FILE n°888 | SUBJECT RED
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the triskelion
SHIELD headquarters, washington DC
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march 13th 2014

Walking towards where Natasha was standing above the body of Nick Fury, covered in a white sheet, Steve couldn't help but feel that he was intruding on something very personal. The woman was wearing black pants and a green jacket, indicating she had changed since he last saw her. She had her arms crossed and other than that, stood very still. If it wasn't for the anxious shaking of her foot and the way her knuckles were turning white at how strongly she was gripping her forearm, Steve would've thought she resembled a marble statue.

Motionless. Tranquil. Unbreakable. 

He'd never seen Natasha Romanoff break, but he assumed that was as close as he'd ever get to it. 

He looked at the hard drive Fury had given him, he felt like it weighed a ton in his hand. On his right he could tell Mariah Hill was approaching him, so he quickly put the small piece of information away in his pocket. He wasn't sure where he stood yet, but he warranted it was better to wait to see who of his 'friends' were still his friends...and who stood an enemy.

The woman's voice was thick with emotion but she kept it from shaking. "I need to take him."

Steve understood right away and walked towards where Natasha was standing, standing close enough to make sure she knew he was there, but far away enough not pressure her. He feared with too much pressure, the marble might break. 

"Natasha." He called his friend's name softly, not to startle her. In that moment, Steve realized he had never seen Natasha cry until right now. Obviously, it wasn't visible when you first glanced at her, but Steve felt like he knew the woman enough to pick up on the way one of her brows was uneven, the way she pursed her lips in an attempt to not break down and of course, the single tear track that ran down her face. This was years and layers of training breaking away to show the woman's most vulnerable form and it made him wonder how many people Natasha had lost along the way for her to still remain marble to this day. If this was the most she would break to the closest thing she had to a father dying? What had she been through to make it so. 

Perhaps he did not want to know that answer. 

And then just like that, as soon as the palm of her hand had left Fury's head, she was an emotionless assassin on a mission as she swiftly moved out of the room, Steve following shortly after to catch up.

"Natasha!" He called out her name with more force this time as soon as they were in the hallway.

She turned towards him sharply. "Why was Fury in your apartment?"

"I don't know."

"Cap! Romanoff!" Rumlow's voice caught the attention of both of them. "They want you both back at SHIELD'S, Romanoff, you come with me, I'll take you to the kid's hospital room."

Steve nodded, speaking for Natasha. "Yeah, give us a second."

He turned back towards the woman just as Rumlow spoke again. "They want you both now."

This time Natasha spoke. "I'll be at the end of that hallway in a second, Rumlow."

He seemed satisfied with her answer and went to where she had indicated, at the end of the hallway to wait for her.

"You're gonna interrogate the kid?" Steve asked Natasha.

"Why not? It's my area of specialty after all." Natasha looked at him quizzically.

"Yeah well, here's the thing," Steve looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was looking at them. "She hasn't said a word since she woke up this morning, she refused to eat or drink anything the doctors brought her."

Natasha didn't seem surprised at that. "Rogers, this kid had a hand in killing one of the most powerful people in this country. I can assure you, not confessing to anything right away is what she was trained to do."

"I know that, but-" Natasha interrupted him again.

"Do we have a file?"

Steve sighed. He had tried all morning to get access to that file of hers that doctors had refused to show him, without any success. "Yes, doctors got DNA this morning and when I asked they told me it wasn't accessible to anyone. Fury's orders."

"So, Fury knew something about the kid. Something he didn't feel was important enough to share." The woman had to keep resent from seeping into her tone at the revelation. Steve didn't need a file to know what she felt ; she had trusted Fury with her life on numerous occasions and he still couldn't be honest with her, even beyond the living.

"Romanoff!" Rumlow made a ticking motion with his wrist from the end of the hallway.

Steve turned around to leave just as Natasha called out to him. "Oh and Steve?"

He turned back towards the woman. "You're a terrible liar."

And just like that, she was walking away.

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Natasha Romanoff had gone through many things in her thirty years of existence. She had left behind a lot of people and sacrificed so much to get here today. None of it had been by choice, but she had refused to let what had been decided for her affect how she decided things today. And while it had been twelve years since she had lost her baby at seventeen years old, not a day went by where the woman didn't think of what could have been.

She had been trained not to let the mind wander, it made for distractions, weaknesses, everything that got you killed. But how could she will the mind not to think of what had come from her own belly? 

Her mind often drifted to a world where none of this had happened to her, a world where she and James had managed to escape, a world where Lelya Barnes Romanoff would have been born into two loving parents' arms. A world where Natasha would have been there for her first steps, where James would have taught her how to ride a bike and would've held on to her as long as she cried for her daddy not to let go of her. They could've brought her to her first day of school and watched her run around the backyard catching snowflakes in her tiny palm. They could have been happy.

But, no. They had taken everything away from her, her baby, her first love and her future. Natasha Romanoff was today no more than a broken woman, pieced back together. She could still recall nights where she woke up screaming in her own bed, her arms reaching for an infant that was long gone. Those were the hardest nights. Nights where she remembered how it felt when they had carelessly dropped her dead new born child in her waiting arms. How the child's arms and legs were limp in her arms and how they had carelessly grabbed her baby by the neck as the Madame ordered them to throw it away.

At seventeen years old, Natasha Romanoff had died inside. A piece of her heart had withered to nothing, leaving a forever hole to fill in her heart. And she had tried to fill that hole time and time again. With Clint Barton, the first person who saw her for anything else than what the Red Room had made her. With Nick Fury, who had taught her how to use her first smartphone when she couldn't figure it out. When she met Piper Potts, Pepper Potts' fourteen year old daughter, four years ago, Natasha had let the witty, humorous fairy like teenager worm her way into her heart and stick there like a parasite. Still, nothing could fill the emptiness, every happy moment was only temporary. Quickly enough she felt the black hole swallow her up again until she was here no longer. 

"Romanoff." Rumlow's voice brought her back to the horrible reality that he lived in.

"Sorry." She didn't mean it, of course.

"The kid is in hospital room down the hall, some of our guards have tried to get her to speak, no success. She won't eat, drink or talk. We tried everything."

"Everything?" The woman's voice was void of any emotion. "Are you telling me you tortured a twelve year old girl?" 

 "Twelve year old girls don't kill high profile directors of extra-governmental organisations." He had the decency to at least look guilty, though his words suggested otherwise. 

"You think you are going to get a child assassin to tell you anything by physically traumatizing her? I don't think you know how to do your job right, given that any assassin capable of killing Nick Fury is most definitely used to whatever you did to that child. You don't get assassins this good without them knowing pain." Natasha looked at Rumlow, only to find the man rubbing his brow, looking at his feet uneasily, simply due to the fact that Natasha Romanoff had told him off.

"What, like you? You think you can get her to talk, be my guest Romanoff." Rumlow gestured to the door down the hall.

The red head woman raised a single brow at him, and turned towards the tray of untouched food that was laid out on the table. She grabbed a loaf of bread and a hot drink and started making her way to the holding cell.

"I'll be listening." Rumlow called out as the guards made way to let Natasha in.

"I certainly hope so." Natasha said. Rumlow stood behind the glass window, shaded on one side so the child couldn't see him but he could see her. The thirty year old woman opened the door of the room and walked in.

Immediately, Natasha thought that whoever was up there was testing her sanity. Especially on a day like today. The child handcuffed to the bed, leaning back against an uncomfortable frame was no more than eleven years old. She was folded onto herself, eyes downcast to her palms and was anxiously fidgeting with her handcuffs, creating a nagging sound that felt like it was chipping away at her eardrums. Fixated on the lower half of her face was a dark mask, it looked practically glued to her pale face. 

What threw the woman off was her hair, the long red locks of hair splayed over her shoulder. Natasha wondered if the world was trying to see how far it could push her. It couldn't be a huge coincidence that a few hours ago, she was waking up alone in the middle of the night screaming, trying to erase the memory from her mind of her eighteen year old self running her fingers over the soft tufts of red hair on her dead baby's hand and that today, the child who had a hand in killing her mentor had that exact shade of red hair. 

One hundred and thirty thousand babies are born every day with red hair, Natasha. 

Sloppy. You are being weak. Your enemy sees this and she uses it to her advantage. 

You are the Black Widow, you do not stumble in the face of pain. You embrace it, mold it, make it your own. 

That voice had a name, of course it did. It was the voice that narrated her every movement, one she could not rid herself of no matter how many ways she tried to, not even death could stop that voice, she had began to think. The Madame, always there, always poking, always prodding. 

Natasha suddenly jerked back, as if awakening from a dream, and she quickly realized she had not made any move since walking in and immediately scolded herself. She was a professional SHIELD agent, she had once been one of the most feared assassins on the planet, and yet here she was, holding her breath at the fact that a specific shade of red hair was reminding her of her dead baby. A baby that was six feet under in a small village in Russia. She was pathetic.

She shot a quick glance at the girl in the hospital bed, whose eyes followed her warily. 

She knew. The girl knew. 

It had been subtle, but Natasha had caught it. A glimmer of disdain in the child's eye, that sliver of superiority at having caught her in a moment of weakness. It felt like the eyes of the Madame had been placed over the child's and it were hers looking at Natasha with those hawk-like eyes that never missed a beat. Of course that was not possible. The Madame was dead, she had had a hand in it herself. 

But Natasha was not the only one who had the pleasure of training under Madame B. There had been others. Other girls, with other faces, and other eyes to absolve the woman's words, her actions and her ways like she was the only thing worth listening to in order to stay alive. 

Impossible. A girl from there couldn't be so young. She had killed Dreykov almost ten years ago. The Red Room was nothing but ashes, she had made sure of it. 

It simply could not be. 

She steeled herself and took her seat across from the girl who still had not spared her a single glance. On the table that was fixed on the bed's handles, she put down the loaf of bread and the warm drink in front of the child. It didn't take years of training for Natasha to figure out that the girl sat across from her was using all her willpower not to scarf down the food that Natasha had placed on the table. Call her evil, but Natasha Romanoff preferred psychologically breaking the mind instead of senselessly beating the truth out of someone. She picked up the medical file that was in the plastic bucket fixed to her bed and started reading it slowly, taking her time. 

The child had sustained a few broken bones but seemed to be healing quickly enough. What intrigued her was the list of disorders the doctors had diagnosed the child with. She had the highest blood pressure Natasha had ever seen in a kid, she was deficient in a number of vitamins such as vitamin D which told Natasha the child practically never saw sunlight ever and was of course, anemic. Her eyes kept twitching, very minimally of course, Natasha could tell the girl was well used in attempting to control it, but she also knew the tell-signs of eyes that had not seen enough light to be used to it. Those fluorescent hospital lights must be a damn painful thing to experience if one was used to nothing but a dark cell from childhood to this. Those were symptoms Natasha saw in HYDRA agents.  

"Do you want me to know anything before we start?" Natasha leaned back against the chair, easily slipping into interrogation mindset.

The girl didn't move, her face wasn't visible to Natasha who slowly decided she would get that child to look up.

"Nothing?" Still no reply.

The woman's green eyes looked the child over. She couldn't see much below her waist due to the blanket covering her body. Every inch of skin that Natasha could see was littered in bruises, some looking fresher than other. Her tiny little hands were so small that the handcuffs had to be tightened to the maximum and they still looked rather big on her. Some of her fingernails had been ripped off while others were barely growing back. Natasha couldn't resist the rush of anger that coursed through her at the sight. Was this what Rumlow meant when he had said that they had tried everything on her?

Why do you care about this child? Her mind screamed at her. She killed your mentor, the person who gave you a life when you had nothing!

Natasha still couldn't see the girl's face but was able to notice the shadow of something that looked like a hard mask against her face. Instinctively, she reached forward to pull it off her face, but as soon as the child saw her move, she sharply jerked back pulling on her handcuffs trying to get as far from Natasha as she could. Her big, round eyes looked up at her for a very short moment and Natasha thought she saw something pleading in them, and a small shake of the head. But the woman didn't back down and with a sharp movement, grabbed the mask and pulled it off the girl's face. The girl's bleeding grew erratic as the horrid sound of a squelch followed by an almost invisible whimper and the rattIe of handcuffs, like an animal trying to gnaw itself free from a trap rather than face oncoming pain. Immediately, the child's body seemed to stiffen up, then still before she stopped moving altogether.

The inside of the mask looked like it had been crafted by a sadist. What looked like barbed wires lined the edges of it, soaked and dripping with blood, literally imbedded in the wearer's skin. Small wires ran through the rest of it, and it took a moment of prodding for Natasha to realize these wires were powered with enough supply of free shocks to knock out an elephant. 

A speck of red drew her attention before she could dwell on what that meant, and she let her eyes trail towards the child, towards her knees which were covered by that scratchy hospital blanket, only to find droplets of blood steadily falling and staining the fabric. 

She had to suppress a gasp of surprise as she looked up to find the child's face, marred and torn by her ripping off that mask. Pieces of skin dangling off her cheekbones, blood steadily oozing from open wounds and torn pieces of flesh, the picture painted by the consequences of Natasha's actions was not a pretty one. Guilt, that old familiar friend, gripped her throat tightly, and before she could let it cut off the oxygen from her airways and render her helpless she grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and held it towards the child. 

She should've thought that through more, she realised, when the child sharply jerked back from her once again, trying to drag herself to the head of her hospital bed as much as was physically possible with the restrain binding her to the bed.  

"I'm not going to hit you." Natasha spoke finally, dropping the mask against the bedside table. "The mask," She held it up. "Did Rumlow put this on you?" She ran her fingers over all the torture devices they had inserted into this mask. 

Again, no answer, but Natasha thought she saw a slight move of her head.

"You used barbed wires, shock therapy and toxic gas on a twelve year old child?" Natasha directed her question to Rumlow who she knew was watching her behind the glass. 

There was no answer for a minute, then finally. "Among other things." 

Natasha did not want to know, she did not want to know what methods he'd been using to make this child speak, she wanted to show him she was getting the job done far better than he'd ever be capable of. When she turned back to face the girl, she found the tissue in the exact place she had left it, only soaked in blood and crumpled up. She had used it. 

She was fast. Smart. She'd used it when Natasha had her back turned. 

The Madame would surely approve. 

Beginning to get satisfied with where she was getting at, Natasha turned towards the glass, behind where Rumlow was standing, and smirked. "See what you can get to when you're not beating the shit out of a child?" She said, referring to the slight nod the girl had given her a few minutes prior, and then the bloodied tissue on the bed. 

Not awaiting a reply, Natasha turned back to face the girl only to notice that the piece of raisin bread was gone and that the child had taken a massive bite out of it. It made Natasha wonder how badly this girl had been treated for her to throw herself on a simple loaf of bread from a stranger.

"Good. Eat, it's for you." Natasha gestured to the food. "The hot chocolate might be hot, though."

The girl looked like she was about to throw herself on the remainder of the bread, but something seemed to click inside her brain, like a switch flipping off and she kicked the table with all her might, sending the boiling hot chocolate flying across the room against the glass window and the loaf of bread on the floor. 

Then, she settled, returning to her previous position and remaining incredibly still. 

When the girl made no sudden move, Natasha continued unfazed by the sudden burst of emotion from an assassin that still remained a twelve year old child, nothing could change the fact that she was still as immature as one. "Last night, you were in Washington DC, following the shooter. Correct?"

Again, no reply. The spy nodded. "Okay, so you want to do this a different type of way. That's fine."

Pulling out the key to the hand cuffs, Natasha made a move to unlock them. "I don't think I need to warn you about what would happen to you if you even tried to get out of here." She unlocked the handcuffs and was surprised when the child didn't make a single move. Of course, the child still had fractured ribs, a broken hand and internal bleeding, but Natasha was sure that if she wanted to escape she would, she was just smart enough not to. 

"Romanoff." Rumlow's voice drilled across the speaker in the room. "Are you out of your mind?"

"De-activate vision from viewing glass." Natasha spoke to the automated AI that had control of the building.

"Viewing glass vision de-activated."

Natasha turned back towards the girl. "He can't see you, only me. Now, you're going to stand up and I'm going to unzip that suit a bit."

It wasn't noticeable, but the girl subtly started shaking, the anxious tapping of her leg against the bed frame had translated to her entire body until she was shaking like a leaf. Deciding to act quickly, Natasha's previous plan flew out of the window as she put the handcuffs back on and started unzipping the front of her suit slightly. And while the girl hadn't stopped shaking, she made no move to fight back. Slightly nudging the suit off her shoulder Natasha's gaze fell onto the tattoo she knew was there.

It was two triangles, their tips meeting in the middle against the name tag : s u b j e c t  r e d inked in bold letters. The triangles were something Natasha knew all too well because she had them tattooed on her rib cage, just like the girl had. This girl was one of the Madame's. Her breath hitched, no amount of training was able to reduce the shock she was currently under. She had killed Dreykov. She had. Could it be possible that someone else was able to continue his work beyond his death? If that was the case, she only had resources to build one facility, maybe two, that Natasha could easily track down and annihilate. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was the child. It seemed like even beyond the dead, Dreykov was able to use her worst fears to torment her. 

The girl had stopped shaking by that time, her head remained hung low. "You're one of the Madame's girls. You're from the Red Room." Natasha spoke as she zipped the suit back up.

Inside her head, she cursed this girl. The girl who brought back so many unpleasant memories and unanswered questions. The girl who was making her slowly realize something she had been trying to push out of her mind as soon as she had seen her.

"I could ask you the same thing, Ms. Romanoff."

The girl's voice was soft and scratchy, she spoke good English but had a thick Russian accent. And then, something happened, something Natasha had been dreading to face. The red headed child lifted her head and her blue and green eyes met Natasha's own. Those eyes, one blue one green, that specific shade of blue that belonged to the man she now saw only in dreams that turned to nightmares, and that shade of green was something she saw whenever she looked in a mirror. The girl handcuffed to the desk held a collection of features she saw on her own face every morning.

Natasha wanted to scream, she wanted to kick something, she needed to punch the walls of this room and smash her fists against that glass window. But instead, reason took over and she said. "So you do speak, after all."

The red head dragged her fingers across a pinkish scar that ran along her throat. Natasha understood immediately, that child had only recently gained the ability to speak. She couldn't imagine how painful that surgery had been. 

"That suit you wear, it's not the one the Madame's girls wear." Natasha voiced her observations. "You don't work for her anymore." 

When the girl didn't reply Natasha persisted. "You arrived in Washington, DC last night with the shooter. Who is this man to you?"

No reply.

"You're protecting him." She noted. "You can't protect what leaves you behind, kid."

The child looks up, in her eyes an almost unnoticeable range of unshed tears. The girl was trying to take herself away from here mentally, she regretted speaking and was trying to remain as cold as a marble statue. Natasha knew that game, she knew what the Madame led these girls to do, but she could undo years of training by pushing this child until she broke.

"He left you to us, threw you to the wolves. He's not coming back for you, so who is he to you?" Natasha knew the answer. She knew what this girl protected, she just couldn't let herself admit it. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together and Natasha wasn't sure she was ready to see the full picture. "Come on. You know it won't matter if you tell me. Didn't the Madame always tell you you were trash? What makes you think she cares if the trash speaks?" 

"He left you." The girl jerked suddenly in her bed as if she was trying to pull her hands over her ears to stop herself from hearing what Natasha was making her listen to. 

No reply, save a whimper as the girl stubbornly yanked her hands hard against her handcuffs her neck folding over and her shoulders rising as if she could still block the words out. 

"Why do you protect him?"

Another moan, was it in pain as the wounds on her face which had stopped bleeding for a short while began dripping blood as her face contorted with anguish, or was it the events that had led her here finally catching up to her and breaking her at the most valuable of times?

She knew why, because she had protected him so many years ago and then failed.

"He's not coming back."

Was it a sob this time? "No." Natasha couldn't tell. 

He never came back for Natasha.

"Who is he?" She pressed harder, her tone growing in anger. She was terrified of the answer.

"Romanoff!" Rumlow walked into the room with a doctor and immediately the girl shrunk back onto herself. Natasha realized that while she was wrapped up in trying to pry the answer from the child, she had never turned the visibility back on Rumlow's side of the glass. Which meant that the man hadn't been seeing or listening to their conversation for the last ten minutes. 

The erratic sound of the heart monitor growing increasingly louder seemed to throw a blanket of silence over the room. Natasha was frozen in place as the doctor jumped into action to save the child who had slumped forward onto the bed. Even Rumlow seemed more alert to what was going on. "What have you done to her?" Rumlow spared half a glance to the child before his eyes snapped back at hers.

But the woman looked like a marble statue, her eyes glass and her heart stone as she looked onto the scene. The doctor had pushed the redhead's body back against the mattress and had ripped off her hospital gown, in order to restart her heart. Natasha had to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from shouting at him to be careful. She looked so small and so, lifeless, it looked like he was about to break her ribs in half by doing chest compressions on the poor thing. And suddenly, Natasha Romanoff was back in the cold cell in Russia, 2002, as a seventeen year old feeling the guard rip the dead, bloodied corpse of her daughter out of her as she screamed in pain before finally dropping the baby with the greying skin into her waiting arms. 

"Ona mertva." She's dead. She could recall the very familiar feeling of her heart being ripped out of her chest at the guard's words. 

"I don't think she's gonna make it." The doctor let out a grunt as he resumed chest compressions for what felt like the millionth time in the past minute. 

She shouldn't have done it. That girl killed the only parental figure she had had in her life since she'd been nine years old. For all she cared, the girl should have been shot on site. But if the girl deserved to die, what did she deserve? So perhaps it was the instinct of a mother she thought had died all those years ago in Russia that caused her to surge forward and grab the defibrillator that was kept in the corner of the hospital room. 

"Don't." The doctor warned when she approached the bed with the paddles ready. He was still doing CPR on the girl but he looked close to giving up. "Her body is too weak, she'll die." 

If there was one thing this doctor had not yet learned was that you don't give orders to Natasha Romanoff. "She'll be dead in a minute anyways, so what are you losing?" The Russian spy looked ready to push him off the bed. "Now move, before I move you." The doctor gulped and moved out of Natasha's way. 

"Charge to three hundred." She ordered. She was surprised that the man listened to her after she threatened to stop him from doing his job, but he did. "Clear." 

She pushed the right paddle above the girl's heart and the right one just below it. A shock wave ran through her body as it jolted upwards. "Come on kid don't die on me." When Natasha looked up at the heart monitor, it was still flat-lining. Her face hardened, as did her resolve. "Charge again." 

"But-" The doctor tried to protest when Rumlow shot him a glare but he was quickly cut off by Natasha's much more intimidating one. "Charge again to three hundred." 

Rumlow looked at him, daring the man who was only doing his job to obey the woman. He charged again. "Clear."

This time, it worked. When Natasha pushed the paddles against the child's chest, it jolted upwards, as did the sound of the monitor, who resumed at a steady beating pace. 

"Congratulations, Romanoff. You almost killed a child today." Her pale green eyes snapped back towards Rumlow's face. "Wouldn't be the first time." He added darkly.

When she didn't bother to grace him with a punch to the jaw or even a word, he took her silence as an invitation to keep pushing her. "Hill needs you in the control room."

"Not now." She dismissed the man, angry that he had interrupted her interrogation and cost her valuable information. She refused to acknowledge the tiny voice in her head that begged to be listened to, the voice that told her to stay at the child's bedside and stroke her hair, because that's what she would have like someone to do for her at twelve years old. But that voice was stupid and refused to grow up. It was the same voice that had stuck to her brain since she was seventeen years old, the voice that urged her to do the right thing, the motherly thing. 

"It wasn't a suggestion. Hill needs you now."

She turned to glare at the man but followed him out nonetheless. "Plus," Rumlow continued. "It doesn't look like you discovered much."

Oh, but she did. And as Rumlow locked the door to the room behind her and started walking her away from the girl and down the hallway to the elevator, the words of the child kept replaying in her head. The single strangled whisper of a word that had brought all of Natasha's fears to life seemed to follow her into the lift.

The words of a twelve year old girl she had thought six feet under in a small cemetery in Russia. The girl she had wanted to name Lelya Barnes that had red hair and blue eyes. The baby she never got to mother.

The girl who had answered her question with a simple word before "dying", sending her into a state of shock.

"Papa."

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And here it is! The chapter everyone had waited for! Mother and daughter reunited for a few moments! I'm not going to lie this was a rough chapter to write because I felt a lot of pressure to make this chapter amazing to not disappoint so I hope you guys enjoyed it and it was what you expected!

I have so many ideas for the next chapter, including the iconic elevator scene that I am absolutely dying to write Sashenka into because we need more Steve/Sashenka bonding time!

How did you guys like my little Piper Potts reference? This was a little preview to the Piper/Sash friendship I can't wait to write eventually!

Also, I'm a sucker for you guys dropping your theories in the comments because they're usually so interesting and it makes me love how much you guys are invested in this character, so drop your theories below (I have plans of writing Sashenka until Endgame for now so nothing is too far fetched!)

My pinterest is @/camicazii and I have mood boards for all my OCs and their relationships so feel free to check it out if you have pinterest!

edit 29/12/21 : i completely changed the setting of the interrogation because i really wanted to include sashenka dying...sorry :) 

edit : 20/07/24 : idk if any of you are watching house of the dragon season 2 but that last scene where sash becomes all anxious and looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin is highly based on helaena targaryen during the funeral procession for jaehaerys! i think sash and helaena are v similar and i love helaena so i wanted to include this detail, i thought it really fit sash sort of breaking down bc at the end of the day, no matter how much training she has, she's still a 12 year old girl