Who am I?
Lena woke up slowly.
For a moment, she thought it would feel different. Heavier. That she would be more of a real person maybe, now that she was out. But there was no crushing force, no suffocating dread, no lifted guilt. Just the quiet hum of the house, the faintest light creeping through the blinds. She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling. It was her birthday. The thought sat uneasily in her chest. She didn’t know what to do with it now that it was here.
For years, it had passed without acknowledgment, just another day on a calendar she wasn’t allowed to see. But that never stopped the memories. They came every year, even when she didn’t know the date, creeping into the corners of her mind like shadows under a locked door. They came now, curling around her ribs, dragging her backward before she could stop them.
She was freshly seven years old again. A voice, loud, sharp, impatient, demanding something in Russian. She flinched before she understood, hands moving before she could think. Too slow. Too clumsy. A correction delivered with bruising force.
Eight. The sting of cold steel of a gun pressed against her palm, the weight of expectation heavier than the metal itself. Pointed at stationary targets, for now. Ripping through paper, not skin, not yet. They ordered. She obeyed.
Nine. Her body ached, but she didn’t let it show. Weakness was unacceptable. She was strong. The Lows were gone now, one by one. She watched them fall. They were weak.
Ten. She forgot to count. The dead little girl, the mission failure. The windowless cell watching blood run down the drain in the middle. Her blood, her failure, her isolation. Her fault.
Eleven. Nothing.
Her fingers curled into the blanket, gripping tight. The ceiling above her blurred, her breath coming short. It wasn’t real. Not anymore. The memories whispered otherwise because it was all so real. She turned onto her side, curling inward, breathing through the rush of images. It was just a day. Just another morning. She was in New Jersey. She was in this house, in this bed. The walls were solid, the air still.
She was safe.
Lena forced herself to move. She pushed the blankets back and sat up, inhaling sharply as she planted her feet on the floor. The memories clung to her, the weight on her shoulders, but she refused to carry them any further. Not today. She wasn’t in the Red Room and she wasn’t Yelena Belova. She was Lena Morse.
She focused on the motions, pulling fresh clothes on, stretching her fingers before running them through her hair. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The familiar creak of the floorboards as she stood. The small, grounding details of a morning like any other. She latched onto them, pushing everything else down. She saw the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror, the haunted look in her eyes. She ignored it, and braided her hair back tightly, not meeting her own eyes again.
By the time she made it downstairs, the scent of something warm and sweet filled the air. She paused in the doorway of the kitchen, spotting Phil at the stove, a spatula in hand as he worked over a pan. He glanced up when he saw her. “Morning,” he said easily, nodding toward the counter. “I’m making pancakes. You want to help?” Lena hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, shoulders rolling back as she settled into the present. “Yes.” Phil gestured toward the bowls of fruit and chocolate on the counter. “You can mix in whatever you want. Just don’t go too crazy, or Melinda will say I ruined breakfast.”
Lena offered a tight smile but didn’t comment, picking up the bowl of blueberries. She poured some into the batter, watching them sink into the thick mixture before giving it a careful stir. Phil moved aside as she ladled batter onto the pan, waiting a moment before carefully flipping the pancake over. It was satisfying and she found herself calm as she watched bubbles form in the batter.
They worked in quiet tandem. Phil shifted to another part of the kitchen, busying himself with eggs and bacon while Lena took over the pancakes. The only break in the silence was when he asked, “Sleep well?” She nodded, or maybe shrugged, somewhere in between. Phil didn’t push.
The sounds of the house waking up slowly filled the space around them. The floor creaked upstairs. Water ran in the bathroom. A door clicked open. Then, footsteps. Lena knew it was Natasha before she saw her. Her sister appeared in the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing on her. Natasha looked tired, cautious in a way that made something pull tight in Lena’s chest. Lena didn’t say anything. Neither did Natasha. She just crossed the kitchen, moving into Lena’s orbit without a word. Lena flipped another pancake, pretending not to notice the way Natasha hovered just close enough to reach her, just close enough to make sure she was still there.
Melinda entered next, hair damp from a shower, coffee already in hand. She leaned against the counter, watching the two girls at the stove before speaking. “Bobbi’s coming over at one,” she said. “We’ll have food and cake then.” The statement was casual, but Lena felt Natasha tense beside her.
She kept her focus on the pan, pretending she didn’t see the way Natasha’s fingers curled slightly, as if bracing for something unseen.
Neither of them said anything.
Lena flipped the last pancake.
The house was quiet after breakfast. It felt like Melinda and Phil knew they both needed space, so Lena found herself laying on her bed with Natasha at the desk chair from her desk. Her older sister watched the sunlight stretch across the floor, warm and steady.
Lena fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, staring at the star map on the wall, one that Phil had put up months ago when he noticed Lena staring into the night sky. Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to shake the thoughts loose. But Lena was already looking at her. Studying her. “Stop worrying so much,” Lena said, not unkindly but probably a bit hypocritically. Natasha huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t last. “Sorry.” Lena tilted her head slightly. “What are you thinking about anyway?”
Natasha let out a breath, tipping her head back against the couch. She could lie, say it was nothing, but this was her sister. The one person she had sworn she wouldn’t keep anything from anymore. She let the truth settle in her mouth before speaking. “The last time I lost you.” Lena’s fingers curled slightly into her sleeve. “The airport?” Natasha gave a small nod, jaw tightening at the memory. “And after,” she admitted. “Every time after.”
Lena didn’t speak right away. She had replayed those moments in her mind hundreds of times. Natasha rubbed a hand down her face, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I should’ve fought harder,” she muttered. “I should’ve-”
“You were eleven,” Lena interrupted, quiet but firm. “I was barely six. We had no control, Natasha. There’s no point in trying to change the past.” It was true, but it didn’t make it easier to swallow. Natasha ran her thumb over her knuckles, staring at nothing. Lena hesitated before asking, “What are you going to do when you turn eighteen?” Natasha’s head turned toward her, eyebrows pulling together. “What?” Lena shifted, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “You’ll be an adult. You won’t need guardians anymore. What are you going to do?”
Natasha stared at her for a long moment, feeling caught off guard by the question. Eighteen had never meant freedom before. And if Lena had asked three months ago, she would’ve had an answer to give. But she had been told more than once that they would both have a place here, even if she was legally an adult. And despite the fear and the uncertainty, she didn’t think she wanted to keep running. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Lena was quiet for a long time, her fingers still toying with the thread. Then, she spoke again, this time more hesitant. More vulnerable. “Are we still going to be together?” Natasha’s chest clenched. She turned, shifting so she was fully facing Lena. Without hesitation, she reached forward, taking one of Lena’s hands in hers. “Hey,” she murmured, waiting until Lena met her gaze.
Her eyes were wide, uncertain in a way that made Natasha’s stomach twist. “I won’t disappear,” Natasha promised, gripping her hand tighter. “If I’m going somewhere, you’re going with me. Always.” Lena’s throat was tight. “Swear it.” Natasha inhaled deeply. “When we got separated,” she said slowly, “I promised myself I would get you out. That we’d be together. That we’d be safe.” She squeezed Lena’s hands. “That’s never going to change, even when I turn eighteen. You’re always going to be my little sister.”
Lena stared at her for a long moment before she surged forward, wrapping her arms around Natasha. Natasha barely had time to react before her arms came up around the younger girl, holding her close. Lena pressed her face into Natasha’s shoulder, voice muffled but clear. “I’d follow you anywhere.” Natasha’s grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Lena’s shirt.
She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against Lena’s hair, remembering what it was like to hold onto her when they were younger, when she would still carry her, when she was small enough to fit in her arms. Now, they were both taller. Older. They weren’t the same kids, but this still felt the same. Natasha wasn’t letting go.
And neither sister ever would.
The afternoon passed in a quiet sort of ease. Bobbi arrived right on time, letting herself in with the familiarity of someone who had been in the house dozens of times before. She greeted Lena with a smirk, ruffling her hair before dodging the half-hearted shove in response.
Lunch was one of Lena’s favorites, grilled cheeses and tomato soup, and some salad that she mostly pushed around her plate. Conversation stayed light, Bobbi updating the two older agents about workplace drama. “Lumley is overseeing the Operations rookies training,” Bobbi said between bites. “One managed to crash a Quinjet sim in record time. I think he actually considered early retirement after watching it.” Natasha snorted. “Impressive.” Bobbi smirked at her. “Not as impressive as your eternal brooding. You’ve got, what, five facial expressions? And four of them are just variations of glaring?”
Natasha leveled her with an unamused stare.
“There it is,” Bobbi said, pointing at her. “Textbook.” Lena stifled her laugh into her soup as Coulson sighed. “What happened to setting a good example, Barbara?” Bobbi made a dramatic sound of offense while Lena just smirked. “Oh, come on, don’t full-name me in front of the kids. I’ll lose all credibility.” “You never had any,” Natasha muttered, which only made Bobbi laugh harder. As lunch wrapped up and conversation slowed, Bobbi leaned back in her chair, pulling something from her pocket. She slid it across the table toward Lena with a casual, “Happy birthday, kid.”
Lena picked it up. A flip phone, sleek and unfamiliar. Likely SHIELD tech, definitely not something on the market. Bobbi grinned. “Now you can call me whenever you want. No excuses.” Lena flipped it open, pressing a few buttons, feeling the weight of it in her hands. It was hers. Small, but hers. She glanced up, meeting Bobbi’s gaze before giving her a small smile. “Thank you.” Bobbi winked. “Just don’t abuse the power.” Then, with a thoughtful tilt of her head, she added, “Or do. A few prank calls to Fury might actually improve morale.” Coulson sighed, rubbing his temple. “What happened to being a good influence?” “See, you keep expecting that, and that’s where you go wrong,” Bobbi said, grinning.
After lunch, Coulson and May guided Lena to the couch, where a neatly wrapped box waited. She took her time peeling back the paper, lifting the lid to reveal a pair of pointe shoes and soft canvas slippers nestled inside with other ballet essentials. Her fingers brushed over the ribbons, the smooth satin cool under her touch. “We looked into a few studios,” May said, voice steady but gentle. “SHIELD-approved. Safe. You can try them out if you want.”
Lena stared down at them, her throat tight.
The last time she had worn ballet shoes, it had been a training tool. A weapon. Another way to break a girl into something useful. But this could be different. This was hers. She swallowed, pressing her fingers against the ribbons, grounding herself in the present. “Yeah,” she murmured after a long pause. “I think I’d like that.”
Finally, Natasha sat beside her, something small in her hands.
“Here,” she said, a little stiffly, like she wasn’t sure how to do this. Lena took the small box, flipping it open. Inside was a locket, simple and silver. She traced her fingers over the edge before carefully opening it. Inside was a small, slightly faded picture, a copy of one the photostrip images from Ohio, when they had crammed into a booth, laughing, making faces. Back when things had felt simple. Lena’s hands tightened around the locket. She looked up at Natasha, who was watching her with something guarded in her eyes. Lena swallowed. “Thank you.” Natasha just nodded, like it was nothing, but Lena knew it wasn’t.
They finished the day with ice cream cake. Coulson had picked it up that morning, making sure it had strawberry as requested. They didn’t light candles or sing, which Lena was grateful for. Bobbi had made a point to smear frosting onto Lena’s cheek, which resulted in an all-out war that only ended when May stepped in with a look. It was fun.
When Lena went to bed later that evening, full and tired, but she was lighter than she had been that morning. Lighter than she had ever remembered being.
The memories of the past hadn’t gone away but it felt easier to breathe.
Weeks later, Lena would call Bobbi using her new phone, and she would answer despite the hour. Bobbi would talk, telling soft stories until Lena could speak. And when she did, she would tell her about the little blonde girl, still nameless, and how she had watched her die. And the torture and isolation that followed her failure. And Bobbi would still be there. She would listen and remind the younger girl that it wasn’t her fault. She would let Lena cry and help hold the shattered memories gently. And later, Lena would later knock on Natasha’s door and her older sister would answer. Natasha would notice the desperation in her sister’s eyes and would offer her own bed. They would curl into blankets together and they would fall asleep. And when Melinda and Phil found them in the morning, it would be okay. And when Lena woke up with the light shining through the blinds, with her sister next to her, she wouldn’t be alone.
Yelena Belova was alone in the world. But she became Lena Morse and she had a family. And both parts of her were still pieces of who she was.
Yelena Belova was limited by what they wanted her to be. What they made her.
Child soldier. Brainwashed assassin. Top of her class. Trained killer.
Lena Morse was who she could be.
Seventh grader. Ballet dancer. Sister. Friend.
And she would never be alone again.