Chapter Text
Prologue :: Vanya
The wind cut down to the bone. Natalia didn't flinch, though; she had been trained in colder temperatures and under far more strenuous conditions. So this really shouldn't have bothered her, but yet it did. He did anyway.
He stood knee deep in the snowy yard, blood dripping down one cheek. His wrist rolled unconsciously, as he made the sharp blade in his grasp dance. There was blood on that too, but the injury to his face hadn't been caused by that. No, someone else had been the cause of it; someone who had undoubtedly met a violent and messy demise.
He had been gone for several weeks; sent away on a series of missions that she was none the wiser to, as he was never the wiser about hers. They were only teacher and student; he taught and she learned, and he remained cold while she wavered and thawed.
Externally nothing had changed. They sparred as they always had, but more often than not the gap between their skills had lessened. She no longer spent as much time on the hard training floor mats splayed on her back; he spent some of his time there too now. While it certainly wasn't equal, she knew it would be soon; he had all faith that it would be, and she trusted him in some capacity.
However, something internal had changed; had been compromised somehow. It was unpreventable, even with all her self-control, she hadn't stood a chance. She hadn't even seen the telltale signs of it until it was far too late. Things had bloomed and grown, and had done so without her permission.
That was why she had ventured into the January cold, hardly registering the fact that her boots had been soaked through and her cheeks had turned numb and ruddy. She had waited for him; counted the days mentally in her head, and watched the training yard for any sign of him. Today he'd come back; blood-stained and twirling that bowie knife of his with unconscious precision, as if he had been doing so for years. He'd probably had been too.
As unenthusiastically as she could, Natalia had collected her coat and snow boots; wrapped a worn scarf around the lower half of her face, before she trekked through the elements. She couldn't have said what she expected by her arrival, although she put very little thought into it. That needling feeling had brought her here, and she wisely chose not to dissect it.
He stood still in the snow drifts, recounting his inevitable success to his superior. His lips hardly moved, barely formed the words. He was a man of little words, though. Words seemed to obstruct him, whereas action was the skill that he always excelled in.
Her conversations with him, the very few that they had, had been clipped and straightforward. He spoke with a slight accent, almost indiscernible if one were unobservant; but he spoke with one nonetheless. And he spoke only of her skills (or lack thereof); there was never idle chit-chat or friendly conversation. He was a soldier, after all, and she was meant to be one too. Soldiers hadn't any need for pointless words and sentiments.
The report soon came to an end; the superior officer (if one could even call him that), plodded through the pathway of his own tracks. While he, on the other hand, shifted and moved towards where she stood; a blood-stain in the snow, and one he only acknowledged when they were no more than inch away from one another.
"The cold isn't your friend today, Natalia." He announced without any inflection whatsoever.
"Ice runs in my veins."
"Becoming one with the motherland then,"
"Some would say you're showing concern for your pupil, Vanya." She felt her lips twitch, although they did not spread into a smile; not even behind the protection of her scarf.
"Concern is only relevant to one's partner." He gave her a narrow-eyed look. "You'll be accompanying me to Bulgaria soon. I'd prefer you to be in full health."
The words warmed her, and she could not say why. They hadn't worked on the field with one another before. He was her teacher and he was legendary. The Winter Soldier worked alone; he hadn't any need for accomplices. Which would only mean that she was worthy at long last; he had faith in her and believed that she was self-reliant and capable now.
Without another word, he stomped past her, and towards the gray and unimpressive building in which they were housed. It certainly wasn't home; they hadn't any homes as they didn't have any remorse. Home was a sentiment, and they were stripped of that concept very early on.
Natalia watched Vanya; studied the way he walked which was in between forceful and a sort of a swagger that he couldn't seem to shake. She watched as the wind played with his tangled hair that frequently smelled of gun smoke, metal, and the faintest hint of cologne. And the way his hand continued to toy with the bowie knife, although the movement had grown languid but was equally precise as it had been only minutes ago.
He hadn't procured any noticeable injuries beyond the one on his face. More often than not, the target in question couldn't even accomplish that. The mission had undoubtedly been a dangerous one if the Winter Soldier came away with evidence of the fray.
"Vanya," she called over the howl of the wind to him, but he didn't turn. He had heard her, though; she could tell by subtle almost invisible signs. She knew him all too well, yet she knew very little of herself now.
His name remained in the icy air, while he treaded farther and farther away from her. It was for the best, no doubt; she didn't know why she called to him or why his safety brought her peace of mind either. Especially when emotion had proven detrimental to so many, which was why they had vigorously tried to strip her of anything that could potentially put any mission she was given in jeopardy.
Looking away from his retreating form, Natalia observed the snowy yard and pathways made by innumerable footsteps; all of which were orderly and in no way chaotic. Uniformity was an important quality in the Red Room; emotionlessness was another, and it didn't bode well with her that she might very well be compromised. Because Vanya's name was always on her lips; her eyes always sought him out, and something deeply human seemed to yearn for his proximity.
This would do her no good. She knew it and she was right.