"I think you're forgetting the big fat 'ex' that belongs in front of husband." She did her best to sound bored as she waved the bartender over and ordered vodka.

"About that…" He smiled at her, a rare smile.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She sighed, shaking her head as she knocked back the vodka.

"I'd say sorry, but I'm not. You didn't think I'd really sign those papers did you, Annie?"

"We got married to save face on a job, Alexei, it's not like it was love." She remembered that mess of a job, they were both lucky to have made it back from there.

"Maybe not for you." He wasn't angry about it, he wasn't even bitter about her leaving, it was best for her and he knew it. But he did love her, or at least he had all those years ago. She had mailed him divorce papers some years ago, actually sent them to this very bar, and he'd come close to signing them a few times, but never did.

"We are not doing this." She decided, ordering another drink. "I came here for information, not a history lesson."

"Fair enough. What do you need?" Natasha was relieved he was was feeling cooperative.

"A woman tried to assassinate the archbishop of Bogota yesterday. Young, black-haired, russian." She managed to pull an image off local cameras of her entering the building before the attack and handed it over to Alexei.

"And so it begins." He muttered darkly, his relaxed demeanor abruptly taking on a much more somber edge.

"Who is she?" She asked, taking the photo back.

"Yelena Belova." He said curtly.

"And…?" Natasha prompted, she would need more than a name.

"And, shit Natasha, I'm sorry." He rubbed his forehead, and ordered another drink.

"What?"

"Natasha, she's the Soldier's new girl." He admitted, finishing the new drink. In typical fashion, Natasha's face betrayed nothing. He could've as readily told her about the weather for all her expression said, but Alexei knew better than to think she was without feeling.

"He doesn't remember me anymore, does he?" She asked quietly, setting her glass gently back down on the table.

"Afraid not." He did his best to try and sound apologetic, but she was far better off without James in her life. She was better without any of them, himself included. "These days he only remembers his orders and her." He gestured to the picture.

"How long's he been with her?" She knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help herself. She had to know.

"Six months or so after you left." He told her. After a long silence he spoke up again. "Look, I know you never loved me, and that you and James were-"

"Like I said, I'm not here for a history lesson." Natasha repeated brusquely, pushing her glass away from her and standing up.

"Natasha wait." He reached out to grab her arm, but she moved out of reach too quickly.

"I can't stay." She told him blankly, turning her back to him.

"Graduation's soon." He warned before she could get too far. "Be careful Romanoff."

"You too, Guardian." Natasha didn't want to walk out on him so soon, but being here was going to make her crazy. Also, she had a flight to catch, staying here any longer than strictly necessary was a risk she wasn't willing to take today. She got what she came here for, now it's time to go back to work.

She knew Moscow like the back of her hand, even still, though it had been years since she'd stepped foot in the city. Natasha knew which streets were most heavily monitored and which ones weren't given a second shot and she knew, most importantly, how to stay invisible here. To be fair, Natasha could be invisible anywhere she wanted to be, but there was a certain ease to it in Moscow, there was nowhere else in the world like it.

The weight of this new information didn't hit Natasha until she was 40,000 feet in the air en route back to New York. Making her way back to the airport and through security under the radar took all of her concentration, her brain working solely in survival mode to see her safely back to SHIELD and Isaiah and, she thought with a different sort of urgency, Clint. Russia was the largest country in the world, spanned two continents, home to more than 143 million people, and there was not one inch of her homeland that was safe for her anymore.

But now she was jammed into this plane with ten hours of time to spare, ten hours for her whole encounter with Alexei to replay in her hear about a million times and she was very suddenly not okay.

"You alright honey?" The man seated next to her ask and Natasha noticed for the first time how tightly her hands were gripping the armrests. The man was in his mid-forties, Natasha guessed, with a receding hairline and graying temples. He smiled at her as if he could solve all her problems.

"Call me honey again and I'll rip your fucking tongue out." She muttered darkly as she unbuckled her seatbelt. It was one of those rows of two seats and Natasha was nearest the window, the man grabbed her wrist as she shoved past, trying to get out.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He growled, his grip on her tightening, but not for long.

"My problem?" She asked, twisting out of his grip with easy and sharply twisting his pointer finger, he groaned in pain. "I am not public property, you do not get to touch me without my permission. I do not exist for your entertainment or your pleasure."

"You broke my finger!" He half-shouted when she released his hand, he cradled it against his chest.

"It's only sprained you fuckwit." She snapped. "Now shut up and sit still or the next one I break."

"Is everything okay here?" A smiling, but nervous flight attendant appeared at Natasha's side, her little interaction with her seat partner gaining her the attention of not only the other passengers, but the staff as well.

"She broke my finger!" The man, whose name Natasha hadn't even bothered to get, complained to the immaculately dressed woman.

"I sprained his finger." Natasha explained, rolling her eyes at his exaggeration.

Normally she would've brushed this whole thing off, ignored the guy, but she was tense and twitchy and on edge and decidedly not in the mood to deal with this. While the man was telling his story to the attendant, Natasha simply walked away.

She walked briskly to the very back of the plane which, blessedly, wasn't far from where she was seated and locked herself inside on of the micro-sized bathrooms. She needed to get a grip and fast, she could feel the panic rising in her chest, she could feel herself losing control. Breathing was becoming difficult, and painful as she took short, shallow gasps. It felt like something was squeezing the air out of her chest, her ragged breathing became painful and she felt out of control.

"Get a fucking grip, Natasha." She told herself, gripping the edge of the sink channeling all her strength into her hands.

Graduation.

A flood of memories assaulted her. James, the doctor, the girls, the blood. She could still smell the blood, taste it in her mouth, feel it on her hands dripping onto the floor.

And now it was happening all over again in a new facility with a new girl with a new with the same people watching on. She wanted to vomit.

Natasha always knew this day would come but she'd never really thought about it, she'd figured she'd already be dead by the time it came. Her position, her title, her status, none of it was ever permanent; she was always temporary, disposable. There would always be another girl waiting to take her place, but more than that, always another girl willing to kill her for it.

"Calm down Romanoff." She told herself between breaths. "You always knew this was going to happen."

There was a knock on the door. How long had she been in here anyways? She didn't know.

"Miss are you okay?" A woman's voice asked her.

"I'm fine." Natasha replied automatically, her voice shaking.

"Miss, I need you to come out here, please." Fuck, Natasha cursed as she looked up at herself in the mirror. She looked insane; her face was paler than normal and coated in a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes wide and frantic.

Taking a deep breath to center her thoughts and slow her heart hammering in her chest, with shaking hands she slid the lock back and pushed open the door. The flight attendant that had come over to her earlier along with an older man were waiting outside the door, she guessed (correctly too) that he was an air marshal on the flight.

"Miss, I'd like to talk to you about the incident that happened at your seat a few minutes ago." He said to Natasha as she smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. "Can I see some ID?"

"Yeah sure." She said with a shrug. "It's back in my bag, can I go get it?"

"Yes, of course." He followed her back to her seat in silence and she was relieved that the man seated next to her refrained from speaking to her as they approached. The time they spent walking helped her compose herself more fully and now she was more than ready to handle this mess. Digging through her carry on the ignored her passport and her license, grabbing instead her SHIELD badge and handing it over to the marshal.

"Ah shit." He muttered as he opened up the small, leather object to find SHIELD's crest embossed on the inside along with the redhead's picture.

"What's the matter?" Natasha's unfortunate seat mate asked as the marshal's face fell, but Natasha was the first to respond.

"Sorry, mate, but I've got aces on this one." She took her badge back and tucked in her back pocket.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Ma'am." The marshal said curtly, he didn't really know what SHIELD was, but he knew to stay away from it.

"If you want," Natasha suggested. "You can file a complaint with my handler."

"That won't be necessary, I'm sure. After all, you are the victim in this instance. Enjoy the rest of your flight." He knew people who'd gotten involved with reporting FBI, CIA, SHIELD agents before. It was basically career suicide for a marshal to try and take one on, so he let this one be.

"What?" The man exclaimed, half standing but the tight space of the plane prevented him from going much further.

"I'm sorry about the trouble marshal." She said, ignoring the indignation of the man behind her.

"No, trouble at all. I'm glad we could sort this all out." He gave Natasha a curt nod, then headed back to his seat while Natasha pushed past back into hers.

"Who the fuck are you?" He snapped, both of them buckling their seatbelts.

"Someone you really don't want to piss off right now, buddy." She put as much menace in her voice as she could. "So I suggest you spend the rest of this flight in quiet contemplation."

"ANNE BONNY TO THE WHITE COURTESY PHONE. ANNE BONNY TO THE WHITE COURTESY PHONE." The woman blared over the speaker almost immediately after Natasha had stepped off the plane. She cursed in Russian under her breath but managed to push through the crowd in front of her to the nearest phone.

"What?" She snapped into the receiver as she picked up.

"Natasha, I'm glad you remembered." Alexei sounded relieved, but stressed too. Anne Bonny was a pirate circa 1720, a redheaded badass of a woman to whom Alexei always likened Natasha.

"I'd be remiss to forget." She drawled tiredly into the phone.

"Look, I wouldn't have called, but it's important." Alexei sounded uneasy.

"What's up?"

"James called a top brass meeting when he and Yelena got back, it seems you've stepped on their toes one too many times. They're not happy."

"I doubt they've been happy with me for quite some time." She didn't see why their discontent with her actions was a big deal.

"Natasha it's different now and you know it. Yelena's in play, James doesn't know you and they're graduating the girls soon." He snapped, clearly on edge.

"I know." She shot back with equal hostility. "I know the program far better than you, Guardian."

"They haven't come after you in years Natasha but that grace period is rapidly coming to an end and I can't stop them from coming for you. Yelena is nothing more than a rabid dog, violent, vicious, and ambitious too; do not underestimate her. More than anything she hates you, Natasha. She's bought whatever bullshit they're selling, and she will not stop until your head is on a damn pike. I'm sorry I can't help you, Annie. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you, none of us were, are. Godspeed." He spoke hurriedly and quietly, with an urgency she'd never heard before.

Before she could respond she heard a faint shout in the background but she couldn't make out the words, then the line went dead.

Fuck.