Upstate New York, USA

Late Summer 2015

Nadine was antsy. Restless. Anxious, even. She'd been spending too much time dwelling on her past. And despite how cathartic dealing with Madame B had been, it had also brought a great deal forward that Nadine would've much preferred to leave buried. And that left her feeling unsettled. Anxious to move, to do something.

And that was even with the tasks at hand to keep her occupied. Her searches into those Madame B had spilled her secrets to and their associates was going well, fuelled by a determination borne of her disquiet. A mercy of her training, really; channelling her frustrations into her mission, whatever that may be. But it wasn't perfect. Especially when her tasks were more sedentary in nature. She had long been conditioned to be active, and sitting in front of computer screens didn't quite mesh well with that.

Especially when she was like this.

So the urge to move was something Nadine was long used to. It was a restlessness she was usually easily able to address with something as simple as a more intensive than usual exercise routine. But as Nadine settled back onto her heels, her breath coming hard and her limbs beginning to ache numbly from the workout she'd just put herself through, she knew she had little choice but to admit it.

This was different.

It crawled and scratched beneath her skin, a sensation like prickling needles skittering up and down her spine. It was a helpless sort of frustration that she couldn't seem to identify. She swore softly under her breath as she irritably brushed back a few escaped strands of her pale hair from where they clung to her sweat-slicked face and neck. It was a frustration that none of her regular outlets could seem to dissipate.

Most of her regular outlets, at least.

Her hands fisted, the wrappings she'd wound around her wrists the only thing keeping her nails from biting into her palms. She shook the thought from her head, not letting herself consider it.

She wasn't in a position to go hunting just now, after all, so that one was off the table...for the time being, at least. Besides, the way she was feeling? There was no guarantee any such undertaking would work anyway. It meant less likely solutions had begun flitting through her brain in effort to find something to ease the feeling.

Getting laid, perhaps? But she immediately shook that option aside as well at the face and accompanying body that slowly tried swimming into focus at the idea. She didn't want to think of the owner of that face that way. He was so much more than just his—admittedly gorgeous; the man was a specimen of the highest degree—appearance. He was good and just and compassionate and he was treating her with far more respect and trust than she knew she deserved.

Not to mention, she figured it was highly unlikely he would want anything of the sort with someone like her...and that wasn't even accounting for her past with his best friend.

No. That would never happen. Nothing with him would, be it sex or something more. So there was no point even letting herself think about it, much less hope. So the little flutter of anticipation deep in her belly could just disappear and leave her in peace. And it could take the mental image of the Captain's warm, ocean-hued eyes and chiselled—and currently shirtless, thanks to her overactive imagination—physique with it.

She wasn't going there.

Besides, the last time she'd tried to let off some steam that way, it hadn't worked. Too many memories. It had only made things worse. And while she suspected partner would be everything, her instincts seemed to want to lead her down paths she was certain were wiser turned away from.

The suggestion of another potential outlet niggled at the back of her mind, hovering just beyond recognition.

The longer this dragged on, the more she couldn't escape the feeling that she had experienced an urge like this one once before. But she couldn't quite seem to make the connection.

Or maybe part of her didn't want to, what with her past haunting her more intently than normal....

With a silent snarl, she lashed out at the flesh-toned dummy, the impact of her wrapped fist on the training tool and the dull, resounding thud of it toppling over echoing through the dimly lit workout room. Spinning, she stalked away, her pacing steps muted by the traction coating and light padding that covered the floor of the centre of the room.

It was like...it was like a shiver under her skin. A restless urge deep in in her bones to move. A tension, a longing in her limbs to...she wasn't sure. She pressed her wrapped palms to her temples, smoothing them back from her cooling face over her securely pulled-back hair. It was like a humming, unrealized memory pressing against the edge of her mind...

...her irritable pacing faltered, realization hovering on the edge of her consciousness, bringing with it a peculiar sense of calm...

...that was it.

It was a memory. Of a sort. Muscle memory. Her body longing to move as it remembered doing what felt like a lifetime ago. It was echo of something she might have loved in another life; something tainted and corrupted and twisted by her training. Yet something that still held a trace of...comfort. Familiarity.

Something she'd tentatively begun to reclaim when she'd built the life to hide herself and her child in.

As realization washed over her, her eyes sliding shut with the relief of it, she found herself toeing off her shoes and socks, rising to her toes once she was free of them, her form loosening as she circled to the centre of the training floor...

And each step became a dance.

She wanted—even longed—to dance.

And she didn't want to fight it. It felt right.

She let her mind go blank and allowed her body to take the lead, letting the impulse loose.

Her steps grew deliberate and flowing, her feet following long ingrained patterns with practiced ease, her arms and hands instinctively taking up their graceful arcs, lending elegance to her dance even as they lent her balance as she turned and swayed.

Her pulse slowed from its exertions on the training mat, beating a gentle rhythm beneath her breastbone. A rhythm her memory echoed, the cool voice that had once called it out emerging from her past like a wraith out of her nightmares.

Monsieur's voice.

Their ballet instructor had been merciless, unforgiving, cold and exacting. He had worked in tandem, in harmony with Madame B. His sharp features and sharper tongue had been just as respected and feared in the Red Room as the training mistress' had been. He perhaps hadn't had her vicious, vindictive streak or her thirst for blood, but he had been just as cruel. He had taken pleasure in pushing them all to their breaking point, and an icy gleam would surface in his emotionless eyes when one of them broke. She could still feel the frigid, condescending sensation of his gaze as it raked over her, assessing, evaluating, measuring, and always finding wanting. Lacking. Failing. A chill ran down her spine at the phantom memory of chilled fingers, hard fingers, bruising fingers on arms and legs and necks, correcting mistakes and punishing failure without compassion or mercy. Always pushing. Always again. And never satisfied. Not when bodies shook and faltered with exhaustion. Not even when they moved and danced with utter perfection. He was never satisfied.

Save when causing pain.

She blinked away the memory.

She had no intention of letting it haunt her. Not like she had with Madame B's memory. She'd allowed that to go on for quite long enough.

So despite all the bad—no, not bad, not by a long shot—horrific memories evoked by the dance itself, it was still, somehow, comforting. Familiar. Soothing, even.

There was a peace in letting go, surrendering, in letting her body take over and letting her mind shut off. In letting herself forget everything, even if just for a few moments. To fall back on the movements so ingrained in her body's memory that, even near twenty years later, she didn't falter.

It was almost...cathartic. No, it was cathartic. With every step and turn—every plie and chaînés and polonaise, pirouette, piqué and rise—everything just seemed to bleed away, like poison draining from a wound. Just as it had that late night in the studio all those years before when her identity as Nadine Ryker, Ballet Mistress, had been new.

She only faltered when the lights came up, and she realized she was no longer alone.

Instincts snapping back to attention, she spun, stance angled, face a mask and fists curled loosely, ready for a fight.

Natasha just stood there in the door, watching her. Looking...lost. Almost...frightened, even. Nadine's breath caught painfully as the peace she'd sunk into faded, her gut suddenly aching at the expression looking back at her. She had never seen her little sister look so vulnerable, so...broken.

And then in a blink it was gone, deftly hidden by her sister's characteristic knowing, even sly expression. But there was a hardness to Natasha's features that told her just as much as if the careful mask hadn't snapped into place.

"Revisiting old memories?" It was asked so easily, Nadine nearly missed the bitter, brittle waver in her sister's pointedly amused tone.

"Reclaiming them," Nadine countered softly, ignoring the prickle behind her nose and the damp warmth gathering in the corners of her eyes, "taking away their power." Natasha's mask faltered for a split-second, and Nadine's gut ached at the well of conflicting emotions swirling in the familiar green depths. But control was quickly regained and Nat's brow quirked, her gaze sliding away from Nadine's to take in the abandoned shoes at the edge of the mat and the toppled training dummy as a nearly patronizing smirk curled her lips.

"That's one way to handle them, I suppose. Personally, I just leave them well enough alone. There's no point in dwelling on things that can't be changed." She pointedly met Nadine's gaze, as though daring her to disagree.

But Nadine did dare.

"Just because they can't be changed doesn't mean they can't be conquered," she said simply. Nat's eyes were growing suspiciously damp, but her expression of tolerant skepticism didn't falter. Nadine raised an eyebrow of her own to mirror her sister's. "Or have you forgotten what we did in Paris?" Natasha swallowed thickly, her calm expression wavering.

"You should know all ghosts aren't defeated quite that easily," she said, the faintest of tremors in her voice saying more than any shout could've.

Nadine sighed sadly. "I know. But you have to start somewhere. And dancing again? It's a step for me. One of many."

"A step to what?"

"Reclaiming myself." Natasha's eyes had grown painfully bright, but Nadine continued, her voice careful and measured, as though speaking too loud would scare her sister away. "I have to do this my way, Natalia. Raising Nina, freeing myself from Madame B? They're steps. Steps to finding out who I am again.

"Steps that you took years ago," she finished firmly, not dropping Natasha's gaze, "even if they took a different route than the one I'm taking." Natasha's lips curled gently, the expression pained and sad but slowly shifting toward understanding. She got it, Nadine realized with a soft sigh of relief. Natasha stepped further into the workout room, her gaze surveying the space again as she gathered her thoughts. Finally, she let out a heavy exhale, turning back to Nadine.

"But...Nadya, this?" She gestured to Nadine, her tone nearly pleading. There was no doubting what she meant. Natasha simply couldn't wrap her head around the idea of actually wanting to dance again. Some scars just ran too deep. "I—I can't even...I just can't wrap my head around how you could even set foot in a studio, much less run one. And dancing..." her voice trailed off, the first threads of panic colouring the uneasy waver that she had very nearly been able to hide with condescension. Nadine watched her sister with sympathy. She wasn't entirely sure she could answer. Not completely. There were times when she felt like she knew why, but more often than not, she honestly had no idea herself. Her shoulders hitched in an almost-shrug.

"It was something I knew that wasn't killing, and I needed something to present to the world. And..." she faltered, a confession on the tip of her tongue she wasn't quite sure she'd even admitted to herself.

But then it was like something clicked into place. A revelation...no, not a revelation. A shift, deep within the fabric of who she was; like a pulled thread had been carefully tugged and manipulated back into place. She blinked as she watched the redheaded assassin in front of her. Mirroring her.

It was Natasha. Her sister. And she trusted her sister without reservation, enough to admit truths about herself she wasn't sure even she had known up until that very moment. It might not be the most profound of confessions waiting patiently on her tongue, but it was one. And she wanted, even needed to share it. To prove to herself that she could do it. That she could be herself with Natasha. She straightened, meeting her little sister's eye head on, allowing her own mask to fall completely.

"I...I think I liked dancing, Natalia," she said softly, a wash of calm coming over her as the revelation spun out ahead of her, unravelling and becoming clear to her as the words fell from her tongue. "Despite all the pain, the punishment...for all Monsieur's cruelty; for all that the routines were one more step to conditioning us into weapons...it never quite felt like...I don't know." She paused, suddenly unsure how to explain the feeling in a way that would make sense to someone who wouldn't feel the same. Shifting her weight she looked down to her hands, taking stock of her thoughts, absently massaging her palm beneath her wrappings. Natasha watched her, her features wearing a peculiar mix of wary uncertainty, doubt and fascination. Nadine finally shrugged. "It wasn't the same as the rest of the training. There were times, moments, when I could disappear inside my own head as I danced. It...it became a bit of a refuge, I think, despite everything else that happened in that place. Not that I realized it at the time." A small, surprised sound a little like a chuckle escaped her at the thought. "I don't even think I realized it when I opened my Studio. I don't think I ever realized it.

"Not 'til now." She met Natasha's gaze again. The younger spy seemed to follow, if Nadine was reading what she saw right. But despite that, Natasha was slowly shaking her head.

"It wasn't for me," she said wearily. The ache in Nadine's heart renewed. "Sometimes...sometimes I can still hear him, Monsieur, in my head; again...again..." she inhaled, her breath shaking as her voice threatened to, "...again." She looked up to Nadine, her eyes growing hard and cold behind the bright sheen threatening to overwhelm them. "It took me a long time to silence him." Nadine's gut clenched at the quiet confession, but there was something in her sister's voice...it said more than she suspected Natasha had been intending to say. Nadine shifted again, straightening. Natasha's head tilted minutely, her eyes narrowing as she read the change in Nadine's demeanour.

Nadine levelled her sister with a thoughtful look. "I thought about going after him, you know. Monsieur, like we did with Madame B."

"Oh?" Natasha's response was careful and controlled, with just the right amount of interest. Anyone but Nadine would've believed the redhead wasn't sure where she was going with the comment. But Nadine could see it; Natasha knew exactly what she was doing. Nadine nodded slowly.

"I even started tracing him. Do you know what I found?" A distracted, non-committal hum was her only answer, but her sister's posture and the barely noticeable tension in her hands told a different story. She was fairly certain she had her answer without even voicing the real question. Nadine sighed internally, nodding once. "He's already dead."

"Really." Natasha's tone was nearly politely disinterested, as though Nadine was commenting on nothing more interesting in the weather. Nadine wondered if Natasha could feel her gaze, sharp as it was by now.

"Seven years ago. Car accident," she said, her delivery carefully offhanded. Natasha made a vague sound of interest.

"Deadly, those," the younger assassin quipped back. And there it was; a cold, sharp edge to her tone. It was all the confirmation Nadine needed. And judging by the sudden flicker in her sister's eyes? Natasha knew she'd caught it.

Not that she seemed to truly care.

A small, satisfied grin played about Nadine's mouth. "Only sometimes," she said back. Natasha's guarded expression eased slightly, the trace of tension in her frame easing at Nadine's implied approval. Shifting herself, Natasha's hands rubbed absently over her thighs.

And in a blink, she was a different person again, the Natasha Nadine had come to know since Prague re-emerging to hide the damaged, haunted Natasha she normally kept buried far and away from sight. All trace of the emotional distress of a moment before was gone, save for the faintest of shadows and a glimmer of moisture in her eyes that was quickly blinked away. Nadine nearly shook her head in amusement, knowing she was the same way. She absently cleared her throat, suddenly feeling far lighter than she had in a long time.

The anxious, restless energy that had plagued her when she'd first sought out the Avenger's Exercise Room had long since faded.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked lightly, smiling as she shot her sister a faintly questioning look. Natasha's brow raised, grinning with amusement of her own.

"Yes, actually." She paced forward, circling past Nadine to the toppled training dummy near the edge of the training floor, sparing the briefest of questioning, amused glances at Nadine. Nadine lifted a questioning brow if her own when Natasha purposefully didn't continue.

Brat...

"And?" she prompted dryly. Natasha turned, smirking, her eyes gleaming with poorly suppressed amusement.

"The Twins are joining the Team," she finally said, clasping her hands loosely in front of her as she turned to face Nadine properly. It wasn't quite what Nadine had expected, but she couldn't quite say she was surprised. She'd had her suspicions thanks to the odd overheard word from Nina and the two Maximoffs. But that wasn't all of it. Even if she hadn't noticed the hint of anticipation in her sister's grin, she probably would've been suspicious.

So Nadine shot Natasha a penetrating look but merely said: "good for them." Sure enough, at the subtle tilt of her sister's head, she knew what was coming next.

"I want Nina to train with them."

Nadine's answer was immediate and instinctive. "No."

"Why not?" There was no heat and no surprise to Natasha's question. Only a patient sort of exasperation. Sort of like she was just asking the question because it was expected, Nadine was severely tempted to wrinkle her nose in annoyance at her little sister, but instead settled for crossing her arms and fixing Natasha with a firm stare.

"She's not going to train to be an Avenger." If anything, Natasha's smirk grew smug at Nadine's answer. Nadine nearly scoffed. Really, if Natasha knew she was going to answer like that, why was she even bothering to ask?

Mirroring Nadine's pose, Natasha crossed her arms and cocked a hip, raising a brow in challenge at her older sister. "Did I say that?" Nadine was torn between scowling and rolling her eyes, settling on neither in favour of maintaining at least some semblance of self-control. Her eyes narrowed at the younger spy.

"Don't be slippery, Natalia. Don't forget, I can see through it."

"I'm being straight this time, Nadine," Natasha said, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender, "Nina's not ready to even think of becoming an Avenger. Not by a long shot. I swear that's not the goal here." Her expression seemed sincere, but there was still something in her eyes—a scheming sort of something—that had Nadine wary. "It's just an offer to let her train with them. To hone the skills you started teaching her; you know, the ones that helped her in Sokovia?" Nadine tensed. Of course she had to bring that up. Natasha, seeing her reaction, sighed, growing serious, weighing her next words carefully.

"She's part of this now, Nadya," she said finally, all hint of scheming and amusement set aside in favour of genuine candour. "All of this, and even you can't shield her from it anymore," she said, hands still out in front of her in a gesture of appeal. But then the trace of a smug, even righteous grin was once again tugging at the corner of her lip. "So she might as well keep learning how to hold her own." Nadine could only look at her sister in shock, her face utterly blank even as her thoughts spun with what Natasha was suggesting. Not to mention the way her gut twisted; hadn't she already been considering something similar?

"Lisichka—" It was little more than a choked murmur, but Natasha heard it and nodded, her expression reassuring despite the hint of triumph beginning to surface in her eyes. Nadine nearly bristled when she saw it, but managed to hold herself back. Whether she liked it or not, the younger spy wasn't wrong.

That didn't mean Nadine had to like it, though. Natasha approached slowly, reaching out to lay a hand on Nadine's arm where it had fallen to her side. It was then that Nadine noticed her hands had fisted. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax.

It only half worked.

"It'll be a safe environment," Natasha continued in her pitch as she began leading Nadine over to where she'd left her shoes, sounding completely undeterred and even eager despite Nadine's obvious reluctance. "The Twins already took me and Steve up on the offer, so she'll have training companions. And if somewhere down the road—years down the road," she amended with a faintly teasing smirk at the small, indignant noise that escaped Nadine at the comment, "she wants to join the team, we'll cross that bridge then," she concluded with an absent gesture before once again turning serious, her green gaze fixing intently on Nadine. "But for now, I'm not about to let her sign up anymore than you would. Neither would Steve. And I know you know that. It's just training." Nadine bit back a sigh. She did know it. She did know that Natasha was nearly as protective of Nina as Nadine was and Steve wasn't far behind.

It was part of why she'd convinced herself to stay for as long as they had; because she knew Nina would be safe here.

"We both know you don't want her to even think of becoming one of us," Natasha continued gently, leaning into Nadine, linking their arms, "but you can't deny that the things we know are also pretty useful for staying alive. It's more than just knowing how to fight, after all, and you know that better than anyone. It's about learning to be aware, how to analyse for threats, how to recognize when a situation is going bad and how best to get out of it. All of it.

"And now that she knows about all this?" Natasha gestured absently around them, indicating the Compound and all that it implied. "Wouldn't it be better if she could handle herself? You're not always going to be there, Nadya. You weren't there in Vienna." Nadine tensed again at the reminder, glancing sharply to her sister expecting accusation, but Natasha had met her gaze head on. The moment stretched, neither giving way, each evaluating the other.

It was Nadine who ultimately backed down under her little sister's knowing gaze. It wasn't accusing, merely the truth. She was just pointing out that Nadine realistically couldn't be everywhere. That, as much as she might like to, she simply couldn't always be around to protect Nina. And she did know that. She just had to fight back a flicker of panic at the admission. Natasha's loose hold on her arm slid down until she was grasping Nadine's hand, squeezing gently.

"I think she needs this, Nadine," Natasha pressed softly. "Just like Wanda needed a mission, I think Nina needs this." Nadine sighed, pulling away to toe her shoes around so she could slip them back on. Natasha circled around to stand in front of her, her arms crossing loosely as she waited patiently for Nadine to respond. Finally, Nadine straightened, meeting her sister's gaze. It had grown almost smug again, the redhead looking pleased. She knew Nadine had all but made up her mind, and Natasha already seemed to know it was in her favour. Was she growing predictable? Nadine narrowed her eyes at Natasha again as she studied her sister. There was something else there, and it took Nadine a moment to put her finger on it.

"You have an angle," she stated. Natasha shrugged absently, not bothering to deny it. Nadine's eyes narrowed further. Of course.

"It's not what you think," Natasha said, not sounding overly concerned that she'd been caught out. Nadine's brows lifted in astonishment and challenge.

"Oh? What is it, then?" Natasha's smirk deepened at the question.

"I want you to help."

Nadine was nearly speechless. Nearly. "What?"

That wasn't at all what she'd expected. She knew Natasha wanted her to stay, but this? Natasha nodded, looking deeply amused by Nadine's reaction.

"Stick around. Help me train them up; the Twins to be Avengers; Nina to take care of herself in our world."

"Nat—" Nadine objected, but Natasha waved it off.

"I've already talked it over with Steve and he's on board," she said with no small trace of finality. "He thinks your experience as an instructor and as an independent operative will be valuable." Nadine started at her sister's pronouncement.

And the traitorous little flutter that seemed to be showing up more frequently when her thoughts turned to the Captain resurfaced from where she'd banished it to when she'd been contemplating how to deal with her restless energy.

Fighting back the heat suddenly threatening to rise to her cheeks, Nadine busied herself with beginning to unwrap her wrists, forcing the flutter back to where it belonged.

Only to frown as she glanced back up to her sister.

Well, that was a peculiar look.

And Nadine wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what the thoughtful look Natasha was suddenly carefully hiding away meant. Not that it stopped her stomach from flipping nervously...

Almost as soon as it had appeared, the curious expression was gone and Natasha was grinning both confidently and encouragingly at Nadine.

"Think about it," she urged with a knowing look, her lips quirking. "And ask Nina what she wants to do." Nadine scowled at Natasha's sly smile as she turned and left Nadine alone on the mat.

Tricky little fox.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

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