Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Clint wasn't too sure when the switch had flipped. One minute Natasha was completely sobbing, her body shaking as the news was being told to her, and then the next she was stone cold. 

But now, he and Bobbi stood across from the memorial wall. Unlucky for Natasha, was the fact her living quarters were directly in that hall, opposing the memorials hung on the wall. She had no issue with it upon being assigned it… until now. 

Bobbi sighed and shook her head. "Did you know?" she asked, her eyes on the side of his face. He couldn't look away, his eyes constantly searching the picture on the wall.

" In loving memory of Deputy Director Maria Hill " posted beneath her picture. Her picture was the Commander they had all known and grown to fear and respect. But now he grew to understand then, that: that may not have been who she was at all. 

"No. No I did not," his voice was hushed, trying to keep it down out of fear of the grievance occurring behind him. He had always thought of them as close friends. But now he berated himself to realize just how blind he was. He finally turned back to her, "Did you?" 

Bobbi shook her head and slipped her hands into her pants pockets. "The moment I was made aware was their exchange right before they took her away. I've never seen Romanoff cry before…" 

Clint smiled, eyes tearing up slightly. "That's because she doesn't cry." 

Their quiet moment was interrupted by the door opening and then slamming back shut. They both flinched as a water bottle went flying at the wall, hitting it with a loud thud. The contents inside spewed out and splashed all over the wall and floor, but the bottle bounced slightly before rolling toward Clint's feet. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony as it stopped rolling directly in front of the Commander's picture. He stepped forward and bent down, his hands gentle as he picked the bottle up. 

“Did she…?" Bobbi asked, her question spoken within the silence. 

Clint nodded. "Yep. I don't think Natasha owns anything like this, so I imagine." 

The bottle was hard plastic, but showed clear evidence of being used. The only question Clint had was, why it was filled? 

He gently screwed the lid back onto the bottle, sighing as he proceeded to set it right beneath the memorial. Only its rightful place now. 

"Did you hear about the funeral date?" Bobbi asked, leaning back against the wall as her eyes remained glued to the picture. 

Clint turned back confused. "Already?" 

She shrugged. "Something about Military and all of that. Does she know?" Her head jerked back in the direction of the living quarters behind her. Clint only shook his head, not really wanting her to be aware. Not yet.

"Get back to work agents," they were interrupted by a deep voice, both of them turning to stare at Director Fury. "I believe I am waiting for a debrief on my desk in the next hour." 

Clint took that as his sign to leave, Bobbi and him both nodding and walking off. But when he looked over his shoulder, he had expected Fury to be staring at the memorial of his second in command- instead, he was opening the door and stepping into Natasha's quarters. 

--- 

Fury's eye took in the sight of Natasha, the woman wouldn't look at him. Her hands were stained red, her eyes lost and hazy. She walked right by him, even after he tried addressing her. He hadn't heard a word from anyone, which was why he had taken to meeting them when they returned from the mission.

Clint Barton had his arm wrapped around a startled Bobbi Morse. The woman appeared to be in shock, but even Barton seemed to be in shock himself. 

From behind them, a stretcher began to roll out slowly. Fury recognized the look of loss on the medical team. That was when he knew. 

The closest thing he ever had to a kid. The woman who had forced him to have a heart. The woman he looked to as his daughter. That woman had been killed. 

Realization spread through his veins as his mind flickered back to a certain redhead storming past him. The stains of blood covering her arms and hands. He hung his head, sorrow slipping past his grip. 

A widowed widow. 

He remembered the day of their wedding, the way he was the only person there to watch it happen. He remembered why he was the only one there. 

He was the only one who knew, after an accidental run in where he learned his lesson on knocking and waiting for approval to enter. 

But he also remembered Hill speaking to him privately, just before saying her "I do". She had approached him and asked for a minute alone, something quite urgent stuck in her mind. 

"You have to take care of her," she pleaded. Fury only stared at her blankly, confusion evident. 

He shook his head at her, "Isn't that your job, now? Also, I believe she is quite capable of taking care of herself." 

"No," Maria corrected, "If I go before her? You have to take care of her. She won't be able to take care of herself, I know her. If you can’t, she needs to be with Barton.”

"No. Nothing is going to happen to you-" 

"Please," she begged, her eyes tearing up slightly, "Just promise me if something does happen, you will." 

He relented, nodding. "Fine. I promise." 

As he stood there later and watched them exchange their vows, he couldn't stop thinking of that moment. Something he wished he would never have to do. Something he decided to push out of his mind forever. 

Until now. Sending two staring agents back to work, he opened the door. He reprimanded himself for giving Romanoff one of the memorial hall suites. But at that time, he wasn't aware of her relationship with Hill just yet. 

To his surprise, the place was completely clean. In fact, it appeared spotless. He had expected something catastrophic, especially after standing in the hall and watching the water bottle and its contents splatter the wall outside her quarters. 

The water bottle Hill used to use, when her and Natasha weren't in their apartment off of the helicarrier. After that switch, she was rarely seen with one until Natasha stormed her office holding a filled up bottle with an amused smirk. 

He knocked lightly against the wood of her bedroom door, met with silence. He pushed it open lightly, the redhead curled into herself as she sat on the bed, her back resting against the backboard. The wedding picture, the one of them both in their work suits, was resting in front of her on the bed. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself, he wasn't prepared for this. He should have never made that promise, forced Hill to stick around and come back here herself. Instead, he was having to sit at the foot of the bed, eye trained on the wall. 

"They've set a date for her funeral," he finally broke the silence, not sparing a glance at her. "It's in the next four days. You will be there. I will take you there myself. She is being given Military honors for her time served in both the Army and S.H.I.E.L.D.." 

He heard her take in a long breath before exhaling slowly. 

"You will also… be honored with spousal recognition-" 

"No," she cut him off. "I don't want to be." 

He chuckled, "Well that's too damn bad. Maria asked for that, so she's getting it." 

"She would've never asked for all of that attention to be directed onto me," Natasha countered. 

Fury smiled and nodded, "That is true, but sadly enough, your marriage certificate is in her file. The Army has access to it and has notified me that you will be honored as the spouse. She also apparently had a will." 

He finally looked over at her, her eyes red and her lip destroyed. "She's left everything of her to you. Anything in her name, is being transferred over to yours." 

"Oh my God, when did she have time to write a will?" Natasha buried her head into her knees as she shook her head. Fury took in the sight of her shaking arms, sympathy washing over him like cold water. 

"It was updated just last week," he muttered quietly, finally looking away from her. "I don't think she knew… but I think some part of her did." 

---

Natasha felt nothing but anger. She was fueled by pure madness as she listened to the people speak around her. She felt nothing but hatred as everyone gave their condolences to her. She had to clench her jaw from saying some nasty things to the coworkers that never gave a shit about Maria while she was alive. 

But here she stood, inside the funeral home, beside the casket that Maria’s body lay in. She could not bring herself to even glance in its direction. It was set as an open casket. Natasha was notified of that decision. She knew Maria was in her Army dress blues. She just could not bring herself to look at Maria’s face, knowing the woman was dead. 

Lifeless. 

One thing she was grateful for, for the entirety of the funeral, was Fury’s presence. The man never left her side, accepting condolences on her part and sending them off just as quickly as they arrived. Natasha was not in the right mind to be talking to anyone. She knew that. He knew that. The man knew everything, almost seemingly knowing her better than herself. 

She ignored the eyes on the back of her neck when it came to taking a seat and a preacher to begin his thing. She had to sit in the first row. Her and Fury being the only ones to occupy the row. 

She would not break. 

She was made of marble. Marble could not feel. She would not feel. Not today. 

She ignored her stomach spiraling as she watched six men, all in their dress blues, carrying the casket toward the six foot hole dug for her. She ignored the burning of her throat when she watched them fold the flag that had been previously draped over Maria’s casket when they closed it. She ignored absolutely everything when they then handed said flag over into her possession. Her eyes narrowed and focused on the flag. The flag that was given to a lost soldier's family. 

She startled when Fury set his hand on her shoulder, although no one would notice it, she did. And she knew he did, too. Her face remain stoic and empty of emotion. She knew better than to display the pain that had begun to carve her insides to hollow. 

Taps began to play and she left herself to her own thoughts. 

She knew she had to leave. 

As soon as the casket was lowered, she grabbed a handful of dirt from the pile and the rose that one of the soldiers had handed her. She watched as the dirt broke apart from her hand and dusted over the glossiness of the casket. She sighed and closed her eyes for a second and brought the rose up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the petals. She blinked once as her eyes reopened and then proceeded to drop the rose into the hole and walk away. 

She never turned back around. Eyes forward and focused, as if she were on a mission. One to keep her emotions at bay and tucked away. 

It was when she stepped foot into that shared apartment they occupied throughout their relationship, that she finally broke. As soon as the door shut, she slammed her back against it, her hand pressed tightly against her mouth as she slid down to the floor. The place smelled like her. Everything in here smelled like her. Everything here reminded her of her. 

She began to hyperventilate, her lungs sucking in air that wasn’t efficient enough. She found herself unable to breathe. Her limbs fell paralyzed as her sobs echoed into the space that now felt completely and utterly empty. She couldn’t contain the raw screams she let escape her throat, tearing her vocal chords and bouncing back at her from the walls. 

Her eyes were screwed tight, unable to open as her chest convulsed. She felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest. Someone had broken through her ribs, grabbed the pulsing organ, and ripped it from its attachments that kept it within her chest. 

Hollowness and emptiness is what eventually overcame her. What was once pure agony, was now a shocking numbness that left her to stare at the floor as her arms hugged her knees to her now empty chest. Her eyes were dry, the tears drying out the skin around them. Her nose was blocked now, only able to breathe out of her right nostril. Her lips were beyond chapped. She wouldn’t dare look at herself in a mirror. She knew better. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there, only to jerk awake after dozing off from a knock on the door. 

“Go away,” her voice was barely audible, a clear strain obvious as she tried to speak. She groaned when the knocking grew louder and more persistent. “Go away!” Her voice was louder, but it was broken. There was barely a voice, nothing but broken raspiness. 

“Nat,” the voice of Clint filtered through the door, “Let me in.” 

“I said go away!” 

She jumped at the sound of the lock being picked and her body being slid to the side with ease. She just sat where she ended up, her eyes glued to Clint as he stepped in and took one look at her. 

His entire face frowned. “Jesus, Nat. How long have you been sitting here?” he questioned, his eyes skimming over her while he shut the door. 

She let out an exhausted chuckle of sadness. “When did the funeral end?” 

“Two days ago. Have you been sitting here since you got back?” His face morphed into an expression of horror. It amused Natasha. Two days. She had sat on the floor, back against the door, and cried for two days. 

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, one that swallowed her whole. She just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Her mind was not able to understand what was so funny, but her entire body continued to shake with laughter. It only got worse when Clint’s expression turned from one of horror to complete sadness. 

He shook his head, “That’s it, stay here.” She watched him walk away with utter curiosity. He shuffled his way around the apartment, looking for things. 

“Where am I gonna go?” She could barely get the words out as she continued to laugh, shaking her head at her pathetic self. When he came back out of her bedroom, the lightbulb finally clicked when she recognized the duffel bag in his hands filled to the brim with clothes. 

She began to protest and fight against him as he tried to get her to stand on her feet, which only resulted in him throwing her over his shoulder. 

“I am not leaving you here like this,” Maria protested. Natasha sat on the floor of their apartment, back against the door. She was exhausted; tired. She didn’t want to move. Her mission had proved to be incredibly difficult, resulting in far too much physical harm. 

She was choosing to ignore all of the injuries and instead return to her shared home with her girlfriend. But the moment she stepped into that space, her legs finally gave out beneath her. It had only gathered Maria’s attention from where she was getting ready for work in the kitchen, her hair just touched up and suit straightened as she filled up the water bottle with the refrigerator water. 

Maria immediately insisted on taking her to medbay, which Natasha obviously declined. Leading them to the current argument. 

“Maria,” Natasha cut in, “I’m fine. This is nothing our comfy bed can’t fix.” 

Maria shook her head. “You want to know what our bed can’t fix? The possibility of a broken rib puncturing your lungs and I return home to you dead, in our bed.” Natasha wished she had the energy to laugh at the rhyme as Maria’s expression contorted. “You are coming with me and I will walk you personally to medbay.” 

Natasha groaned. “You are doing no such thing. My broken ribs aren’t going to puncture my lungs, you just like to imagine the worst case scenario that would never happen!” 

Maria glared at the redhead, shaking her head at her. “Stop being stubborn, it’s only going to get you in trouble.” 

Natasha wasn’t one to give up missed opportunities. 

“I thought you liked putting me in my place,” she smirked. It immediately dropped when she realized the look she was being given. She wasn’t negotiating with Maria. She could easily win if it were. But no, Maria had decided to slip into Deputy Director mode. The look in her eyes was one of daring. She was daring Natasha to challenge her. 

Natasha licked her lips, her fingers pressing nimbly against the bruising of her wrist. “I don’t need to go to medbay,” Natasha started, her eyes following as Maria then left her now filled bottle on the counter and was now approaching her with a hard glare, “I am staying here. Nothing you do can make me go-” 

Maria bent down and pulled her up from the ground, Natasha shrieking in the process from shock and the dull pain registering in her brain. Next thing she knows, she’s face to face with Maria’s ass as she had been thrown over her shoulder. 

“You know what, carry me like this more often. I like the view.” 

Natasha didn’t even register when they had arrived at Clint’s farm. Her mind was too hazy with memories replaying themselves in her head. Her body craved for the touch of Maria. Just one small interaction. Or even just one last smile. 

As she thought of it, her mind flashed to the very last smile Maria had directed toward her. Blood soaked her lips, leaking out and running down her chin. Her eyes were distant, but there was peace within them. She looked tired, yet remained calm. Natasha wished she could see that smile of hers one last time. One without the blood. One without the acceptance of death. The one where it’s just Maria’s smile, spread gently over perfect lips that lack the metallic and shine of blood. 

Her mind screamed at her when she snapped out of her daze, her eyes gently shut as she felt herself being lowered on something soft. She couldn’t help but pretend to be asleep. 

“Where’d you find her?” Laura. Natasha had always loved the woman. She was one of the strongest agents she had ever encountered. From being on the field, to marrying a Clint Barton, to bearing his children. Maria had always treated Laura as if she were above her, Natasha doing the same. 

Clint sighed, “Natasha’s old apartment. Never realized Maria and her shared it… Until I came face to face with their photos on the walls.” 

“She looks exhausted… I can’t believe they managed to hide their marriage for so long.” 

“I found her on the floor against the door. She had apparently been sitting there since the funeral.” There was a brief pause of absolute silence. “She sat there for two days, Laura. Two days without moving.” 

“How is that even possible?” 

“I don’t know. But I've always known if the impossible were possible, Natasha would figure it out. She’s as stubborn as a damn mule.” 

*“Stop being stubborn, it’s only going to get you in trouble.”*

“Do you think she’s going to eat anything when she wakes up?” 

“I doubt it. I can see this eventually leading to a hospital trip with a feeding tube…” 

As soon as they had left, she carried herself to the bathroom connected to her room. Her body screaming at her, angry for ignoring its needs. Yet all she could do was stare at the empty shell that stared back at her in the mirror.

---

Shockingly, it didn’t lead to a feeding tube. Natasha woke at three in the afternoon, stumbling her way out of the room she slept in when visiting the Barton’s. She could feel the dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion too obvious. 

So obvious that when her eyes met Laura’s for the first time, the woman gasped. Natasha only huffed out a breath through her nose and shut her eyes lightly, trying to ease herself as she felt unsteady. The feeling of warm hands around her arm gently guided her to a chair. 

“Here,” Laura whispered, settling Natasha onto the kitchen table chair, “Sit here for a moment.” The redhead only nodded, her eyes too heavy to keep open for long periods of time. 

She jerked slightly as a bowl was set in front of her, steam warming her cheeks and nose as it filtered its way into the air. “Eat this,” Laura urged. Natasha had no fight left in her to protest, giving in and using the spoon to finally feed herself. The hot liquid against her sore throat felt like heaven. 

“Thank you,” she spoke, though it was so distorted she wasn’t sure if Laura was able to understand her. The woman frowned and shook her head, pressing the back of her warm hand against her forehead and then to both of her cheeks. 

“You’re rather cold. After this, go lie on the couch and try to warm up, please.” Natasha only nodded in response. 

---

Natasha stirred to the feeling of a cold hand pressing against her forehead, a disappointed hum following behind the action. She cracked open her eyes to see Maria leaning over her. It was in the moment she registered the heat creeping through her body. The way her stomach felt like it was spinning and her head being assaulted by a jack hammer. 

She pulled away from the woman, groaning. It was cut immediately when the fire was lit within her throat, her eyes immediately squeezing shut as she wheezed. 

“Nat, you’re sick,” Maria whispered, her hand returning back to Natasha’s forehead before drifting down to press against her cheek. “You’re overheating, let me get some things and I will be right back, okay?” 

Natasha wanted to respond, but the only response Maria received was a mangled sound coming from Natasha’s throat. 

It was almost as if she blinked and she was brought out of her doze from something cold and wet pressing against her forehead. She blinked open her eyes to Maria kneeling beside the bed, running a cold wet washcloth over her face, concern deeply ignited in her eyes. She set the washcloth to rest on Natasha’s forehead as she tried getting her to sit up slightly. 

“Here,” she brought a glass of water to Natasha’s lips, “You need to drink this. You’re gonna get dehydrated.” Maria smiled as Natasha relented, pain evident on her face as she swallowed. Maria sighed, “Alright, babe, try and get some sleep, okay?” The redhead relented, her eyes falling shut as her exhaustion took over. 

She awoke not long after falling asleep, a strong urge to cry arising panic within her. She felt horrible. The kind of horrible someone would experience after being shoulder checked by a bus. She was painfully aware she was alone, silence crawling its way up Natasha’s limbs to eat at her. She felt loneliness gnaw away at her bones. 

She pushed herself off of the bed, her entire body aching and trying to get her to stop. But she felt it. She felt it beginning to rise in the back of her throat. She struggled, but she managed to stumble her way to the bathroom and fall in front of the toilet before throwing her entire gut up. The burn in her throat was enough to cause the tear reflex. She was shaking and tired, but she knew better than to move. Right now, all she wanted was her wife. Maria could make her feel better. 

As if someone had read her mind, a panicked and worried Maria rushed into the bathroom. Her panic ebbed slightly, but remained worrisome. Her wife, once again, kneeled down to be beside her, her hand resting on Natasha’s back lightly, stroking over the material of her shirt. She wanted Maria to never stop, giving her the only comfort she would ever seek. 

Maria transitioned her weight back and sat on the floor, easing Natasha into her arms. The redhead let herself silently cry as her head rested softly against her wife’s chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” Maria murmured, her hand brushing up and down over Natasha’s back, “I called Nick and let him know we both wouldn’t be in today or tomorrow. Told him no emergency was going to be able to bring us in.” Natasha swallowed weakly, letting out a defeated sigh. “I also said that I was sure about today and tomorrow, but unsure about the rest. We’re not returning until you’re fully better. I made that very clear.” 

“I need you better, I hate seeing you like this,” Maria whispered into Natasha’s ear before pressing a delicate kiss to the side of her wife’s head. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

---

Natasha stilled as her mind picked up the feeling of someone watching her. She was technically still sleeping, but had just woken to the feeling of a pair of eyes staring at her. She kept her eyes shut, afraid to open them and find out what or who was staring at her. She knew she was far too weak to defend herself. 

It took a moment of thinking it over to finally crack an eye open, her heart skipping a beat to find someone standing directly over her. She almost acted out. Almost. She managed to restrain herself the moment she recognized the eyes of a little girl. A little girl named Lila Barton. 

She released the breath she had been holding, blinking a few times to wash away the adrenaline and tiredness. 

“Lila,” she croaked, trying to offer a smile to the young girl. The girl in question narrowed her eyes, studying her aunt. Natasha felt her heart warm at the sight. “How can I help you?” 

The girl hummed quietly, “You look different.” Her voice was soft and confused. 

Natasha pushed herself up to realize she had passed out on the couch. Leaning back on her arms, she smiled at Lila. “Different good? Or bad?” 

“Indifferent,” Lila shrugged, leaving Natasha agape at the vocabulary of the young girl. 

It took a minute for her to process the fact that a seven year old girl decided to pull out ‘indifferent’ as a descriptor. “Indifferent? Well, aren’t you just getting smarter every time I see you.” 

“Momma says I’m really smart for my age,” Lila boasts, a wide smile beaming at Natasha. 

Natasha shook her head, “No, I think you’re the smartest kid ever.” 

Lila gasped, “Smarter than Cooper?” 

“Extremely… but don’t tell him I said that,” Natasha joked, letting herself embrace the warmth from interacting with Lila. She had desperately missed seeing the little girl as her work schedule grew more hectic and her life outside of work became more Maria centric. 

Laura walked out of the kitchen to find the scene that had just played out, her face turning from tired to a scolding expression. “Lila, what did your dad tell you about Auntie Nat?” 

The little girl shrank back suddenly, her eyes floating up to the ceiling as she thought about it. “Not to disturb Auntie Nat?” 

“Precisely so,” Laura reprimanded, “And what exactly are you doing right now?” 

Lila scowled, “Disturbing Auntie Nat…” 

Laura smiled and shook her head at her daughter. “Good, now go out and play with your brother. Dinner will be ready in a little bit.” After Lila took off outside, Laura approached Natasha, resting her hand back against her forehead. “Definitely feel better temperature wise. Sorry about Lila, didn’t think she’d wake you.” 

The redhead sighed, “No problem at all. I have a weakness when it comes to her.” 

“Everyone, including her, is quite aware,” Laura laughed, smiling at Natasha. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, if you want to stay down here and rest a bit more or head back to your room, you have time.” 

Natasha sighed, “Thank you, Laura.” 

“Any time, Natasha. You know that.” 

Natasha then slipped back up to her room, a tired sigh escaping the moment she shut the door behind her. 

---

“Nat,” Maria stood in front of her with her arms crossed, her back to the window that overlooked the farm, “I understand you don’t want to talk about it, but this silence you are surrounding yourself with isn’t going to make it go away.” 

Natasha released the breath she had been holding. “Did Clint call you? He should know I can handle myself.” 

“He is well aware that you can ‘handle’ yourself,” Maria mocked her wording causing Natasha to freeze as the anger began to bubble up, “He just knows what happens when you decide to go emotionally M.I.A.” 

Natasha turned away from her, rummaging through the drawers in the dresser as her hands angrily searched for clothes to change into. Her movements flickered for a second when Maria took a step toward her. Her entire body screamed to fall into Maria’s arms, let everything spill over the top instead of watching her every move afraid of it leaking out of containment. But there was a side of her that enjoyed the feeling of brutal self destruction. She didn’t want to tell Maria, afraid the hatred would go away and leave her stranded in a void of nothing. She wanted to feel something and that hatred gave her something. 

She grabbed the last garment of clothing, slamming it down on top of the dresser before she turned to glare at Maria. “Emotionally M.I.A.? I’ll have you know I am feeling a lot of things right now-” 

“Then tell me about what you’re feeling!” Maria cut her off, exasperation and desperation appearing within her tone. “I’m tired of being shut out and left behind when it comes to you! Nick asked me how you were doing after what he quoted a ‘tough mission’, and I couldn’t even answer that question because when you returned, you packed your stuff and shipped yourself off to here! Not even a word to me on where you were going!” 

“Do you know what that did to me?” Maria asked, her voice softening and losing volume. Natasha stayed quiet, not having expected the outburst from her. “It hurt me, Natasha. You left me alone, wondering what could have possibly have happened to cause you to leave me-” 

Natasha laughed, “Left you? I didn’t leave you! I had to get away and I knew the moment I told you anything about where I was going, I would have told you everything! I left for your sake!” 

“Oh,” Maria scoffed, “My sake? Really?” Their eyes glared into each other, fire burning around them, encircling them. “Was it for my sake when you completely ignored me within our own home? Or was that just a self-preservation thing? To make me feel at fault for your own decisions.” 

“I’m not responsible for what my actions make you feel.” 

Natasha winced when Maria’s expression switched on her. Her face turned stone cold in the matter of milliseconds. “Alright, then. I guess I will be leaving.” 

Both women couldn’t be more grateful over the fact Clint had soundproofed the room. Something he had done when Natasha had first started coming to farm with him, trying to give her the most privacy possible. Especially after learning her history in the Red Room, he wanted to give her everything she rightfully deserved throughout her life, but had never been allowed. It also allowed them to fight like this, without notifying the other couple. 

“Maria, no-” Natasha began to backtrack, trying to take her words back. 

Maria simply held up her hand to stop her and shook her head. “No. I’m not wanted here, clearly. I should have never shown up in the first place.” Even with those words leaving her mouth, she made no move toward the door. 

Natasha leaned over the dresser, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I fucked up, okay? I don’t mean to take all of this out on you, but I just keep doing it!” 

“Tell me,” Maria said quietly, her voice a murmur in Natasha’s ear. “Tell me everything from how you feel to what happened.” The redhead ignored the surprise at Maria’s quick shift in tone, and had expected her to walk out already. She wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. 

Hands rested gently onto her shoulders, comfort overcoming her emotions. “You’re never like this. You’ve never shut me out before. I can’t leave you like this when you need me.” Tears had begun to appear in Natasha’s eyes, her chest aching and her throat burning. “Let me in, Nat.” 

Those last four words caused the redhead to turn sharply and wrap herself around Maria, holding the woman so tightly against her. She felt the shock in the other woman, the way she tensed up and didn’t move for a second, but within the next second had her arms wrapped around Natasha. 

“I thought you died,” she finally spoke. She pulled back from Maria, letting the woman rest their foreheads together. “They showed me a video… It looked so real, Masha. It felt like I was truly watching them tear you apart.” Her hands came up to Maria’s face, gently rubbing over the brunette’s skin, trying to remind herself that she was alive and okay. That she stood in front of her, listening and breathing. “I don’t know how they did it… but they knew. They knew we were together and were making me watch them tear you apart until your last breath, to punish me.” 

She sighed when Maria’s hands came up to the sides of her face, forcing her to stare into ocean blue eyes. “I’m alive, Natasha. They never got me and they never will-” 

“Not after I went dark and got vindictive…” 

The night progressed into Natasha talking to Maria as her head rested on her chest. They moved to the bed where she had better access at assessing how truthful Maria had truly been with being okay. She felt Maria’s contentment as she fell into her arms, holding her as Natasha would make sure she didn’t disappear throughout the night. 

Natasha wouldn’t sleep. But Maria eventually drifted into a sleep, Natasha refusing to close her eyes. Not even for a minute. She would lay there and watch Maria sleep the entire night. 

---

A knock on the door made Natasha groan aloud, wishing to fall back into the dream. She pushed herself off the bed, tossing the covers to the side and attempting not to trip over the material that laid on the floor. She stifled a yawn into her hand, her eyes watering slightly and her nose running. 

She opened the door to find Cooper staring up at her awkwardly, his arms swinging by his sides as he rocked back and forth on his feet. When he finally realized she was staring down at him expectantly, he clasped his hands together. “Dinner’s ready. Mom sent me up to get you.” 

“Thanks, Coop. Tell them I’ll be down in a second?” She asked, the boy nodding in response and walked off back toward the stairs. She took a minute to fix her appearance in her mirror before trudging her way down the stairs. 

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” the soft voice belonging to Laura slipped out from the kitchen. “They were inseparable. I always thought you knew.” 

“You knew?” Clint questioned, Natasha could hear the flabbergasted tone. She was quick to put the pieces together and recognize they were talking about her and Maria. 

Natasha walked into the kitchen silently and slid into her seat at the table between Lila and baby Nathaniel. Clint was too busy staring at Laura to notice her presence, (Natasha often wondered if he was possibly deaf), while Laura’s eyes flashed to her before returning to Clint. 

Natasha sniffled slightly, her head still pounding. “The only person I was aware that knew was Nick,” her voice came out rushed, still lacking a foundation and still sore. 

Clint flinched slightly, realizing she had heard them talking and was now sitting at the table with him unaware. “Fury knew?!” 

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk and nod. “Yeah, and I’d really not like to go into that story.” 

“Oh, come on. Now I have to hear it,” Clint countered, interest peaking in his eyes. 

She shook her head, “Nope. Not around little ears.” Clint’s eyes widened and Laura began to chuckle quietly from her seat as she leaned over to try and get Nathaniel to eat, the boy babbling nonsense instead.

“Fine. But you owe me an explanation later.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes and relented, agreeing to get the man to shut up as she served her plate and began to eat. 

---

It was later when Clint brought her out to the barn that she let herself relive the memory. 

===

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her arms holding her up as she felt her legs attempting to give out beneath her. Maria easily lifted her up and set her onto her desk, her movements never ceasing. Natasha shifted and moved her arms to wrap around her girlfriend’s neck, as she let her head fall back. 

With the exposed skin of her neck, she felt Maria’s soft lips pressing against it. A quiet moan escaped her lips as she let her fingers slip into the brunette’s hair. She was careful and gentle not to ruin her hair, but slightly tugged on the strands on the back of her neck. 

“God,” Maria huffed into her neck, “That feels good.” 

Natasha groaned, trying to push herself closer to Maria, craving more. They couldn’t get enough of each other. Only wanting, needing, and taking more. 

Natasha huffed, her breathing pace growing faster. Just as she was reaching and overcoming the desired release of built up pressure, a knock interrupted them. Maria immediately covered the redhead's mouth as she fell over the edge, curses and moans slipping through her lips. She didn’t get the chance to shoo the intruder off as the door clicked open. 

“Hill, I messaged you and you have yet to respond-” he stopped mid word, his eye taking in the sight he managed to walk in on. Maria had Natasha sitting on her desk, pressed between her legs, a hand somewhere both Natasha and Maria knew he didn’t want to know. Natasha’s work out shorts were left discarded just a few feet away from him. Maria’s other hand was still clasped tightly over Natasha’s mouth as the redhead had her eyes squeezed shut, not daring to open them. 

The man’s mouth remained open as he blinked a few times. “What the fuck…” he sighed and shook his head, “Alright, I see you’re busy. I will come by later.” 

As the man hurriedly left with the door slamming shut behind him, Maria and Natasha stared at each other, both of their faces burning red. Sweat had formed on Natasha’s face, but even behind the ecstasy state in her eyes, embarrassment was mixed in with it. Maria swallowed nervously, frozen in her spot out of complete shock. 

Natasha blinked as she stared into Maria’s eyes, making the brunette flinch when she flicked at her hand. “Are you going to… remove your hand? Or is it just a part of me now?” Maria jerked her hand back, Natasha making a noise at the abrupt movement, “Jesus, seriously?!” 

“Sorry,” Maria muttered awkwardly. She pulled away from Natasha and walked over to pick up the woman’s shorts. She tossed them, the redhead catching them with ease. “Alright, Agent. You’re dismissed.” 

Maria could see the slightest lift in Natasha’s eyebrows, causing her to elaborate further. “I have a debrief, in which I better figure out how to word…” 

“Well, I wish you luck. I’m going to head back to my quarters and take a shower,” Natasha responded as she pulled her shorts back on, flashing Maria a smile. “See you later tonight, Commander?” 

Maria smiled, opening the door for her. “Yes ma’am.” 

---

“I can’t believe you hid all of that from me,” Clint’s tone held disbelief and disappointment as he spoke. 

She didn’t like the change, something inside her shifting. She plastered on a smile and huffed a laugh, “You wanted to hear about me having sex with Maria? I have to say that’s kind of… perverted, Clint Barton.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he argued, though a small smile appeared on his face. 

They sat beside each other just outside the barn, their backs pressed against the wood doors. Their breaths turned into steam before them, dancing and rising up until it evaporated. The sun had set and the darkness of night surrounded them, the crickets' sound encompassing their silence. 

Natasha released a heavy sigh, “No, but you know what it’s like. You and Laura-” 

“You knew about Laura and I. Hell, you even knew about the kids!” His voice rose as he began to argue.

Natasha glared at him. “Sure, but our situations are so different. Laura had retired by the time you told me! Maria was the literal Deputy Director, and announcing my relationship with her could have possibly messed up her career! How long did you hide your relationship with Laura from me, while she was an active agent?” 

“How?” he pushed himself to stand, “How could it have possibly ruined her career?! You were just telling me! I thought you would have trusted me!” He pointed his finger at Natasha accusingly, anger starting to boil within her. 

“Really? I don’t know,” Natasha responded sarcastically, “Maybe because it turns out she’s gay? Or how about sleeping with the agents below her? Accused of abusing her power? One little joke you would have made, even just a whisper, could have started a rumor against her!” 

The man smiled out of anger, an angry chuckle escaping him. “See, you didn’t trust me. I thought we were friends.” 

“I did trust you! What I didn’t trust was literally everyone else in that god forbid helicarrier-” 

“Oh, but you trusted Fury,” Clint shouted at her, his frustrations finally overcoming him. 

Natasha stood up to look him in the eye as she shouted back at him. “I didn’t get a choice! He walked in on an intimate moment. He just so happened to promise not to say a word and try to protect us!” She shook her head and began to walk back toward the house. “You know, out of everyone I knew, I thought you would be the one to understand… but,” she sighed from disappointment, “I guess not.” 

She retreated back to the house, her head down as her eyes were glued to her shoes and the ground beneath her. She ignored the tears that had started to fall from her eyes, easing the door open and shutting it softly behind her. She hoped Laura would be busy with the kids, or possibly even asleep. 

She was never one to get what she wished or hoped for. Laura was on the last step coming down when she was about to head upstairs. The brunette woman’s stare turned to concern as she registered Natasha’s state. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice sweet and soft. 

The redhead bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, all good.” Trying to avoid any more confrontation she slipped past the woman and up into her room, locking the door behind her. She fell face first onto the bed, the crying finally taking over her as she shoved her face against her pillows to muffle her sobs. 

“And this will be your handler.” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes, not ideal with the similarity of “handler” and “maiden”. The man held out his hand as an offer. Her eyes scraped over him, taking in the tuxedo he seemed to wear, the way it had been tailored. He reeked of money, giving off a vibe of living above everyone else. He smiled at her, kindness in his eyes as he tried to lure her into the trap. 

She ignored his hand, looking back at the man she knew to be the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. “Handler?” she questioned, skepticism growing within her bones. 

The man pulled his hand back, finally realizing she wasn’t going to shake it. Everything was gluing together in her head. Director Fury was General Dreykov, and the man before her that was a “handler” would be the maidens to break her apart and rebuild her to what they wanted. She refused to show the fear that had grabbed her tightly by the throat. She traded in the Red Room for the same thing. 

“He’ll be overseeing your training and be in charge of you, agent,” Director Fury explained, “Everyone here is given a handler when they first start, just to ensure no issues or mistakes happen, or if they do, there is someone there to help and correct it.” 

Correct it. 

Natasha’s mind immediately flashed to solitary confinement, the handcuffs hanging from the bed posts, the trigger pulled as the gun was pressed to another girl's head, or the possibility of seduction. She tensed, her mind flipping to auto-pilot. 

“I thought you said you weren’t anything like the Red Room,” she swallowed as she ignored the shock flicker onto their faces, “When I signed my life over to you, you swore it was nothing like the Red Room. You lied.” Her voice began to shake as it all began to settle within her mind. Panic struck her as she felt the need to flee. 

She tried to turn and run, but apparently she had made her plans too known. Fingers pressed harshly against the skin on her arms. She tried to pull her arm out of reach but was only dragged back as she struggled. 

She barely registered the voices speaking as she began to fight against the agents. She twisted her wrist out, her entire being feeling threatened. 

“This doesn’t feel right, Fury,” a woman’s voice floated with a slight authoritative tone. 

Natasha decked one of the agents attempting to restrain her. 

“Well, I’m open to suggestions, agent. Take a stand.”

 She kneed another agent in the groin, satisfied with his groan and the way he dropped to his knees. She then flipped the agent attacking her from behind over her back. She froze when he pulled the gun from his side, aiming it directly at her chest. He smirked as her movements paused. 

“Stand down!” the woman’s voice ordered. The agent turned confused, turning his attention away from Natasha. She was smart enough to not move even with his attention diverted. 

He quickly turned back, flicking the safety off of his weapon. “Last I checked, you weren’t the boss of me,” he argued, his teeth showing as he flashed an evil smile in Natasha’s direction. 

“Last I checked, when ordered to stand down, you do it. Drop your weapon before I draw mine,” she ordered. Natasha let her eyes set on the woman, taking in the powerful energy exuding from her. 

The man shook his head before clicking the safety back into place and moving his gun toward the floor. “Didn’t realize we were letting animals become agents,” he rebuked, “Might as well put her up on display like a circus animal. It’ll draw in more revenue and funding.”

“We owe you no explanation nor information for any of our orders or decisions. You will not question a higher up or you will see yourself suspended,” Director Fury spoke, “Possibly even expulled.” 

“Over defending myself?!” the agent shouted as he pushed himself to stand, “I was being attacked by a fugitive! And yet you threaten me with expulsion!” 

Natasha began to recline back into herself. She wasn’t used to being referred to as a fugitive. Sure, it was no worse than the typical ‘weapon, toy, or marble’ she received prior, but it still made her feel unsettled. 

“Well, from what I witnessed,” the woman began to correct the ill-tempered man, “You put your hands on her first. She has a right to leave when things become too much-” 

The man cut her off with a harsh laugh, “So, we’re babying the incoming agents?” 

Natasha watched all the remaining pieces of patience vanish from the woman’s expression. “You're only a clearance level six, I can have you demoted back down to rookie before you say another word. When you’ve gone through what she has, then come talk to me about our methods.” 

The redhead turned her attention to Director Fury. The man stood beside the woman, a look of pride and satisfaction written on his face. She knew the woman was too busy fuming over the irrelevant agent to notice that satisfied smirk on the Director’s face. 

“All agents, besides Hill, are dismissed from this room,” he ordered, narrowing his one eye at them as they continued to loiter, “ now .”

Natasha knew she fell under the term ‘agent’ but was unsure of where to go. She had just been defected and brought in to have everything be introduced to her, then all of it went to shit. 

“Agent Romanoff,” the director addressed her, “Agent Hill, here, will be discussing the rules of this helicarrier and applying new ones to fit comfortably within your arrival. She will also be showing you around and will later introduce you to your handler, Agent Coulson. Good luck.” Both women watched him depart, the room beginning to fill with awkward tension. 

Natasha stared at the woman who had been addressed as ‘Agent Hill’. The woman was clearly powerful, her stance and energy displaying just as much. But Natasha was intrigued by her. She had a ‘don’t fuck with me’ kind of attitude, but her eyes changed as they met hers. The challenge and authority dying down to something Natasha couldn’t depict. Possible sympathy? Pity? Or maybe it was a curiosity similar to her’s. 

They continued to stare at each other, attempting to study one another. 

“So, lets get on with that tour,” Agent Hill finally spoke, pressing her lips together in a tight line as she gestured out in the direction they would be heading. 

---

She woke to a soft knock on the other side of her door. She wanted to go back to sleep, delve back into that unfinished dream. Meet Maria for the first time, again. But she had to wake to every movement or sound within her parameters. 

She cursed herself for being trained to wake at the sound of a dropped needle. 

She opened the door, her head and body still groggy from sleep. Laura stood on the other side, a sympathetic and understanding look in her eyes dropping onto Natasha. “May I come in?” she asked, hopeful. 

Natasha nodded, stepping back and letting herself fall back onto her bed. She closed her eyes as Laura sat at the foot of her bed. 

“You know, I always understood,” Laura muttered. Natasha could hear her hand brushing softly over the comforter. “I got why you and Maria were so secretive.” 

“It’s not everyday that a woman is promoted into a position of power. It’s a rather rare sight, sadly enough to say,” Laura reflected. “Women are barely acceptable in high places, let alone for one to be married to another woman. The first day I met you, I could see just how protective you were. You protected everything precious and peaceful. Like how after Clint and I had Cooper, you refused to touch or hold him, but in his presence, you were so aware of everything around you. I trust my kids with you more than I sometimes trust myself.” 

“Anything you grow to love, you keep on lockdown. You refuse to let anything happen on your watch. I’ve known that for so long… but the way you looked at her?” Laura chuckled softly, “I immediately noticed a whole new side to just how protective you were. I don’t know how Clint never noticed it. You stared at her like she was your world. And that was when I knew you would never tell us, just as you would never mutter a word to Clint about the kids or I when around other people.” 

Natasha let her eyes open slowly, the ceiling above her appearing slightly blurry. 

“I didn’t want to risk the job she worked so hard for… I love Clint. I do. But he wasn’t Maria.” Her voice cracked and tears began to build in her eyes. “I trust that man with my life. I just couldn’t forgive myself if I were to say something to him and someone else overhear… and report it. I didn’t trust myself.” 

She glanced over at Laura as the woman nodded. “I know. I’ve come to realize Clint isn’t much on observations. He’s a much better listener than he is at paying attention to what is happening around him.” 

Natasha chuckled, closing her eyes to console the tears that threatened to escape her eyes. 

“But what I’m trying to say is, I understand and I will always support you, Natasha. Give Clint some time, he’ll get over it. But I think you already know that and know he is justified in his feelings, too. I know this is going to sound very… mother-y of me, but I think both of you have some owed apologies.” 

Natasha sighed, “Tell that to him.” 

“Oh, trust me, I have,” Laura laughed, shaking her head. Maybe it was the irony of having to parent two very grown up adults, instead of her children. 

---

It took Natasha and Clint about thirty minutes of staring at each other in nothing but silence, to finally apologize to one another. One far more reluctant than the other. But eventually they both relented, ending their ‘childishness’ as Laura had worded it. Dinner passed by quickly, Natasha interacting with the Barton kids, and joking with Laura and Clint. 

It was when she closed her eyes to go to sleep when her dreams would come back to haunt her instead of remind her. 

---

Maria flipped around and the man pulled the trigger, Natasha’s eyes widening in horror as she realized no bullet left their vicinity. The woman dislodged the gun and shot him twice, Natasha quickly pulled her gun back up and shot Mark Otile in his nasty looking face. Bobbi’s eyes flickered between them, confusion settling in the depths. 

It was when Maria sighed, sweat and exhaustion apparent on her face, that she noticed it. The blood escaped her abdomen, but the Commander remained unaware of the hole in her stomach that had blood seeping out of and soaking the front of her suit. 

She began to shake in horror, not knowing how to alert her. Her body screamed to lurch forward and take her into her arms and fix her. But she knew better. She was in Commander mode. She wouldn’t dare make an abrupt movement or even a slight of hand touch, not wanting to know the consequences. But she regretted fearing her at that moment. 

“Mission complete, evacuation set immediately-” her words stalled when she looked up into Natasha’s eyes. The redhead couldn’t move her eyes from Maria’s stomach, the blood pouring profusely now. Her entire body shook with complete fear. She wanted to hold Maria and carry her out of here, far away where she’d be safe. She wanted to rewind time back to when they danced in the kitchen underneath the kitchen lights. 

That was when Maria finally looked down, her calm complexion morphing into slight horror. Not complete. She was never overly expressive with emotions or facial expressions. Her legs began to shake and Natasha saw it, her body moving faster than her mind. She caught her, the weight of her feeling too light in the moment. 

She let herself sink to the floor with Maria, her hands pressing sharply to her abdomen. Before she knew it, they were on the ship’s deck, her hands soaked and drenched in the red of Maria. Then she was being ripped away from her and instead of a smile… Maria’s face was twisted in pain, a look of blame directed in Natasha’s way. 

It was her fault. 

She was unable to save her. 

---

“Natasha!” 

Calloused hands dug into her arms, panic laced in their voice. It was too foggy, but she knew those calloused hands to be Clint’s. She let out a panicked scream, her body trying to fight off what held her down. 

“I’m not going to hurt you! I am just trying to help you!” Finally she could hear his voice, her eyes clearing as she took in the sight of one urgent Clint Barton. 

The adrenaline and dream was too much, her limbs aching from the fight and her body now crying the pain out. She wanted to drown in it. Succumb herself and let the pain eat her away to nothing. 

Clint finally pulled her into his grasp, holding her head against his chest. “It was just a dream,” he muttered into her ear, “It wasn’t real.” 

She pushed off of him, her voice yelling. 

“I can’t do this!” 

She ignored his attempts to reach out to her, her body tiredly and sluggishly attempting to speed out of there. Her mind was racing with no end in sight. Her legs carried her out of the house to come face to face with the bitter chill of the night. 

She bit her lip and went to go down the stairs, her mind convincing her body to go as far away from here as her legs could take her. The image of blame and hatred on Maria’s face was vaguely there, never leaving and trying to push itself to full image in the front of her mind. Her breathing was uneven, the smoky mist rising into the air and dissipating. 

A hand grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her back. She flipped into defensive mode, ripping her wrist out of reach and turning to look at Clint, desperation in her voice as she shouted. “I can’t do it again, Clint! I can’t go through that again! I can’t do this… Not again.” 

Her legs crumbled with all of her walls, leaving her to fall to her knees as she cried. Anger, sadness, fear, guilt, depression. Her mind swam through all of the emotions at once, the Maria from her dream still swimming alongside it all. 

She let herself cry into Clint as he took hold of her again, shaking and wishing for it all to end. She wanted it all to go away. No matter what it took, she’d do anything to make this pain disappear. 

“I can’t see her again,” she whispered in defeat, her eyes staring up at the ocean of stars above her. “I’ll never see the real her again… I’m just stuck with what I remember or what my sick and twisted brain conjures up…” 

Clint’s grip on her never loosened, only tightening as he brushed a hand through her hair softly. Both of them kneeling in the cold wet grass with the moon above them, neither making any movement or sign of heading back in soon. 

She would fall into his embrace and stay there for hours. Even as the both of them began to grow cold and their noses began to run, they were not heading back inside. Not until Natasha was ready to. 

---

“What about this one?” Natasha asked, uncertain between her choices. “I mean, this one has a better shine to it… but I think that would disappear rather quickly, you know? It also deals less damage than option four, but-” she stopped, scowling as her eyes flickered up to Maria. 

The woman in question was leaning against the wall, her lips pressed together and her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her frustration line was apparent on her forehead, something Natasha usually loved seeing. 

She groaned, “Come on, I can’t make this decision by myself! I am struggling, Maria.” 

“I’ve noticed,” the woman replied bitterly, not once looking up in Natasha’s direction. 

Natasha sighed, “Will you at least give me your opinion?” 

Maria finally snapped her eyes open and glared Natasha down, “I have. About four times now!” 

“Just… one more time?” Natasha pleaded, her voice becoming slightly small at the enraged expression on Maria’s face. “Last time. I swear!” 

The brunette rolled her eyes and let them shut softly before sighing, clear impatience being released with it. “Fine. Screw option five, you’ll only get it dirty in a couple of hours of use. The first one is purely inoperable in quick situations, the second too small for your hand. Go with the third one, please.” 

“You… didn’t mention anything about the fourth one.” 

Maria reopened her eyes, everything that had been released now crawling back. “Natasha Romanoff! I swear to god, I will pull the birth certificate name out!” 

“You wouldn’t,” Natasha smirked slyly. 

Maria clenched her jaw. “Natalia.” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her, daring her wife to continue. 

“Alianovna.” 

“Maria,” Natasha released a warning hiss. 

“Romanova. If you do NOT make a selection in the next two seconds, I am going to walk out and leave your ass here to find your own way back to the helicarrier.” 

The redhead grumbled as she grabbed the third option from its case, sliding it in place of her old weapon that had been destroyed in the last mission. “Fine, no need to get so rude.” 

Maria froze. “Rude?! Really? Rude? I will show you rude in a second-” 

“Relax,” Natasha urged, smiling at the frustration Maria was struggling through, “I made a decision. We can go back to work now.” 

It was a very tense journey back to the helicarrier with Maria constantly flashing cold hard glares in the direction of Natasha. 

Natasha could only chuckle, striving to irritate her wife more often than not. 

---

Things changed after that night, something silently hanging over the air. It was like a painting of suicide hung up on a wall filled of family photos. Something so dark that it begins to bleed its way through the white paint. Permanent black ink staining through the walls and dripping to the floor like blood from a bullet wound. 

There is eerie silence all around. But even within the silence is pain screaming so loudly it becomes something even the deaf could hear. It was an ultimate build up of doom. A dark shadow walking up the porch and knocking on the door with malintentions. 

But instead, everyone within the crumbling home was choosing to turn their backs to it. Unaware of the dangers their actions would potentially cause. 

The dance was beautiful, the rhythm smooth and unbroken, flowing with what felt to be magic. The routine was clear, it was performed to perfection. No one took one step out of their paths. Each keeping their rhythm and twirling, whirling, spinning with ease. Their faces were pale with a complexion of seriousness and focus. 

It took one to step out. She dared move incorrectly. Her body and mind screamed out in pain with the improvised movements. The glass that surrounded them would shatter and break, shards dancing and dropping. Her arms and legs moved graciously, no matter how deep the cut, she continued with her pain. 

They had missed it. 

It had been two months of Natasha staying at the Barton’s, when Clint grew suspicious. Her eyes showed tragedy, her actions blossoming into irresponsible and unpredictable. It was tiny things that did not fit the routine. 

The first one was when she began to disappear at dawn. Neither him or Laura knew where the redhead would disappear off to, nor when she would return. They noticed her avoidance of breakfast, but they weren’t to mention a word. They kept the small notice to themselves. 

The second step was when he finally grew tired of her ghost tendencies. He trekked out into the woods behind the farm, the only place he hadn’t checked previously. He would hear soft hums, attracting him into the general direction. His boots made too much noise as they crunched everything beneath them. The loudness of his presence would cease the hums, the only noise of birds screeching above. 

There she would sit, her knees tucked against her hollow chest, her chin resting on one of her knees as her eyes were glued to the creek that flowed in front of her. Her bare feet were in the creek, not a sign of cold evident on her body, even in the thirty degree weather that surrounded them. She had no reaction, her eyes the only part of her that appeared cold. They were distant; gone. 

It would take Clint thirty minutes to finally convince her to head back inside. He had to turn his back when she settled her weight onto her feet and stumbled. He could not imagine how numb her feet had to have been to leave her, someone who never tripped without purpose, to stumble. 

It felt like herding lost cattle back into their pen. She rarely glanced over at him, her hands holding her boots as she continued to walk forth barefoot. 

A few days later was when the bruises began to appear. He had to take a double take when he first saw them. She had reached forward to grab the dish of corn, her arm presenting the bluish-purple spots that formed on her wrist and bicep. 

He knew what they were from. He knew Natasha’s form of holding herself together: it was quite literal. He could picture her in her room, fingers pressed so harshly against skin, it would almost look like she was carving her bare fingers a path in her arms. 

The last and final step was when she stopped catching herself. He knew it had come to an immediate stop the morning he woke to her falling down the stairs. Natasha would never let herself do such a thing, even if she truly did trip, she would stop herself and force herself to stand even when her body didn’t want to. 

She was finally giving up, and Clint couldn’t watch it anymore. 

He rushed out of his bedroom, the woman smiling as she laid flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She had truly lost it. He rushed down the steps, trying to pull her up, but she fell to dead weight. 

“Come on, Natasha,” he urged her to sit up, wanting to check her over for injuries. She just stared at him, no emotion in her eyes. They were empty. Finally just as empty as her chest had been. 

He sighed with no response. “That’s it, we're taking you to see a therapist.” She finally reacted by pulling herself away from him, a glare sharp and pointed at him. 

“You’re going to do no such thing, I tripped!” Natasha whisper-shouted at him, aware the entire house was still sleeping. 

He shook his head at her. “No you didn’t. The Natasha I know would never let herself fall down a flight of stairs, and you know it.” 

She had finally begun to dance in the raining glass, pushing forth as the shards pierced her skin and her blood dripped to stain everything beneath her. Everything Maria and her had built up over the years. The castle Maria had lended a hand to form, she was burning it to the ground, but remained unaware. 

She had no words to answer him with, tears threatening to leak from her tight grasp. Maybe she had been holding on too tightly. She clenched her jaw and refused to look Clint in the eyes. 

“I’m going to make a call, you settle yourself in the living room. If you so much as move, I will glue your ass to the floor.”

He had finally found the number he was looking for when he peaked back into the living room. The woman he had given such a simple instruction to, was nowhere to be seen. He walked back to the kitchen, tossed his phone on the counter and began to rummage through the drawers. Just as he had suspected, three rolls of duct tape lay in the back. He grabbed them and tossed two of them onto the couch as he stormed up the stairs. 

Just as he had suspected, the redhead shut her bedroom door behind her as she tried to silently sneak back toward the stairs. He crossed his arms, glaring at her. She finally noticed him and her eyes widened and then dropped to what was in his hand. 

“Can I ask why you have duct tape?” she asked, eyeing him like a potential threat. 

He smiled devilishly. “Nope.” 

---

He hung up the phone, satisfied with the appointment he had managed to set up for his best friend. He turned back to her, “Well, it’s set up for tomorrow at ten. So, be up early.” 

Her eyes were filled with venom, an anger burning so brightly he usually would hide from her at these moments. But instead, the woman stared at him from her spot against the wall, the duct tape securing her against it. He honestly was proud of himself. She could easily break out of it, but remained stationary with her temporary spot of being taped to the wall. 

“Clint Barton! I left to go pee! Get me off the damn wall!” she finally began to wriggle against her restraints, “You better fucking run because I am seriously going to kill you when I get out of this!” 

Both of them froze when footsteps sounded from the stairs, approaching the living room. 

“Why am I staring at Natasha… duct taped to the wall?” Clint flinched at the sound of his wife’s voice… he had hoped she would have slept through all of this. Natasha smiled brightly and waved both her hands at Laura, as Clint had duct taped them together to help aid him when she fought back. 

Clint scowled at Natasha. “If you would have just kept your mouth closed-”

“You could’ve taped my mouth shut, but it seems you forgot a very important step,” she spoke, a fire burning brightly in her voice. “Whose fault is that really?” 

“I gave her one simple instruction, yet she chose to ignore it,” he said as he turned back to his wife, “So, I went through with what I threatened.” 

“No… you threatened to glue my ass to the floor, not duct tape it to a wall,” she argued, smiling wider when Laura crossed her arms and was then giving Clint a dirty look. 

Laura sighed, “You have five minutes to get the dangerous redhead off of my wall before I tape you right next to her.”

---

“Lovely to meet you, Natasha. My name is Iris,” the woman stretched her hand out, which Natasha promptly took and shook gently from her seat. “So, the woman at the front desk went over everything with you already and you’re cleared, so we’re going to skip all of those steps and go straight into getting to know each other. Is that okay?” 

Natasha studied the woman. Her body language gave off pure generosity and empathy, nothing about her was off or with intention. She wore a red suit, fitting well with her dark skin and making her brown eyes appear brighter. Natasha didn’t know what to truly think of the woman, only receiving good reflections from her. She swallowed nervously and nodded. 

“I’m going to tell you that anything you say in here will remain confidential, unless you plan to hurt someone or yourself. So, if you feel comfortable to share something, please do,” Iris smiled, her voice sickly sweet. “Now, I’m going to start this off with you deciding. Would you prefer to start, or me?” 

She cleared her throat and blinked a couple of times. “You,” she croaked quietly, her eyes never leaving the woman, searching for a sign of anything. 

“Alright. I was born in Boston, Massachusetts and grew up there until I ended up going to college in Chicago, Illinois to focus on psychology and getting my degree. I have two siblings, an older brother and a younger sister. They both live back in Boston to this day,” Iris spoke, the lines appearing well rehearsed to Natasha. 

“Why are you here? You have family in Boston, and then you graduated from Illinois… yet you’re here.” 

The woman smiled, “I guess something just had drawn me in here. I’ve been working here for roughly seven years now.” 

“Seven years,” Natasha relaxed in her seat, letting herself lean back, “Sounds like a long time.” She moved her eyes around the room, taking in the neutral grey walls and the artistic paintings hung on the walls. Iris sat in the chair opposing hers, in between them a coffee table with different trinkets scattered all over it. 

“Sounds like it, but truly, it isn’t. Now, what do you do for a living?” Iris asked, clasping her hands together in her lap after she crossed her legs. Natasha wanted to laugh, but only shook her head, not sparing a glance in the woman’s direction. 

“I’m not exactly an unknown figure… so I guess the answer would be avenge?” There was a questioning sound behind her sentence, her mind disagreeing heavily with that description. 

Her eyes remained studying the room around her when Iris asked, “What do you really think your job is?” 

“Killing, stealing, protecting, ruining other peoples lives, and failing to do the second one.” 

Silence began to spread over the room, Natasha feeling smothered by it. She took a deep breath, trying to push that picture out of her head. She hated it. She hated the way her entire body sunk just at the remembrance. The reminder of just how horrible she was at protecting. She couldn’t even protect what was once her’s, let alone people she didn’t even know. 

Iris leaned forward in her seat, Natasha heard the way the cushion moved slightly. “Why do you say that?” she asked. 

She snorted. “Which part?” 

“You said you fail at the second descriptor. Why do you say that?” 

Just the simple question made Natasha tense, her mind flashing with more and more memories racing in and out. She closed her eyes as an attempt to make it stop. She wanted it all to stop. She was tired. She wanted to be left alone. 

“Because I have proven to fail at the part,” Natasha murmured and ignored the slight burn in her throat. 

“Tell me what you think proves that you failed at that exact part.” 

Natasha swallowed nervously, trying to stop the way her eyes began to tear up. “I lost the one person I loved more than absolutely anything… because I couldn’t protect them. I failed to protect them.” 

There was a brief moment of silence. “Can you tell me about them?” 

“Why?” 

“The way you just said all of that, it held so much love within it. I want to know who made you fall so incredibly in love. I want to know about them, if you’ll tell me,” Iris explained, genuinity strung through her words like the fairy lights Maria had hung loosely off the ceiling to help ease Natasha back to comfort after a tough mission in complete darkness. Guess she had somewhere to start. 

She sighed softly, her throat accidentally making a clicking sound through it. “I went on a mission about… a year ago? I don’t know. But, I spent so much time in the dark, I never realized how truly horrifying the dark was until I made it back home. My-” she stopped herself, ignoring the way her voice almost cracked with the word that almost slipped from her mouth, “The love of my life, they hung these fairy lights in our bedroom that were tacked to the wall and hung underneath the ceiling. Just to ease me back until I was comfortable enough to sleep without any light source.” 

“It sounds like your love was mutual,” Iris responded. 

Natasha nodded. “Yeah,” she laughed lightly, “And then she made a comment about how tacky it looked and ended up spending hours upon hours of her down time trying to fix it.” The memory blinked before her eyes, fading just as quickly as it had appeared. “I think she spent roughly three hours trying to perfect it as I tried to scrub the mission off of my body in the shower.” 

“Was there ever a point where you realized you had fallen for them?” 

Natasha sat there, realizing just how much she loved these questions. She had never been asked these questions. She had never once talked about the answers to these questions. She felt a fleeting moment of joy over reliving these memories with someone else, not just stuck in them by herself. 

“I think it was a couple months into us dating. We were in a meeting where she was giving all of these orders to these agents, going over a mission summary, and assigning the roles. She spoke with such confidence and…” Natasha paused, smiling softly to herself as she imagined it playing out. “Everyone listened to her. No one dared to question her orders or react in an inappropriate way. She was just so… powerful. At that moment, I knew I was in love with her. All of her words had gone right over my head as I was stuck just admiring her and her work. She was beautifully intelligent. No one, or nothing, could ever compare to her.” 

“She sounds perfect,” Iris’s comment made Natasha flinch, the spy not realizing she had mentioned Maria’s pronouns. She clenched her jaw but ignored the sting from the memories. 

“She was.” 

“Can I ask what happened to her?” 

The tears were back. “Tough mission, she was assigned to direct us on field. She got shot… protecting me and one of the other agents. I was supposed to be the one to protect her. She was more important than me. I was nothing but an ordinary agent with a special name stamped onto my back that only reminded me of my nightmares. She was brilliant, talented, beautiful… perfect. She was needed.” 

“You don’t view yourself as needed?” 

“No. I wasn’t. I am easily replaceable.” 

“Do you really believe that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you view yourself as replaceable?” 

“I was taught that I was. I am well aware that I am, and I have been more than once.” 

Natasha finally looked up to see eye-to-eye with Iris. The woman stared at her, appearing puzzled. 

“You have been?” the woman questioned, her eyebrows lowering slightly. 

“I am a black widow,” Natasha responded, her genuine answer. 

“I know you’re the black widow, but I don’t quite see how that tells of you being replaced.” 

“I’m not the black widow. I am a black widow. There are plenty more there to replace my spot when I make a wrong turn. It has been my life for as long as I’ve known. You are never the only one. There are many waiting for you to make a mistake and take your spot. 

“I am a black widow that can and will be replaced. Another will fill the opening I leave behind. One may kill me for it. I’ve killed many for it myself.” 

“You know, Clint, your friend that called in for you, he said you probably wouldn’t talk to me the entire session. I’d like to thank you for proving him wrong. I feel you have a trust in me with you opening up, and I want you to know I am grateful I am able to provide a safe space for you,” Iris began to talk, Natasha tensing slightly, “Everything you say here will remain confidential, not a word outside of this room with anyone except you. But sadly, our hour is up. I hope to see you soon, Natasha.” 

Oh poor Iris, if she only knew Natasha trusted no one. No one except for that one person. Their death only proved that she really couldn’t trust anyone. She just didn’t care anymore. 

---

“Natasha, come on,” Maria’s voice grew frustrated on the other side of the door, the one separating the two. The redhead sighed, staring at herself in the mirror, studying every aspect of her own face. She felt like an imposter, like it wasn’t truly her. Someone else was wearing her skin and claiming her name. 

She almost chuckled when she heard a loud thunk against the other side of the door, already knowing the woman on the other side had hit her forehead against it. 

“Natasha, please. You know it’s mandatory after a mission like that,” she began to plead. Natasha simply rolled her eyes, the unknown dramatics that came with Maria sometimes, always revealed themselves away from prying eyes. 

Then came a loud sliding noise, which actually caused her to laugh quietly. It was then followed by a very quiet ‘ow’ that was not meant to be heard. 

She sighed, “I am not going to therapy. I don’t need them tearing into my mind and ruining all of the progress I have made without them.” 

“They’re not going to tear your mind apart. Besides, anyone in their right mind knows that is completely impossible,” Maria countered. “One appointment, that’s all I ask for. You go to one session, if it’s not for you? Then you don’t have to go again.” 

“I’m not talking to a stranger about my life.” 

“She’s not a stranger. Her name is Georgia, she’s sweet and kind and knows what she is doing.” 

“She’s named after a state.” 

The silence from the other side made Natasha turn away from the mirror and look at the door. 

“Yeah… she is. But that’s not the point! You just have to talk to her for an hour, then you're done! You can go back to moping and pouting behind a locked bathroom door while staring at yourself in the mirror.” 

“I am not staring at myself in the mirror!” Natasha huffed in frustration, her eyes glancing back to the mirror, to herself. 

“Really?” The doubt in Maria’s voice made Natasha groan. 

“Did you really do research on this therapist to try and make me go and talk to her?” 

There was a long pause of silence, Natasha almost repeated herself to make sure Maria had heard her. “No, I already know this stuff because I talk to her.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” she sighed, “Just once. Please.” 

Natasha wanted to slam her face into the sink, but decided against it. Rather see a therapist than be sent to medbay. “Fine.” 

Just as Maria predicted, Natasha went. She returned just as quickly. The bathroom door relocked, and the woman studied herself in the mirror, but this time she was crying as quietly as possible. She promised herself to never go back and let someone break through her mind and make her that vulnerable ever again. 

Never again. 

---

“Clint told me he had to search for you to bring you to this session. Can I ask you why?” 

Natasha was back in Iris’s office. She was exhausted, not having been able to sleep over the past couple of days. Her eyes gazed lazily back over her surroundings, not as observant as the first time. This time was just to try and get her mind to pick and focus on something, to stop the constant yelling in the back of her head. 

She took in a deep breath, releasing it out shakily. Her hands twitched and her left leg bounced as she felt her mind phase in and out of focus. 

“Natasha?” Iris tried to get her attention, only a little successful when she looked away from the walls to look at her. 

“Sorry,” Natasha finally spoke, her voice an empty whisper, “I wanted to get away.” 

“You wanted to get away? What from?” Iris asked, intrigued but slightly concerned. 

She leaned back, her entire body craving sleep. She wanted to sink so far into the couch she wouldn’t be noticeable anymore. “Everything.” 

Iris shifted, her arms resting on her legs as she leaned forward. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?” 

“I close my eyes and all I see is her…” Natasha whispered. She was tired of feeling broken. Why did Maria have to make her vulnerable, just to go and steal her heart and leave her hollow? Leave her broken and shattered? It wasn’t fair. “I just want to see her one more time outside of my own memory or the picture frames. One more time of her in realness. Just once,” her voice broke, giving away the emotions she tried so desperately to sweep off of the floor. But they just kept falling and breaking. 

“Do you have the same dream every night?” 

“Yeah,” Natasha confirmed, nodding, “She dies and I feel guilt and blame, reminded it’s my fault I will never hold her in my arms ever again. It didn’t start like that… originally my dreams were just any memory I had of her. Then Clint brought me to his, and they started the next day.” Her eyes felt heavy, breathing was exhausting her. 

“You work in a field where it isn’t uncommon to be diagnosed with PTSD. Have you ever been diagnosed?” Iris asked, pulling her laptop from the table into her lap, her fingers jumping over her keyboard, typing something. Natasha shook her head. “Have you ever heard of something called ‘survivor’s guilt’?” 

“Natasha, do you blame yourself for the death of the woman you loved?” 

She froze, her jaw clenching, then unclenching. Her lips trembled slightly, the way her eyes fell to her lap gave away her answer. 

Iris nodded, “Natasha, I believe you are struggling with survivor’s guilt, which is usually paired strongly with PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. This could be what is triggering your nightmares…” 

“It’s not just nightmares.” Natasha muttered quietly under her breath. 

Iris looked up from her laptop, “What?” 

“Certain things that happen around me… It causes me to fall into my head and I am face-to-face with these memories.” 

“Would you describe them as flashbacks? As if you are reliving them?” Natasha nodded. “That’s another common symptom triggered by PTSD.” 

---

“Good morning, Commander,” Natasha approached the woman as she worked, leaning over her work station and shouting orders. She would lie and say she didn’t once glance at the woman’s ass, but it was an irrelevant factor. It was her daily activity to annoy the woman. 

The Commander sighed, her fingers tapping away at the screen in front of her. “Romanoff,” she greeted, a warning tone heavy in the name. 

Natasha chose to ignore the heavy annoyance in the way she was addressed. “How’d you sleep? I happen to be in your dreams?” 

All movement of the Commander’s paused, her eyes closing for a second before sliding back open. She scowled, “Sadly, it does not appear so. Now, leave me to my work-” 

“Damn, cause you were in mine, Commander,” Natasha flirted, a smirk heavy on her lips. 

The brunette woman took in a deep breath, returning to typing things onto the screen. “That was an order, Agent.” 

“I think I remember your bed being really soft beneath me as you-” 

She was cut off immediately with the woman turning quickly to face Natasha. “You are to walk away right now and as far away from me as possible. That is a direct order. Any sign of ignoring my order, I will report it as insubordination.” 

---

“You ever heard of PTSD?” Maria asked, the blanket covering her naked torso as she stared up at the ceiling. Natasha couldn’t believe what had just happened, her dream became a reality. But here she was, post-orgasm, being asked about PTSD. 

Natasha turned onto her side to stare at the side of Maria’s face. “I have.” 

“I hope you never have to worry about making it through a day without remembering what caused it,” Maria murmured. “I know you have nightmares. Who wouldn’t with what you went through? But… I hope it doesn’t consume you during the day.” 

Natasha frowned slightly. “I’m a little confused here.” 

“Your file doesn’t have a single mention of PTSD. You’ve only mentioned nightmares every once in a while. I think you do have slight PTSD, but I don’t think it’s too extreme yet. I find it hard to believe you don’t have it, but if you truly don’t, I really hope you never have to experience it.” Maria’s voice broke into a whisper at the end. “For someone who has gone through so much, I don’t want to bear witness it tear you apart.” 

“I’m starting to think you care about me, Maria Hill,” Natasha murmured softly to the woman, not knowing how to react to her revelation. 

Maria finally turned over to stare into Natasha’s eyes. “Sometimes, I fall back to myself in Iraq. Sometimes I watch my team be shot down and killed again. And sometimes, it gets the best of me. They started as nightmares, but I ignored them for too long. So,” Maria sighed, her hand coming up to rest softly against Natasha’s cheek, “I face them during the day every once in a while. They’re the hardest things to come back from. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, especially, not you.” 

“You big sap,” Natasha smiled, “You don’t have to worry about me. Take care of yourself first, I got me covered.” Maria rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. Natasha loved that laugh. 

--- 

Natasha bit her lip. “Maria had PTSD… I remember her telling me, literally as we laid there after the first time we slept together,” she chuckled at the last part. That was before she had learned that post-orgasm Maria was incredibly caring and soft; vulnerable. 

“Maria was the woman you loved?” Iris asked. 

Natasha nodded and smiled. “She was Maria Hill. Army veteran. Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.. A protector to the vulnerable. A loud voice in the silence. And… my wife.”