Budapest

Natasha - Spies Among Us

NATASHA

Natasha paid a visit to the theatre before anyone else arrived in the hopes to regain her bearings. It wasn't simply about revisiting the emotional territory again; she preferred to be the first one on the scene as a way to get herself acquainted with the landscape, find the high and low ground, plan her means of escape if need be. There was always a need for an escape plan, whether it was utilized or not.

She had the back door lock jimmied open with a hair pin in under a minute and stepped inside. Fumbling around for a second, she slid her hands along the wall until she found the light switch and flicked it on.

Light flooded the theatre, plunging the stage into glaring brightness and leaving the seats bathed in shadows. It hadn't changed at all in the seven years since she'd been gone, as if time had stood still in this one spot on the entire planet, preserving the decadent gilded ceiling, the burgundy velvet curtains and the gold and crystal chandelier. It was almost eerie when the place was empty though. During a show, the hum of the expectant crowd made her blood sing in her veins with excitement but now it felt more like a giant mouth, waiting to swallow her whole.

Natasha shrugged out of her jacket, draped it over her arm and slowly made her way to the middle of the stage, the soft click-click of her heels amplified in the cave-like silence of the theatre. Once more she stood center stage, Natasha Romanoff, world renowned ballerina....

Her gaze drifted over the seats that faded into the darkness and she could almost see him, the mere whisper of a specter sitting in his usual spot, row 13, seat 1. He used to claim that it gave him the perfect vantage point when she danced on stage, where she could look out and instantly spot him, smiling that devilishly handsome grin just for her. He was always in the audience for her and this was the first time that she stood on the stage without him.

"I miss you, Alexei," she sighed.

The faint whisper of a footstep caught her attention and her body went rigid. Someone was here with her...

"It suits you," came a deep, masculine voice.

She recognized that thick German accent and the tall, broad-shouldered figure walking down the left aisle towards her.

"Strucker," she said with a nod.

"Romanoff," he replied as he settled into a seat three rows away. "You were always born to be center stage. I see that hasn't changed."

"What are you doing here?"

He spread his large hands and shrugged. "Tarasova assigned me as your handler."

"I thought you didn't do field work anymore. Too busy climbing your way up the chain of command."

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his heavy dark coat and stretched his legs into the aisle. "I seem to have reached an impasse that's lasted a few years. Chairman Tarasova and I have some differing ideas on how KGB operations should be dealt with."

"So she's put you someplace where you can't cause trouble."

Strucker chuckled and shook his head. "Romanoff," he said in a chiding tone. "You should know by now, I can cause trouble no matter where I am."

"Just don't get me tangled up in it," she muttered. Strucker had a reputation for not following rules, doing whatever the hell he wanted to and it had cost him dearly. He could easily have been one of the head operators of the KGB but because he didn't keep himself in check, he remained a handler, directing agents to do the dirty work but never having any real influence in the committee's decisions or negotiations. She'd been partnered with him a handful of times before so she didn't need to waste any time getting to know his work ethic - act first, attempt to sweet talk his way out of it later. She'd have to watch her back twice as hard on this one.