Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanoff was lucky, very lucky. She was in the sublime position of having to recreate herself to deviate from the horrors of her previous persona. She was under contract to do so, as per the directive of her new management. S.H.I.E.L.D. had given her a choice – to live and to work for them, or to sit in a cell and work for no-one. Although Natasha Romanoff didn’t know it, Natalia Romanova thought that these bosses were the most humane she may ever have.

Released from her sixth mission debriefing, she was beginning to sense a pattern. There was no committee set to pounce on their exit from the boardroom. Nobody sent there to bash them into shape for the next mission; there was no beating at all, in fact. The handler had even suggested that she was surpassing all expectations. And that phrase did not accompany forced callisthenics to ensure her continued success.

There was training at S.H.I.E.L.D., but for the routine and daily exercises, the handlers left agents to their own devices. Natasha thus implemented the strict training schedule that Natalia always used, because she had decided that not everything about her needed to change. She often attended the shooting range to practise skills branded into her muscle memory, and ran miles as a method of relaxation.

“I’m going to buy lunch, are you in?” Hawkeye sent her a wink over his shoulder as the door he’d pushed open banged loudly against the wall. Another difference: clumsiness had been a punishable offence, but at S.H.I.E.L.D. it only illuminated mild discomfort from bosses. “I think we’ve earned pizza, don’t you?

Hawkeye was no equal to her in sparring, but he did present a good workout challenge. He was her new partner, until S.H.I.E.L.D. could decide on which team to place her with. He seemed sincerely eager to help her settle in, attempting to accompany her to drill sessions and to the canteen, where she would eat and he would talk about anything and everything. He hadn’t tried anything with her, and had insisted he would never do so as she was fifteen years his junior. Natalia had initially snorted, assuming it a joke. Her age had rarely stopped anyone in the past, but as time went on, it was beginning to look as though Hawkeye would hold himself to that promise. Both Natalia and Natasha were impressed.

She took the left turn to the cafeteria with him in agreement to pizza. The stuff they served wasn’t brilliant; Natalia knew this as she had eaten at pizzerias in Naples in her previous life. However, Natasha was in no position to complain. As far as she was concerned, the limp, cheesy, tomato bread was the most sinful concoction she had ever tasted. Natalia could allow her this minor wickedness.

Dodging the queue for the meal of the day (fish pie), Natasha plated up a slice and some salad, and found herself a bottle of orange juice. This was fast becoming her favourite drink – pulpy, sweet, sugary… She really shouldn’t be drinking it.

“Oh no, was that the last one?”

She whipped around. Who had managed to sneak up on her?

“Yeah, looks like it. Sorry Hill.” It was Hawkeye who spoke on Natasha’s behalf, as she found her teeth clenched shut and eyes cast downwards. “Nat, this is Agent Hill. She’s on Strike Team Beta.”

Natasha had never met anybody from that team, but of the all-female group Hawkeye had remarkably positive reviews. As Natasha dared to look up, she found flinty blue eyes on her. They shone in the low light, strikingly steady in their gaze.

Agent Hill surprised her; for one thing, she was extraordinarily tall – her head brushed the ceiling sign directing cafeteria goers to hot drinks. And she wore long dark hair pulled into a severe bun, standing straight as though poised for combat. But Natasha noted that Hill’s body looked feminine, and although her eyes were unyielding, she seemed to have a kind mouth. It quirked as Natasha observed it, and Hill’s expression turned almost thoughtful.

“Romanoff, is it? I’m Maria. How are you settling in?”

Strike Team Beta had returned just days previously from a three-month stint in an undisclosed location. These were the big dogs, as essential to the running of S.H.I.E.L.D. as the director’s right eye. Currently due to trial a position with either Strike Team Omega or possibly Sigma, Natasha could only look on and admire this team from afar.

“She’s great!” Hawkeye once again bounced into the conversation. He was a good man, Natasha reasoned, he struggled to keep his mouth shut, but she thought she could probably live with that. “Nat’s really fitting into the organisation well.”

Agent Hill smirked, and patiently cast her eyes back to Natasha. “Do you agree?”

“Ma’am.” Despite attempts to boost Natasha’s confidence in speaking up to superior officers, Natalia had not quite escaped the mind-set that she must remain invisible. Previously, when asked a direct question, she should have responded with the most concise answer. It was different now; Natasha had different expectations. She swallowed and braced herself. An ally would be good, she reasoned, in case any problems arose within this organisation. She could probably count on Hawkeye in an emergency, but Natasha knew he wasn’t quite as senior as this agent. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Hill was seemed genuinely nice.

She bolstered her courage, and held out the orange juice bottle.

Hill raised an eyebrow.

“If you want it…” Natasha shrugged her shoulders, lamely. Natalia was always en pointe in social situations, but Natasha hadn’t yet worked out how to react to other people.

“Thanks.” Hill took the bottle from her. She studied Natasha for a moment more before saying, “Come meet my team. You can bring Barton.”

It took Natasha a little while to compute that sentence. Barton was Hawkeye; Hawkeye was Barton. Barton was his name, but somehow he had managed to imprint his silly code-name on her brain. She huffed and made to follow. This would never happen to Natalia.

Chapter Text

Natasha’s first and critical observations of Strike Team Beta were obscured. She should have managed to assess the situation and aborted if necessary, all before they laid eyes on her. That was not an option any more. Natalia had never been one to blame other people, but this time she was certain the giant Agent Hill was at fault; never mind looking over her shoulder, she could barely even see around her.

“Team, this is Natasha Romanoff, Barton’s new partner.” Hill casually addressed her table; the response was stony expressions.

“That’s Bobbi Morse: she’s super at a honey trap. Victoria Hand: code-breaker supreme; and Melinda May,” Hill paused, smirked, and hissed: “She’s terrifying.”

Natalia thought she may have met Melinda May in her other life. She had the kind of face one doesn’t dare to forget. Natasha nodded to each woman in turn, pretending not to stare at May.

They were an interesting bunch: all clad in pristine blue uniform, sitting erect, with flawless poker faces, the women shared the image of a perfect combat team. It was their mannerisms that Natasha honed in on. Victoria Hand adjusted the glasses on her nose with one ungainly finger. Bobbi Morse flicked her smooth blonde hair with a lift of her right shoulder. Melinda May dashed her tongue over her bottom lip. Agent Hill blinked slowly, cat-like. All regarded Natasha with a curiosity venturing into disdain.

“You’re the Black Widow.” It was Bobbi Morse who made the first remark. She glared daggers at Hawkeye, before flitting her gaze to Natasha – it wasn’t friendly.

“Yes, one of them.” Natasha responded, succinctly. Well done, Natalia thought inside her head, but Natasha wondered whether these women would consider that tone arrogant. She back-pedalled swiftly, reasoning to Natalia that this was allowed, for she was still learning. “There are others more notorious.”

“But you cannot have been a Widow for long.” Victoria Hand spoke, coldly. “You’re a child.”

Natasha shrugged. Yes, she supposed, in years alive she was young, but she had been an adult for a while now. In America, she would not reach ‘full maturity’ for more than four years. Until that date, her S.H.I.E.L.D. contract assured stronger values in dealing with minors than her previous workplaces. The fact that Natalia had been presented a contract at all spoke volumes.

Victoria Hand blinked once, and turned her head left to Melinda May.

And Melinda May pursed her lips.

“Well, enjoy your lunch!”

A hand snaked around Natasha’s arm, and she almost lost her balance as Hawkeye dragged her from the team’s table. He looked over his shoulder once before stuffing himself into a corner, and disappearing behind a pillar.

“If you see that face again, run!” He advised her, grabbing at his pizza. “There are rumours – May’s the one who made Sitwell cry once.”

Just the once? Natalia wanted to ask. She had assessed Jasper Sitwell already. It was no surprise that a strong woman could make him blub. She only wished she could recreate that incident in the future.

Tables in the cafeteria were in dispersed with pillars and rubbish bins, but Natasha was seated in a vantage point. Though Hawkeye from his place couldn’t see Strike Team Beta’s table, Natasha could. They looked a lot more animated now. Melinda May was joshing Bobbi Morse who had slumped down in her chair, and Victoria Hand was laughing, leaning an elbow on the table. Agent Hill, central to the goings-on, had her gaze on the ceiling as if day-dreaming. It was quite the picture. Friendship had never been part of Natalia’s life. Colleagues were either for back-up or training purposes, and in the field, she had worked alone.

Perhaps that was due for a change.

“Would you like to come off-ship with me next Saturday?” Hawkeye spoke through a mouthful of something auburn.

Her pizza was now chilled and a little congealed, but he did not seem deterred by his.

He had clearly taken note of her expression: “No, it’s okay, I could probably get you a pass from Coulson – he’s a good guy. I’ll tell him it’s to do with your educational studies.” He winked, roguishly.

Natasha wasn’t supposed to be off-ship during her trial period. Until the bosses had passed her for team participation, she was restricted to educational trips only. As a minor in the country, she had to be accompanied by a guardian both due to S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol and, bizarrely, for her own safety. She doubted she would be allowed to leave with Hawkeye.

“We could say it’s part of your cultural lessons, because it is cultural: I’m going to see a game. Baseball. You’ve heard of baseball, right? The Yankees are playing.” He swallowed noisily, and gave her a hopeful smile. “Do you fancy it?”

Natasha provisionally agreed. She hadn’t yet been off-ship. The voice of Natalia in her head suggested it would be a good idea to test the boundaries of what did and didn’t count in terms of education. If she knew the system, she could use it to her advantage.

Natalia had her own rationale, but Natasha had never seen any league sports games. She decided it would be a good experience: it may help her integrate with Americans in the future. This decision had very little to do with how, just for a moment, she wished that her partnership with Hawkeye resembled the camaraderie she saw at the Strike Team Beta table.

She continued to watch them. They stayed in place for another twenty-minutes before heading in the direction of the deck. Natasha sighed, it hadn’t been a disastrous first encounter. Maybe more contact would follow.

Hawkeye hoovered up his lunch, while she could only pick at hers. Her appetite had been swallowed up by the cavernous cafeteria. She felt nervous, and somehow... remorseful?

Chapter Text

As the week progressed, Natasha had little chance to further scrutinise Strike Team Beta. However, she spent an inordinate amount of time feeling contrite about her first impression. Natalia was not happy with this. Natalia didn’t do guilt.

With Hawkeye, she accepted two further missions. Neither were complex, just sniper shouts, and Natasha pushed herself into speaking more openly to with him. She discovered that if she chattered, she did not spend as much time fixating on feelings. And so, she became as friendly as she was able. The two exchanged recipes for chicken on an overnighter in Zaragoza, and disagreed on music tastes in Hanover. He indulged her by creating silly jokes, and she called him Barton not Hawkeye.

She was bestowed his first name to use: ‘Clint’.

She evaded its use.

Though Natasha did not register it at first, she did feel she was beginning to enjoy her partnership with Barton. He was goofy, and caring; he was an awesome shot, and always did his best to complete a mission. He made her feel comfortable. But as much as she liked her time with him, Natasha was not expecting the dent in her contentment when Barton answered his door on Saturday morning.

The Helicarrier had touched down into lush green fields before Natasha had even awoken. She experienced the luxury of watching an orange sun rising through trees and not clouds, and was able to brush her teeth visually exploring the scenery.

This trial period S.H.I.E.L.D. had set for her was a true test of mental strength. She had never before been held captive in the sky. Underground, yes; in buildings or shacks, yes; on a flying machine, no. She was rather looking forward to spending some time on the ground, beginning to feel slightly light-headed. This sensation was known locally as carrier-sickness; not a hugely creative name, Barton told her, but a very real condition, with over 83% of new recruits suffering nausea and dizziness in their first months.

Natalia was disgusted to think that her body’s reaction was something that the most junior of agents would experience. But, as Natasha was able to reassure her, having one weakness would only make her human. She was stronger in other ways. The first tests S.H.I.E.L.D. put her through were their basic- and junior-level agent training courses. She had, of course, aced them.

To avoid the embarrassment of so-called-by-Barton ‘jelly legs’ (the way she would feel after walking on solid ground again), Natasha had taken some medicine before leaving her room. She was out of her regulation jumpsuit, and wearing the only civilian clothes she owned: jeans and a sweatshirt. Her sneakers squeaked on the polished floors. She felt as prepared as possible, and delighted in discerning that her walk through the grey-walled corridors was not as oppressing as usual.

Unfortunately, this pleasant morning buzz shattered when Barton appeared in his doorway bare-chested. Behind him, clothes were strewn from the lobby to bedroom. The lights were all on, and a pile of unopened S.H.I.E.L.D. issued food containers sat in a corner. There was no baseball paraphernalia in sight.

“Coulson’s put a shout out on a nursemaid. I’m off to Hokkaido for a linguistics conference.” He explained, while zipping a suitcase. “I’m sorry Nat.” He shoved his way into a t-shirt and gave her shoulder a nudge. “Do you want to take the tickets and go yourself?”

Natasha inadvertently recoiled at this suggestion. A baseball game – alone – with no back-up? No, thank you. She didn’t care to understand the rules for this one game, and would have preferred Barton’s presence.

Natalia was no stranger to turning tides, and was able to intercept the feelings of hurt before Natasha caught onto them. She did miss breathing fresh air, but it was not Barton’s fault he had been chosen for a job. He looked gloomy; she should rectify that.

“You can give the tickets to someone else.” She told him, “We’ll go together another time.” With him, she was learning to string sentences together, learning not to shy away from longer answers. What she said seemed to help, and Barton’s smile brightened considerably.

“Thanks, kid.” He often used this expression, but Natasha had decided for him, she would let her usual retort slide. He hefted his bag and regarded her. “Do you think you could do me a favour?”

She tilted her head to show she was listening.

“Try to get talking to another agent – or group of agents – preferably one of the teams you might yet be working in.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. But I don’t like the thought of you eating at our little lunch table with nobody else around!”

Natalia had many years’ experience of solitude, she knew she would be fine. Nevertheless, it would be a shame to have to make a U-Turn on Natasha’s social training. Especially as Barton had spent so much of his valuable free-time teaching her his Americanisms. She owed it to him to put them to use.

“I will try.” She afforded him.

His beaming smile was worth these endeavours.

“And don’t worry about missing your day out,” He added, slinging a laptop bag over his shoulder. “I sorted something with Coulson. Go meet him on the main deck at 0900.” He ushered her out the room, and locked his door. “That’s in fifteen minutes. Long enough for a hug!”

To her utmost surprise, she found herself tugged into an embrace. Barton was good at this, she noted. He pulled her in close, tightly, briefly. As he let her go, he knocked his fist into her shoulder and told her goodbye. She watched him leave, unable to work the words from her mouth.

Chapter Text

At 0900 hours, Natasha was on the main deck – a grand space with control rooms at one end, and at the other, a wall of windows. From here a team of pilots controlled the flight path of the Helicarrier; or they were supposed to: Natasha could have sworn she saw one member of the team not-so-covertly playing Pac-Man. She had joined Agent Coulson, both sitting at a large conference table in one of the side rooms. He spent this time with her alternating between regarding her over a pile of manila folders and checking his watch.

Some minutes after she entered the room, he muttered dispassionately: “Late.”

Natasha knew not whom they were waiting for, but the delay gave her ample opportunity to survey this superior officer. He was a Strike Team Alpha veteran; he ranked at Level 9 (only a handful of the main bosses were this standard). She took note of his well-pressed suit and tie; he was meticulous. And, also balding. She recognised his lip curl tick from Barton’s zealous impersonation in Hanover. Each corner of his mouth flicked up diagonally towards the opposite nasal passage, and at the same moment, Coulson would sniff as though his nose was irritated, and sigh. Barton had that imitation nailed.

It was the way that other agents moved around him that signified Coulson’s importance to proceedings. Every entrance to the room was preceded by a knock and an inclination of the officer’s head. Each item placed into Coulson’s hand was done so with two hands. Officers closed and opened the door gently and quietly. Nobody spoke unless they had Coulson’s full attention.

Coulson just oozed decorum. He was obviously in charge of this deck. With every new file passed his way by a junior officer, his eyes danced and twinkled. The files were tombs. He seemed to delight in opening each cover and surveying the contents page. He almost bounced when a spiral bound organiser came his way.

“You’ll be heading off-ship with Special Agents May and Hand.” At 0913 hours, Coulson addressed her for the first time. Having cleared the room of all runners and junior agents. He surveyed his team on the deck, before meeting her eyes with a steady gaze. “I have arranged some activities we think you will benefit from.” He checked his watch again and tutted. “I believe their morning meeting has overrun.”

Natasha nodded, processing this. She would be spending the day with Strike Team Beta’s Melinda May and Victoria Hand. That wasn’t awful – perhaps she would be able to rectify their initial impressions of her. Natalia groaned inside, 'why are you worrying about their impressions, they are nothing to you!' Natasha was able to ignore her.

What would these activities be? If Coulson became this excited at his reading material, what would be his taste in educational studies? She may need to steel herself for some boredom.

Agents May and Hand were obviously going to be working today. She briefly wondered whether to be flattered that S.H.I.E.L.D. was sending two of their best agents to keep an eye on her, but mostly hoped that they could enjoy the day. It wouldn’t be a much of a day-off for Natasha if she had to keep herself in check around the two senior agents.

When they arrived, however, she sensed a little bit of mutiny towards Agent Coulson. Victoria Hand wore an expression of exasperation, and Melinda May, of unspeakable frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that, Phil, we ran here!” Agent May was growling before she was even inside the room. She did not knock, nor did she wait to be invited in. She hissed as he raised an eyebrow. “Fury wanted to grill Bobbi on her medical report. She’s signed off for- Oh!“ She had noticed Natasha. “Hello?”

“I think you’ve met Agent Romanoff, Melinda?” Agent Coulson finally disregarded his folders and stood to green the newcomers. “Barton said he introduced you.”

“Actually, it was Maria.” Agent Hand murmured. “Hello, Romanoff.”

Both women were slightly windswept and breathless. They slumped into seats at the table and looked to Coulson for direction; he did not disappoint.

“She is your mission for today.” He told them, and in doing so nearly flattened Natasha’s self-assurance.

Well, that explained everything. She was just an assignment. She probably wouldn’t be able to interact with the two agents. They were working.

It was a cruel joke, Natasha thought, Coulson substituting friendly Barton with these robotic special agents. But, maybe she was never meant to have a day-off. Maybe it was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s way of reminding her who was in charge.

'You shouldn’t be surprised,' Natalia chided. 'They were never going to let you out to enjoy yourself. You’re only here for the job, not to be indulged.'

She should be grateful, Natasha reasoned. So far, life here had been good. Nevertheless, she steeled herself for the special agents’ response. Melinda May and Victoria Hand were giving Agent Coulson identical frowns, but neither said a word.

“Here is a list of suitable activities we have researched for her.” He tugged a lone piece of paper from the stack on his desk. “Choose which you would like to visit before leaving the ship, and give this to Agent Solomons on your way out – he will confirm your attendance.”

With that, Coulson turned on his heel and left the room. He did not spare Natasha another glance.

Victoria Hand cleared her throat, and took Coulson’s vacated seat to Natasha’s immediate left.

“Well, Romanoff, what do you think looks good?”

Natasha blinked in bewilderment. They were going to let her choose?

“Come on, have a look.” Hand continued, “Mel, I think I need some coffee.” She barely hid an obnoxious yawn, offering up the question. “Does that machine work?”

“It’s flashing.” Melinda May conceded. The machine stood at the far side of the room, but as she was closest, she had no choice but to inspect it. Sardonically, she asked “Do you want a coffee, Victoria?”

“Yes please!”

Natasha felt May’s eyes on her before she could look up to meet them.

“Coffee, Natasha?”

“No, thank you.”

May had called her Natasha… That was two now from Strike Team Beta who had forgone her surname. Barton said it was the American way of addressing friends. Though she knew they were not friends, she wondered if they one day may be.

“I can’t function without coffee,” Hand confided. “All this is just one big, unintelligible mess.” She gestured vaguely towards Coulson’s brief. “Although it probably is anyway if Solomons wrote it.” She sent May a conspiratorial grin. “You’ve got to decide what to do, Romanoff. I’m still asleep, and Mel’s being useful.”

Melinda May sent Natasha a long, drawn-out eyeroll, but offered her own affirmative, that she should be the one to pick out their activities. And so, Natasha settled into reading the list.

Chapter Text

Natasha’s first experience of New York life was the subway: hot, cramped, and sweaty. It seemed like her senses were in overload for the first five minutes – and Natalia didn’t even have the gall to speak up against her. She too seemed to be suffering. The Red Room would be displeased: their best reduced to a hot, blithering mess by a subway carriage. Natasha wished she’d thought to bring some water.

If May or Hand ever thought disparagingly of her reaction, they did not show it. Since leaving the meeting room on Coulson’s deck, both agents had been stoic and poker-faced. They spoke to her only when appropriate: regarding which travel tickets to buy, or at which stop to exit. They were like bodyguards in a way as, standing at a diminutive 130cm tall, she was highly liable to becoming lost or separated from them. Neither gave in any way when it came to standing arrangements with her. Even if a person had wanted to reach her, they could not have done so, for the two agents had so effectively cornered her in the carriage.

It wasn’t a pleasant ride, and Natasha stepped off the car at 81 Street station with her stomach rebelling. Perhaps the single tangerine at breakfast time had been a mistake. Barton had assured her she shouldn’t eat before a game, that the snacks at the venue would be worth the wait. She now regretted that decision.

“You look pale.” Hand’s amusement was almost palpable. Her eyes creased in the corners and she bit her upper lip. “Was that your first time on the subway?”

Natasha did not blush, but she did nod. It was Natalia’s first time, also.

“Don’t worry,” Hand’s chubby fingers squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. It’s like carrier-sickness: after a while, you just learn to live with it.”

Natasha’s stomach lurched – a member of Strike Team Beta had experienced carrier-sickness? She couldn’t be so terrible an agent if a Special had initially been ill with it too, could she?

“Yeah, I keep anti-nausea pills in my bathroom, just in case.” May told her, and nearly blew Natasha’s mind – a Special had ascended the ranks while still feeling its effects? Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. was the place to be, after all. “Let’s go find something to drink.” May continued, “It was pretty hot in there.”

Natasha was glad for a cool bottle to rest against her lips. The chill seeped from her mouth, to her cheeks, down her throat, and calmed her raging stomach. All she needed now was a second for her forehead. And perhaps, one to spray under her armpits…

“But you still are pale,” May remarked. “It’s just ten o’clock. Did you do your usual crazy workout routine at 6am?”

“Huh?” Natasha’s head spun to her so fast, she felt even dizzier. How did Agent May know about her workout routine? Strike Team Beta were barely on-ship at all.

“Oh, we’ve seen you.” Hand advised her, smirking. “Look, Romanoff, are you hungry? Would you like a snack?”

“I could eat.” May muttered. “Or at least have a sit. The museum cafés won’t open for another hour, but I know somewhere just around the corner…”

They piled out of the subway station and along the pavement (sidewalk, Natalia corrected). Finally, she could move freely without bashing into somebody. The feeling in her eardrums blasted away, and it seemed as though she could hear again. The air she smelled was fresh, it tickled her nose; and Natasha stood on tiptoes to gawk at the swathes of green grass to her left. This was the famous Central Park, Hand informed her. It was beautiful. She could have gone on looking forever had May not taken her elbow and pulled.

Natasha usually considered herself strong. She could hold her own against assailants taller and more experienced than herself. However, Agent May was remarkably solid, and Natalia had not grown since her days in the Red Room. So, Agent May unbalanced her easily. Natasha heard no comment from Natalia as she tripped over her own feet and landed face-first on the ground, she was too busy listening to Hand chiding her teammate.

“We’re supposed to look after her, Mel, not harm her!” Hand reached down to help her up. “Sorry kid, she forgets her own strength sometimes.”

Kid? Another person calling her ‘kid’? Perhaps it was just an Americanism. Natasha, feeling slightly embarrassed, chose to question the phrasing - it may help distract them from her clumsiness.

“Kid?”

Hand seemed to double-take.

“Yes,” She said. “Haven’t you heard that word before? You’re a kid because you’re a young person, and…” She choked the words in her mouth, surveying both Natasha and May with a wince.

The silence of background noise reigned for a moment while Hand regarded them. Vehicles tooted on the road, passing pedestrians chattered, and the wind blew into the trees. But then, Agent May laughed aloud.

“You’re a kid,” She turned to Natasha, “Because you’re a young person, and a shortie!” May snickered, and added, “Victoria hasn’t been allowed to call anyone ‘short’ since I kicked her butt after an incident last year.” She offered Natasha a shrug, “If you take offense, tell her now, or it’ll become habit.”

Natalia had never been given the option to choose nicknames. It was a day of choices. She considered the suggestion for only a moment.

“Well, I haven’t grown for a while…”

“Kid it is then!” Hand stuck her tongue out at May. “Lead on, smartass.”

Chapter Text

The café May ushered them into was a light, open-plan room. Long tables wound their ways along the chiller cabinets, and the counter reared tall against the back wall. Natasha struggled to see above its granite surface, but was able to point out a pastry and juice option that Hand would order. The two agents refused her offers of change; apparently today S.H.I.E.L.D. was buying.

Their table was shared with young man on a laptop, and a woman on her phone. The woman took no interest, but Natasha felt the man’s eyes on her.

“These are supposed to be the best pain au chocolats you’ll ever taste!” He informed her, eyeing up her pastry. Beside her, Hand shifted in her seat. Natalia could not detect any deception in his eyes, and Natasha decided he was trying to be friendly.

“You’ll have to tell me what you think.” The man added. “Dad usually makes them, but my little brother Tommy had a go today. He’s really eager for feedback.”

Natasha supposed she was allowed to speak to civilians on this mission, but checked for the go-ahead from the two beside her before she opened her mouth. When she spoke, she kept it simple.

“I will.”

The man nodded, smiled, and went back to his computer. Natasha bit into the pastry and licked her lips. Pretty good; she couldn’t tell him that Barton made better.

“So,” May began, sipping her oolong. “I think we should go for General Admission, that way we can see all the halls and some of the exhibitions…”

Natasha wondered whether this was a test. Why should they go for General Admission when Agent Solomons’ brief clearly stated that the trio could attend the main exhibits if they paid a token donation? That was all they really needed if they were to go on to another activity in the afternoon as the brief also recommended. Natasha gulped and spoke softly.

“I think we should pay the donation… We need be off again for two o’clock, so I think that would be more time and cost effective.” ‘Structure your point, Natalia. Good girl.’ Natasha shivered. Those words didn’t belong in this head.

Agent Hand nodded, “Actually that’s probably best. It may be busy, and we’d still need to fit in lunch.”

May acknowledged this plan, and began to research the route to their next destination. Hand was sucking down her iced latte so furiously, Natasha looked away only to be caught in conversation with Laptop Man.

“So? What do you think?” He asked her.

“The chocolate’s bitter, but the pastry is buttery and juicy. I like it.” She gave him a little smile.

“You’re actually his first positive review!” Laptop Man chortled. “Let me get him so you can tell him yourself. He’s probably about your age…”

Natasha did not know if she should feel alarmed that a stranger considered her to be so young. A boy of about twelve rolled up to their table, big eyes wary and gloomy. She surveyed his chipmunk cheeks and puckered lips, and took pity on him almost immediately.

“Did you make these?”

“Yeah.” The boy’s eyes slid away from her face to the wooden floor.

“They’re good.” She told him, and waited for his eyes to find hers again. “I like the pastry the best. But the chocolate’s good too.” Natasha licked at her lips faking nerves to put him at ease. “Did you use your own recipe?”

“Uhmm.” Tommy nodded. “Yes,” this question seemed to open him up to conversation. “Actually, it is my own. Dad said I should try it out… I didn’t think anybody liked it.”

“I really do.”

Tommy’s cheeks scrunched up as he smiled widely. “Thank you.”

This interaction was better than staring into space while Hand and May consumed their orders, Natalia mused. This child before her (kid, Natasha corrected) was cute. And when he smiled, his eyes twinkled.

Tommy thanked her again, and went on back to the kitchen. His brother Laptop Man retook his seat at the table. He surveyed Natasha for a moment, then turned to May and Hand.

“Are you gals her guardians?”

May pulled on a smile. It snagged at her front teeth.

“That was the first good review my brother’s had, and I’m not even sure the pastry was that good. How would you folks like to come and have lunch on the house after your museum trip?” He winked gaily to Natasha. “We can probably offer better than that pain au chocolat, but your kid was kind to tell my little bro what she did. What do you think?”

Hand and May exchanged looks.

“It’s your call, Natasha.”

Reeling in the wake of another choice and of May using her first name once again, Natasha accepted the proposal. She was still thinking of it as they set off back towards the museum.

“That was very kind of you,” Hand told her, as they weaved between other pedestrians. She looked solemn. Natasha fiddled with her sleeves, trying not to appear too eager to hear the next sentence: “it sounded like the previous customers hadn’t been too forthcoming.”

“Or, they had been.” May remarked. She nudged Natasha gently. “I think you really made him feel good.”

Natasha shrugged. She had never been one to lie, (had never been allowed to lie, Natalia hissed), but telling a half-truth or a white lie could often be better than the alternative. It was a simple policy to live by: try not to unnecessarily hurt other people. Natalia had decided to try this out on the first mission she had as a Black Widow. It seemed to make people more receptive to her.

She couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t worked.

Chapter Text

Soon, they were upon the museum. The Natural History Museum stretched wide and deep and tall. It was the biggest Natalia had come across since her time spent at the Kremlin with the KGB. The only thing that made the mission worth remembering was the architecture. She could happily have lived in that building!

The steps up to the reception area were many. Natasha noticed that Hand didn’t quite break into a sweat, but she did lose her breath at the punishing pace Agent May kept. Did Special Agents not have keep the same levels of fitness as everybody else?

A queue wound the last few steps; the great doors were to be opened at 10.00. Hand filled the empty space at the end of the line and planted a hand on the railings. She breathed deeply.

“Don’t look so worried, Romanoff, I’m not ill or anything.” Obviously, Natasha hadn’t been watching covertly enough. Hand raised thin eyebrows at her.

“I’ve lost two hundred pounds since joining S.H.I.E.L.D.” She straightened and ran fingers over a slightly sticky hairline. “Mel always sets the pace, even the others sometimes struggle to keep up.”

‘What a strange thing to disclose.’ Natalia pondered this new information while regarding Hand. To anybody else, revealing such information to a Black Widow could be a death sentence – Exploit Their Weaknesses, Natalia!

‘But she was speaking to me’ Natasha reminded herself, ‘That makes a difference.’

“You’ve done really well, Vic.” Agent May collapsed her fierce poker-face to sigh. With a nudge to Natasha’s shoulder she spoke again. “When they pass you for team-work, you’ll find out – we all support each other. Victoria taught us her cryptanalysis skills, and we helped with her fitness.”

Natasha nodded. She hadn’t noticed what she could now – that Hand’s skin was slightly loose around her wrists and under her jaw, that her stomach and hips puffed out in her clothes. Hand wore her weight well.

“You look good.” Natasha offered, unsure as to whether they were expecting her to speak. “I didn’t notice.”

The line moved forwards. Hand and May exchanged another indecipherable look over her head. Hand uttered her thanks.

“What would you most like to see, Natasha?” May asked. “Dinosaurs? Gems? Fossils?”

Natasha regarded her. Agent May had a very pretty face; Natalia wondered whether she knew this about herself.

“I have never seen a dinosaur.”

“Few have,” Hand gave a little snort. “But there are a few to-scale models on the top floor. We should head there first.”

The queue moved again.

Natalia pinched herself into Natasha’s mind: ‘Stay alert, you are powerless standing still like this.’ This wasn’t completely true, she mused. Tai chi was all about staying still until attacked. Awareness was key. Natasha shifted so her back was to the railings Hand previously clung to. Neither Hand or May commented. Both had eyes on the crowds and road below.

All three were coiled to spring. Natasha felt Natalia relax somewhat. Even if she didn’t see an attack coming, she was sure the Specials would – she would be able to learn what she needed from their bodily cues.

Would Natasha try to save them if they were attacked?

Should Natasha try to save them?

A family joined the line behind them. There was a baby in its father’s arms, and a toddler swinging around on her mother’s hand. Natasha should prioritise the family, she decided. Natalia agreed.

They made it into the entrance hall without such an attack. She wasn’t counting the pesky pigeon dive-bombing their section of queue because a man in front spent his merry time unwrapping a cereal bar. That pigeon wasn’t carrying any explosives.

Hand led the way towards the top floor, while Natasha marvelled at the yawning halls and vast balconies. Windows cut deep into the porticoes, and pillars divided echoing chambers. She found herself adoring this building, perhaps more so than her beloved Kremlin. The fact that there was an enormous dinosaur fossil five feet away from the staircase only enhanced the view.

“It’s a T. Rex.” Hand told her. “Tyrannosaurus Rex. Means ‘tyrant lizard king’.”

Natalia had briefly studied history and biology in the Red Room, they were all taught the basic facts. But never had she encountered anything as imposing as this creation: museum visits were a no-no for an assassin academy.

“How tall are you Natasha?”

“130cm… 4 foot 3 inches.”

“This guy is worth nearly four of you stacked toe-to-head! Twelve feet tall.” Hand grinned down at her.

Natasha found herself too enraptured in the model to say much. She circled the exhibit, rejoicing in the lack of crowds.

“What does he eat?” She heard May ask.

“Other animals. Swallows them whole. Ooh listen to this, there’s an extra joint in his lower jaw… Helps with mashing up struggling prey!”

Natasha allowed herself a snicker at Hand’s enthusiasm. Why they were talking of the dinosaur statue like he was in the room with them, she did not know. ‘It.’ Natalia corrected, ‘like it is in the room with you’. Natalia did not appreciate frivolity.

She circled the beast once more, admiring his teeth and tail. Passing Hand, she enquired about the when and where it lived.

“Cretaceous period… That was 65 million years ago. I wasn’t alive then…” Hand turned to Agent May. “Were you?”

Natasha did not watch the minor squabble that followed, she was contemplating the T. Rex’s dainty little arms. Were they for scratching prey? Could they even reach to put food into its mouth? Why were they so little?

“They lived in America! – north west. Some lived in Canada.” Hand continued.

Natasha nodded, and circled once more; there were so many parts of the animal to look at!

On her fourth rotation, the hall was starting to fill up. She discovered Hand and May sitting side-by-side on a bench at the end of the room.

“Having fun?” Agent May asked with a smirk.

“There’s a whole exhibition on dinosaurs. We could do that if you’d like?” Hand smiled gently.

Natalia decided for them that this would not be a beneficial option. She may never leave the museum if she could see any number of dinosaurs. The clock showed 10.50 – they had but 01.40 hours remaining until their lunch date. And Coulson and Agent Solomons may dispatch of her if she delayed the day’s activities.

She shook her head. Dinosaurs could wait for another day. She had experienced so much already today; she shouldn’t push her luck.

Chapter Text

Where the dinosaurs were magical, the meal was enrapturing: a warming sausage and cabbage spaghetti made by Tommy and Laptop-Man’s father, and owner of the establishment. Natasha greatly enjoyed the slippery cabbage against her lips, and the crunch of sausage skin between her teeth. It was a sensational meal, probably the best she’d had since coming to America. Before they left, Tommy slipped her a bar of handmade chocolate. He had shaped it like a pain au chocolat and stamped it with the café’s name: The Cookhouse. Natasha would remember this name.

She knew their next destination was within walking distance, but as Agents Hand and May turned left out of The Cookhouse, Natasha knew they were not taking the pre-planned direct route. She felt Natalia’s edginess and wondered aloud if this direction was correct.

Agent May turned to give her a curious look. She nodded and affirmed that the route they were taking would lead them eventually to their destination. Taking Natasha’s shoulders, she pointed her bodily in the direction of Central Park.

“We just thought you should go through it, rather than along the main road.”

“Yeah,” Hand added with a grin. “You looked like you wanted to earlier.”

Natasha felt inordinately pleased at this suggestion, but in the background of her mind, Natalia doubted this was the real reason for the route change. ‘There must be another reason.’ She had never before had such good fortune; ‘there must be another reason.’

The park had only bloomed as the day heated up. High in the sky, the sun shone down onto blanket grass and flower embellishments. Not for the first time in her life, Natalia wished she could run free and wild, or roll down a hill. Natasha decided if she were ever alone in this park, she would climb one of those vast, sprawling trees.

She idly wondered whether this was her Heaven, as they tumbled down a grass verge into the depths of the park. It was less busy than she expected. People clumped together along the walk-ways, and on benches, and picnic rugs, but there were fewer than expected. Wind rustled leaves far above her head, but didn’t touch her on the ground.

Hand must have seen her face turned upwards towards the skies, for she remarked laughingly that foreigners often thought it strange that New York’s high-rise buildings stood just above the tree-line. Natasha doubted that Natalia would agree with this: in her memories, there were a lot of open-spaces in the world hemmed by man-made structures.

May lead the way forwards, walking the trio parallel with a path. The grass beneath their feet was luscious, and soft, and bouncing. Natasha almost wished to take her shoes off and to squelch her toes between the blades.

“Down there is the Shakespeare Garden. Do you think we should take a detour?” May asked Hand somewhere in the distance, and Natasha realised she had fallen behind while admiring the grass. She jogged up to meet them as both agents scanned the area.

“I think so. Still educational, and really quite beautiful.” Hand raised an eyebrow in query to her. “What do you say, Natasha?”

More opportunities to spend time in the open air? It was an obvious ‘yes’. Natalia didn’t realise quite how she missed breathing fresh air until she had returned to ground-level.

The garden they came upon was in full bloom, with exuberant flowers wafting their sweet scents, and strong, healthy plants growing up and out. In this moment, Natasha desired to know more about horticulture, so she could put names to the fantastic smells swirling around her. There were sweet scents that got into her mouth and tickled her nose, and duller spicier smells that choked at the back of her throat. She followed one particularly sharp smell to a pink flower just at the garden’s entrance.

“That’s an English rose.” Agent Hand informed, interrupting her sniffing. “They’re beautiful, huh? I don’t really like to smell them, but they are very pretty.”

“I like cowslip. They smell like apricots.” May planted herself between Hand and Natasha. “There’s some over in that direction.” She added to Hand in quieter tones, “Lian brought me here as a child.”

Natasha avoided her gaze, understanding that this extra information was not intended for her. Instead, she admired the swathes of flowers ahead of them, and sighed. Was this not the best day? Relishing the warmth of the sun on her skin, she wandered away to read a notice.

It read that the garden had been created in the 1900s upon request of the Parks Commissioner, later becoming a tribute to William Shakespeare (‘English playwright and poet’, Natalia promptly advised). It featured many of the plants and flowers mentioned in Shakespeare’s works, and was designed to depict the tranquil English countryside. Natalia huffed inside Natasha’s head, for her recollections of English countryside were a lot greener and less flowery than this. Natasha read that she would discover further plaques around the four acre-garden which would quote Shakespeare, giving details of the plants to which he was referring.

“Come on, Natasha!”

Natalia didn’t seem to have the heart to scoff at her for once again missing Agents Hand and May moving away from her. There was too much to see, and far too much to enjoy. She should have been more aware, but maybe Natasha was allowed a day off sometimes. Natalia supposed this was allowed.

They visited Agent May’s cowslip, and Natasha coughed on an inhaled petal (she ignored Hand’s muffled laughter, but thought she would never eat another apricot again). Blushing with resentment, Natasha decidedly did not upend Agent Hand into the flowerbed, but how she wanted to!

Their journey to Destination #2 progressed without further event. Soon Natasha found her feet walking along familiar concrete. It was a shame to leave the grass behind, but the inviting black awning ahead seemed to beckon her forwards.

White-washed stone walls grew from the concrete side-walk and jarred against the blue sky. Thin paned windows slotted between bars and heavy-looking curtains curled up inside. This building was much less grand than the museum.

The New York Society Library read a sign. Natasha had never heard of this place, but clearly Hand and May knew it well. They pulled her into the entrance, through closed doors, and along passageways, onward towards a destination no other tourists knew of to venture into. A locked door halted their journey, until May swiped a key-card. She looked right, left, backwards, took Natasha by the shoulder and pushed her into the darkness.

“This collection is dedicated to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s founders.” Agent Hand’s disembodied voice disturbed dust particles in an airless room. Natasha's eyes adjusted slowly, but she found her companion as Hand uttered: “Peggy Carter and Howard Stark.”

She watched the dust rise and twirl, dancing across the tables and book shelves. With windows locked behind shades, the only light came from muted table lamps.

“When you get to Clearance Level 6, they give you access codes to this room.” Hand continued, as though she truly believed Natasha’s position in the organisation would indeed be raised. “Then you can come here whenever, and take out the books on loan.”

Agent May nodded from where she had installed herself on a couch, book in hand. “I come here often.”

“Because this trip is supposed to be educational, Agent Solomons has drawn up a quiz for you…” Hand drew a folded sheet of paper from her satchel. “I’d recommend doing it in here.” She pushed at her glasses, and wiped her brow. “This is the best collection of books in all of New York.”

Natalia wondered what should happen if she did not excel on this written test. Would she be exiled from the helicarrier? Would she finally have to attend some extra training similar to KGB or Red Room? She did not care to do badly.

She took a seat beneath the portrait painting of Peggy Carter, and surveyed the questions.

‘1) Who were the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D.?’

‘2) Where in New York is there a collection dedicated to the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D.?’

‘3) What is The Shakespeare Garden?’

Natasha felt her alter-ego cackle. Natalia was right, there was an ulterior motive to Hand and May’s kindness! But this time they were both right, Natasha was able to discover, because the agents’ ulterior motive was aid in helping her pass this test. She snuck a glance to May.

May met her gaze and winked.

Chapter Text

Their final subway journey came far too quickly for Natasha’s liking. It was less fraught, less busy, but the heat hadn’t diminished. She worried for Tommy’s chocolate in her backpack. They tumbled out at a station that was not their starting point, and Hand ushered her into a waiting people-carrier. It seemed this was a company bus, for May greeted the conductor with the words “Good afternoon, Agent”, and showed their S.H.I.E.L.D. IDs.

Natasha boarded behind her and moved into the seat May pointed out. She recognised not a single person on this bus, but Hand and May clearly knew them all.

“Alright, Iz?” Hand shoved in beside her, and addressed a petite, dark-skinned woman on the opposite seat. “Have a good day?”

“Not bad, not bad. Didn’t see much of the game though, Grayson ate something rotten and spent most of it puking his guts up in the bathroom.” She laughed, adding, “Don’t worry, he isn’t on this bus! He went back already.”

“Thank God, I can’t deal with vomit!” Hand snickered, buckled in, and looked to Natasha to do the same. “Safety first, Romanoff.”

“Who’s your friend, Vic?” The woman was trying to peer around Agent Hand to look at Natasha. Their eyes met, and Natasha blinked. She was a very beautiful person. Her hair, twisted into geometric bantu knots, had a violet sheen to it and her dark eyes glistened in the dimness of the coach.

Introducing Natasha to her friend, Hand followed up with, “This is Agent Isabelle Hartley. Strike Team Alpha.”

Strike Team Alpha? They were infamous. Heat pooled at the base of Natasha’s stomach and she shifted a little in her seat. Agent Hartley gave her a wide smile, full of straight white teeth. Natasha wasn’t aware teeth could be so shiny.

Once in her childhood, Natalia believed she may have felt some kind of admiration for another person. It had not ended well, but now Natasha was experiencing some of what Natalia had then. Natalia did not envy her: those kinds of emotions made everything difficult.

“Nice to meet you, Romanoff.” Agent Hartley was telling her.

“Nice to meet you.” Natasha copied, stupidly, and pulled on a tentative smile.

“We went to see the Museum of Natural History.” Hand said, nudging Natasha in the ribs. “The kid likes dinosaurs.”

“Do you?” Agent Hartley’s accent was interesting, Natalia decided. It was as though she was hiding another manner of speaking. Her mouth worked around the words as Natalia’s did when she wore a new persona.

Natasha answered amid these musings. “I like the T-Rex.” There really was something about those eyes.

As the bus pulled away from the station, and into a tunnel, and Natasha found herself being offered sweets by a uniformed senior.

“You’re the Black Widow.” He informed, as he held the pack out to her.

“Yes.” She offered, face purposefully free from expression.

“Don’t suppose you like toffees? My son works in a factory that makes these, I always have surplus.”

Agent Hartley reached across the aisle and snagged a fat one from the bag. “Thanks, Chris.” She nodded encouragingly to Natasha. “I’d have one if I were you. They’re very nice, and only available in Dallas.” She unrolled the wrapper and popped the sweet between her teeth. “How is David? Did he finish his book?”

“Not yet, still working on it.” Agent Chris beamed, offering the sweets to Agent Hand, before turning back down the bus towards May and company. She was ensconced in the front row with a fellow agent giggling at a video of a cat and a laser pen.

Natasha watched Hand consume her toffee before deciding the treat was safe to keep, and carefully placing it into her rucksack beside the pain au chocolate bar from The Cookhouse. When she looked up, Agent Hartley was, once again, watching.

“How are you finding S.H.I.E.L.D. so far, Romanoff?” Her tongue ran along the inside of her cheek and she nibbled at stray chunks of toffee. Those luscious lips puckered pink as she swallowed.

“It’s nice.” Natasha hoped her voice wasn’t as high-pitched as she thought it may be. “Feels safe.”

She tried not to stare, but found her eyes darting back to those luscious lips. And button nose. And bright eyes.

The bus paused at another stop and several more agents boarded.

She would never fall asleep in the presence of so many people she did not know or trust, but sitting between the window and Agent Hand, with a member of Strike Team Alpha to their right, Natasha allowed herself to become sleepy in the warmth of the evening sun.

Chapter Text

It was a few weeks before she saw her day-out companions again. Barton had yet to return from his conference, and having finally finished the required S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Training Programme, Natasha found herself at a loss for activities. Though not quite the situation the Red Room had prepared her for, Natasha began to implement the ‘Without a Handler’ mission situation: she was to continue bi-daily training regimes (at 4am and 3pm, for three hours apiece), eat four small meals, sleep for 8 hours, fast for 14 hours overnight, and meditate. No unnecessary thought processes would distract her from these goals.

This may be a test; Natalia had reasoned on her first ‘day off’. S.H.I.E.L.D. may be assessing how she would cope in instances of no direction. Perhaps it was a test of mental resilience. She should look good.

It was the two Thursdays after that sunny Saturday that Natasha met the members of Strike Team Beta in the gym. She noticed them enter the dark room before their eyes adjusted to her. Agent Hand looked exhausted – her shoulders drooped and she rubbed at weary face. May was sporting a bandage over her left wrist, but using that hand to haul her gym bag. Agent Hill held the door wide for a lolloping Agent Morse whose face was swollen with bruises.

“Romanoff!”

The call echoed around them, bouncing off mirrors and walls. Natasha’s attack on the punch-bag paused.

“Agent Hand.”

“It’s very early. Have you been here all night?”

“No.”

Hand surveyed her, before contributing, “We’re just back from New Deli. We always debrief in this gym.”

Natasha nodded. “Would you like me to leave?”

“You can finish your workout.” Agent May joined them, trying to roll her left wrist. It only got half-way before she winced. “Coulson says you’ll be heading off-ship soon with one of the Omega Teams.”

This was new information. In those two weeks, the sole meeting she’d had with Coulson had been interrupted by an ‘Orange 2’ alert; he hadn’t yet found time to reconvene.

While she could have become excited by the possibility of new direction, the thought of joining an Omega Team filled her with slight despair. These were the agents that mostly based in offices, filling admin positions. Their missions were in the lowliest and most ordinary of surveillance categories. It was cafeteria gossip that last week Sitwell’s team had been recruited to monitor the outings a potential cat burglar in the Manhattan office, only to discover it wasn’t a burglar, just a cat.

Natalia shuddered in the back of her mind, but made no comment. Natasha found herself watching May’s left hand.

“It will probably be Agent Plant’s team; they have a space now that Manland’s on paternity leave. Might do you good to get out.” May added, then frowned. “Stop staring at my wrist.”

Natasha blinked and met stony eyes. She found herself concerned for May – a surreal emotion. It manifested in a sickening sensation in her stomach. She felt thirsty and uncomfortable, and licked her dry lips.

“Looks painful.”

Her superior shrugged, “Medical gave me some nice pain-killers. It’s just a sprain.”

“Actually, with three out of four signed off on medical leave, we have no more missions for a little while.” Hand cocked her head at Agents Hill and Morse. “Concussion. Broken nose.”

“If you find yourself at a loss for a training partner,” Brown eyes studied her, “I could always use the practice…”

Instinctively, Natasha knew that Agent Hand would be no match for her, but she dipped her head in acknowledgement. Hawkeye wasn’t back yet, and members of an Omega Team would be impossible to train alongside. Perhaps Hand would do as a stop-gap.

She ducked out of the gym before finishing her routine. The corridors were now thickening with agents making chattering their ways towards the main fitness centre and pool. It was a relief to enter the calmer cafeteria wing, however a man curtailed her progress at the door to the juice bar.

“Romanoff, I’m Senior Administrator Ganfort. You were expected at 0700 hours.”

Natasha blinked up at him, warily. His eyebrows were bushier than his head hair, and the lines at his eyes and across his cheeks were thick and deep-set. There was chest hair pushing through the gaps in his shirt. His tie was too short to hide his gut.

She had never received word that she was expected by someone. Alarm bells sounded in Natalia’s brain. Perhaps this was a ruse. Maybe she hadn’t passed the Agent Training Programme as satisfactorily as she first thought. Supposing this would be the start of a trial to arrest her as S.H.I.E.L.D. first threatened to do.

The person in front of her was quite enormous. Natasha would never be able to overpower him if he got hold of her.

And yet, he strode off. He may not be a threat if he doesn’t wait for me to join him, she reasoned.

“Romanoff! On me!”

His bark made her jaw clench. She followed, dutifully.

Chapter Text

The conference room Senior Administrator Ganfort lead her into had blinds pulled down over all its windows. Five older men were sitting by one wall, looking grim. Coulson was facing the doorway; his expression cleared as she entered.

“Ah Romanoff, you’re here.”

Natalia had never felt completely comfortable entering spaces where the sole occupants were male. Even though she could probably take them all at once and come out mostly alive, she didn’t much fancy her odds. Some could be so cruel.

“You’re always so prompt, I knew that message couldn’t have reached you.” This was a different Agent Coulson to the one that sent her off-ship with members of Strike Team Beta. He was a lot more effusive than before. It was slightly alarming as she remembered at both previous meetings he had announced her presence overdue.

Yet, he still exhibited that lip curl tick.

“You’re to be posted to Strike Team Chi.”

So, this wasn’t a hearing. She wasn’t to be put on trial. And even better, Chi, Natalia noted, was sooner in the Greek alphabet than Omega. It didn’t promise no feline convicts, however.

“This is the team’s handler, Agent Rolland.” He indicated the gentleman to his immediate left. “And team leader, Agent Visser,” The next man along.

Natasha eyed both. Agent Rolland had lanky limbs, a thin face, and a pointed chin. Grey brows narrowed in her direction, as he pulled sharply at his shirt cuffs. Agent Visser smirked as she met his stare, flicking his eyes up her body.

“I didn’t realise she was such a bitty thing.” Visser ended his nasty smirk with this growl, nudging another member of the team. “How’s she gonna keep up with us, Coulson?”

Agent Coulson seemed to wilt a little. Natalia realised with some distress, that this was definitely not the man she knew from before. Agent Coulson in his element would never have let his employees speak to him in this way.

“Romanoff is good, but she’s never worked in a team before.” Coulson made a half shrug under the team’s glares. “You’re going to have to show her how SHIELD works.”

“Break her in, you mean?” Another man piped up. He snickered behind a beefy hand, and scoffed in Natasha’s direction. “It will be our pleasure-”

“We’re taking you out with us this afternoon.” Agent Rolland spoke up now, talking over his colleague. “Mission briefing is at 1200 hours. Wheels up at 1230 hours, and back on ground at 1345.” He regarded her cautiously. “Here’s a kit list.” He pushed a few sheets of paper across the table. “We’ll be gone for four days at most.”

Agent Coulson was standing up now, doing up the button on his blazer, and straightening his tie knot. He shook hands with Rolland and Visser, and exited the room with a brief “Good luck, Romanoff!” And then she was left alone with her new team.

“Hope you can keep up, girlie.” Laughed the man who had poked fun at her before. “We don’t cater for greenies.”

The noise those men had made when they tramped from the conference room made both Natasha and Natalia despair. It was all loud-mouthed ribbing, and deep-throated cackling. Their boots stomped into the carpet, still to be heard some way down the corridor. Hopefully this team wasn’t used for actual spying – they would give the game away in under a minute!

Retiring to her bunk room, Natasha scarfed a quick breakfast, and acquired the kit she would need for this mission. She pulled her new S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform from its plastic casing, and examined her bullet proof vest for fabric snags.

1200 hours came around faster than she would have hoped.

Chapter Text

Natasha arrived to the mission briefing meeting room at 1155 hours, but by 1200 she was still waiting for the team. Their plane’s wheels did not lift up at 1230 as planned, rather 1320 hours. Natalia was most displeased with Strike Team Chi’s time-keeping.

And Natasha was confused.

Until now, it had appeared that S.H.I.E.L.D. demanded complete professionalism from its operatives, but it appeared that Chi’s handler Agent Rolland did not. He did not ask Agent Visser explain his reasons for arriving twenty minutes after everyone else. Indeed, Agent Rolland had entered the meeting room just seven minutes earlier.

The flight was smooth, and soon they were touching down beside a lake (location name not disclosed). The lake was situated in the valley between sprawling grassy mountains. Bright azure skies and scorching sunrays shone down. Though lush further up the hills, the grass by the lake was dry and crunchy underfoot. A mental run-down of the conditions informed Natasha she should ensure none of her equipment would cause glinting reflections of which an enemy may sight. She should incorporate extra hydration and sun-sheltering breaks into her mission plan.

“Stop loitering, girlie!”

The man who had called her a greenie earlier had not introduced himself. Natasha had asked, but still did not know his name. It had fallen to Natalia to nickname him. She chose The Misogynist, which was quite fitting.

“What?” He gave an ugly snort as she paused her brief equipment check. “Forgotten your mascara?”

Nearby, Agent Visser laughed aloud.

Natalia growled inside Natasha’s chest.

“No.” She responded succinctly to The Misogynist’s question. She turned away anticipating Agent Visser’s orders, but none were forthcoming. Visser was exchanging small talk with a third Chi member, and laughing with a fourth. The Misogynist leered some more.

‘This is confusing,’ Natalia mused, deep inside her mind.

It was strange. The briefing Agent Rolland gave at base had been simple – known to the S.H.I.E.L.D. as a ‘get-grab-and-go’, Chi’s mission was to locate and extract intelligence within the shortest time period possible. Yet, here was a leader time-wasting, joking around with his team-mates when he should be organising them to move out.

“Sit down, Romanoff.” Visser told her, smirking as his eyes danced along her stiff, upright posture. “It’s nice to be off-ship in this weather! I say we enjoy it while we can.”

“Sir-” Natasha winced as the men around her choked out laughs. “Shouldn’t we just follow our instructions?”

“What Coulson doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Visser pushed dark sunglasses up his sweaty nose and rolled up his uniform sleeves. He sat on the ground, leaning against his backpack. “Rolland factored in a bit of sunbathing, anyway. Always does.”

Natasha surveyed the team, but did not relax her posture. The Red Room occasionally tested Natalia in this way – offering a luxury in place of a training exercise. It was designed to trip her up; she would want to take advantage of the luxury, but should instead disregard it for the training option. This must be the case here.

“I would like to complete the mission, sir.”

Each head turned towards her. Amusement creased faces and eyes rolled in their sockets. It was like being watched by those silly-eyed, boggle-headed children’s toys.

“I said sit down.” His voice was flatter, firmer now. Visser’s eyebrows lowered, and his jaw clenched. “That’s an order.”

Natalia’s voice whispered that Natasha should not move. She followed her own advice, and reiterated her previous statement.

“If you want to go, you’ll go alone. We’re sunbathing.” Agent Visser’s hand snapped out, dismissively. “Don’t disturb us again unless you have the intelligence.”

That was all the instruction Natasha needed; turning her attention to the map, she consulted her compass. The route looked simple enough. One kilometre around the lake, then two kilometres eastwards up the mountain path. The intelligence was situated in a time capsule thought to be buried beneath a staged burial mound along the trail.

If she walked the distance to the intelligence, carefully memorising her steps and visual landmarks, she may be able to run back. Natasha knew she could run 3K in 10 minutes, but only if she were really sprinting and on a polyurethane surface. Today, she would need to ensure her tracks were not clogged by slippery undergrowth.

Also, if the sun continued to press down this harshly, she should stop for rest and hydration breaks of at least 10 minutes regularly. And she should also take the first 3K at a slower walking pace, to ensure acclimatization to the conditions. She would aim to fulfil this over 110 minutes, factoring in the breaks. The return journey would be far quicker, but depending on how far she would have to dig beneath the burial mound, and the lack of extra bodies helping with the digging, she expected her total mission time to be longer than the two hours for which she had been briefed.

“I may be five hours.” She calculated more than doubled the original allocation mission time, aiming to adequately manage the senior agent’s expectations.

“We’ve scored a holiday, men!” Natasha heard from the group as she set off along her path. “We should have this kid along to all our missions.”

Chapter Text

It should have been a team effort – Rolland had suggested three hours tops!

Natalia endured as a grounding reminder to Natasha that things could be much worse. It had been an easy mission to complete, for she had faced nothing too strenuous. She received no injuries, nor had she encountered a single person along the route. She was not yet teetering on the brink of exhaustion.

Yet, it was four hours (two hundred and forty minutes) later that Natasha returned to the parked transportation and assembled strike team.

Agent Visser, prostrate in the dust, was glowing pink and snoring. His team were strewn around the gravelly banks to the lake. They greeted her with varying levels of disgust.

“We’ve booked for the jet to travel at 2000 hours; you’re too early.”

Natalia had never been admonished for completing a mission too quickly. Even Natasha, with her limited experiences, had never been reprimanded for reasons such as this. It befuddled them both.

‘It’s got to be a test,’ Natalia reasoned, having no other answer to their shared confusion. Natasha took a seat in the shade off to the side of the group and surveyed each member. One was mumbling about a lack of sun cream, having removed his combat boots for a paddle; another fantasized audibly about cold beer. The Misogynist’s face was nearly puce, and he chugged breathlessly from his flask, fanning himself with one very hairy hand. Natasha had caught his eyes at the wrong moment, for he lurched upright and pointed at her pack.

“Did you get it, girlie?”

“I have retrieved the intelligence.” She nodded the affirmative. Should she wake Agent Visser to deliver her report?

“Gimmie your water. I’m so thirsty!” The brute made a lunge for her flask and ended up shoving her to the ground. “Oh, shit!” His great weight crashed down on top of her and he rolled over in the dirt, groaning.

“It’s nearly empty!”

Natalia cursed Natasha for losing concentration – she should be on alert at all times! Natasha, rubbing her sore forehead, pushed up to sit on her knees. A teammate she hadn’t yet spoken with enquired briefly on her health. She pretended she didn’t hear him, and instead eyed The Misogynist bawling in the dirt.

It seemed that the noise disturbed Agent Visser, for he snorted into disgruntled wakefulness.

“Didn’t I tell you to chill, guys? Wake me when the girl’s back.”

“She’s back.” The paddling man told him, glibly. “Right behind you.”

“Oh.” Agent Visser’s eyes narrowed in the light as he squinted up at Natasha. “Report?”

Natasha remained upstanding as she delivered her mission report. Though her eyes stared straight ahead, and she remained at attention, her stomach clenched queasily. The graze on her forehead itched.

Agent Visser seemed to listen, exuding tedium from every pore. Just as Natasha was detailing the exact location of the intelligence, he released a sigh, and got to his feet.

“No, no. You have it all wrong, Romanoff.”

“Sir?” Natasha stalled in confusion. Had she miscalculated her timings? Was it that her watch had stopped mid-travels? Did she mix-up the directions her route took?

“You have forgotten the team. What did the team do, Romanoff?”

Natasha was fairly stumped. She blinked, and considered whether her preferred answer of ‘nothing’ would result in physical punishment.

“Sir.” She chose a controlled and neutral response.

“What did we do?” One of the other men arose, looming over Natasha, casting a shadow far behind her. “You can’t forget us.” His breath stank as much as his body – sweaty and stale.

“I don’t understand, sir.” Natalia cursed her voice for trembling. She could take this man, so long as he didn’t get his arms around her. She would incapacitate him via the pressure points in his left hand, then she could body slam Visser. She could do it. She would do it.

“I’m not yet senile, girl. I remember Michaels taking charge of digging.” Visser was nudging Mr Sweat with his elbow, grinning greedily. “And I’m pretty sure it was Lopez who obtained the intelligence.”

Mr Sweat snickered, adding “And you’re the reason we’re requesting transport so late in the day – the itty-bitty-baby who couldn’t keep up to our pace.”

‘This is a test,’ Natalia reminded Natasha, ‘Of your commitment to the organisation.’ It was to do with loyalties, she was sure.

“Stop rolling around in the dirt, Lopez!” Visser barked suddenly, startling the group. “You have thirty minutes to make yourself look presentable, then we’re wheels up and into the airspace for 2000 hours.”

So, he was called Lopez; Natasha surveyed The Misogynist and decided against using this name. He continued to sprawl on the ground for a further ten minutes, perspiring stormily. The sun was lowering in the still blue skies, yet this man complained of being just as hot as Natasha had felt on her sprint-return after flattening the earth surrounding the burial mound to hide signs of disturbance.

The Misogynist eventually pulled himself into the plane. He snoozed fitfully in the seat beside Natasha, waking to groan over aches in his legs. Then as they touched-down the main S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier deck, he swayed his way out of the cabin, panting as though he’d run a marathon.

No member of the team seemed particularly concerned for their colleague, but Natasha tracked his movements, watching him stumble on the airstairs, catching his hip against the handrail. He looked drunk, she realised with a jolt; drunk or perhaps, confused?

In her head, she reviewed his outward symptoms, noting also thirst, sweating, breathlessness, pain in his limbs. Could he have a bit of heatstroke? Natasha considered whether she should report this – would it fit into the version of events Agent Visser and Mr Sweat had drilled into her on the way back to base?

She decided against it, for now. If his symptoms worsened, she would have to report it. Unexpected loss of assets in the Red Room was an offense that all would be punished for, regardless of responsibility or attempts at preventing/curing the problem. Natasha was still too innocent to have to go through such castigation, Natalia determined.

Agents Coulson and Rolland were waiting for them in the same meeting room they attended earlier in the day. Rolland’s white shirt creased in the middle when he sat down, and Coulson’s small eyes looked even slighter with dark bags beneath them.

“This mission overran somewhat,” Coulson began proceedings, sighing heavily, unhappily. He had taken possession of the intelligence, and was in the process of handing it to a junior agent for examination. “Thank you, George. So, five hours to complete what should have been max. three. Can you explain this, Visser?”

Visser’s story was told: he had set a punishing pace for his team towards the burial mound. Romanoff had struggled to keep up, but was of some assistance in deciding the best route. It was mostly Michaels’ efforts that shifted the earth, and Lopez was able to reach into the opening to swipe the intelligence. On the return journey, Romanoff messed up the co-ordinates and took more rest breaks than the other team members, which therefore caused the delay in returning to base.

Natasha kept silent throughout this over-dramatized story.

Coulson appeared to accept the story.

Rolland sent Visser a less-than-covert wink.

“Alright, team,” Agent Coulson huffed, standing to open the door. “Get yourselves checked out by medical before you clock-off. Romanoff,” He surveyed her, wearily. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Report to me at 0900 hours.”

Chapter Text

“So, it turns out Agent Lopez has heat-stroke.”

Natasha’s heart jumped into her throat, and she spun on her heel, fists raised, only to be greeted by Agent May holding a water flask.

“Agent May.”

She pressed the cool bottle into Natasha’s hands, then stepped back to survey the gym. Several people were scattered around various equipment stations. Natasha hadn’t noticed it filling up; she had concentrated all her senses on beating this same punching bag since a very dark 0400 hours. The helicarrier windows now pulled at the first rays of sunshine. A clock on the wall chimed for six o’clock.

“I gather you reported his symptoms last night, but his handler did not take any action.”

She wore such a piercing expression that Natalia briefly considered whether May could be a human lie-detector. That would be cool, Natasha decided, like a superpower.

It was true that she had reported the symptoms to Agents Rolland and Visser when it seemed The Misogynist may have forgotten how to speak. He had rolled out of last night’s debriefing, bumping straight into a wall. Visser and Michaels had laughed off her comments, and so she voiced her concerns to the emergency practitioners at medical. It was lucky she had, they told her, for less than twenty minutes later, The Misogynist had passed out on the shiny laminate waiting room floor.

“I wanted to let you know that’s not how teams usually work in S.H.I.E.L.D.” May poked Natasha’s shoulder. It was a gesture akin to the camaraderie Natasha sometimes felt with Barton.

“We look out for each other, and each other’s health. Everyone in the organisation – we’re all a team,” She continued, motioning for Natasha to drink. “You did good in reporting it, kid.”

“Okay.” Natasha felt her poker-face stiffen somewhat. Big organisations like this were all the same – they would say you were part of a team, but they would turn on you the minute you put a foot wrong. It was the same for the Red Room, for the K.G.B.

Agent May cocked her head towards the floor mats and, taking Natasha’s tensed arms, drew her away from the bag. They took seats on two adjacent mats and Natasha slid down against the wall, relishing the rest. The refreshing water splashed sharply against her tongue. She watched another agent take charge of her punching bag.

“Coulson received the report you gave to medical,” May revealed. She had capped her bottle and now sat straighter, facing Natasha. “He said it was quite different to Agent Visser’s report.” Her eyes seemed to search for any form of deception, her gaze trailing over Natasha’s fiery forearms and the stubborn, blackened dirt beneath her fingernails.

“I think that you’re probably telling the truth about the circumstances of the mission.” She added. “But I don’t know why Visser would be lying.”

Natalia chastised Natasha for biting her lip: it was a classic sign of dishonesty; May would see through her façade.

After all her efforts yesterday to conceal the true mission report, to show true loyalty to the team, she was to give it all away on a rookie mistake. She pressed her back hard into the cold wall, schooling her aching spine in the art of pain, and avoided looking at Agent May.

“Natasha, you know you can tell me, okay? If anything’s worrying you, you can let me know and I’ll try to help fix it. Promise.” May’s expression was soft; with her features open, her face bloomed into beauty. She looked extremely pretty; Natasha decided.

‘And sincere,’ Natalia added, ‘She looks sincere.’

A few members of the S.H.I.E.L.D. community were causing her mind to muddle its expectations and beliefs. Barton, Agent May, Agent Hand – Natasha felt she did believe their words and sincerity. Yet in Natalia’s experience, the promises and requests of trust and loyalty often preceded some form of capital punishment or a sexual advance.

Momentarily, Natalia considered deciding that May, Hand, and Barton could be playing her, setting her up for a big, embarrassing fall. But then Natasha nodded her head to the affirmative.

And May surprised her with the next words:

“Come have breakfast with my team before your meeting with Coulson.”

Chapter Text

Agent Hill strode into the cafeteria looking like she’d just left the cover-shoot for an Extreme Make-Over edition of Vanity Fair. Gone was the bun scraping her hair flat across her skull; gone was the pristine blue uniform with its cut-glass folds. Agent Hill, usually standing to attention and elongated to her full height, had traded the stiffness for a more relaxed carriage. Her shoulders curled forwards in a grey cotton blazer, as she stuck hands in blue jeans, and avidly watching her purple Converse stepping along the path towards the table.

Shoes, Agent Hand had voiced, “Are Maria’s biggest weakness!”

She was heading off-ship for the day, Agent May informed Natasha.

Hill’s cheeks were blushing pink when she arrived at the table, having been complimented by at least three encouraging agents on her journey. She sent a cheerful smile to Natasha as she slid into a plastic chair, producing a carton of the same orange juice Natasha had chosen. Hill raised hers with a companionable nod and wink.

At eager questioning from Agents Hand and May, she announced that her day off-ship was in fact a date. A blind date. Her friend from the academy had set them up.

“Military academy,” Hill clarified for Natasha. Then she laughed openly, “Miranda thinks I’m getting lonely!”

Hand chuckled with Hill, while a suggestion of a smile tilted May’s lips.

Natalia focused on the important information: Hill was from a military background. It made sense – she held herself in a way with which Natalia felt very familiar.

Natasha, on the other hand, pursued the more frivolous information she had revealed about herself: she was going on a date. Natasha idly wondered what it would be like to date Agent Hill. What kind of person would she date?

“We’re meeting in this Irish pub for lunch… I thought we should go to a café, but Miranda suggested somewhere a bit livelier in case conversation becomes stilted.”

Natasha idled over this sentence. She wondered what having lunch with Agent Hill would be like. Would the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent eyeball her over a sensible meal of carbs and protein? Would she demand intelligence with a fork pressed against Natasha’s throat? What about in this more relaxed Hill-incarnation: would she coyly lick those plush lips when the food arrived? Would she leave lipstick stains on her water glass? Would she order a salad or the biggest burger on the menu?

“Natasha?”

Natalia pulled Natasha violently back to the present. She blinked out of the daze to find a sceptical expression clouding Hill’s face.

“Did you drag the kid out of bed for breakfast, Mel? Seriously, she’s not even awake – ah, there you are!” Hill’s pearly teeth beamed in Natasha’s direction. “I was asking how your mission was?”

“My mission?” Why was her mind so empty? Natasha waded through illusions of a lunch date that would never be trying to find any suitable response to Hill’s enquiry.

“Yes, with Chi. Yesterday.”

This time, Natasha’s poker face stayed intact – she succeeded in not catching her lower lip between her teeth, and her cheeks did not flush traffic-light red! She nodded to acknowledge the question, hoping to avoid additional questioning.

“We completed the mission and obtained the necessary intelligence.”

Hand was giving her a funny look, frowning and squinting her eyes.

Agent Hill seemed undeterred by the succinct answer, and continued easily “I heard you had trouble keeping up with those men.” Her tone sounded akin to sympathetic, but Natasha felt her eyebrows lower, especially as Hill uttered the final phrase: “Were you able to tell them that they were going too fast for you?”

Natalia made Natasha take pause.

‘This is a test.’

She should keep mum about the truth, and remain loyal to those new teammates she had been allocated.

Natalia chose Natasha’s next response: “Ma’am.”

She watched warily as Hill’s smile fell slightly. That was the most neutral answer. Had Hill found fault in it?

Her anxiety eased as Hill just shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of juice, and leaned closer.

“You don’t have to call me that, Natasha. I’m not your superior officer. I’m just Maria.”

Just Maria?

Natasha would never use that name. This person would never be known to her as just Maria. She would forever be Agent Hill or ma’am. She was way too far out of Natasha’s league - too senior to be offering actual familiarity with a junior agent on probation.

Nevertheless, when Natasha nodded her head appearing to accepting Hill’s request, she seemed satisfied to leave Natasha alone.

It was then that Agent Morse took the empty seat to Natasha’s right. A sigh blew blonde ringlets off her forehead. A perfectly manicured hand placed a platter of beans and toast on the table.

“Romanoff.” Morse watched her disdainfully, before lifting a loaded fork to her lips. “Heard you screwed up a mission, yesterday.”

“Bobbi!”

Natasha ignored Morse’s teammates interjections and faced her, shoulders square, eyelids tight.

“Visser was behind me in the queue,” The agent continued, “Mouthing off about you.” The food seemed to turn sour in her mouth, for she pulled a face. “He was my first S.O.” ‘Senior Officer’, Natalia supplied. “He’s a prick.”

It appeared this declaration was of no surprise to the other members of Beta. May huffed out, and rolled her eyes skywards. Hand clucked her tongue, leaning back in her chair. Hill leaned forwards.

“What’s he been saying?” She glugged at her of her orange juice. A droplet escaped over the bottle’s indentation in her lower lip. She herded it back into her mouth with her tongue.

Natasha’s stomach coiled hotly.

“That she made them late for their transport. That she caused Lopez’s illness.”

“That’s not the kid’s fault. That’s poor team management.”

As Agent Hill’s tongue chased the last of the juice from her lips, Natasha tried not to stare. But at the next comment from Hill’s mouth “It’s not Natasha’s fault she couldn’t keep up”, she pulled back hard.

Chapter Text

‘Keep up with whom?’ This time it was Natasha pushing Natalia around - suppressing those challenging comments. She shoved her indignation into the depths of her chest, and tried to swallow her toast. The crisp crumbs stabbed into her oesophagus.

“That’s Visser’s management style to a tee.” Morse chuckled, humourlessly. “He would never adjust to weaker agents.”

Natalia broke free to clench Natasha’s jaw. Her teeth ached, eyelids narrowing.

But this was the only outward response she showed. An unlikely hero rescued her from having to decide how to respond. It was Mr Sweat from yesterday. He shifted in his muddy combat boots. A classic bead of sweat ran from his forehead and took refuge in his monobrow.

“Hey, Romanoff? A word?”

Her table companions stared as Natasha rose silently. It wasn’t just the members of team Beta watching. It seemed the whole cafeteria was expecting something. Mr Sweat nodded to Agents Rolland and Visser loitering by the water station.

“You okay, kid?” May had caught her hand.

“Ma’am.” Natasha nodded, turning to approach her Chi S.O. and handler.

It was nice of May to check on her well-being, Natasha mused. She could count on three fingers the instances in which she’d been offered an ‘out’. Unfortunately, there was no option for that here. She was in this scheme for the long run.

“Ah, it’s the loser.”

It was almost a relief to hear Visser’s abuse. Natalia knew exactly where she stood with rudeness. It was kindness and understanding that made her most apprehensive. But Visser was old-school, he appreciated simple insults.

“You remember our story, don’t you girlie?” He had adopted The Misogynist’s nickname for her. “Tell Coulson our version, and no-one gets hurt.”

Natasha spoke up innocently, questioning him before Natalia could stop her. Her words would be interpreted as challenging. She would not survive the day.

“Are you threatening me, sir?”

She felt Agent Rolland’s response before actually seeing anything. He squeezed at the pressure point in her hand, forcing her to still.

“What do you think, Romanoff?” His thumb dug into her skin with precision and ferocity. He would leave a bruise, she was sure.

Natasha submitted.

“Sir.”

She should know better – she had a whole library inside her head full of Natalia’s memories. She should have prepared for these tactics. This would never happen to Natalia.

But it did mean the loyalty test was to continue into her meeting with Coulson.

Perhaps May’s kindness had been a warning her that her cover was going to be blown. Maybe that’s why she invited Natasha to breakfast; so Visser and Rolland could remind her of her place once again.

A bite of pain ripped at her nerves as Rolland scratched his way out of the hold. He snorted, and nudged Visser.

Visser pushed his fist into her shoulder.

“Don’t fuck this up, Romanoff.”

She was left alone at the water station. The noises of the other breakfasters filtered into her brain once again. Cutlery chinking, mugs bashing on trestle tables, condiment bottles squirting, a general hubbub.

Natasha returned to her seat. Slipping in slowly, eyes downcast, trying to remember all the elements of Visser’s story before she was quizzed once again.

“What did he want, Natasha?”

It was Morse speaking, her eyes wide and tone low.

“Update on Lopez.”

It was all she could think to say…

Chapter Text

It was all she could think to say…

Until she reached Coulson’s office. And then, no words were forthcoming.

It was his face. It was all in his face.

He just stared.

And though she tried to explain herself, no thought would remain in her head long enough.

It was all swirling around.

A spiralling mess of panic.

And anxiety!

She tried to focus on the plush red carpet – on the wooden desk – the leather chair.

Darting and rolling in their sockets, her eyes refused to co-operate.

Natalia told her it was all in her head.

But Natasha’s head had never faced anything like this before.

For Natalia it was easy; as simple as gymnastic flips through a laser web.

But for Natasha…

Agent Coulson brought in reinforcements after seventeen minutes of silence.

A doctor entered first. Natasha noted the uniform – baggy blue scrubs, a stethoscope, trainers. Natalia knew of doctors; men of your worst nightmares.

Doctors in the Red Room had been likened in the West to those in the Nazi death camps.

Natasha’s breathing quickened.

The second person to open the door wore a black suit.

“Natasha,” The suit began slowly. “My name is Nicholas Fury. I am the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

‘Failure.’ Natalia declared. ‘This is it. You’re done for.’

She had given herself up to this organisation in the hope that they would end her life.

Tired of fighting, she surrendered to Barton.

She expected abuse, torture, execution, but was offered a job.

For four months she had experienced safety, kindness, an education.

‘You know it couldn’t last.’ Natalia.

She knelt purposefully on the carpet before Coulson’s desk.

Hands behind back.

Lifting chin to expose neck.

Keeping her eyes open.

Trying her hardest not to see anything.

“Natasha,” This was it. This was the end. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Punishment.” The ceiling lights blurred together.

“Please stand up, Natasha.”

She shuffled upwards.

Her eyes affixed to the carpet.

“You will not be punished.”

That’s not true, Natasha wailed to herself. Why would they let you free after this? You are weak, and it is showing!

Her heart stuttered uncomfortably, slamming against her ribcage.

‘Pull yourself together!’ Natalia ordered.

“Did you hear me, Natasha?” Agent Coulson reached for her shoulder – she flinched away. Her pulse pinballed around her throat.

“You’re not in any danger from us.”

“But I failed the test,” This whisper pained her stomach.

She failed to control her breathing; breathlessness invaded her senses; she panted through the panic.

“What test, Natasha?”

“Loyalty test.” The words came out.

She blinked black spots.

“Loyalty to whom?”

“Chi. S.H.I.E.L.D.” She barely had control of her mouth.

The room tilted.

No comment.

A crack of thunder; heart missing a beat.

Failure.

“’N’ I’m-”

Choking on damning words.

“I’m p-probation.”

“Your probationary period as a junior agent has been completed.”

She was burning – her mouth, her throat. Chest aching.

Jagged, knifing pain under her arms.

Sweat.

Hands clenched, legs shaking.

“I failed…”

Sight blurring.

“You passed.”

Passed?

“You are now a fully operational S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

How was this possible?

Lips tingling – twisting – distorting.

‘Stay alert, Natalia!’

“Agent Romanoff, my name is Agatha Blood. I’m a doctor.” A voice high, delicate, youthful; female.

Female doctor?

“Please sit on the sofa by the left wall.”

Fabric. Cushions. Sinking low.

“May I sit with you?”

Couch dipping. Eyelids closing.

“I’m going to take your pulse, Natasha.”

Plastic. Velcro scraping. Tightening across bicep.

‘Weak.’

“140/90… 200…”

‘You are weak, Natalia.’

“Natasha…”

“Natasha... hear me?”

‘Weak.’

‘YOU ARE WEAK!’

“… Romanoff!”

Chapter Text

There came a ‘krrrap-krrrap’ knocking on her front door. Natasha pulled herself from her tiny love seat, and padded the five feet to flip open the latch.

“Agent Hill!”

“Hi Natasha, may I come in?”

Hill was back in SHIELD uniform – though, it was the more relaxed joggers and sweater she modelled. Her hair was down, and wavy, and her face wore the same make-up from breakfast.

“I heard you weren’t very well. I picked up these on the way back.” She produced flowers – carnations? Little sprigs of white, like the kind of lollipop trees Natalia used to draw for Red Room mission maps.

“And, well, I know you like orange juice so…” It was a six pack of her favourite kind. Very thoughtful.

Natasha felt her heart swell; in a way that no longer felt uncomfortable.

In the hours since that fateful meeting with Coulson and subsequent admission to the medical department, Natasha had had no less than three people had come to visit her. And none of them had been hostile!

Before, Natalia remembered, a trip to a hospital or doctor would have pretty much been a death sentence – if your trainers didn’t kill you first. She had mostly escaped that horror.

Here though, people seemed concerned – in a positive way.

It was strange.

Agent May had been by her side when Natasha first opened her eyes in the light, beige room. Her limbs were chilled and weak. They shook as she tried to rub her forehead. Exhaustion hit her like an axe. Dizziness followed.

The ceiling swam in and out of focus, and Natasha struggled to orientate herself. But Agent May did not take advantage of this… She had stared into Natasha’s eyes, taken her hand, moments later was squeezing a red buzzer on the wall.

Where Natalia was expecting guards, weapons, pain, Agent May only summoned was the female doctor from before. This doctor offered gentle touches and small smiles that Natalia didn’t recognise. She had eventually given the all-clear for her to leave the medical department.

Agent May accompanied her back to her quarters, staying as the Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, had visited. He explained that Natasha’s probation period was over – she was now a fully-operational S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

She wasn’t being sacked.

She wasn’t being sentenced or punished.

She would need a further meeting with himself, Agent Coulson and the female doctor to discuss the events of Strike Team Chi’s mission, and her future postings, but Director Fury had asked whether Natasha would like Agent May to attend also.

Natalia decided this would be a good call – May appeared to be an ally. There would be no harm in having one of those with her in case of need.

Then she had been granted a few days’ leave.

And the Director advised her to rest.

It was really weird.

“Do you want to sit down?” Natasha mumbled, indicating to the love seat.

“Mel texted me,” Agent Hill advised from her new position. She leaned forwards; her body angled towards Natasha on the bed. Those azure eyes roamed her body and face. “She said you had a panic attack.”

“Apparently.” Natasha mumbled. Her fears, so evident and horrific in the meeting, had quickly given way to inconsolable mortification. Her weakness was a disgrace. An embarrassment.

“I’m so glad you’re okay now.”

Really?

Natasha felt her jaw unhinge, and eyes widen in surprise.

Could Agent Hill be counted as another ally?

“I used to get panic attacks pretty bad when I was younger.” Hill chattered on, unphased. “Probably when I was around your age. There are a lot of hormones at play; makes things more difficult… Oh.”

Suddenly, she stilled. Breath puffed from her mouth as she paused. A moment later she straightened and lifted her chin.

“I owe you an apology.”

Did she?

‘What for?’ Natalia demanded, avidly, ogling those cupid’s bow lips.

“I’m sorry for what I said before, about your mission with Chi.” Hill was twisting her fingers in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Mel says you were told to lie – that you were threatened.” She swallowed.

“I’m sorry for thinking you weren’t strong enough to keep pace with them. I know now that it was the other way around – they couldn’t keep pace with you. They couldn’t even try…”

Hill’s stare was almost beseeching, Natasha thought. Why should she be looking like that?

“Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Agent Hill.”

“Won’t you call me Maria?” Hill blinked slowly, cat-like. “I’m not your senior – we’re on an even playing field now that you are off probation.”

Natasha wondered could she ever be in league with this god-like individual.

“How does it feel?”

Hill’s teeth were visible in this smile; snowy. One lateral incisor yellowed; just the one.

“A bit overwhelming,” Natasha admitted. “I thought it was the end…”

“No way. You’re too good of an asset to lose.”

“Agent-”

“Ah-ah, it’s Maria, remember?”

“Maria…” The word felt almost claggy; Natasha’s and lips moved oddly around the consonants. But she liked the feel of it in her mouth. She tried again, “Maria…” Better.

“Maria, Director Fury says I have to take an exam.”

Her companion nodded sagely, “Yes. To see what level of missions they’ll rank you for.” She leaned back now, relaxing into the chair. “I went straight in to Level 3 because my background was the Marines. Level 3 is probably your kind of speed too – that’s certainly the case for the missions you’ve been on with Barton.”

Maria’s words had made her heart swell again. Her stomach felt uncomfortable.

Natalia had begun to point out discrepancies in Maria’s usual carriage: ‘Her eyes are bigger when they’re not glaring’ and ‘Are those her relaxed abs or is that a little tummy?’

Natalia had decided these imperfections were sweet.

“Level 9’s the best.” Maria nodded to herself. “Director Fury is Level 9. His AD – Assistant Director – she is also Level 9. Have you met her? Maurissa Tancharoen. I think she’s my idol.”

Her cheeks puffed out as she smiled, and the left dimpled with a laughter line. This made her look significantly less intimidating, Natalia noted. Less intimidating, more… something else.

“You think I’m insane.”

“What?” Maria Hill had caught her off-guard. Natasha fumbled for an answer, before Maria laughed aloud and offered her own.

“I’m too old for idols.”

‘Idols are the basis for religions,’ Natalia muttered; ‘Many adults believe in religions.’

“It’s nice to be able to look up to someone.” Natasha found herself saying, smiling when Maria met her eye, hopefully. “I do-”

‘That was too close!’ Natalia had regained control of Natasha’s mouth.

Heat was rising up her neck like steam. Her ears burned as she realised who she was idolising currently. Agent Maria Hill; the beauty before her. The woman who was so far out of her league, Natasha could have been a baby ant to a fully-grown giraffe.

‘Your emotions are ridiculous,’ Natalia hissed, contemptuously.

Yet her ears continued to tingle.

Chapter Text

Thank you all for sticking with this fic 💙 I am indeed planning to continue, but like for a lot of us the pandemic curtailed my plans.

I started a new job in the NHS in Jan 2020, and can't believe I've been in it almost 2 years now - where has time gone?! We haven't had a quiet day since the virus hit Italy. All my brain power has gone into my work and I've been left with very little of it to use outside.

Rest assured, I will update! I've written the whole series in draft, I just need to find the time (and headspace) to write it up and edit it into an acceptable format.

Thanks again. I hope you're all keeping well!