Insane in my Russian Brain - P. Parker

Chapter Ten

A/N: Don't look up the address, I made it up.

"You're back."

Setting down the bag of groceries on the counter, Kat pulled her hood off her head. "Of course, I'm back. You seriously thought I'd leave?"

"You never know what teenagers would do these days." Steve switched off the tv he had playing in the background. "You got some mail."

"Mail? We're fugitives, we don't get mail." Kat began unloading the food she had just bought, putting it in the cabinets.

"It means we've been acting like a good family, right dearest daughter?" Steve stood up, grabbing his coat off the hook by the front door to the small apartment.

"Yeah, dad, it sure does." Kat whipped her face, turning away to walk to her bedroom.

"No hug for dad before work?"

Turning around, Kat pointed her finger at him. "It is very unlikely that going to be a Good Samaritan is an actual job. And even if it was, in your dreams, Rogers."

"Seriously?"

"Ты слишком стар, чтобы заниматься этим. You're too old to be doing this."

"Wait, Kat, what's that supposed to mean? What did you say?" Steve tried to trace after Kat as she walked away, closing the door to her bedroom. She laughed, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Kat reached to her desk where an envelope sat, unopened and ready for her to read. It was a miracle that Steve hadn't tried to open it, snooping like he generally did.

She peeled back the sticker, tearing open the envelope. She took out the paper that was slid inside, reading it. '5832 East Hilton Place. From Lia.' Lia? Did Kat know a Lia?

Lia... Natalia. That's what Kat had called her when they had their run-in during the war. That's what everyone in The Red Room knew her as.

Flicking her head to her window, she closed her blinds, just to make sure no one was watching. She turned back to the address, staring at it with a look of relief. She had been cramped up in this apartment for what seemed like ages, and she needed to get out.

Maybe, just maybe, this would be her way to make up for all the bad she had done the prior year. All the killing, just for some rent money.

She stuffed the envelope in her pocket, going out into the kitchen of their apartment. 'Sorry Steve' she wrote down a sticky note, placing it firmly against the fridge.

Kat knew he wouldn't be back for ages, his work days generally consisting of two or three days, but she needed him to know that she wouldn't be back for a while. He would find the empty envelope in her room, the shut blinds, the missing backpack, and he would know.

That was the hope, at least.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗

Stepping off her motorcycle, Kat unholstered her gun and held it firmly in her hands. She didn't know her way around Budapest very well, but being bilingual, she could infer what the signs were saying.

"Don't move, you're hurt. Let me help you." Natasha. Stepping closer to the voice, Kat entered the alleyway, noticing a young woman laying down in a pool of water, Natasha standing above her.

"I don't want to do this." The woman sobbed, holding her arm out in a defensive position. The bracelet around her wrist lit up red, and Kat knew what was going to happen. They were going to terminate her, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.