#garotte

Whumper sat on the couch, talking to a friend on the phone, “Yeah, Whumpee’s still adjusting to living here. Yeah, still trying to escape. Not unlike yours. I imagine it’ll calm down in a few more weeks. Ok, yeah, talk to you later. Bye.”

He set his phone on the coffee table and sighed, looking down the hallway to Whumpee’s room. The light shone under the door and Whumper groaned. “It got out again.” 

He walked to the room and opened the door, not surprised to see the curtains blowing and the window screen torn up. “I’m gonna have to put bars on the window if it keeps trying to get away.” 

He climbed out of the window and checked to be sure he had a rope in his pocket. Whumpee’s footprints were easy to follow, this was one of the few times Whumper was glad for the near-constant rain. He stalked through the trees behind his house.

Whumper found Whumpee creeping around a boulder and smirked. It- as usual- wasn’t paying attention and Whumper stood behind them. He took the short rope out of his pocket. 

He wrapped the rope around Whumpee’s neck and drew his hands together. 

“What have I said about breaking the window screen, Whumpee?” He asked, pulling Whumpee back until he could look in their eyes. 

Whumpee gasped, arms reaching up to their throat. Whumper smiled and pulled them down until their back popped and mouth gaped open. 

“There we go, just go to sleep. Then we can go back inside, okay?” They whispered. Their voice calm and collected. Whumper’s hand reached around Whumpee’s waist and supported their weight. If Whumpee had control of their flailing limbs they’d push Whumper away from them, shove him away and off, maybe even throw him away from them. Far enough away that he’d never be able to get back to them again. And Whumpee would run. Run as far as they could until they were free and safe from Whumper. But, all they could do was flail wildly and hope that Whumper lost his grip somehow. 

He looks incompetent and proves it when throws a punch that misses completely. She ducks under his arm and places two quick punches into his ribs then under his chin.

He grunts, winded, as he throws two more haymakers towards her, turning around as he grabs at her. He misses, but a hand glances off her shoulder slowing her down.

She pulls the cord tight and kicks him hard in the stomach. It doesn’t do much, but does give her the opportunity to climb up and pull it right around his neck. He takes two steps back, trying to get her off him by slamming her into the wall. She holds tight feeling his breath slow.

He tries to grab at her with his hands and then reaching down for his gun.

She wraps her legs around him squeezing harder, channeling her anger through her limbs to push harder, hold tighter and kill, kill, kill.

He drops to his knees and feels the cord embed into his neck, blood dripping as he takes his last breath.

Adrenaline pulses through Natasha as she extricates herself from him, nudging him to make sure he’s not playing possum.

Looking around, she panics.

Dead man. Locked door. Government building.

Clint was right. There’s something off about this.

Heaving the man up, she sits him on the chair, takes his ID and wipes blood off her hands, her prints off the table; exiting the room quickly.

Avoiding the cameras as much as possible, she leaves the building, and climbs in her car, she wants to get as much distance as possible between her and the building and get to his house.

In all likelihood he’s dead.

She just has to make sure.

.

His house is on outskirts of town, the white walls blending in with the grey of the day. She parks on the side of the road, gun loaded, safety off as she walks to the door.

It’s ajar.

She knows he’s dead.

But it takes seeing him to confirm it. She clears the rooms and double checks the body. She thinks he’s been dead possibly around 18-24 hours.

She checks him over for anything else and then turns her attention to the folder in front of him

Natasha nudges it open with her gun; stunned to see a picture of Yelena staring back at her.

“Fuck.” She whispers to herself.

.

Yelena pulls the book away, much to Natasha’s annoyance. She’s almost finished and it’s rare that Alexei or Melina leave her alone to sit by herself; let alone to read western literature.

She supposes that because this one had pictures of rabbits on the front, it hid it’s true meanings.

“Play with me? Please?” Yelena is insistent; and as Natasha takes stock of her body, she realises she should probably move. It’s just… she wants to finish the book.

Biting the inside of her cheeks, she shakes her head.

“I don’t want to.”

It doesn’t matter though. She never gets to do what she wants for long anyway.

“You’re always reading.” Yelena pouts, pushing Natasha’s book down again.

“Come and play outside with me.” She whines.

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s too cold.” She complains.

Yelena starts moving around Natasha again, her energy contagious.

“No, it’s not. It’s not even raining, it’ll be fun.” She pauses. “Please?”

In Yelena’s enthusiasm, she accidentally pushes on fresh bruises on Natasha’s arm; making her drop her book, the bookmark falling free.

It’s the picture of Natasha and Yelena together, both of them stoic and standing together just as Melina had dictated.

It makes Yelena pause, handing it back to Natasha in apology.

“You took them?” She asks quietly.

She shakes it off as Natasha stands, putting the picture carefully back inside the book.

“Please come play with me?” Yelena asks again.

Natasha nods, not wanting Yelena to tell on her, “Fine. What do you want to play?”

“Hide and seek?” Yelena says immediately.

Natasha balks. She hates that game.

“No.” She tells her.

“Please?” It’s clear Yelena isn’t going to let it go. Sighing softly, Natasha nods and agrees.

“Ok. But practice your counting in Russian, ok?”

Yelena bounces and nods. “Ok! Ok.” She settles long enough to cover her eyes as Natasha walks outside, looking around and climbing the nearest tree.

Yelena never looks up.

.

Natasha bites on her dry lips, chewing on the bit of skin that’s pulled up from travel and dehydration.

It wasn’t real, their time together, she reminds herself. And even though she thinks about it most days, she can’t help but think that out of all the people she’s saved, this may be the most important.

If she can save Yelena…

She can what? Save herself?

Pretend that she wasn’t just abandoned? That the family she had in Ohio was her real origin rather than a mother that threw her away like garbage?

Pulling out her phone, she calls the one person that knows what this means. Even though he can’t answer, she needs him to know.

It rings and then goes to his voice mail. She almost wants to call it again to hear his voice, even if it’s recorded.

‘Leave a message’ he says.

So she does.

She tells him that Yelena is here. That she’s finally got some tangible leads and lastly; she tells him that she wishes he were here; before hanging up and sitting next to the dead body, thinking about what she needs to do.

It’s taken out of her hands when her phone buzzes again.

A picture of Yelena pops up.