THIS WILL BE THE DAY I DIE

1995

Natasha naturally threw her whole body against the wall, barely bending the glittering metal of the crate they were all kept in. She had to get herself, Ana, and Yelena out- so they would live peaceably a normal life. Maybe Yelena could buy some toys, undoubtedly live a normal six-year-old's life and maybe Anastasia could finally finish that Harry Potter book Melina had eagerly bought for her. But the blue-haired girl's sore shoulder and bruised knuckles were starting to ache aggressively, unwittingly making it hard to even stand. She punched the filthy wall again before being startled by the soft voice behind her.

"That's not gonna work Natty," the small blonde child holding on to their younger sister said softly. Natasha whipped around to face her, soaking in how young and innocent she typically looked and the freckles that dotted her pale skin. Anastasia wasn't any older than eight and soon, they were all going to be alone. Something about her sister reminded Natasha of herself, maybe the way the girl's brown eyes no longer sparkled in a way that broadcasted she didn't understand the situation- not anymore. Maybe the peculiar way she clung fiercely to Yelena so tightly for possible comfort. Maybe the way she was carefully holding Natasha's sleeve to forcibly make her stop hitting the wall.

"You are going to hurt yourself," the little girl explained slowly, "And mama is not here to kiss your boo-boos."

Natasha slowly sank into a seated position on the ground beside her sisters.

"Aren't you scared?" Natasha reasonably asked the kid despite not wanting to- she still needed to know.

"No," Anastasia responded at once, her gentle hands carefully braiding Yelena's golden hair, "I have you to protect us."

"What if-" the blue-haired girl took a deep breath, "What if can't protect you? What if I can't protect anyone?"

The eight-year-old looked genuinely puzzled, "Why?"

"Where we are going, it is extremely scary Anastasia," Natasha carefully explained, her eyes drifting off to their sleeping sister, "And I am afraid- afraid that I am not strong enough to keep you both safe."

"Of course you are strong," Anastasia whispered back furiously- careful as to not wake any of the other girls up, "You just flew a plane Natasha and when the bad men tried to take me, you stole their пистолет. I think you are the coolest sister in the world."

Natasha smiled, "You think I am cool?"

"I think you are the coolest big sister that I have ever had," the younger girl replied honestly.

"I think I am the only big sister that you have ever had," Natasha reasoned with a soft smile, focusing on her sister's voice instead of the harsh sound of the moving vehicle.

"So you should like this moment a lot," Anastasia shrugged, "Because Yelena is clearly going to think I am cooler than you."

"Sure."

"Do- do you remember what it was like?" The younger sibling asked Natasha, "Daddy said you were even younger when you went."

Anastasia, as young as she was, didn't fail to notice the shadow that passed over the older girl's face- "It- it was scary at first but I think I fell into the rhythm of it. I got used to becoming a pawn."

"Pawn?" Anastasia repeated, "what does that mean?"

Natasha just smiled sadly before closing her eyes, "Hopefully, you will never have to know."

"Ana?" the blue-haired girl said after a few moments, "I need to promise me something."

"Yeah?"

Natasha looked at her little sister- one of the only family she had ever known. Her nerdy little sister, who loved to read books to Yelena at night and have food wars on the dining table.

Her little sestra.

"If you ever get the chance," Natasha tilted her head so it rested on Anastasia's shoulder, "Run away from here. Take Yelena if you can and don't worry about me. If you ever get the chance- please run."

The little eight-year-old Anastasia nodded, "Okay."

"Good."

"Do you know the words to 'Lena's favorite song?" Anastasia mused, "American something?"

Natasha smiled, "American Pie?"

"Yeah," the blonde girl nodded, "Do you know the words?"

A long, long time ago I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

1995

"Do not let go," Natasha ordered. Yelena clings to Anastasia's hand, and the girls didn't ask why. When she was younger, Anastasia used to ask lot of questions just like Yelena still did, used to ask about the star bright lights in the forest, the oceans and the desserts, and Mama would answer them, all warm and soft, while Natasha watched them.

She stopped asking questions when they took Mama away, when Papa knelt on the bright concrete and told them to be strong, when Natasha screamed and shoved them safe behind her and when, even though Anastasia thought she would be, her sister wasn't enough to protect them.

She stopped asking questions in that metal box, pressed close to dozens of other girls, and Natasha trembling as they softly hummed the words of American Pie, a wall of fear and fury between her and the others and the glaring flashlights that felt like a blow after the long long dark.

Anastasia stopped asking questions, but this- this was an order, and sadly, she had been following those her entire life.

And I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while

1997

Anastasia watched the Widows train- hard with every ounce of perfection. They moved in perfect synchronization, shifting stances, going through the fatal motions. The women tried their best not to look at her.

"A Widow is a perfected weapon," Madame tells all of them, a firm hand on Anastasia's shoulder, "She does not feel, she only aims and fires- you have to merely learn to become that."

There are other little girls beside herself and Yelena, too. She is bluntly told that they will inevitably become Widows, like she one day will.

"No girl is too young to serve the Red Room and General Dreykov."

Anastasia and the other girls are not like these Widows. Their innocent eyes wandered around, their little faces failing to hide their curiosity.

"What are your names?" Madame asked, barely expecting a response. The most long-legged girl, freckled and lean, squared her bruised shoulders and responded in a practiced monotone,

"We do not have names." She glanced nervously to see if the General was watching. Seeing no one, she added hastily, "Although on my last mission, I was called Alia." She looked up at Madame with deep brown eyes, "I think I like that name."

Anastasia agreed that it truly was a beautiful name.

At night, in the few odd moments of sleep she got, she dreamt of a small house in Ohio. She dreamt of escaping.

"You have no past. You are Widow Designation 1982, and soon you will be ready to take your place in the Red Room."

Anastasia always wanted to scream whenever she heard that- she did have a past. She had a family, even one before Alexie and Melina. Even before Yelena and Natasha.

She desperately wanted to scream in agony that she wasn't alone but then, in the deepest parts of her foolish heart, the helpless girl knew she was.

But February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver bad news on the doorstep I couldn't take one more step

1999

"You have just completed your first round of weapons training." The Madame said as she paced in front of the well-behaved class that practically stunk of fear. "Therefore, we are going to host a competition. You can only wield a small dagger and, as you are paired up, you are going to be fighting someone in your class. The fight ends when either is dead and when we have finally lost some of the dead weight, we can begin your intermediate training."

She waved at the whiteboard, capturing everyone's attention to it. It was a score chart.

"Behind the covering, there are the names of who will be fighting who. When you are called, you will calmly get up and make your way to the ring. When you hear the chime, you fight, the last one standing in each pair is who will continue on with the program." She said like she wasn't about to sentence Anastasia to a life of being cursed to guilt or dead.

"Mariya and Andrea," One of the older Widows called out, and they were off.

Anastasia discreetly held the familiar hand of the redhead next to her. The sisters managed to maintain an unbreakable bond even in the red room, staying close as long as Madame wasn't watching. They were aware that either one of them could die today, sincerely hoping they wouldn't be fighting each other in equal measure as hoping they would live to see another day. They witnessed the fights while they waited with dread to be called, they were vicious. People who had come to be tentative friends tearing each other apart then breaking down, one by one everyone was addressed.

"Anastasia and Alina" She was the first person called, some other random classmate the second.

She gently squeezed Natasha's hand as she merely sighed in profound relief that they were not fighting each other and breathed deeply to prepare herself. Intentionally killing someone would reform her.

Anastasia's fight was over fast, her naturally doing everything she could to instantly win. She fought dirty, using her necessary flexibility against the stiff girl and agility to carefully avoid getting hit. She secured her dagger around the girl's neck, quickly slitting her throat when Madame nodded and dodging the blood. She looked down as the other girl's shallow breath finally gave away as she died. Anastasia undoubtedly knew she was going to do everything it forcibly took to miraculously survive.

She focused just enough proper attention to see that the Madame was pleased with her, inevitably making her shiver in revulsion at the thought of what those in the Madame's favor were asked to do.

Hopefully, she would still have Natasha.

I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride something touched me deep inside the day the music died

1999

It had been four years. Dreykov told both Anastasia and Natasha that he hadn't heard from Melina and Alexei and he wasn't surprised when she knew he was lying- it just meant his test subjects were doing well. Anastasia and Natasha were the best- both perfected hand to hand combat off the bat. Anastasia has already killed a few of the older other girls who had tried to push her around, and for someone so young and as little as she was, being at the top of the Black Widow's meant she was just where he wanted her to be. A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and he silently cursed himself for not paying attention to his surroundings.

"Come in," he instructed as he noticed one of the soldiers standing with Anastasia. The duo walked in quietly, Dreykov eyes instantly went to the young girl, who was supporting a cut above her eye. A cut on her lip and what seemed to be a forming of a black eye.

"We have a problem" the soldier replied.

"What happened?" Dreykov demanded as he stepped around the desk walking towards them. Anastasia flinched a little and he stopped in his tracks. He knew he wasn't the friendliest when it came to punishments but then what did she do to warrant a punishment?

"Some of the older girls locked her out in the snow. We aren't sure how long she was out there for the other girls refuse to say anything and she refuses to tell on anyone. One of the guards saw her trying to climb through a window." The soldier replied.

"Thank you, you may leave."

So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry and them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

2010

Jake was tired the morning they were expecting a new detective to join the precinct. He stared at his computer screen, nursing the hot cup of coffee in his hand mindlessly. He didn't even look up when the lift dings and the doors opened. He didn't even take much notice to Terry behind him greeting the new detective. Not until her learned her name.

"We're glad to have you here, Detective Kenner."

A smooth, low, gentle laugh dragged Jake into a sudden awareness of the real world, "Call me Stacy, sir."

Jake hadn't been drinking his coffee at that precise moment, which was a relief because he'd have drenched the computer in front of him if he had been. He felt suddenly awake and he couldn't control the way his head snapped round, looking over to meet the new detective. Practically, the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

He didn't say anything for a second. He watched as Stacy shook the sergeant's hand. His heart was doing this incredibly weird thing in his chest. It feels like his heart was trying to bury itself, dig itself down into a hole and hide because he knew he would embarrass himself if he tried to talk to her.

She was tall but her blonde hair was cut short, her skin was a little more tanned than he expected it to be in New York's winter. Her voice was sweet.

"I'll show you to your desk." Jake suddenly said, just as Terry turned Stacy around, "I- I am Jeralta- I mean I am Jake. Jake Peralta."

He walked over to them, silently cursing himself for doing this, "I am sure Terry has a lot of work."

"I am Stacy," the blonde woman introduced herself, her smile truly one of a kind with it's hidden depth. "I am so excited to work here at the 99th Precinct."

No one could save her and so she saved herself, and thankfully, no one knew she's alive.

It had been a long time since anyone thought about the murder of Anastasia Kuznetsov and the birth of Stacy Kenner.

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"