Chapter Text
Alexei watches as Yelena mindlessly gazes at the television. A cooking or baking program is on, but he's nearly sure she's not watching it. She'd returned from New York explaining that Clint Barton wasn't responsible for Natasha's death as she'd been led to believe and hadn't elaborated further. Then she'd gone quiet and had withdrawn, leaving him and Melina worried for their remaining daughter.
His mind drifts then to Natasha, and he remembers the look of hurt and despair on her face on that airstrip in Cuba so long ago. She'd been desperate as she begged him not to send them back there. She'd risked stealing a soldier's gun and threatening them all to stay away to try and protect her baby sister from the Red Room. The fear in her eyes had been second only to a fury of protectiveness for Yelena, but rather than saving her as he should have, he talked her down. He'd been in too deep to have realized the kind of place they were going back t—
No, he thinks, correcting himself in a moment of honest self-reflection. I made sure I didn't know. I made sure to not care.
He knows he will regret his choices that day until his death. He'd heard directly from Melina what sorts of skills they were taught in that place and had known what Natasha was capable of even at her young age. He'd heard the whispers before they had left for Ohio of the sort of place that it was. He could have pieced it together and understood the environment he was sending his daughters to was far from idyllic, but he deliberately chose not to. Instead, he willingly handed his strong, brave, and beautiful girls off to Dreykov's men without a second thought.
For years, Alexei lied to himself about that day, convincing himself he was unaware of the truth of the Red Room and rationalizing it was a true honour for them to be trained so vigorously for their country. Even after being imprisoned and hearing the rumours being whispered by his fellow prisoners about the Red Room — 'How could they do that to children? Why not train adults instead?' — he'd told himself he'd done the right thing. Now though… Now Alexei knows precisely what Dreykov had done to them and the type of environment he'd forced his girls into. And now he feels nothing but guilt for not fighting for them back then. They deserved so much more from the man they'd called their father.
The loss of Natasha had left him grappling with his guilt and his regret for all the things he should have done and everything he should have said. There was so much he should have said, but he could never put it all into words, so he'd instead chosen to stay silent and hope his daughter — the woman with the heart the Red Room couldn't steal — could read him well enough to know what he felt and what he'd wanted to say.
He should have apologized; he knows this deep into his core. And he knows now he's missed that chance forever, so he's turned to Yelena to try and mend things between them, lest the worst happen again. He's been reaching out for her in different ways, trying to hold her closer after losing Natasha, but Yelena has resisted. He doesn't blame her for it, even though it frustrates him; she's hurting, feeling lost without the big sister who'd always protected and loved her so dearly. The start of mending his relationship with her had been slow, painful, and often disjointed following the bringing down of the Red Room, but they had taken small steps forward. But now Yelena's pulled away from him and Melina, and the little he sees of her, he sees the pain and grief etched so clearly on her face and every time, Alexei wonders if the weight of grief on Yelena's heart will be permanent.
As he watches his daughter half-heartedly watch some cooking show on the TV, he wonders if there's a way to break her out of the tide of grief that's drowning her. An idea blooms in his mind, and he moves closer, letting his heavy steps announce his presence.
"Come," he instructs, waving his hand and beckoning Yelena. "We will fight."
She turns her head briefly to level an irritated glare at him, then says flatly, "No."
"Come, come," he persists. "I have only heard how ruthless you are. I want to see it."
"No," she repeats stubbornly.
He sighs heavily, a bit frustrated even if he's trying to be patient. "Yelena, come on. You can't stay on the couch all day."
"Yes, I can. Now go away."
He knows it might blow up in his face spectacularly, but still, he decides to shift his persuasion style. "Natasha would not have wanted you to—"
"Don't say that," she interrupts, again turning her head to glare at him. Her tone is sharp and laced with decades of pain and anger as she continues, "You didn't know her."
"I am her father. Of course I knew her."
"You were not her father," she answers even more forcefully, venom lacing every syllable as she gets up. "You were the man who gave her and me back to Dreykov. You were the man who made her go back to the Red Room. You were the man who betrayed us."
Alexei is uncertain if she's realized she's gotten up and is walking toward him, but the fire in her eyes is a welcomed sight. Even if the anger is directed solely at him, the energy there is good because she's been listless for too long. He knows the grief for her sister has consumed her; it had, in many ways, consumed them all.
"You don't get to tell me what she would want because you didn't know her!"
"No?" he says, goading her a bit more. "Then how do I know she loved steak and fries? Or that she liked to read science fiction? Or that she used to sneak out at night to look at the stars? Or that she would ride on her bike for hours because she loved it so much?"
Yelena has reached him now and pushes him back with both her hands. The shove is sharp and rough and aggressive, and it tells him his strong, stubborn, courageous Yelena is still in there.
"Come, we'll fight," he says again, briefly meeting Melina's gaze over Yelena's shoulder. She's scrutinizing him with a knowing expression, having likely deduced his goal without much effort.
"If I do, you'll stop? You'll shut up? You'll leave me alone?" Yelena asks.
"Yes, little one," he says, nodding his agreement.
"Don't call me that," she mutters under her breath, eyes alight with fury and frustration.
He leads them out of the house, then gestures for her to attack. "We go. No weapons," he reminds her.
She doesn't hesitate and launches herself at him. It's a flurry of kicks and punches, all of which he lets her land on his body. The attacks are powerful, and he can feel the anger behind each one, but still, he knows she is not at her best. He knows the weight of the grief and emotions are holding her back from her usual ability, just as they are holding her back from her life. He waits as she tires herself out, seeing the tears he knows she isn't aware of on her cheeks, and when she unsuccessfully launches another sluggish attack, he wraps his arms around her.
"Let it out, Yelena," he says softly, his arms restraining hers from behind. He knows not having the outlet of Clint Barton to hate and channel her rage toward anymore is why she's withdrawn and so angry, so he's goading her into letting some of it go. If it means she has to hate him instead, so be it. It was a small price to pay and too small a penance for his actions when she was young.
She lets out a guttural scream of rage. "Let go of me!"
"No. Listen to me, Yelena."
"No!"
"Listen to me!" he says, louder this time. He's leaning into the "dad" voice he hasn't used for decades. "Natasha loved you. You know this."
"Stop it! Shut up!"
"You cannot keep this anger all inside you. You have to let it out. And you have to let the sadness out too."
She grunts in frustration as she tries to shove his arms off her. When she makes no progress, she changes her approach and blindly tries to kick behind her at him.
"She would not want you to suffer," he says. At this, he feels her go limp in his hold. He hears and feels the sobs begin to escape her, and he shifts his grip to turn her around so he's hugging her. "Natasha loved you, Yelena. She did what she did to save you. She wanted you to live."
"I wanted her to live," she says. Her voice is so quiet Alexei would have missed it entirely if not for the hiccup from her crying. "We were supposed to be sisters again."
"I know," he says gently. He'd seen it in how they were around one another during their reunion, in the desperate hug they shared after taking down the Red Room, and in their hopeful smiles when she handed her vest to Natasha.
"We were supposed to have time to—"
"I know," he repeats, unsure what else he can say. He'd cried when he heard Natasha was gone, but he knows the bond between Yelena and Natasha far eclipsed any that he and Natasha might have had.
He knows they had kept in touch — if only sporadically — after they left Natasha to face Ross and his American military. Then Yelena had drifted away as dust, and Natasha spent five years without her sister. Shortly after returning, the Avengers announced the deaths of Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark, crediting them with being integral to bringing everyone back. The utter and complete grief laced in Yelena's tone when she called to tell them had left him grappling with disbelief and crushing sadness. Even Melina — famously stoic and practical Melina Vostokoff, the Iron Maiden herself — had wavered under the weight of the loss of her daughter.
Alexei holds Yelena for a few more moments as the grief continues to pour out of her, even as she tries to fight against it. When her tears slow and her breathing evens out, he releases his hold and reaches out to tip her chin up so he can meet her gaze. He sees such pain in her eyes, but he offers a gentle smile to her. "I know that I made many mistakes, and was not the father you both deserved, but I knew Natasha enough to recognize that she loved you, little one. Don't ever doubt that."
He pauses to let her refute his words and walk away, but she stays still, holding his gaze.
"I am not saying you shouldn't be sad that she's gone. I miss her too." He pauses, letting his admission hang between them for a beat. "But you need to keep living while you feel these feelings."
Yelena's gaze drifts down from his, and she seems impossibly small as she stands before him. For a moment, he's reminded of the days when she was even smaller, a young child without a worry in the world clamouring for his attention. There'd been an innocent air about her back then, and even now, years later, despite living through the brutality of the Red Room and grieving the loss of the person most important to her, he can see a certain hopefulness in her. It's buried under grief, but it's there.
"It's not fair," she says, tone equally frustrated and grief-laden.
"No," he agrees with a slow, sad shake of his head, "it's not. But she did what she did to save the world." He pauses and tips her chin up again. "To save you," he adds.
She nods, and he smiles. "Now, do you want to fight some more? Or should we go have dinner? I think your mother made food earlier."
"Can we have mac and cheese?" she asks, tone a little shy and another reminder for him of her as a young child again.
He laughs. "Sure. Get it started, I'll be inside in a moment."
Melina appears moments after Yelena disappears into the house. "I saw what you did with her."
"She is like me. She needs something to hit," Alexei replies with a shrug. "Natasha was always thinking, but Yelena always needed something to do."
Melina considers this, then bobs her head once in agreement. "Many parts of the brain are involved in grief. Our brains make maps to know and understand where the people we care about are, how to find them, and so on. When someone who is a part of those maps dies, the brain needs time to rewire the maps. But when we run into a situation that needs that updated map but the brain hasn't completed it yet, we don't quite know how to proceed."
He turns her words over in his mind for a moment. "How long does it take for the new map to be done?" he asks, wondering if the ache in his daughter's heart will ever heal. Wondering distantly if the one in his own heart will ever heal.
"It's not an exact science," Melina answers. "There's a lot that isn't known."
"But it will take time?"
"Yes," she confirms with a nod.
"Then we stay together until we have our maps," he says.
Alexei's gaze tips up then, and he sees the stars twinkling. A memory rises in his mind of Natasha and Yelena running through the yard one evening. "What were those things in the garden in Ohio that glowed? The insects."
"Beetles from the Lampyridae family," Melina answers. He thinks he sees a fondness spread in her eyes and wonders if perhaps memories of Ohio are rising in her mind, too. "Yelena called them forest stars, but they're known as fireflies or lightning bugs."
He smiles then as he recalls the many times Natasha and Yelena had chased them, trying to catch them with their hands. "The girls loved them. I think they would chase them for hours if we let them."
Melina nods. "Probably, yes," she agrees.
He hesitates before he asks his next question, aware that Melina would be blunt and maybe give him an answer he doesn't want to hear. "Do you think Natasha hated me?"
Melina takes only a moment to consider before she answers. "Yes."
His expression falls as she confirms what he'd thought.
"But she had a bigger heart than anyone I've ever known, so maybe she didn't hate you entirely. Maybe…maybe she just hated the parts of us that sent her and Yelena back to the Red Room."
He considers this and decides it's probably true. Natasha had trusted them enough to help her and Yelena take down Dreykov. Yes, their reunion had been filled with unresolved tension and emotions, but they'd parted on good terms. Maybe…just maybe, she hadn't hated all of him.
His gaze tips up to look at the stars again, and he thinks back to those days in Ohio, beer in his hand as he watched his girls run around the yard chasing fireflies. He feels Melina's hand squeeze his once before she gets up and heads back inside, and then he's left alone with his thoughts. He closes his eyes and thinks of that young girl chasing after her younger sister in the yard, shrieks of delight and joy filling the air as fireflies flickered around them. He hopes that wherever Natasha may be now, if nothing else, she is at peace as she had been while chasing those fireflies.