Robin's egg blue
As soon as Melina leaves with the kids, Robin returns to bed absolutely exhausted. She had justs been so tired and was secretly grateful that Melina insisted on passing Yelena onto Rosalie.
She’d been sleeping for a few hours when she wakes up to a sharp pounding on her door. Her first thought is that it’s Rosalie but Rosalie wouldn’t do that unless something was wrong. Robin changes quickly and heads downstairs.
She opens the door, her heart dropping when she sees General Dreykov and his collection of four soldiers standing behind him. He doesn’t have to speak, Robin already stepping aside to let them inside.
“Where’s the little one?” He questioned and Robin says she was having a playdate. He lets out a hum of discontent as he starts to sweep the house, searching for a sign that she’s disobeying orders.
Robin takes the opportunity to pull out her phone and send a quick text to Rosalie before calling Melina.
“Let us speak in your office,” General Dreykov announced, heading up the stairs and toward the office at the end of the hall. Robin doesn’t hesitate to follow him up, watching as he combs through the files she has sorted in the filing cabinets pushed against the wall. He plucks out folders on the Widows he had given her and fliips through them.
“I’m here to talk to you about the future of your current mission,” General Dreykov tells her, finally pulling her office chair out and taking a seat behind the desk. This was Robin’s office but he was making it clear that he owned the place, a power move Robin knew too well. “Please, take a seat.”
There are no seats for her to sit in and they both knew it. Still, Robin knows what he wants and lowers herself to kneel on the ground, peering up at him over the desk.
General Dreykov snaps his fingers and points at one of the soldiers. An unfamiliar folder falls into Robin’s line of sight and she reaches out to take it.
“I’m extending the mission,” General Dreykov starts as Robin peers down at the lip on the folder.
OHIO 1993.
Robin doesn’t let herself hope. He can just as easily change his mind.
“But--” He starts and Robin knew there was a catch. “There are new parameters.”
“How long will the mission be extended?” Robin inquires, finally scanning the first page of information.
“Another year. The information your oldest Widow is feeding us is good but not enough anymore. Your young Widow… what was her name?” He hums, a smile curling at his lips. “Ah, right… Natasha. She has been slacking with her mission. Two of the seven children? Of course, the soldier that I assigned to be her teacher was killed…” He glances at her and Robin dares for him to accuse her.
Robin speaks nothing, her eyes scanning the details.
“And the littlest one… Yelena? My next muse--” The sound of the young girls name brings Robin’s head up. “She is ready to begin training.”
Robin licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “Will you be taking her?” She manages to get out in a steady voice.
“You are to oversee her training for the moment. Too many questions will be asked if she disappears,” He lets out a hum, leaning back in the chair and tapping his fingers against the desk. “I will require to see progress in person with a trip back home at the end of the summer.” He points at the filing cabinet and a soldier passes over three files, the ones that Robin had been given and had expanded upon at the beginning of the mission. “You mentioned teaching the youngest ballet.”
“She’s shown comprehension in mimicry and the ability to balance,” Robin replies before admitting through gritted teeth. “I want her to survive, sir.”
The tidbit tells him that she’s going soft but they both already knew that. Robin admitting it was telling him that she wasn’t willing to hold secrets against him.
General Dreykov lets out a grunt before peering back up at her. “Shirt off.” He orders and Robin doesn’t hesitate to comply, stripping her blue shirt from her body and discarding it. “Stand up and turn around, hands on your head.”
Robin stands, pulling her hands up to expose her naked torso as she tries not to focus on the leering gazes of the soldiers in the room as General Dreykov observes his handiwork from their last meeting, his name carved into her back.
“What are you, my pretty songbird?” General Dreykov inquires and Robin takes a deep breath before replying.
“I am your soldier, sir. Yours to do with as you please,” Robin tells him obediently.
“And what is your name?” He continues and Robin can hear the squeak of leather as he stands from the chair and moves toward her.
“My name is Robin.” She replies steadily, clenching her jaw as he circles her like a predator to prey.
“Ah, but that’s not really your name, is it?” He tuts, clicking his tongue against his teeth as his fingers reach out to graze against her bare stomach.
“It is the name you have given to me and one that I use with honor, sir,” She shivers, goosebumps appearing where his touch lingers. His hand snakes up between the valley of her bare breasts before his fingers wrap around the locket dangling down around her neck.
“What is your name?” He asks again and Robin replies the same.
“Robin.” She says clearly.
“What is your name?” He repeats more firmly, a growl creeping into his tone.
“Robin.” She winced as he yanks on the locket around her neck harshly until the chain snaps and slices at her skin.
“What is your name?” He demands, throwing the locket against the wall where it breaks and clatters to the ground, rolling underneath the bookshelf.
Robin forces herself to keep still as his hand falls back onto her skin, trailing up her collar and caressing her face. “Robin.”
His grip turns harsh, his fingres digging into her cheeks as he grips her jaw and yanks her closer. “What is your name!?” Spittle covers her face with the demand as he yanks her close.
“Cassandra.” The name she hadn’t used in nearly a decade slips past her lips with an ease that it shouldn’t have.
A grin stretches across his lips. “Little Cassie… yes. I remember her. Young and naive. A fool who thought she could go to college and start a family. Little Cassie who thought a fag like her could love.”
“I’m not Cassandra,” Robin tells him steadily, proud that her voice barely wavers at the name. “She died the day I met you.”
General Dreykov lets her face go to backhand her, the ring on his finger splitting the skin on her cheek open. “My dear, sweet Cassie.” He croons before reaching out to gently caress the damaged skin he left behind. “She just couldn’t be. My sweet little songbird, she was just too weak.”
Robin inhales sharply when his other hand rests onto the buckle of her belt. “She was naive and she was foolish.” Robin echoes his reminder. “She wouldn’t have survived.”
“And I got you,” His hand starts to undo her belt. “My Robin.” He grips the waistband of her pants as soon as her belt is undone, yanking her forward. “Who sings so sweetly for me.” He whispers.
Robin can’t shut her eyes as his fingers swiftly pop the button on her jeans, the zipper moving down in one quick movement.
And then there is a knife in his hand and Robin can feel the metal digging into her skin as he scrapes it along the soft skin of her belly.
“Did you know that part of our little Cassie still lives?” He questioned, his voice soft. “What was one thing our Cassie wanted more than anything.”
“To be a doctor,” Robin replies, wincing when beads of blood bubble up where he drags his knife along the surface of her skin.
“More than that,” He urges softly, the other hand gripping her throat. “She wanted…”
“To graduate college,” Robin says, sucking in a sharp breath at the cold metal against her skin.
“What did that little bitch want?” General Dreykov bites out and Robin closes her eyes as she finally gives him the answer he desired.
“To start a family,” Robin replies as pieces suddenly connect with why she was chosen for this mission in particular.
“It’s time for Cassie to die once and for all,” The knife circling her stomach slowly slides down to her pelvis and Robin swallows hard. “Mother birds kill their young due to stress, either by pecking them to death or simply pushing them out of the nest.” He drops the knife. “I wonder what it takes to make a robin snap?”
Robin jolts as his fingers grab the belt loops of her pants and yanks them down. His fingers curl into the waistband of her boxers next and she swallows hard to try and calm her beating heart, just glad that her girls were far away for the night.
“Show me why I call you Robin, my pretty little songbird.” He grins at her, briefly letting go of her boxers so he can hold his hand out toward his soldiers. Robin can’t see what is placed in it, the fingers he had around her throat tightening to keep her head in place. “Sing for me.”
Robin knows it’s a lose-lose game. If she screams the neighbors will call the cops and if she doesn’t then he’ll punish her. “Sing.” He whispers before he brings the object against her skin.
And then there’s nothing but pain.