept from her bed and then out of the room. She went through the halls with preternatural skill borne of necessity in the Red Room, and made her way into the home office she had seen. Julia had no reason to be in it, and whatever SHIELD agent that had been assigned to Nigel Greenbrooke had already declared the office to be empty of anything interesting. She wasn't so sure, and began to comb through the files present in the office. Most really weren't useful to track down anyone stealing or selling tech.
Hide your tracks in obvious places. Give them an obvious answer so they won't look for the real one, she had been instructed as a child.
Booting up the computer, Natasha rifled through the drawers in the desk. There was a picture of Paige, Nigel and Gabrielle Greenbrooke in England lying facedown in one drawer. Curious, she picked it up and looked very closely at it. Paige was young, maybe eight or nine, her hand caught in Nigel's and she beamed at the camera. Nigel seemed far more carefree than he did in more recent photos.
Gabrielle Greenbrooke caught Natasha's attention. There was a blankness in her eyes, a tightness about her lips that was subtle but still present. She was a marionette, strings still attached, doing what was expected of her, but without feeling.
It was the same expression Natasha saw in the morning.
Though she didn't think Gabrielle used the computer at all or had a user ID or password on it, she searched it anyway. Nothing useful. Natasha went back over Nigel's datebook, looking to see if anyone else wrote on it. At first she thought it was nothing, but there was a small post it note stuck on the entry for Paige's last birthday, right about the time suspicion started falling on the Greenbrooke family.
You remember what you need to do was written in a feminine hand.
Perhaps Natasha would have to talk to the agents in charge of the absent Gabrielle's case.
***
"You're grasping at straws," Clint tried to tell her.
"You don't understand how they think," Natasha told him darkly. She didn't pace, though there was a restlessness beneath her skin. She knew the Red Room had existed in some form or other for decades, and there had always been talk of former denizens coming back to teach the newer generations. They were so indoctrinated, so sure that the work they did was in the overall greater good. The decadence of the United States had to be defeated. The glory of the Russians had to be salvaged from the ruins of war and greed. It might have been a failed experiment, but the USSR had at least given them all something to be proud of.
She could recite all the propaganda, and thought perhaps Gabrielle Greenbrooke could, too.
"She wasn't even there the sleepover night, you said. And neither was the Ambassador. Some gala in Washington, probably."
"Who looked into her?"
"Sitwell assigned someone, I think," Clint said, shrugging. "He's a gunner." At her sharp look, he sighed. "Meaning, he wants to get promoted so badly, he'll kiss ass to get there. He would have dotted all the I's and crossed all the T's. She got a degree in literature, was a socialite and didn't always get out much. She spent her pregnancy in seclusion at the family home and gave birth there. Apparently, she helped really put her husband on the map in politics. Look," Clint added in a conciliatory tone. "Sitwell's a stuck up ass sometimes, but if he said nothing's there, then nothing's there."
Natasha wasn't sure, and she didn't trust in SHEILD enough yet.
Sitting beside Paige in English class, Natasha barely even paid attention to the prattle from the teacher. They were discussing Crime and Punishment, which seemed to go over the heads of most of the students. Paige was doodling on her notes, no doubt counting down the minutes until she could make a mad dash for the hallway.
"Julia?"
Her attention snapped back to the teacher. She could rattle off any information at all about the book, having read it three times. She could be astute with her assessment, or could be fluttering like a socialite without two brain cells to rub together. For an impossible, unforgiveable moment, Natasha almost forgot what she was supposed to be.
Dropping her eyes to her lap, Natasha pulled the threads of Julia's persona around her. "I'm sorry. The words..." She paused and took a deep breath, as if she had been thinking hard. Cobbling together a response was easy, almost reflex. Paige looked up with a slight furrow to her brow, which was unfortunate. The girl wasn't supposed to notice anything odd with her.
"You okay? You're always so brilliant, and the Dragon Lady loves you," Paige asked afterward.
It figured that she would be somewhat more kind if she thought someone was less than her in some way. But Natasha merely pasted a smile on her face. "It's nothing."
Paige gave her a sidelong glance. "C'mon, something's bothering you. We're cutting math."
By the time the two of them were ensconced in an empty girls' bathroom on the third floor, Julia was put back together. "I'm sorry if I worried you," she began with a sigh. "But you know that I'm Russian. Or, I was. Before." Paige nodded and dug around in her purse for a cigarette. "Well, my mother died. And it's not a big thing, it happened a long time ago, but..."
"This stupid book. It's just awful," Paige said, lighting up and taking a few hurried puffs.
"It's... Not exactly what's in the book," Julia clarified, "but... I'm not anything. Not making any sense, am I?"
"No, I know," Paige said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. She pursed her lips for a moment, then tapped out her ashes in the bathroom sink. "You think my house is so glamorous, don't you?" she asked, jaw set.
"Isn't it?" Julia asked with guileless eyes. "You're the one that knows everyone else."
"Yeah. And my own goddamn mother checked out when I was ten. Oh, she's still there in body, but in spirit? Not so much. I don't even know what the hell happened. But she's fine one moment, and then it all goes to shit. Dad moved us here, but he's fairly absent. She was fine for a while, but a couple months back, things changed again. She was talking with my uncle, and then bam! I can't call it depression or drugs or anything trendy like that. It would be better if she was a booze hound, you know. At least I would know why."
Julia blinked at her in surprise. "Your friends don't even know this, do they?"
"Nope," she replied, shaking her head and then taking a drag off the cigarette.
"So why are you telling me? I've only known you a couple of months. Something like this... It's huge. This is important."
Paige gave her a level look. "Because you've only been here a couple of months. I don't have the image to protect. I don't have to be a hardass bitch just because it's my reputation. I don't have to be heartless and cruel. I don't have to pretend everything's okay." She looked away and took a deep breath. "Because it's not. But at least a dead mother is kinder than one that's physically present but can't bear to even fucking look at you."
"Maybe it is depression?" Julia offered.
"She's not sad. She looks like a dead woman walking."
Oh, yes, Natasha knew how that could be. "That can be depression, too. And that's a cruel reality, one I've seen in my father, too. It takes strength to be gentle and kind," Julia murmured. "If they're so lost inside themselves, they can't ever find that kind of strength." And Natasha knew it to be true, deep down. The words resonated with her, making it click as to why she felt more comfortable with Clint and his belief in SHIELD.
Stubbing out her cigarette viciously into the sink, Paige looked back at Julia with suspiciously shiny eyes. "So now what?"
"Help her find her way back. Maybe she thinks she's a lost cause."
"Maybe she is," Paige said, a vicious edge to her voice.
"Everyone's worth saving," Natasha said quietly. "As long as someone's alive, as long as they can do some kind of good, they're worth saving."
"You really believe that shite?" Paige asked in disbelief.
Natasha gave Paige a sad smile. "Yes, I do."
She wouldn't have still been breathing if Clint didn't believe in that, too.
***
Gabrielle Greenbrooke was every inch a socialite, even down to the expensive champagne she drank as if it was water. Her gaze was distant, and she didn't even seem to notice Julia during the introductions that Paige made. Paige's jaw tightened in hurt, but stood there hoping for some kind of acknowledgement.
While she had hoped that her instinct was wrong, Natasha saw the faint scars around her wrists, the same flattened expression. Her stance fractionally shifted when Natasha approached, nothing obvious, but just enough so that she could defend herself or go on the offensive if Natasha was going to attack.
"Я понимаю," Natasha murmured. "Я знаю что вы." She brought her hand to her chest, indicating without words that she was also a Red Room graduate.
Her gaze sharpened, and Paige's breath whistled in through her teeth in surprise. "Вы можете мне помочь?" she whispered, not even looking at Paige. That had to have hurt.
"Что тебе нужно?"
"Они угрожают моей дочери," Gabrielle said, voice tight with barely repressed anger. Paige stepped back, staring at them both in horror.
"How do you know I'm not one of them?" Natasha asked in English.
"Not one of who?" Paige blurted, looking between the two of them. "What the hell was that just now?"
Gabrielle merely smiled thinly. "They wouldn't kill me yet. Not while I am still useful to them." Her gaze flicked to Paige, but didn't soften. "But I can't afford to be weak, not now, not when your father has no spine to speak of."
"What the hell?" Paige repeated. "I know I'm not dreaming this!"
Natasha pushed her phone into Gabrielle's hands after hitting the number for Clint. "Let me explain it to Paige. You talk to the agent on the phone." At her narrowed eyes, Natasha gave her a humorless smile. "He brought me in."
Gabrielle snorted. "Hydra will devour everything in time."
"Поговорите с ним," Natasha snarled, taking Paige's arm. "Your handler was a joke, and I'll have to fix your mess."
Now the older woman's spine straightened and she looked down at Natasha, looking ready to toss the phone aside. "And who are you to speak like this?"
"The Black Widow that destroyed the Red Room."
Her eyes went almost comically wide. "They cannot be destroyed," she breathed.
"I did it. They're gone, they aren't coming back. Now talk to him, and I will fix this."
Paige looked at Natasha, stunned. "I'm not actually high, am I?" she asked in a warbling voice.
"Unfortunately, no."
"What's going on?"
"There's a great deal of classified information," Natasha murmured. "But what I can tell you is that my name is not really Julia. Someone in this household was selling technology to others, and was trying to make it look like your father was at fault. But it appears to be your mother, possibly because she was threatened to, and thought it was the best way to spare your lives."
"The... the rest of it? The language? The destroying comment?"
"Very classified," Natasha told her gently, suddenly feeling sorry for her. The irritation she'd had with this girl and her ilk earlier was gone. "And it's safer for you if you know nothing about it."
She looked up at Natasha and suddenly seemed very vulnerable, very small. "Is everything about her a lie, then? Like you?"
Natasha managed not to wince. "Maybe some of it was real," she said softly. "If she didn't care, she wouldn't have done what she could for you." Tucking some stray hair behind Paige's ear, she tried to smile. "There will be many questions for you and your father. Maybe a deal of sorts for your mother."
"And you?"
"On to the next job they give me."
Paige sniffled. "Sounds lonely."
"It is what it is." Natasha wasn't particularly bothered by it, because she had known it was the price to pay for her life. She had a ledger to balance.
"So that's your strength. What you said earlier," she clarified when Natasha stared at her. "You said something about different kinds of strength. That kindness could even be a strength."
"I didn't think you were really listening."
"I've been a right twat for a spell, haven't I?"
"Maybe it's time to grow into the woman you were meant to be," Natasha said, backing up a step as she heard Gabrielle approach. "Time to find out what your strength is."
"Maybe we'll meet again," Paige murmured lamely.
Natasha nodded, but she didn't think so. SHIELD would send her somewhere else, and she would be someone else. That was her lot in life.
Maybe acceptance was her strength.
The End