birdwatching

Street. Romanoff has finished a morning round at the gym, is getting a coffee from the bodega. She hears a soft voice to her right.

“Natasha. Shall I come see you at work again?”

Only decades of training and dexterity prevent her from incurring coffee burns. Y/N is next to her, eyes hidden by sunglasses, face turned towards a cabinet of disposable vapes. She doesn’t turn, just repeats in the same casual tone.

“May I come see you at work again?”

Natasha nods stiffly, pays, and leaves. She is extremely aware of the presence drifting behind her, a polite and measured distance.

She takes the sunglasses off in the elevator. A bruise spreads outwards from the corner of her right eye to the temple, the whites of her eyes peppered with red.

Natasha was going to say it anyway, but it comes out more emotional than she intended.

“Jesus, Y/N, are you in danger?”

“That was consensual and unrelated. But I didn’t want you overreacting in the street.”

Natasha flexes her hands at her sides.

“Okay.”

Then, “The teams all here. I’m sorry. You’ll have to meet them.”

YN sighs, her posture slumps slightly. Shes got a gym bag – no, some kind of fancy duffel – slung over one shoulder. She looks like she could be hungover and on her way to pilates. She lets Natasha get out of the elevator first.

She catches a multitude of weird looks when she enters the meeting room, glances at Natasha, who shrugs helplessly, but decides to get down to business. Natasha pulls out a chair for her, asks Banner to get the guest a shot of espresso in a cup of drip coffee.

Y/N freezes suddenly. Natasha follows her gaze to find out why. Shes locked eyes with Barnes across the room.

Natasha mutters: “What in the…”

Then its over, Y/N looks away and the discomfort melts off of her stance. She sinks into the chair. Natasha narrows her eyes at Barnes, who looks like hes afraid for his life.

Banner is back with the coffee. Natasha passes it to Y/N, introduces the Doctor. Y/N smiles at him, almost looks shy, betrays no sign of recognition. Natasha sits down next to her and kicks her leg out, swivelling the smaller girl’s chair so it faces her, like an interrogation.

“Start talking.”

Y/N sighs, stretches her neck slightly. Theres a smattering of bruises near her chin, under her jawline.

“Well, Natasha, someone broke into my apartment last night.”

Rogers chooses this moment to go full business.

“Is that what the bruises are from?”

Y/N frowns.

“No, I wasn’t at my apartment when they broke in. I found out in the morning.” She look at him, realizing she needs to spell it out. “Unrelated. Not pertinent.”

“Are you certain its related?”

“I’m sure. They didn’t take or leave anything. Probably wasn’t a warning. Maybe just a…check up.”

“How do you know Komodo?”

YN sighs and looks at Natasha helplessly.

“You didn’t explain? I did a job for him a long time ago. Really, it was a very long time ago. I was very young. Not a sparrow anymore though. Do they know what a sparrow is?”

Natasha nods.

“Okay. I wasn’t a sparrow anymore, but I took some dangerous work. Very stupid. I was a courier, just a small package. There was no way to drop by air, no land or sea route due to the war, local instability. Trust me, people tried. They strip searched both the men and the women.”

“And you were successful?”

“I suppose you would not call me a courier, but a mule…” She smiles faintly. “Do they know what the sparrows did?”

“They have a general idea.”

“Some of us trained to be able to indulge certain…desires. But not everyone is capable. There are always physical limitations. I swallowed the package and vomited it when I reached my destination.”

Sam looks disgusted, but skeptical.

“So what, it stayed there for hours? A whole day?”

“No, it took 30 hours from beginning to end. Too many risks, not something I could carry on my person. I swallowed it before leaving, vomited it up every two hours. Swallowed it again. Repeated the process.”

The rest of the Avengers struggle to see a seasoned spy, albeit – according to Natasha – a retired one. She is unassuming, someone you’d easily pass on the street, perhaps a student, a recent graduate. Her posture is incongruously relaxed for the situation shes in. She speaks with small movements of her hands, flashing her wrists, movements comfortable and fluid.

Her expression is always level, blank, composed. Once in a while, when she catches someones eye, her expression softens, eyes widening, projecting curiosity. Then it disappears, like a reflex she keeps supressing.

The horror of everything she says is undermined by the steady, almost amused tinge to her voice.

“And…you were okay after that?”

“Yes, I was.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. Y/N leans over close to her ear, drops her voice.

(in Russian)“No. I had a seizure shortly after delivering the package.”

Natasha’s expression hardens.

“You’re an idiot.”

YN flashes her a look so pathetic, it almost looks like shes trying to flirt.

“Oh illustrious black widow…I needed the funds.

(in Russian)He threatened me. He already knew I could do it.”

“You’re such an idiot. What can you tell us about Komodo’s methods?”

“What is it to you?”

Natasha glowers.

“Oh, please, I told you, I don’t keep up with the news.”

Natasha thinks for a moment, then turns on her tablet.

“Based on your knowledge of Komodo’s methods – which you need not tell us about, by the way – which one of these locations makes sense?”

She turns the tablet around for Y/N to see. She scrolls it slowly, reading silently. Finally, she looks up at Natasha, locks eyes.

“Please, don’t do this.”

Natasha, in Russian: “If they are already at your home, its too late for you.”

Y/N, in Russian: “And if I do this, and its what I think it is about, they will know for certain. Why, Natasha? For what? What is he trying to do?”

She wrings her hand, looks from the tablet to Natasha’s eyes like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

In Russian: “Natasha, please listen to me. I haven’t fired a gun in years. I don’t even own one.”

Stark, already weary of not being in the loop, decides to ruin the moment:

“JARVIS, translate that.”

“Our guest has limited firearm experience and does not currently own any – ”

Y/N jumps to her feet.

“What the hell is this place?”

Natasha glares at Tony, watches Y/N sit back down, slowly.

“We can protect you.

But I had higher expectations for you. Seriously, no gun? No gun, in this industry?”

“What good would it have done? I was never a good shot. And the recoil is so nasty..” She murmurs, reaches for the tablet, points at a paragraph of text. Natasha stares down at it, then looks across at Stark.

“You got that?”

“Yep. Sam, get your ass over here.”

Natasha sighs, looks down at Y/N.

“You lack practice. Its just a skill, you need to practice it.”

Y/N:

I’m hopeless. (in Russian) I don’t really care if I die. Really. But I don’t want to die like a…dog, being shot by one of Komodo’s goons in the back of an alley.

It escapes her, at that moment, that Natasha isn’t the only one present who understands Russian.

Natasha, (in Russian):

“You may not like him now, but Rogers at least is a good man. He will not let you die. And the others as well, if I say so.”

Y/N laughs, the sound hollow.

“And you, Natasha?”

Natasha sits down on the table in front of her and sweeps her palm across.

She doesn’t answer.