The chandeliers glowed softly above them, casting golden light over the pristine ballroom. Everything was polished, elegant, and calculated—just like every other event held by the remnants of the Red Room.
And Natasha was right back where she never wanted to be.
Dressed in an all-white gown, she stood among the other Widows, perfectly poised, perfectly silent, perfectly controlled. She hadn’t done this in six years. And yet, the second she stepped back into this role, her body moved like it had never left.
She hated that.
From across the room, Maria and May stood near the bar, their eyes sharp despite the amused smirks they were trying to suppress.
Daisy, Steve, and Tony were stationed elsewhere—watching, waiting, observing.
Clint, of course, was near the front of the room, already struggling to keep his face neutral.
None of them had known about this.
Because of course Natasha had never told them about the nightly routine these parties required.
A tradition.
A performance.
The clock struck midnight.
Natasha clenched her jaw.
It was time.
The music started—soft, delicate piano keys that sent disgust crawling up Natasha’s spine.
The Widows, standing in their formation, turned in unison, their expressions blank but sweet, a carefully curated innocence that made Natasha sick.
She knew exactly how this looked to the generals and officials scattered around the ballroom. How they expected it to look.
A group of well-behaved, graceful little dolls, saying goodnight before they were sent to bed.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as the first Widow stepped forward and began the song.
“There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall…”
Natasha kept her face impassive. She knew the words. Every Widow did.
“And the bells in the steeple too…”
The next Widow joined in, then another.
Natasha’s stomach twisted.
“And up in the nursery, an absurd little bird…”
From the corner of the room, she caught the wide-eyed delight on Tony’s face, the way Steve was struggling to process what he was witnessing. Daisy was biting her lip, eyes bright with amusement.
Maria had an eyebrow raised, swirling her drink as if this was the most entertaining thing she had ever seen.
May, of course, looked completely neutral. But Natasha could see it—the slight shift of her lips, the sharpness in her gaze. She was enjoying this.
Clint was visibly dying. His face was red from trying not to burst out laughing.
Natasha wanted to disappear.
The group swayed, their voices harmonizing like some twisted lullaby.
“So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night…”
Natasha stepped forward for her part, just like she had done so many times before.
She hated it.
“I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.”
Clint choked.
Tony wheezed.
Daisy grinned.
Maria muttered something to May that made the older woman’s lips twitch.
And Natasha wanted to strangle all of them.
The song continued, the Widows performing their rehearsed steps, their delicate turns, their carefully placed smiles.
By the time the last line rang out—“The sun has gone to bed and so must I…”—the room erupted in applause, as if the generals and officials had just witnessed the most adorable thing in the world.
Natasha felt sick.
She bowed with the others, then turned and walked. Graceful, composed—but fast.
The moment she was out of sight, she ripped off her gloves and exhaled sharply, pressing her hands against the nearest wall to steady herself.
Footsteps followed her.
She didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
“You never told us about that,” Maria drawled, amusement dripping from her voice.
Natasha groaned, letting her forehead drop against the wall. “Don’t start.”
“I mean, come on,” Daisy chimed in, grinning. “That was adorable.”
Natasha turned slowly, leveling them with a deadly glare.
“It was humiliating.”
“Depends who you ask,” Tony said, appearing beside Steve, who still looked a little stunned by the whole ordeal. “Because from where I was standing, that was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Clint, finally catching up, burst into laughter the second he saw her expression.
Natasha glared harder. “You shut up.”
Clint wiped at his eyes, still laughing. “I can’t! That was—oh my god, I’ve known you for years, and you never mentioned that!?”
Natasha groaned again. “Because it’s not important—”
“Oh, it’s important,” Tony cut in, smirking.
Natasha huffed, crossing her arms. “We’re on a mission.”
May finally stepped forward, tilting her head as she studied Natasha’s expression.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and just like that—the teasing faded slightly.
Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I will be,” she muttered. “Just… didn’t expect that to be part of the cover.”
May nodded. “You did well.”
Natasha glanced at her, and finally, her shoulders loosened.
Of course May understood.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
May gave her a slight nod before stepping back.
Maria grinned. “Still, you have to admit—it was adorable.”
Natasha turned and walked away before she did something drastic.
Clint, wiping at his eyes again, looked at Tony.
“How much do you wanna bet she knows the choreography to the other songs?”
Natasha’s groan echoed down the hallway.