-?Caught in her Web?- (black widow)

Natasha POV

The dim, claustrophobic space of the vent made it feel like everything was closing in on us. The air was stale, and each breath felt heavier, as though the weight of our past mistakes hung between us, suffocating. Yelena was leaning against the cool metal wall, her expression hardened with the kind of anger that didn't come from just this moment — it was old, buried deep, and resurfacing with the tension of our current situation.

I tightened the bandage around Cleo's abdomen, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the sharpness in Yelena's voice cut through me. Cleo groaned from the pain, her face twisting as the pressure of the bandage took hold. I could feel her pulse weakening, her body struggling to keep up. We didn't have much time.

"You okay, Cleo?" I whispered softly, my hand on her cheek to comfort her. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't have the strength to respond. She was so young, just like the other girls Dreykov had stolen, shaped, and broken. I couldn't help but see bits of myself in her — a child who had no choice but to become a weapon.

Yelena's sarcasm broke through the haze. "Great plan, Nat. I love the part where we bled to death. This is cozy," she quipped, looking around at the grim space we were stuck in. Her tone was biting, but I could see the real worry beneath it. Her eyes flickered to Cleo every few seconds, as if she was afraid to look away, afraid that Cleo might slip away when she wasn't watching.

I forced a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. "Barton and I spent two days hiding up here," I said, trying to change the subject, to steer us away from the conversation I knew was coming. The memory of that mission with Clint seemed like a lifetime ago now — back when the stakes were simpler, the enemy clearer. Now, it felt like everything was one tangled mess.

"That must have been fun," Yelena said flatly, not bothering to hide her sarcasm, her gaze still on Cleo. She was worried, even if she wasn't saying it out loud.

I moved on to the next question, trying to make sense of what had just happened. "Who the hell is that guy?" I asked, thinking of the masked assassin who had been relentlessly hunting us. The way he fought, it was like he knew our every move, like he was predicting us. No ordinary assassin could do that.

"Dreykov's special project," Yelena replied, her voice laced with bitterness. "He can mimic anyone he's ever seen. It's like fighting a mirror. Dreykov only deploys him for top-priority missions." Her explanation was chilling, and it made sense now — how he'd known our every tactic, every move before we'd made it.

"This doesn't make any sense," I muttered, trying to wrap my head around the sheer scope of Dreykov's cruelty. It seemed endless, like every time we thought we knew the depths of his evil, there was more, something worse hiding beneath.

Yelena's tone shifted, colder now, harder. "Well, the truth rarely makes sense when you omit key details."

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. I froze for a moment, my hands stilling on Cleo's wound as I processed what she was saying. I looked up at her, my brow furrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Yelena didn't look at me, but the accusation in her voice was clear. "You didn't say one word about Dreykov's daughter. You killed her."

The silence that followed was suffocating. My throat tightened, memories flooding back. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking in my hands. "I had to," I whispered, the weight of those words heavy in my chest. "I needed her to lead me to Dreykov."

Yelena's eyes were full of anger, betrayal even, as she finally met my gaze. "So you kill a kid? And you think that's okay?" she snapped, her voice filled with disbelief.

"No." My voice cracked slightly, and I clenched my fists. "But what choice did I have?" The memory of that day burned in my mind — the explosion, the debris, the fire. I had thought it was the only way to stop Dreykov. But in the process, I had condemned an innocent child. "I wanted to end the Red Room. I thought..."

"You thought killing a child would solve everything?" Yelena interrupted, her tone sharp, cutting. "You thought you could justify that because it was for the mission?"

I looked away, ashamed. I couldn't meet her eyes anymore. She was right, in a way. I had made the cold, calculated decision to sacrifice Dreykov's daughter, believing it was the only way. But the truth was, it had haunted me ever since. That choice had been like a scar I couldn't heal.

Yelena let out a bitter laugh, but it was humorless. "Well, here we sit, still planning to take down the Red Room." She shook her head, brushing a hand through Cleo's hair gently, as if trying to ground herself in this moment. "Seems like all that killing didn't do much, huh?"

I didn't respond, but the guilt settled in my chest like a weight. She was right. Even after everything I had done, Dreykov was still out there, still pulling the strings, still controlling girls like Cleo, turning them into weapons. I had failed.

I watched Yelena as she continued to care for Cleo, her anger simmering under the surface. There was a bond between Yelena and Cleo that I hadn't seen before — something protective, almost maternal. Yelena had been through the same horrors as Cleo, and I could see now that she wouldn't forgive me easily for what I had done, for the lives I had taken in pursuit of my mission.

As I leaned back against the cold metal wall, I felt the weight of everything pressing down on me — my past, my mistakes, the lives lost because of me. But there was no time to dwell on it. Not now. Not when Dreykov was still out there, when Cleo's life was hanging in the balance.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if Yelena heard me.

She didn't respond, her focus entirely on Cleo. But in the silence that followed, I knew that forgiveness wasn't something I could expect from her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But we still had a mission to finish. And I wasn't going to let it fail again.