Archive of Our Own ^beta

Natasha’d had a long day. She was leaning against the balcony railing, looking out across the skyline and smoking a cigarette. She had two separate mission reports to finish before 0800 the next day, and she really wasn’t excited about them. She almost didn’t hear Steve walk out beside her. 

He smiled, “Got a light?” She nodded and handed him her Zippo and a pack of Reds. He took his first drag and relaxed, if only a bit. 

“Anyone ever told you you talk in your sleep?” He asked with a smirk. Natasha stared warily at him. “Don’t worry, nothing embarrassing. The only reason I know is ‘cause our rooms are next to each other and I’ve got super hearing. Don’t think anyone else’d have heard. And it ain’t really sentences, it’s mostly just one name: Yasha.” Natasha stilled, eyes widening a fraction and cigarette forgotten. The smoke rose in lazy tendrils towards the purple sky. 

Steve took another long pull before continuing, “Did you know Bucky’s mom used to call him Yasha?” Natasha’s face was carefully blank as she resumed smoking, her cigarette barely more than a butt. “All his papers said James, but at home he was Yasha. Or Yakov when he was in for a scolding. An’ let me tell ya, his mother meant business. He was always James in public, though. It wasn’t really the kinda thing you advertised back then, so they didn’t tell many people. But Ma an’ me went to ev’ry Seder and we always helped to light the Chanukiah. And when she passed on, Buck an’ his family taught me t’sit Shiva. We couldn’t do a whole week, mind you, ‘cause we all had t’work. But it was nice. They took care o’ me.” Steve’s accent thickened the way it always did when he talked about his pre-war days. He’d had to be trained out of it during his time in the USO, but every so often it colored his speech when he got wistful. 

He looked back at her with tears in his eyes and brought the cigarette to his lips again. “I’d reckon your Yasha’s name was Yakov, too. Or James, or Jacob, maybe. My Russian ain’t what it used’ta be, but that’s my bet.” 

Natasha dropped her cigarette and ground it beneath her heel. “My Yasha was the closest thing I had to a brother. I had plenty of sisters, but Madame forced me to kill all the ones she deemed weak. I was the only girl in my class to graduate.” The admission hung in the air for a second before she continued, “I never saw him for long, he wasn’t a part of the KGB. He worked for a different organization.” She looked him directly in the eyes, “He worked for Hydra.” She spat the word as if it were poison and Steve heard her Russian accent for the first time since meeting her. His blood chilled when it registered. Hydra . 

She started talking before the panic had a chance to set in, “He didn’t want to. At least, I don’t think he did. They did something to him, with his brain. Made him blank, compliant. He was like their robot. Their Зимний Солдат. They kept him in a cryostasis machine, he told me. But when we’d run missions together, he’d start to remember. Too much time out of the cold and he became less willing. He’d tell me about his family, what little he could remember, and about the boy he loved. His солнечный свет. I never knew his name. Not his real one, at least. But there was a handler named Yakov when I was young, and sometimes he would be called Yasha. Only when our handlers thought we couldn’t hear, of course. Familiarity is vulnerability. I’d liked that handler. He was merciful, perhaps even kind. In the end that was his downfall. Madame shot him in front of the whole class to teach us a ‘valuable lesson about attachment’.” Her speech was stilted and uncomfortable, as if she didn’t know which words she wanted to say. 

Steve blinked himself out of his stupor and elbowed her gently in the side, “You know, I think this might be the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.” She looked away and he grabbed her shoulder. “It’s alright, Natasha. Sure, vulnerability can be weakness, but it doesn’t have to be. If you know who you’re trusting-and I’ve no doubt you know more about me than I do-and what you’re trusting them with, you don’t have to be afraid of it.”

Natasha feigned a grimace, “Oh, God. Don’t get all Captain America on me. Next time, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.” They smiled at each other and that was it: they finished their smokes, went inside, and parted ways.

They didn’t talk about it again until SHIELD, and subsequently the Helicarriers, fell and Steve knew Bucky was still alive. This time, it was Steve who was on the balcony smoking his sorrows away. He heard her walk out behind him and said, “Y’know, they used to prescribe these to treat asthma and respiratory issues. Nowadays, they cause it.” 

Natasha chuckles, “That’s why they’ve got electronic cigarettes nowadays .” Steve tsks disapprovingly, “They’ve got electronic everything nowadays, Agent Romanov. And I’m pretty sure they’re just as bad for you,” he pauses, “Buck an’ I used’ta smoke out on the fire escape when shit got rough. Mostly on mine, ‘cause bein’ a nurse was a full time job and my Ma worked harder ‘an God to keep our heads above water. An’ ‘cause the smokin’ almost always led to kissin’. Y’know how some people say ya fall in love? I’d say it’s more like I stumbled an’ Buck was there to catch me before I could plummet three stories t’ the ground.” Steve shook his head, “I guess now he’s more your Yasha than my Bucky.” Natasha laid a cautious hand on his back, and after he leaned backwards into the touch, let her head fall onto his shoulder. She wrapped her hands around him as silent tears streamed down his cheeks, and they stayed like that longer than either of them would care to admit.