UNKNOWN GUEST

#104 She Accepts It

The night in St. Petersburg just kept getting darker—and colder. I pulled my hood tighter around my face, the chill biting at my ears. I had no idea how long I'd been standing here, waiting for her.

 Every few minutes, I'd glance around, hoping I'd spot her silhouette slipping out of the shadows like she always did. But the streets remained empty except for the occasional hum of a car passing by.

I shifted on my feet, restless. What would I even say when she showed up? Should I call her Ms. Romanoff like the others did? Or ma'am, as I used to in my training? But that would feel so... detached now, wouldn't it? After all, she knew. She knew who I really was—her son.

But calling her mom felt like crossing a line I wasn't ready to face. It felt awkward. Too personal.

The real problem wasn't what I'd call her—it was what would happen after she got here. Would she believe me?

And what was I supposed to say when she starts asking questions? "Hey, surprise! I traveled back in time, no big deal." Yeah, that would go over well. I could already hear her sharp, suspicious voice: "How exactly?" followed by "Why?" and probably ending with "Prove it." And that last one—that's where things get really sticky. How do you prove you're someone's kid from the future? A family photo? Mom, I swear, I have your eyes... don't you see it?

I huffed out a breath, the cold air clouding in front of me. This was a mess. But there was no backing out now. I needed answers—answers that only she could give me.

The Madripoor situation still gnawed at me. If what I found out there was true, then mom—or Natasha, or Ms. Romanoff, or whoever she was at the moment—was somehow connected to the stolen blood sample from my dad. 

That blood had been used to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, and that serum? Yeah, it ended up running through my veins in the future. It didn't matter if she was directly involved or if it was just another shadowy mission she got roped into—either way, I had to know the truth.

Did she know what was happening? Was she aware that my life—everything—was tied to decisions she made long ago? Or had she just been a cog in the spy machine, carrying out orders without realizing the ripple effect?

I kicked a chunk of snow out of frustration, watching it scatter across the sidewalk. My breath came out in misty bursts, matching the rhythm of my swirling thoughts. Part of me was nervous—what if she denied everything? Worse, what if she admitted it? What would I even do with that kind of truth?

A few minutes later, a truck rumbled down the snowy street, its headlights bouncing off the icy pavement. My body tensed as it slowed and came to a stop just a few feet away from me. Great. Just my luck. I stayed rooted in place, my hand instinctively drifting toward my bag, ready to bolt if needed.

The driver's window rolled down with a squeaky groan, and someone stuck their head out, peering down the street. I squinted, trying to make out who it was—and then my heart jumped. The tension in my chest melted instantly.

It's her.

Mom—Natasha Romanoff—stepped out of the truck and shut the door with a solid thud. Even though she was bundled up in a black jacket, she still moved with that quiet precision, her every step calculated. She glanced around quickly, her breath forming misty clouds in the cold air.

"You weren't near the gas station," she said, her voice low but not exactly warm.

I shrugged, trying to look casual. "Well... I saw a few police officers, so I figured staying put wasn't a great idea."