Chapter Text
She doesn't think. A flash. Blue eyes.
Those blue eyes.
She doesn't feel her own hands, movements, facial expressions; doesn't see blood, somebody's attempts to defend; doesn't hear words and hiss, blows and the sound of a falling knife.
Only blue eyes. Exactly the same.
She knows them - intuitively, by heart, maniacally - and that's the only thing in her head. The eyes are fucking blue, contrasting with the black pupil. Bright as a splash of watercolors on a white sheet.
Nothing but the eyes that stare at her in shock and insanity. Is that how it should be? Not a drop of recognition.
The skull bursting like after a blast wave. If something happens, it will be not with her and not in this reality. Here and now, only the eyes - a cold shade, burned into the memory.
Consciousness suddenly turns on by itself - Natasha sees her hands on someone else's neck, feels pain from someone else's fingers scratching her wrists, and lets go abruptly.
Blue eyes blink. A cough is heard. A body shakes beneath Natasha, and she pushes off and stands up. Weakness rolls over, along with a confusion of what the hell was that.
Her tongue refuses to obey, and the legs can barely support the weight. Not-Maria, because it is someone with her face, but not her, rises on her elbows, remaining on the asphalt. She has red markings on her neck and a streak of thick blood on her collarbone.
“Who the fuck are you?” Asks Not-Maria, and Natasha backs away.
She wants to move, but she does not even have the strength to answer.
So, she leaves, getting to her car in a fog.
Before the eyes - blue eyes. Exactly the same.
***
She is Natasha Romanoff. Former agent of an organization called SHIELD. She was raised by the Red Room. Her sister's name is Yelena, and her mother is Melina (the family was a fake one).
Her favorite color is green. She survived the Battle of New York and Thanos' snap. The last thing she remembers is Vormir.
She doesn't know why she's here. In a crappy motel in Portland. She has cash, a bag of her belongings and an old car. She hasn't a clue how she's got there.
She is Natasha Romanoff.
In the mirror, through the stains, she sees a face - red hair, lipstick that not completely erased, a fold between the eyebrows, lowered corners of the lips. The body seems heavy, she desperately wants to sleep.
After that outbreak, - she attacked, although she doesn't really remember what came over her, - she barely has the strength to breathe. Natasha remembers what happened before - the gas station, the smell of gasoline, the weird red Mustang, and after...
Blue eyes and nothing else.
Natasha once again looks at herself in the mirror and rinses her face with water. She does not understand what is happening, but she is well aware that it is somehow connected with the woman with the face of Maria.
(Maria, whom she never really got to know.)
***
The bar smells of beer and stale air. There are only a few people, but enough to make the room seem alive and functioning. "Bad alibi" is an ironic name for a place like this.
Natasha doesn't even have a bad alibi or a single sane-sounding reason why she's here. She looks around, noticing details out of the old habit of being constantly on the lookout. She immediately sees a familiar figure; their Maria never wore loose-fitting T-shirts or ripped jeans. Their Maria is a picture from a textbook, SHIELD uniform or pantsuits, hair pulled into a ponytail, tension in the shoulders and resilience.
Their Maria is not the one to sit in a bar with a glass in her hand. Or maybe she is. Natasha’s never known her outside the SHIELD and saving of the world.
She straightens her shoulders and takes a long breath before sitting down in a nearby chair and saying:
“Hey.”
Not-Maria reacts to the voice and flinches, fingers gripping the glass tighter.
“You got to be kidding me. You are the lady who attacked me yesterday for no apparent reason...”
Natasha interrupts, not allowing the thought to be expand further. She needs to explain, although there is nothing to explain here. She has no answers.
“Could you listen to me?”
Not-Maria seems annoyed as she purses her lips and turns her head slightly to give someone a quick glance before returning it to Natasha. Her distrust and waryness is easy to understand. Natasha makes no attempts to get closer, only studies a familiar, yet unfamiliar face. Sharp lines, dyed hair, wrinkles around the eyes, a few metal rings in the ear.
“Why the fuck am I supposed to listen to you? You tried to kill me.”
Natasha snorts, unable to contain herself.
“If I wanted to kill you, you would be already dead.”
“Cool.”
Not-Maria shrugs and lifts the glass to her lips, draining the leftovers in one gulp. She seems to do this a lot. Common coping mechanism.
Did their Maria also like whiskey in the middle of the day? That doesn’t sound like her.
This is not their Maria. This is a different person, and now it can be seen especially clearly. Nat starts over:
“I… didn't control myself. You reminded me of someone.”
A muffled laugh. Blue eyes look with dawning interest. Alertness changes to curiosity. Natasha feels that she is doing everything right. A strange feeling in the stomach arises by itself.
She's not sure if she felt anything like that with Maria in the past. If this is her past at all. Memories seem blurry and foggy.
“Looks like you hated that someone.”
It's a bullshit. Natasha didn’t hate Maria. But she didn’t love her either. She respected her and didn’t know her at all. Didn't let herself to get to know? It doesn't matter now.
“Not at all.”
Not-Maria hums in understanding and reaches for the bottle to pour herself another drink. She does not offer Natasha, but she still stays in place, watching.
Yesterday Natasha lost control, but today she doesn’t feel anything that made her close her hands on someone else's neck.
“My name is Natasha,” she finally breathes out.
“Dex.”
Not-Maria's lips – Dex’s, – fold into a one-sided smile and she salutes with a glass.
Natasha again draws attention to how damn blue her eyes look.
She would call it an temporary insanity (once again, on repetition, like a lie that one wants to pass off as the truth), but the temporary insanity doesn’t last that long.
***
In this world, whatever it is, there is no SHIELD, no Fury, no Avengers, no Maria Hill.
In this world, Natasha cannot find information about the invasion of aliens and superheroes; this is a normal world in which the main villains are ordinary people. And the heroes are too.
She looks at her papers and her bag of belongings, looks around the motel room and exhales slowly through her nose.
She has nothing. This is either a tragedy or a chance to start over.
Natasha chooses the latter.