Who Am I To Complain?
The next day at school is more bearable, despite the distinct lack of sleep. Lena finds herself smiling during the conversations that Daisy consistently ropes her into throughout the day. When Phil picks her up that afternoon, she actually speaks responses. At the sound of her voice, Phil’s eyes light up but he doesn’t mention it, only nodding along with her words.
When they arrived home, Lena slipped quietly into the house, shrugging off her coat and dropping her bag by the stairs. Natasha was waiting in the doorway to the living room, her arms crossed, but there was no anger in her stance, only the hint of worry she couldn’t quite hide.
“Lena,” she said softly, as if trying not to scare her away. Lena stopped, her body still halfway toward the stairs. “Can we talk?” Natasha asked. The hesitation must have been clear on Lena’s face because Natasha’s expression softened further. “In your room,” she added, her voice almost pleading.
Lena nodded, wordlessly turning and climbing the stairs with Natasha following close behind. Once inside, Lena perched on the edge of her bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Natasha shut the door behind her but didn’t sit right away. She stood there, her hands curling into fists at her sides before she exhaled sharply and leaned back against the desk.
“I… I owe you an apology,” Natasha began, her words tentative, like she was testing their weight. “I haven’t been fair to you..” Lena tilted her head, her brows knitting together in confusion.
Natasha sighed and dragged a hand through her hair, still not quite used to the shoulder length hairstyle. “Melinda told me about last night. I knew you came back safe, but I—” Her voice caught, and she shook her head. “I almost stormed into your school when she told me. Phil and Melinda had to talk me down.” Lena’s mouth fell open slightly, and her gaze dropped to her hands.
“I’m scared of this,” Natasha admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Our lives were meticulously planned out for us and now I don’t know what I’m doing. When we got here, I didn’t know what to do. And instead of dealing with that, I just thought if I focused on making sure you were okay, I would somehow be okay too. I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, Lena didn’t say anything. Then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, she murmured, “I’m not who I was in Ohio. I can’t be.”
Natasha’s heart ached at the truth in them. Neither of them were the same and Natasha had to let go of the idea that they were. She crossed the room and sat beside Lena on the bed, hesitating for only a moment before pulling her into a hug.
Lena let herself be held, her arms loose around Natasha’s waist. They stayed like that for a while, Natasha’s hand rubbing slow circles on Lena’s back.
Eventually, Natasha broke the silence, her voice slipping into soft Russian. She spoke of memories from Ohio, of things Lena had forgotten. The neighbor who always gave them strawberries from her garden. The thunderstorm that left the power out for two days, and how they’d lit candles and pretended they were camping. The county fair where they had gotten Lena’s coveted photo strip.
Lena listened, her head resting against Natasha’s shoulder. “Do you still have it?” Her whispered voice came out curious, wondering if her sister had gone through the lengths that she had to keep it close. “Yeah. It was a miracle no one found out, but I could never let it go.”
Finally, Lena asked, her voice hesitant, “Do you ever miss it?” Natasha was quiet for a long time, her hands busy braiding Lena’s hair. They both knew she wasn’t talking about Ohio. When she finally spoke, her words were measured. “I think I miss the odd sense of security it offered. The Red Room didn’t leave room to be a person, we were just weapons. In some ways, it was easier.” Lena didn’t respond, and Natasha continued, her fingers working steadily through the braid. “But I think having Ohio, those years kept me from becoming the full brainwashed Widow they wanted me to be. It was the first time I had something worth living for.”
Lena closed her eyes, letting the words sink in and feeling the presence of her sister next to her. She couldn’t remember most of Ohio. But the memories she did have, and the photo strip she couldn’t let go of had given her a reason to. Even if she had buried it so far under trying to be the perfect Widow. She had stopped being. Despite everything, she still was and could be. And she was going to be.