Home
They were home.
Laura didn’t even try to hide her smile when the jet landed near the farm. Cooper jumped up and down next to her.
“Daddy!” he yelled when Clint came out of the small plane, waving with his good arm. Laura didn’t hold Cooper back, she followed him easily as he dashed over the field that was crisp with frost, every blade of grass encapsulated in a cold white blanket.
“We’re back!” Clint exclaimed cheerfully, patting Cooper’s back when his son hugged his legs. “Sorry I can’t lift you properly, Coop.”
His eyes drifted to Laura, and he smiled.
Behind him, Natasha left the plane and Laura was almost shocked at how different she looked. Naturally, she walked without aid, like a bullet wound wasn't a big deal at all. Her hair was cut a little shorter to shoulder-length and while she was still slim, her daintiness didn’t look unnatural anymore.
“Hey, Clint.” Laura hugged her husband with one arm, as tenderly as possible without touching his wound. “Can’t let you go without you getting in trouble, can I?”
He laughed softly. “Now you’re being mean.”
Laura let go, turning to Natasha.
“Natasha,” she said, voice affectionate. “It’s so great to see you.”
“Hi,” Natasha replied with an awkward smile.
“And hear you, too,” Laura added. “That’s something I’ll have to get used to.”
“Thanks for having me. Again.” Natasha bit her lip insecurely.
“Oh no, anytime,” Laura exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, even if it’s under these circumstances. Let’s go inside though, I put on the heating.”
The four of them walked to the house, Cooper chatting with Clint and Natasha quietly following them, keeping up their pace with seemingly no effort.
“I put a warmer blanket on your bed,” Laura told the girl. “I figured you’d like it heavier.”
“Sounds great,” Natasha replied and Laura decided she would need a bit of time to get used to her voice, about hearing the words rather than reading them.
“We missed you,” she continued softly, watching Natasha’s face in profile. A small twitch of the mouth, jaw hardening ever so slightly for a split second. “It was such a pity you couldn’t come for Christmas.”
Natasha nodded. “Yes, it was. Thanks for the gifts, by the way.” She briefly touched the arrow-shaped charm of her necklace, Clint’s gift for her. From Laura, she had received a beautiful notebook with cream-colored paper and a leather binding as well as an elegant fountain pen. Cooper had drawn her a picture of a dinosaur family with her as a small red T-Rex.
“Thanks for yours.” Laura smiled. She was so happy to have the family back together. Sure, they both would probably drive her insane by the end of the week because she was sure Natasha would be just as horrible as a patient as Clint, but she wouldn’t have given them away for the world.
It was too nice to be back. Natasha sat down on her bed in the guestroom that hardly looked like a guestroom anymore. A desk had been put at one end, readily decorated for work or art, if she felt like that. Art had never been a part of her schedule, not beyond sketching floor plans and rooms for missions. But now she had a stack of paper and an assortment of pencils and pens for her to use if she wanted to. A pinboard had been attached to the wall, now holding two pieces of paper. The first was a picture, a picture of Natasha and Clint sitting outside in the meadow, talking. Laura had to have taken it in secret. The note next to it was written in her hand.
Welcome home Natasha xx.
Natasha reached out, taking the photograph into her hand. In the warm light, her hair looked like liquid copper and somehow, she and Clint looked like they were from another world, one less bloody and brutal than the one they lived in. The world of the farm.
Carefully, she pinned the picture back into place and continued her inspection of the room. Laura had been busy during her absence, replacing the hotel-room-like prints on the wall with a landscape painting and three empty picture frames with two words written out behind the glass:
For memories.
Natasha shook her head, overtaxed. She knew Laura liked decorating when she had the time, but still it was beyond her why she would go to such lengths for this room that Natasha wouldn’t regularly use. Why make this room uninhabitable for anyone but her?
The wardrobe held another surprise. Laura, in the same way that she bought t-shirts with dinosaurs for Cooper when she saw one, had started spotting clothes for Natasha when she went shopping and she had filled the wardrobe considerably. Rather than the knitted cardigans and flowy blouses that were Laura’s style, Natasha found, among other things, a beautiful trench coat for the cold weather, several graphic t-shirts, a black hoody with a red stripe, a blazer, and the most adorable fluffy slippers with little cat ears and whiskers. Now she understood why Clint had told her to pack lightly.
“Thank you, for all the stuff in my… for me,” she murmured awkwardly when she came down for dinner in jog-pants, a fluffy pullover, and her new slippers.
“I hoped you’d like it.” Laura smiled. “I had a lot of fun making your room over a bit so you’d feel at home.”
“It’s very beautiful, thank you.” Natasha smiled.
Dinner was delicious and then Clint practically forced her to stay downstairs with them and they watched a movie together after Cooper had gone to bed.
Natasha, curled up on the armchair while Clint and Laura were sitting on the sofa, arms around one another, had to admit she felt at home. She loved the farm, the atmosphere, the peace of it. She didn’t want to be anywhere else and they made her feel welcome… But only a very small part of her actually believed they wanted her there and weren’t just feeling obligated to.
“Where’s Natasha?” Clint asked with a frown when he came down for breakfast around two weeks later. Both his and Natasha’s wounds were healing nicely and the red-haired girl hardly seemed to feel her leg most of the time, especially since she was very sensitive to painkillers and claimed they numbed the pain almost completely. Still, today her place was empty.
“I don’t know,” Laura replied. “I’ll look.”
She ascended the stairs quickly and knocked on Natasha’s door, then peaked in.
“Natasha? Are you awake?”
Natasha looked up from under the blanket.
“Yeah,” she replied softly.
Laura frowned, stepping closer.
“Is everything okay? Not feeling well?”
She resisted the urge to touch Natasha’s forehead to check for a fever.
The girl shook her head.
“No, I’m alright. It’s just nice under here.”
Laura chuckled, but then became serious again.
“Be honest, Nat. You have to tell us when you’re sick.”
Natasha grimaced, then nodded. “I’m okay, really. I just… I didn’t feel like getting up, but I’m not feeling bad, promise.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. You waited for me for breakfast, right? I can be down in a few minutes, you don’t have to wait for me.”
“I can bring you something if you don’t feel like coming down,” Laura offered. She observed the girl’s face. “You’re a bit down today, aren’t you?”
Natasha shrugged slightly. “No, I… There’s no real reason,” she muttered.
Laura smiled compassionately. “That’s okay, there are days like that. I’ll bring you breakfast and you just stay nice and comfortable and it’ll soon be over, okay?”
Natasha nodded, offering a tiny smile. “Thanks, Laura.”
Laura went back down into the kitchen where Clint and Cooper were already busy eating.
“She’s still in bed,” she explained. “She says she’s not sick.”
Clint understood the implication and got up.
“I’ll take something to eat up to her,” he suggested, kissing the top of her head as he passed her. Laura settled at the table, relieved. Clint would see through Natasha if there was something to see.
Natasha looked up when Clint entered.
“You’re here to check if I’m just pretending to be healthy, aren’t you?” she asked, a slightly reproachful tone in her voice.
Clint shrugged. “Got me. Don’t look at me like that, I wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t hidden that wound from me.”
She sighed. “I guess that’s fair. There’s nothing wrong with me though, no headache, I’m not cold, nothing like that.”
Clint put down the plate and sat down on the edge of her bed.
“Then what is it?” he asked gently.
She shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”
He felt her leg touching him through the blanket and moved away slightly, not wanting to trigger a reaction by accident. Missions weren’t like home, and he didn’t want to pressurize her into contact.
“Just generally not in a good mood?”
“Yeah.” She looked away.
“That’s okay,” he assured gently. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
She shrugged, then nodded slightly.
“I’ll see you around, then.” He smiled as he got up and waved. He didn’t see Natasha turning her face to the wall after he had closed the door, tears burning down her cheeks as she cursed herself for the small movement of her leg, for trying to reach out a little bit, for making herself go through that rejection. She should have known.
She had never learned about the rules on hugging, it hadn’t been necessary, but Clint and Laura had had countless opportunities to reach out and they hadn’t, had even actively distanced themselves from her if it came anywhere close to it.
They didn’t want to, naturally, their affection was a family thing, why would they want to give her that, desecrate it like that. That would be far beyond politeness.
Laura came again at lunch, bringing some hot chocolate with her food.
“Chocolate helps,” she said gravely. “At least the boys will fight you on that.”
The fact that they were so nice on every other level made it so much worse. Natasha knew she was given so much, much more than she deserved or that she had ever been given, and she hated being so ungrateful by wishing for the one thing they refused her. Still, whenever Laura brought her a book or some other small kindness, a voice inside Natasha’s chest always said “I’ll go without all that if only you would hug me one time.”
That desire had only started recently.
She had hardly noticed that they never touched her in the beginning, being almost repulsed by her own body she had actually been kind of glad nobody tried to touch it because she hadn’t wanted to feel it any more than necessary. At S.H.I.E.L.D, with the training and the missions, she had not cared much, much like her days with the Red Room. Every touch that wasn’t a hit was good, but nothing special. Since everything was completely professional, she had never come into a mindset where she would actively wish for closeness.
True, sometimes the memory had resurfaced, rather timidly reminding her how good it had felt to be hugged, but she had been able to push it back and tell herself that it was enough to have Clint’s and Laura’s friendship.
And then, coming back to the farm, surrounded by people who hugged each other all the time, the burning wish for touch had started, and was reinforced every day, or rather every night, like someone throwing fresh, dry wood on a fire rising higher every day.
She woke quietly, body aching. Immediately, she felt she was tied to a chair, expertly, preventing her to use the easier methods to free herself. Her brain was still fuzzy, she had to have been drugged. The smell told her all she needed to know. She was back home.
She pretended to be out for a good deal longer until a dark voice pointed out that there was no way she was still asleep and then her head was thrown to the side by a slap.
“Open your eyes, Natalia.”
She obeyed, deciding she couldn’t delay the inevitable forever anyway.
Madame B’s face was hard and cold. Natalia met her eyes, strangely unafraid. What could it be apart from hits and whiplashes and the countless other methods of physical pain they could put her through, she knew that well enough already. She’d sit it out and use the first opportunity to run again.
And she sat it out alright, until her body felt like a raw piece of meat and her ears rang from the shouts, her stomach cramping up painfully from lack of food, slowly making her too sluggish to protect herself properly.
And then they put her in the cell.
She had been inside there once before, they all had been, after the mission they had done as a team and that had not been satisfactory, but she had been the third to go inside and she knew the others had been there for two hours and then it would be over. It had been hell, but bearable.
She forced herself to move, her heart thundering, and slowly, very slowly worked towards the wall that was not really helping because it wasn’t firm enough, but at least she didn’t feel like she was floating in empty space anymore.
She guessed they had to give her water at some point, she was their asset and they wouldn’t want her to die, and she tried to stay awake so she would get the little light that would come from the door. But they didn’t come, and when she gave in, practically passing out from dehydration, she woke in the middle of the room with a bowl of water next to her.
The first three times she crawled back to the wall, then her strength ran out and she lay in the middle, unprotected, curled up into herself, and tried not to think about the American’s promise.
She scratched her arm bloody and they filed down her nails so much that touching anything hurt.
She broke, ready to apologize and go back to work if only they let her out, but they didn’t ask. She tried to say the words into the darkness, but her throat wouldn’t let the self-betrayal out yet.
Sometimes she was sure she would die in this cell, sometimes she told herself it was an unnecessarily drawn-out thing, with nobody left to be afraid except her, that they could just shoot her dead or deny her water and it would be over in a day. Madame B never tortured without a goal in mind.
Time blurred together even more as she started slipping in and out of consciousness from starvation and her only energy was spent on drinking. She silently begged for death but didn’t have the mental strength to suppress her survival instinct and leave the water. She thought of the American, wishing he had finished his mission all those months ago. She wished he’d come for her. She told herself he wouldn’t.
When she finally passed out sometime, she didn't think she would wake again.
But she did, and a violent light blinded her view. She shrieked, overtaxed by the sudden impulse, and at the same time she felt a presence, she knew there was somebody very close to her.
The light's intensity was lowered a little, but a tremor ran through her body, reminding her how defenseless she was.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered between hasty breaths, wanting to get the apology out as long as they still listened. “I’m sorry, please, I’ll be better, I understand, please, I can do better…”
“Kid.” A man’s voice, familiar, but she couldn’t place it right away. Not Madame B, and he was speaking softly, almost gently, not like any of her coaches. “Kid, hey, look at me. I’m not them, you don’t have to apologize. Hey, look at me.”
She turned, blinking to adapt to the light. It was hovering above her, like a massive firefly, now moving down so she could see the man’s face.
“You-” she pressed out. She fought against the thought it might be a hallucination, conjured up by hunger and weakness.
He smiled a little, and she felt his hand on her shoulder, warm and gentle, and even as she flinched she felt the difference, and somehow she knew she couldn’t imagine someone touching her like that.
“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t be scared, it’s gonna be okay now.”
It can’t be real, a part of her hissed, there’s no way he’s really here.
“You came.” Or am I just imagining what I wish for?
A painful look flashed over his face. “Of course I came. I promised I would. I’m sorry it took so long.”
Who would even say that? Who would apologize after doing something so impossibly good?
“You came for me,” she repeated, trying to make herself believe. She couldn’t be dreaming, everything hurt and she could never imagine anyone being so kind. Nobody had ever been so kind to her. She felt his thumb brushing over her bony shoulder.
“Yes, I did. I’ll get you out of here as soon as possible, we have to wait till my team finishes off the rest of these bastards in here.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come earlier. We had to plan this operation, you know, and get permission, too, we couldn’t make it sooner… How long did they leave you in here?”
She felt nausea run through her. They might have left her here for a year and she wouldn’t know, she knew they could have manipulated her easily, with no sense of time besides getting weaker and weaker, and who knew if that hadn’t been artificially accelerated or slowed down.
She shook her head. He grimaced.
“Sorry, that was dumb. Do you know how long before they put you in here after they took you?”
She tried to remember, unsure about the duration of the torture.
“Two or three days? I think?” Her voice sounded weak and far away. She didn’t want him to say that she had only been here for two days when it had felt like an eternity.
He drew a sharp breath, his eyes widening.
“Oh god.” His voice sounded incredulous and shocked. “Shit, that’s… that’s two weeks, kid. Two weeks, alone, in here?”
She shivered, half-relieved, half-horrified at the memories still threatening to make her lose her mind.
“Food?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Water,” she mumbled, slowly realizing just how weak she had to be. Two weeks without food… She could feel her ribcage almost poking through her skin now that she was lying on her back. “When I was out,” she added quietly, in a strange urge to tell him how horrible it had been, as if he could understand that, as if anyone could understand that.
“I don’t feel right.” She whispered, feeling the bones like a stranger’s, like it wasn’t a part of her. “There is… too much bone… It’s not right.”
His hand enclosed hers, so warm, so welcome after so much time alone that she would have even welcomed a hit.
“Don’t think about it. You’re gonna be fine, we can fix this. You’ll be okay.” His voice was calm, soothing, like he was in perfect control.
“Are you cold?” he asked when a new shiver ran through her body.
“All the time…” Her eyes filled with tears against her will. She was so tired, she just wanted to curl up into a bed and sleep till it was okay.
He put a finger on his ear.
“Guys, how long till we’re done here?” he asked, presumably his team, he wouldn’t be here alone. Only now she started to gather where they were, that he was in the Red Room and that he didn't seem too scared to be killed any second.
“I’m not complaining,” he said now. “I wanted a general idea of how long till medical, that’s all.”
He looked at her again.
“Ten minutes,” he explained. "Ten minutes and it's over. I want to wait till it's safe, you know because I can't shoot if I carry you."
He sounded so sure, and she wanted to believe him so badly and so she didn’t question, she just nodded and moved a little closer to take up a little of his body heat and his security. His hand was pleasantly heavy on her shoulder.
“Why?” she heard herself ask, apparently too stupid to just accept and be grateful.
“Why what?” he asked back.
“Why come here? Your team, S.H.I.E.L.D… what do they get out of this? Why for me?”
He shrugged easily.
“The elimination of an organization that illegally trains children to be killers and keeps them as slaves? Isn’t that a good reason? Besides, most people would agree that what they did to you is barbaric and has to be stopped.”
It sounded so good, so genuine. Like she was actually worth it.
She didn’t know what to say, so she just moved a little closer, almost touching him.
“Natalia!” She winced, feeling Madame B’s sharp voice through and through. Looking up, she saw her superior standing by the door, a gun pointed at the American’s head. She expected a shot, whimpering at the thought he would die for something as useless as that, but no shot came.
“One wrong move and you are dead,” Madame B said in English, directed at him. The dim light from the hovering lamp illuminated her slightly, and Natalia saw blood on her nightdress, but she didn’t seem actually hurt.
“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, tensing against her. The danger he was in didn’t seem to faze him.
“Natalia,” Madame B ordered coldly. “Come here, Natalia.”
Automatically, Natalia moved, limbs trembling as she struggled to obey the command. She was dizzy and nauseous and had no idea how to get to her feet, but she knew what failure was punished with. In all her years with the Red Room, she had never failed.
He didn’t intervene, but she felt him shake with anger.
“Are you insane?” he hissed dangerously. “Aren’t you the one who practically starved her to death? She can’t get up, let alone walk!”
He could be right about that, she had to admit. His defense didn’t help her get to her feet at all.
“Come here, Natalia,” Madame B repeated, and Natalia realized she wouldn’t be able to walk. Since she hadn’t been specifically asked to, she crawled over, the room spinning around her, away from the safe space around him, in the direction of punishment.
“What are you?” she heard him ask harshly, in a tone she would have never dared to use around Madame B. "What kind of monster are you even? Like, serial killers would be ashamed to be associated with you. You did this to her, all of this because she wants to be a good person? Because she's not a psychopath and doesn't want to kill innocents? What was the endgame in this? Nursing her back to health from death's door so you can say she owes you her life?”
Only that she owed them her life anyway. She had been weak before, and every time she hadn’t been killed had been an act of mercy. The endgame was breaking her into compliance.
“But you can’t win, do you understand that?” he persisted as if he had heard her. “Even if you break her will, you can’t make her want to kill, because you can’t change a person like that. You’ll lose anyway, no matter what you do!”
His voice was loud and confident and she felt he was speaking to her, telling her she could win, telling her to resist. But she didn’t have the strength anymore. She just wanted this to end, she was weak, she would do anything if it meant not having to go back in here.
She forced herself to her feet, a weak semblance of survival mode taking over.
Madame B touched her shoulder and Natalia shuddered, strangely repulsed. This was a control move. Madame B never touched her unless she wanted to control her. He didn’t. He seemed to give it to her for her sake, not for his own. And she wanted touch like that, not the wrong, twisted kind like this.
A gun was being pressed into her hands, seemingly pulling her down. She had to concentrate just to hold it.
“Eliminate the target, Natalia.”
She saw his eyes widen with something she couldn’t identify. He hadn’t seen it coming, that much she knew. She heard him breathe in sharply.
“Eliminate the target, Natalia,” Madame B commanded again.
But I don’t want to. He came back for me.
And then, more insecurely…
He would not put me into a room like this.
“Will you make me go in there again?” The question had left her mouth before she could fully comprehend it. She flinched, expecting the hit she ought to get for this discourtesy.
Madame B’s nails dug between the bones of her shoulder painfully.
And what if she locked the gun? That might give him enough time to react… but what if he wouldn’t see it coming… She could drop it maybe, causing a distraction… If only she could let him know what to do…
“You are forgetting your place, Natalia. Punishments are not to be bargained about, you are to take them with dignity.”
Natalia pressed her lips together tightly. What kind of dignity had this been? What kind of dignity should someone have left after being treated as less than an animal? What was the point of dignity if it brought you this?
“I don’t want to go in there again,” she repeated stubbornly. She saw the American grin. Maybe he had a plan?
“You will not, if you obey,” Madame B retorted sharply. “What is the matter with you, Natalia, have you forgotten all your training?”
“Might be because you locked her in a torture chamber for two weeks,” he interrupted sarcastically. “Isn’t good for people’s memories, I’ve heard.”
He was stalling… Was he? She could never tell with him.
“Every refusal makes matters worse, Natalia,” Madame B threatened. “Eliminate the target, now!”
No.
The revelation came painfully and harshly. Natalia shook her head. She couldn’t kill the man who had come for her, not even if it didn’t make any difference, if she only caused herself pain, she couldn’t pull the trigger on the only bit of genuine kindness that had been given to her in years.
Madame B’s hand closed around her arm, pressing so hard it felt like the bones would crunch. Natalia whimpered, unable to contain the pain. She was so tired…
“You will obey me, or this punishment will be nothing compared to what’s coming!” Her superior’s voice rang in her head way too loudly. “I can break you, Natalia, until you are exactly what you are supposed to be and if you spend the rest of your life in that cell! Eliminate. The. Target!”
Natalia flinched. She was weak, she was afraid. She didn’t want any more pain.
She lifted up the gun but was too physically repulsed to shoot. Her finger lay on the trigger, paralyzed. She stared at the man, begging for a solution to this, a way out for both of them.
Madame B’s gun barrel pressed against her temple, but she wasn’t afraid of that. She wouldn’t be killed anyway, and even if, this would be the cleanest cut she could possibly get. No more pain, no more torture.
However, it also meant the gun was no threat to him anymore…
“Natalia!” Madame B growled, making her flinch against her will.
“I’m dizzy, ma’am,” she murmured then, pretending to collapse. Madame B was taken aback for a moment, and Natalia’s fingers closed around her gun before she pulled the trigger three times, feeling the recoil running through her body.
She only saw shock spreading on Madame B’s face before they fell. She could smell the woman’s perfume, the smell of her childhood, and next to it blood, way too much blood.
She heard the American shout something into his comm in a blur, the body lying on top of her heavily. She felt the fear-induced strength draining out of her quickly.
Madame B was pulled away from her, falling to the floor like a broken puppet.
She’s dead. I killed her. I killed her.
“Has a competition with someone how often she can save my life, I think,” he said, presumably as an answer to something. He bowed over her and she dazedly acknowledged that he was unharmed.
“Kid?” His voice sounded like she was underwater. “Give me the guns, yeah?”
She felt how the weapons were taken from her hands.
I killed her. What am I now? I killed my handler, what’s left now?
“There you go. You okay?”
He checked her body for injuries, very gently and carefully like she might just break. She felt like she might.
He hesitated, clearly listening.
“Thanks, Barry,” he replied quietly. A brief look of sadness passed over his face but was quickly replaced by a focused and worried expression.
Natalia’s eyes were drawn back to the ragdoll on the floor whom she had murdered. Who did she even think she was?
“Kid, hey…” he whispered calmingly, moving into her field of view. “It’s over, she’s dead. You did it, it’s over.”
But what now? What now?
“What have I done…” Her voice broke. “What have I done?” Every word choked her, almost refusing to be uttered. What did she have to say now that Madame B was dead?
“Hey,” he murmured softly. “You did good, kid. You saved my life, again, and you freed yourself. You never have to come back here. It was self-defense, okay? You had to do this.”
She looked at him, eyes full of tears, then shook her head with a shuddering breath. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand the horror of what she had just done.
He bowed down to her and helped her to sit up, one arm around her back.
“Let’s not figure that out now. You’re exhausted, you have to rest.”
She broke, a shivering fit shaking her body way beyond her control. He was keeping her upright, but she felt her body slipping, away from even the little bit of power she had still had over it.
Whimpering, she silently begged for help.
And then she was suddenly close to him, both of his arms keeping her trembling body under control.
“Shh, kid, it’s okay.”
He was warm and firm, like a rock, holding her close to his chest. She had never been held like this, so gently, so safely, like nothing could tear her away from him¬-
Natalia woke with a painful start. Hot tears ran down her face as she moved her back to the bed frame and pulled up her legs to hug them.
Every time. It never let her have the hug, always cut off right at that point, cruelly, mockingly, like she didn’t even deserve the memory.
The door was opened and Laura entered, eyes wide.
“Hey,” she said gently. “Hey, Natasha, what’s the matter?”
Natasha looked up, not even bothering to wipe her face.
“You screamed,” Laura explained softly, sitting down at the end of the bed at a safe distance. “Did you have a nightmare?”
She shrugged, then nodded even though she would have gladly endured the nightmare if she could only have the memory of the hug afterward. She knew Laura thought she was crying because of the horror, but what did it matter? She couldn’t talk about this anyway, the Bartons were ready to give her anything she needed and she wasn’t quite so terrible as to use their kindness for her own gain like that.
After all, nobody could die from lack of touch, she hadn’t in all those years, so she really didn’t need it.
“I’m sorry I woke you. Again.”
Laura’s forehead wrinkled in compassion.
“No, dear, don’t apologize. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Natasha sniffled, stifling the selfish voice inside her.
“No, thank you. It wasn’t that bad really.”
Laura frowned, unconvinced, but didn’t argue. She never did, always accepted what Natasha presented as her wish.
“Okay. Should I stay here for a bit till you feel better?”
Natasha shook her head, looking away. She couldn’t deal with this right now, being so close and yet unreachably far away from Laura.
“No, thanks but… I think I’d rather be alone if that’s okay.”
Laura nodded, getting up again.
“That’s okay. But you come over if you feel like company or need something, okay?”
Natasha nodded, waiting for the woman to leave the room before she curled up, shaking from suppressed sobs.
She had to get away from here or she would lose her mind. She could be sensible in the apartment and at work, but this place made it impossible to be strong.
No place in the world.
That’s what they had always said at the Red Room. It had been natural not to have a family or friends, at least not after a certain, very young age. She had never been stupid enough to wish for anything beyond staying alive.
If only Clint had never hugged her that night. If only he hadn’t shown her this possibility, this feeling, then she wouldn’t feel as horrible now. If she had never known, she wouldn’t be able to miss it.
Curling up into herself, hugging herself in a mocking imitation of what she craved, Natasha closed her eyes and shouted at herself to be a decent friend.
Natasha hardly flinched from the knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called absent-mindedly, eyes fixed on the page of her book. It was boring as hell, but she didn’t want to go downstairs either, so she kept pretending she was busy.
She looked up from the unfamiliar step pattern, seeing Cooper in the door, a little timidly.
“Oh, hi Cooper,” she said, surprised.
He waved a little, taking a red pencil from his mouth that he had been chewing.
“My red is broken,” he explained gravely. “Mummy’s taking a shower.”
Natasha got up, extending her hand for the pencil.
“Do you want me to sharpen it for you, or do want to borrow mine?” she asked with a small smile.
“It always breaks again,” he explained, holding up his pencil sharpener filled with red pencil shavings.
Natasha nodded. “Okay, I see. You just take mine for now, I can try to sharpen yours properly later.”
She searched for the red pencil in the box on her desk and handed it to him.
“What are you drawing?” she asked. “Still dinosaurs?”
“A stegosaurus,” Cooper said proudly.
“Sounds cool. I don’t know what it looks like, though.”
Cooper’s eyes lit up. “I can show you,” he exclaimed. “I have a book.”
He raced out of the room, coming back with a big book labeled, very straightforwardly, “Dinosaurs”.
His face was shining at the prospect of talking about his favorite subject to someone who didn’t know much about it.
“See?” He held the book up to her. “This one’s a stegosaurus.”
Natasha didn’t say she could read, figuring out he couldn’t yet.
“Wow, it looks massive,” she exclaimed. “And the spiky things he has are really cool, aren’t they?”
Cooper grinned widely. Natasha smiled, tapping on the picture next to the stegosaurus.
“What’s that one called? It looks a little bit like a T-Rex.”
"No," Cooper corrected solemnly. "That's an Allosaurus. They didn't have T-Rex yet back then.”
“That’s really interesting,” Natasha said, deciding it was indeed time to get a bit of dinosaur knowledge beyond Jurassic Park -and understanding most of their names of course, because of her learning Latin. You never knew when you might need to act as a paleontologist on a mission sometime.
“Do you want to show me more?”
Cooper absolutely wanted to. Natasha gestured towards her bed.
“Let’s sit down then.”
They settled on her bed, Cooper holding the book in his lap and chatting happily about all sorts of dinosaurs and their habits and weapons. Natasha found herself actually enjoying the lecture, not only because it was an interesting topic, but also because he was so adorably invested.
He brushed her arm once or twice in excitement which was perfectly bearable, it was far away enough from a hug not to be painful.
“…and actually,” Cooper explained. “the people thought he had a spike on his nose, like a rhino. But they had put him together wrong, you know, and the spike was actually supposed to be here-“ he tapped Natasha’s thumb, then froze.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m not allowed to do that!” he apologized breathlessly, eyes widening. “I didn’t think of it, I’m sorry, please don’t run away again!”
She saw tears blurring his eyes as he looked at her pleadingly.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey, Cooper, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t worry, I won’t run away, promise. Don’t be scared.”
He breathed out, relaxing a bit. Natasha was taken aback, taking a few moments to comprehend that he was probably thinking about the tag game and her reaction to it.
She hadn't thought he would even remember, but apparently, it had been taken very seriously. She had to think about that sometime.
“You don’t have to worry about the whole thing anymore,” she continued gently. “I don’t mind it anymore, you don’t have to pay attention or anything. You know, back then I really just didn’t get the game, and it was a bit much for me, but I’ve learned now. You really don’t have to be careful or anything around me, I don’t mind.”
Slowly, Cooper’s face broke into a smile. “That’s great,” he exclaimed happily. “That means we can play, right? Outside, too, and together with Mommy or Daddy.”
Natasha smiled slightly. “Yes, sure. You just explain the games to me, right?”
“Dinnertime, everyone!” Laura’s voice echoed through the house.
“I’ll be downstairs first!” Cooper cried, jumping up and dashing out of the room.
“Hey, that’s unfair, you have a head start!” Natasha called as she ran after him. She heard him laugh freely.
“What’s the matter, Laur?” Clint asked quietly, wrapping his arms around his wife gently. She turned around, engaging in the embrace.
“What’s wrong?” Clint asked again. “You seemed troubled all through the evening.”
Laura sighed.
“It’s Natasha,” she admitted. “I’m worried about her.”
Clint lifted himself up in the bed to get back into "awake-mode". He held Laura, both of them leaning against the bed frame.
“Because of the nightmares?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, not mainly. Like, of course I am, I can hardly bear it the way she wakes up screaming every night and she won’t let me help… But at least it makes sense, you know, at least I can understand why she’d have them. But she’s distant, Clint, and she’s unhappy, and I don’t know why.”
Clint frowned.
“I agree she’s been very quiet for the last week especially, but she’s laughed quite a bit, too, don’t you think? I mean, during the snowball-fight with Coop and me, for example, or at dinnertime…”
Laura nodded. “I know, yes, I know all that. I just… It’s all fine when she’s just kinda there, when she’s part of something, like dinner. But…” She sighed. “She was keeping me company today when I was making lunch, helping me prepare and laying the table like she always does. We didn’t speak much, but it was a nice atmosphere and so I said something like ‘I missed your company when you weren’t here.’ I meant to be nice, and it’s the truth, she doesn’t have to say a word to make you feel less alone. She smiled and said ‘It’s nice of you to let me be here’ or some such polite nonsense, and then left literally as soon as she had nothing more to do as if I had scared her away by admitting I liked it. And it's not the first time, Clint, she's doing that every time I say something even remotely affectionate, she stiffly thanks me and then disappears.” She breathed through. “And I know that’s probably me over-analyzing it, but whatever she answers, it’s always so vague, stuff you would say to a complete stranger. Never anything about her own feelings even when it would be perfectly natural. I’m scared of directly asking if she enjoys being here because I’m afraid she would politely lie to me.”
Clint shook his head. “Of course she likes it here,” he said with certainty. “I’m sure she just doesn’t know how to show it well. Maybe this direct affection overtaxes her, she doesn’t know what to react and so she disappears. I’m sure it’s nothing, Laur.”
“But there’s something,” Laura persisted unhappily. “I can feel it, the way she looks sometimes, it breaks my heart. I saw her watching you and Cooper play and she looked so lost and sad, and the way she’s always upstairs unless one of us coaxes her down. And it’s not because of her wound, I don’t believe that. She hardly notices it, she doesn’t pay attention to it at all, she’s running and being active without problems. And even if, as long as she was physically bad she always wanted company, to be distracted, not this. She’s withdrawing purposefully, and I don’t know why.”
Clint nodded seriously, pulling her closer.
“Darling, I get it. I get you’re worried, and that you’re watching our girl extra carefully because you want her to be well and happy most of all. I promise I will pay attention and see if I notice anything myself, and if things get worse, I’ll talk to her. But I’m sure it’s not as serious as you think, Nat’s quite introverted and quiet anyway, she needs a lot of time to herself to recharge and all that. Maybe the wound’s having an influence on it after all or it’s just the winter blues. And” -he grimaced- “I hate to be that guy, but maybe that sort of depressed phase might be a simple teenage thing, too. I mean, hell, probably a human thing. Sometimes people are sad for no specific reason, just feeling down, maybe that’s what’s going on with our little spidergirl.”
Laura raised her eyebrows disapprovingly. “I hate when you call her that.”
He grinned apologetically. “Okay, sorry ma’am.”
She sighed. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t be so negative. I mean, she seems to be getting along well with Coop now, he adores her since she’s looked at his dinosaur book, and she’s eating okay, too, and her wound’s healing, that’s all progress.” She sighed again. “Tell me I don’t have to worry.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Clint assured her obediently, placing a kiss on her head. “And you’re taking good care of this family, Laur, that I can tell you as well.”
Laura smiled a little, snuggling up to him tenderly and they lay closely together until they both drifted off to sleep.