Dancing in Her Webs | Yelena Belova [1]

Chapter 19

In honour of Florence Pugh's 26th birthday ....

Trigger warning: mentions of addictive substance

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The sharp pain in Irina's side —after her and Yelena took care of those two guards— disappeared, an even worse pain spread like wildfire —burning. She could barely contain the winces that threatened to escape her lips if she took too big a step. That Oxycodone/Ibuprofen mixture Melina encouraged, urged, Irina to take only hours? ago sounded extremely pleasant as she sprinted —the best she could— through the corridors behind Yelena.

But Irina refrained from expressing any sign of discomfort and pain —until the Red Room shifted and the white lights that lit their path flickered and turned off, replaced by ominous dark red in the darkness.

She stumbled into the wall on her right —thankful she left the cheap, stolen gas station glasses on the floor in the corridor— hissing as her hand's pushed deep into her bullet wound.

As quick as the Red Room shifted, it stopped. But the ominous red glow still surrounded them, like morning fog. "What was that?"

Yelena had skidded to an abrupt stop. She paused mid-step as she turned and met Irina's gaze in the near darkness of the corridor. "Fantastic," she said —not to Irina— to Melina. "We're heading to the Widows now." Still holding Irina's gaze, she then informed Irene as she approached, "The Red Room's going to crash."

"What? What happened to activating the landing protocol?" This is the exact reason Irina hates heights —crashing.

"I don't know. You okay?" The blonde-haired woman's gaze flickered to Irina's hand placement —it tried covering both wounds. After the assuring nod Yelena received, she backed impatiently in the direction they'd been sprinting in. "Come on."

And Irina did. She controlled her breathing; the harder the breath, the sharper the pain —but the burning remained. Yet despite her semi-controlled breathing, her heart pumped nervously.

She focused on Yelena's double ponytails that moved as she sprinted, like those blonde locks that glowed underneath the red were hypnotizing her.

What if they aren't successful? What if Natasha isn't able to kill Dreykov in time, or at all? If things go sideways, all of this would be for nothing —for some false hope. Irina would take up residency in some new-and-improved Red Room, no doubt, imprisoned for the rest of her life under Dreykov's control. Like Yelena had told her on the curb on the outskirts of Budapest, "—he would put you through worse than Natasha and I had gone through. You're Tony Stark's daughter, and perhaps the Avengers' weakness. Imagine what he could do". At the time, that was if Irina's captured, but it happened. She was strapped down like Pepper —like an animal, an uncontrollable beast— her graduation nearly coming too early.

Irina's snapped out of her worries as Yelena disappeared through a door. She quickened her pace and pushed the heavy door open, entering the room, then froze. She looked around the empty red and black training room, it too heavy in the ominous glow.

"Where is everyone?"

  Yelena strode up to the rack of weapons across the room (smokes and batons from the looks of it, but Irina's not certain. She could only see shapes) and ripped one of the smoke grenades off. "I have an idea," Yelena replied, attaching the vials to the smoke, before she reached for two of the batons and stuck them in one of the straps on the left side of her vest.