Chapter Text
The doctor stepped out of the room to find a dark-haired woman waiting. She didn't smile, nor did she frown, her face perfectly neutral as he confirmed the successful procedure. The newest Widow, Natalia Romanova, had just graduated, and a few rooms away, another woman took on the role of surrogate mother for the Stilinski couple. When Noah Stilinski came to check with their chosen surrogate, his wife would be sure to smile brightly, maybe even tear up a bit.
"If this little experiment of yours fails, it will be terminated."
"If it fails, I will terminate it myself."
The doctor nodded his approval and made himself scarce. They were living in a small town, unequipped to handle such a procedure (though she had ensured the doctor that could have otherwise performed the procedure was... unavailable, just to be sure), so she was able to convince Noah to have it done in a hospital in her 'hometown'.
Within a few hours, the Red Room's newest Widow would be gone, and in nine months, the Stilinski's would have a child.
The baby was male. While gender was not something that could be controlled, it put Claudia's experiment in danger. Some quick talking meant the child wouldn't be killed yet, but from that moment, Claudia knew that she could not go easy on the child. Mieczyslaw had to be perfect, there was no other option.
The little family of three moved to Beacon Hills, with Claudia hiding as much of their movements as possible. She would still report to the Red Room but she couldn't have them ruining her experiment.
Mieczyslaw "Mischief" Stilinski grew up aware of what he had to be. At school he was goofy, smart but overlooked. Baggy clothes, and awkward movements. With his mom, he had to be the opposite. He couldn't be smart, he had to be brilliant. He was in gymnastics and parkour as soon as he was old enough on top of private lessons with his mother. Once he was comfortable with his schedule, she added ballet.
Precision was mandatory. By the time he was six, she was teaching him to use and care for various weapons. All of this without his father's knowledge.
Whenever Noah Stilinski was home, or they had people over, they transformed into a typical American family, and those were the times that Mischief lived for. In those times, Claudia was warm, and caring. She made him food that wasn't fancy, but filled with care. He wanted to say love, but he had seen love in his lessons on stealth and infiltration. Love didn't stop as soon as doors closed and lights went out. Love didn't have you memorizing the most effective ways to incapacitate a man without death, or how to kill someone without leaving a trace.
He thinks he loves her, after all, she could have given up and killed him at any point over the years but she hadn't. She continued to train him, and take care of him. All in the name of the Red Room, of course, but the longer he lived, the less it felt that way.
Then she got sick.
It was fine at first, the symptoms weren't so bad that they disrupted their lives, but eventually Claudia was admitted to the hospital's long-term care ward.
Mischief stood by her hospital bed, forcing down the hurricane of emotion wreaking havoc on his mind. She sometimes tried to attack him but with the frontotemporal dementia attacking her brain, the movements were weak and uncoordinated. This however, was one of her more lucid days.
"Listen to me, Mieczyslaw. You must not break character. Once I am gone, any protection I have given you will be gone too. You cannot make any mistakes."
"I know, Mama."
"They do not know where you are, and it needs to stay that way. Promise me."
There was nothing an assassin could do against dementia and by this point, she was so tired. Too tired to enforce distance between herself and the child she had raised. Her little Mischief was only 8 years old, it was too soon, so the best she could hope for was to give him more time.
"I promise."
She gifted him with a rare smile and with that, the conversation was ended, and the pair let the hours drift away.
A week later, Claudia Stilinski was dead.
May 2011
Natasha Romanoff sat casually in a small town diner, occasionally checking the time. At a little past ten in the morning, two men joined her, slipping into the booth with a sigh.
"So," she started. "Norse God of Thunder."
"Hey, Thor was actually easier to work with than Stark," Phil Coulson said with a light sigh.
"I'll bet. So are you guys joining me on a lovely miniature break, or is there a new mission already waiting?" Natasha asked, sipping delicately at her coffee.
Clint groaned, slumping further in his seat.
"Please, no more missions just yet."
Both his companions rolled their eyes. As much as he could complain, he would be bored in a few days without something to do.
"No. We are heading back to DC. I have some research to do about a small town in California before I head out there, and you both need a few days off."
"Yes! Thanks Phil, you're a godsend."
Natasha was also grateful, a small smile forming on her face. She too was not a fan of long breaks, but little ones were nice. Too long without being occupied left her in her own mind, thinking of all the things she had done, what she had been through in the Red Room. It was only when Clint nudged her arm, concern clear in his face, that she noticed one of her hands had slipped down to rest against her lower abdomen.
She moved that hand away as though it'd been burned. She had been trained since birth to avoid such ridiculous tells.
Both men knew better than to pry into her thoughts and feelings. They knew enough about her past to guess but they both also knew that it was better to let her come to them, if she was so inclined.
The trio of spies settled in for a little relaxation before they hit the road again. In California, a certain teen was trying to do the same.
Stiles Stilinski sat in a hospital room, staring into space. A knife was being twirled in his fingers. They defeated Gerard a month ago, with the old man mysteriously disappearing after the faulty bite, but now his father had decided to have him checked for FTD, just in case it started so maybe they could catch it early. There was a 50/50 chance of a child getting FTD if their parent had it, so the concern was justified. The only issue came from the fact that Claudia Stilinski was not Stiles' parent. Not biologically.
His father needed to learn the truth, or at least part of it.
Stiles watched through the window as Melissa approached his father, test results in hand. Noah Stilinski was under the impression that his wife had a disease that meant she could not carry a child to term, so they used her eggs and his sperm with a surrogate. Of course, this was not the case, Claudia had been sterilized as part of her graduation.
"-then who is?!"
The boy didn't even wince at the harsh words that filtered through from the hallway.
"I don't know, the procedure wasn't even done in this country, which will make it infinitely harder to track down the information," Melissa responded.
As the conversation came to a close, Stiles' knife disappeared, hidden from view for when the adults entered. He prepared himself to act surprised and conflicted. Even as a little voice in him thought about actually finding his biological mother, he knew it would never happen. His biological mother was a Widow, there was no way to track her down short of going through the Red Room, which was not a good idea. His dad might try to find her, but he wouldn't succeed.
The Black Widow spy was, by it's very definition, an unknown spy.
Stiles never imagined that she'd find him first.