Always Okay ─ n. romanoff ✓

five

I could have sworn I posted this a couple days ago. I guess I'm going insane.

★★★

FALLING asleep was one of those things that Sasha had never been very good at. Back when she was in the Red Room, she'd spend hours on end tossing and turning, rubbing the skin on her wrists raw where the handcuffs were fastened. At least then, though, she'd had the comfort of being surrounded by several other girls, even if she was going to have to kill them someday. Now, in her own room, there was only silence to accompany her. There was nothing she hated more than silence.

Sasha flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her clock said it was one in the morning, which meant she'd been lying in bed wrestling with the caffeine in her system--two cups of coffee--for three hours. Her mind was buzzing with an overload of thoughts: Nick Fury, Steve Rogers, Alexandra Carter, and the fact that she hadn't weighed herself earlier. She wasn't proud of it, but the last item on the list had given her much more anxiety than any of the others. It was driving her insane, but she hadn't wanted Nat to catch her on the bathroom scale. But Natasha probably wouldn't be awake this late.

She delicately placed her socked feet on the carpet, taking care not to step on the wrong floorboard. Sasha crept out into the hallway, her breath hitching in her throat when she noticed there was a light on in the kitchen. Natasha was sitting at the counter with her back to the hallway. Sasha had never been so grateful for the floor plan of their terrible apartment in the nearly four years they'd been living there. She continued into the bathroom and shut the door quietly. The scale was shoved into the back corner of the cabinet beneath the sink. Sasha removed it, laid it flat on the floor, and stepped onto it with her breath caught in her throat.

Her heart defied all biology and fell into her stomach. Today, of all days, wasn't the time for this. 

"God damn it," Sasha muttered to herself. She wanted to throw the damn thing against the wall. It wasn't good enough. Sasha wasn't good enough.

She angrily jammed the scale back under the sink and stormed out of the bathroom, completely forgetting about Natasha. Tears began to pour out, coating her face in a glistening layer of water.

"Fucking hell!" Sasha yelled as she hit her door with her palm, slamming it into the wall. At this, Natasha turned around.

"Sasha, what the hell is wrong with you? It's one in the morning." She walked over and stiffly put her arm around Sasha's waist, pulling her away from the wall she'd begun punching. "There goes my security deposit."

"Get off of me!" Sasha shoved Natasha away, sending Nat reeling back into the wall. For a split second, she could have sworn she saw hurt in Natasha's eyes, but an instant later they were as dead as ever. She felt a twinge of guilt, but it slowly drowned in the sea of anger that was rising inside of her. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. She sent her fist flying at the wall one last time for good measure.

"Sasha. Stop. Now." Natasha put her hand on her forehead. "Stop acting like you're six and go to bed."

Sasha did her best not to lash out anymore.

"Whatever."

With that, she raged back into her room and slammed the door shut. In the comfort of her own space, ugly sobs spilled out of Sasha's mouth. She fell to her knees, crying so hard she was gasping for air. Nothing made sense in her head anymore; all of the bad things and the good people that were on her mind became jumbled. She forgot where she was, what had happened that day, and why she was even upset in the first place. The only thing left for her to do was cry.

On the other side of Sasha's bedroom door, Natasha sat with her knees to her chest and her hand on the door. She listened to the sound of Sasha sputtering and struggling to breathe, but couldn't bring herself to lift the wall between them. Sasha didn't want her, and even if she did, Nat was sure she'd mess it up. Sasha was better off alone.

★★★

The next morning, Sasha awoke face-down on the floor, her nose and forehead pressing into the ground. The textures of the carpet were pressed into her skin, creating little indentations all over her face. She stood up, running her fingers along the little valleys the rug had left behind, and walked slowly into the kitchen. Natasha was already there, busy cramming guns and knives into the many concealed holsters on her body. Sasha eyed her suspiciously.

"That's quite an outfit you've got on." Sasha crossed her arms.

"Big words coming from the girl wearing her carpet on her face," Natasha said with a smirk. She slid two more handguns into the holsters and started to leave the room. Sasha followed her down the hall.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "I want to come with you."

"No." Natasha walked in her room, and Sasha paused just before the doorway. She had never actually been in Natasha's room before, and now didn't feel like the time to start. Instead she chose to fall to her knees and clasp her hands out in front of her.

"Please," she begged. "I know it has to do with Fury. I can see it on your face. You have to let me come. You know I can handle myself."

Natasha looked at Sasha sitting there on the floor, fingers laced together in desperation. She knew how badly Sasha wanted to come, to avenge Fury, to get her answers, but what if something went wrong? Sasha was qualified; no one was going to argue against that. But no matter how qualified someone was, they could still die. They could still get stabbed or exploded or shot. She wanted more than that for her kid. "Her kid" meaning the child under her care living in her apartment.

"Not a shot in hell," she said finally. Sasha stared up at her angrily.

"I know that whatever this is, it has to do with Fury. And I get that he and you had a special relationship. But you weren't the only one who felt close to him. Even though it had been a while, he and I used to be around each other a lot. And now more than ever I feel a responsibility to figure out who killed him and why. Fury came here, Natasha. He came here to tell me that something was wrong at S.H.I.E.L.D., and he thought I was one of the right people to stop it. I'm going to do whatever I can to make damn sure I do exactly what he wanted me to: take down whoever this is. Can't you at least respect that?"

Natasha sighed, averting her eyes from Sasha's. "I know who killed him."

"What? Already? How?"

"Sasha, how many other assassins do you know with a metal arm? It didn't take a genius. Apparently."

"Hilarious. I'm sorry I was a little distracted by the one of the few people who's ever given a damn about me bleeding out on the surgical table." Sasha smiled sarcastically. "Besides, I've never seen the Winter Soldier before. How was I supposed to know for sure that he exists?"

Nat lifted up her shirt to reveal the scar on her abdomen. Sasha shrugged.

"I prefer not to give people I don't trust the benefit of the doubt. But does this mean I can come with you?"

Ignoring the trust comment, which stung a little more than she would ever admit, Natasha tossed Sasha the handgun she kept in her dresser. Sasha caught it and smiled.

"Suit up," Nat said. Sasha ran into her own room, grabbed her swords, and slid the sheath onto her back. She was still wearing her clothes from yesterday, having been too upset to change last night, but they didn't look so unkempt that they couldn't be worn out. Natasha examined them with disapproval, but Sasha didn't really care. All she could think about was the Winter Soldier. He was going to pay.