Conundrum

Maria slowly and cautiously wandered around a poor imitation of her on-the-ground-apartment-bedroom. Almost everything was the same as she’d left it. Everything except her curtains. Her curtains were now thick and black, left closed only allowing a little bit of light into the room - enough light to see without it hurting her eyes. They also allowed for a small breeze from the sides to pass through, the sensation of the breeze against her clothes and skin wasn’t overwhelming. Unlike the noise of curtains lightly flapping around. She found herself flinching at every one of the occasional louder ‘flaps’.

Somebody braided her hair. No strands or locks fell over her face and they’d once again changed her. This time Maria was dressed in tight yoga pants and an equally firm matching top. Her first instinct had been to remove the clothing. They were unbearably itchy against her skin, however, when she saw an even more familiar woman with bright red head, dark bruising on her jaw and green eyes staring unblinkingly with so much unfamiliar mixture of unending empathy, pity and concern, she’d changed her mind as shame burned through her.

At least it wasn’t speaking.

Hallucination or not, real or not; Maria’s instincts demanded she keep whatever dignity she might have left.

Maria’s mind demanded she parse through every object in the room. So she continued to slowly and cautiously feel the textures of the ‘familiar’ objects around, to view critically the details of pictures she’d kept of her father and Jen that she remembered keenly despite not having seen them since the last time she was ‘here’. 

Her body didn’t, couldn’t pass through ‘real’ things, it was simple physics.

She didn’t reminisce about when these objects were bought or at what moment the photos were taken. No, she took care to note how smooth and cool the glass felt beneath her fingers, or the rough texture that made up the frames. Maria needed to know these things were real.

Despite seeing Romanoff, the woman said nothing, did nothing, except watch her. When Maria moved, so did the Russian. A tilt of her head followed when her eyes couldn’t reach her wherever she went. Maria couldn’t muster the pride or courage to speak or touch her, to see if she was real or not; though she took note of the low sounds of breathing being produced from her direction. 

Maria couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt. She flicked her eyes at the curtains that weren’t hers every few minutes, the frustration building every time she saw them, heard them.

She strode over to them, reaching up to remove the curtain rods when it finally spoke in a soft, neutral tone that barely reached her ears. “This really is your bedroom.”

“Just like these are really my curtains or clothes?” Maria muttered back sarcastically. 

“They’re new to reduce overstimulation. You were in there for five days, Maria.”

She knew how this worked. Knew in theory people's minds played tricks on them in order to protect them. Never knew it for herself though. The clothes and curtains irked her, no matter what Romanoff said. 

This Romanoff irked her. This Romanoff wasn’t going out of her way to provoke her. This Romanoff seemed almost cautious. This woman wasn’t the same person as before.

Maria didn’t believe it or herself.

Maybe to spite her (maybe more, to spite herself.) She gripped the rod and pulled it down and immediately squinted as more light appeared - not blinding, but sore on her eyes.

“This isn’t something you can do by yourself.” It said, adding a small sigh. “I know you’ll try anyway.”

Maria despised the words reflecting the truth of the situation and she refused to acknowledge it.

She felt warm hands place themselves on her shoulders, causing her to go stiff under the touch, but she didn’t fight or the guidance given to her as Romanoff led her away into a different room.

 “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t at least try.” Romanoff still kept talking though, easing her down to sit in a chair.

Maria frowned as something occurred to her. The others weren’t here. It was only Romanoff. Ridiculously, that realisation was calming. 

So calming, that when the hands on her shoulders went to remove themselves, she reached for one. It tensed under her, but she held them firm and began feeling the rough, calloused and warm palm. She moved up, feeling each finger, knuckle and each fingernail. Finally she pressed harder. 

Physics demanded that she couldn’t pass through solid objects.

Suddenly Maria let go and acknowledged Romanoff as a person - not as an ‘it’ or her mind playing tricks on her. She finally looked at the redhead who appeared exhausted with bags under her eyes. “Just don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I think there’s some food in the pantry. You look tired.”

Despite the exhaustion, Romanoff smirked, strutting towards the kitchen. “I look tired..? Therefore, I should eat?”

Right, there wasn’t a huge correlation between the two. “Eat or sleep.”

It was hard to come to terms with the fact she refused to believe Romanoff wasn’t real when Maria saw the teasing grin and heard the familiar mocking of her voice.

The thumps caused by the agent searching through the pantry had her darting her eyes to the movement.

Romanoff huffed, shuffling tins of food around. “Seriously? Canned beans, canned stews, canned soups, canned vegetables?!”

Maria blanked on any kind of response. Frankly, she couldn’t remember why there was nothing except non-perishables in her kitchen… and because she couldn’t not have an answer, she licked her lips allowing a flimsy excuse to leave her mouth. “I’m not home much.”

Apparently that was a hilarious answer. The laughter that Romanoff let loose only made Maria feel more out of place. 

Her frown deepened as another realisation hit her. She was being babysat. 

More out of frustration than at the woman herself, Maria let out a gruff, “Just for that, you’re on the beans and I’m cooking.”

“Are you -?”

“- I’m sure I can handle heating up food in a couple of pots. It’s not even real cooking.” She snapped, then took a second to pause at her own impoliteness and corrected her tone. “I thought there’d be more protest about the beans.”

“I don’t think I’d protest anything coming from you .” The Russian quipped with a quick grin, sitting down where Maria had previously been parked.

“I’m sure you’d find something.”

Maria held her hand hovering over the beans before moving on and gripping two tins of chicken noodle soup. She ignored the slight sound of approval coming from behind her and concentrated on the feeling of the slightly peeled label from the can.

Flimsy yes, but solid.

She heated them until they were warm rather than hot and consumed only the broth, leaving a little of the broth and all solids for her companion who at least made a little effort to appear to observe Maria’s setup and not Maria herself.

But the brunette knew better. She was being watched as closely as she herself questioned everything perceived.

As tiring as the day had been, it couldn’t compare to nightfall.

She felt mostly comfortable with her surroundings now, comfortable in her own perceptions of the material world. Though, Romanoff had warned her during sunset, turning on the bedroom lamp and opening the curtains with a quick and fictitious explanation. “Shouldn’t strain your eyes too much, but It’s better to see, than not to see.”

And of course Maria, determined to cling to some kind of independence and determination to move on, missed the woman’s subtle warning and refused the lamp.

Because when the sun set and only the moon along with a single flickering street streetlight became her source of vision, her world shifted once again. Maria took rapid breaths, her body tense and ready to fight. 

An outline of a person moved and she lunged at it, instincts refusing to allow her to ‘wait and see’ this time. It was fast. Too fast for her to know what happened, but Maria found herself firmly pressed face first into the wall with a hand holding her arm up behind her back.

Click.

The light to the room turned on.

She calmed almost instantaneously at both the light and the heat emanating from the woman holding her.

Nyctophobia. She was now afraid of the fucking dark.

“You’re human, not a superhuman.” Romanoff said with the same pity as earlier, loosening her grip. “It’s going to take time. You’ll adjust and it will all get better. Believe me, I know… But first thing’s first - you need to find something to try and ground yourself.”

*

“You’re kidding me.” She sputtered out at the agent.

Romanoff’s legs were spread slightly larger than shoulder width apart, her arms were folded across her chest in a way that brought attention to her cleavage and finally, despite being much shorter than Maria was, the Russian’s head was tilted slightly down while keeping her eyes up and locked with hers. 

The room was brightly lit with both the ceiling and lamp lights on. The best spy assassin in the world, The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff was… for lack of a better word… posing.

“I’m not posing -” The redhead insisted, actually sounding indignant at the accusation. 

“-This here is called a power stance. I know you know that.” Maria gestured to the woman’s feet. “And what about when you do those little slick moves before you start engaging the enemy? That’s not posing either?”

This is not how she’d pictured spending her time. Far be it for her to judge what rituals people have and participate in, however, it’d be a cold day in hell before she followed suit.

The Russian’s green eyes flashed with uncertainty, her pose position became even more stiff, “I like the ache. They’re movements to remind me of my body’s capabilities and surroundings; my space so to speak and I don’t like people in my space, Hill.”

She blinked at the information, “You get in my space all the time.”

“Your space is so much better than my space and it’s always on my terms.” Romanoff drawled, “Now stop being a baby and just try it.”

Maria sighed, acquiescing to the encouragement. She folded her arms across her chest and spread her legs slightly. Not as far as Natasha did, but it was a far cry from standing to attention that the Captain drilled into her. 

Just for the sake of feeling ridiculous and not seeing it as an option to jump on the sliver of vulnerability that she observed, Maria grumbled out petulantly. “I happen to like my space too.” 

“Your moody, broody thing is hot.” The woman rolled her eyes, stepping towards her. “But it only works if you don’t appear like you’re going to kill everyone you look at all the time.”

She took a step back, and glared. “Space.”

And of course she was ignored. 

Romanoff didn’t stop until she was right up in her face and Maria felt the woman’s hands on her shoulders, pressing them firmly down.

And of course, she acquiesced again, allowing her shoulders to slump slightly under the pressure. 

The sooner she did this, the sooner they could be done.

“Don’t be so square, you have so much space, even you don’t know who or where you are.” Came the murmur. “Besides, space comes after you set your boundaries.”

Maria’s incredulousness must have shown on her face because the moment she opened her mouth to give a retort. “Wh-?” 

“-I’ve never seen you enforce personal boundaries, only your professional ones.” The agent turned away, interrupting her.

“When was the last time you slept, Natasha?” Christ, this woman was a rollercoaster. There was just no making heads or tails of her ever.

 “Look at you, Hill. First you talk about my slick, now you're calling me by name.” The air of nonchalance was over done even by Romanoff’s standards.

She felt her mouth twitch at the misrepresentation of her words and yet, was resigned to all that had happened since she woke up in her apartment. “Moves.’ I said, ‘slick moves.’”

Apparently some of those things included: believing she wasn’t where she apparently was, being fascinated by regular household objects, not listening, developing phobias, in general wasting time and…

Maria narrowed her eyes at the woman who grinned unabashedly at her. 

…and learning more about (and being more distracted by) Natasha Romanoff than she had since they met.

Your space is so much better than my space - Why?

“We can pose all we want tomorrow.” Willingly and without the mortification that would normally be present, she shoved the Russian towards her bed. “I guess the lights stay on. Now get in and keep me grounded - I’m tired and I know you are too.”

Maria almost thought that the redhead decided to let the opening pass as she settled into the other side of the bed and faced away from her. 

She said nothing when she felt the agent’s warm hand come to rest on her hip.

But she should have known better.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, Romanoff’s exhausted voice broke the silence that settled over them, lacking in its usual antagonistic energy. “It’s a dream come true, I’m sleeping with the Deputy Commander of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

And because she apparently needed to have the last word even on the verge of falling asleep, Maria murmured back, “Yes, now do us both a favour and actually sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As far as antagonistic comebacks went, that one was pretty damn tame.