Chapter Text
Natasha sat outside a small cafe, sipping her coffee as she flicked through the paper. In front of her, a cup of earl grey tea sat cooling in the chilly night air. Night was falling rapidly, casting Queens into shadow and the orange light of streetlamps. By her calculations, the borough’s new resident vigilante was most likely to appear nearby in the next hour or so.
According to her contacts in the underworld, the bank across the street from the quaint cafe was set to be robbed at nightfall, a crime high profile enough to attract Spiderman. The vigilante appeared on Queen’s streets three weeks ago, and already he had attracted quite a bit of attention to himself. The general populace was split on their opinion of him, he was either a rowdy troublemaker or the next Ironman depending on who you asked. Natasha didn’t particularly care about his intentions, she wanted him gone from Queens.
Technically she was here on a mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. to observe and report back about the young superhero, but she intended to either force him from the borough or permanently incapacitate him. Vigilantes, no matter how helpful they may be, attracted enemies, and she couldn’t risk her family’s safety in exchange for a lower crime rate. Her wife and their nephew could easily be killed in a grudge match between Spiderman and whatever nemeses he made over his career. If Natasha was off on a mission or dealing with the Avengers as she often was, there wouldn’t be anyone to protect them.
Fury may assign agents to shadow them if Spiderman became too prominent, but it was doubtful they would keep them safe rather than simply keep them alive. Fury didn’t care what happened to her family as long as one of them was still alive for him to use to keep Natasha in line. He would ensure that either May or Peter survived any super clashes they found themselves in, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t put their agents in danger to keep them completely unharmed. It was better to remove the possibility beforehand, even if it meant the sacrifice of Queens’ new vigilante.
Natasha picked up her a tea, taking a sip as she watched a van park across the street. Five men dressed in all black jumped out, marching into the bank. Idly, Natasha wondered if this crew knew they were unlikely to gain much from robbing a bank. Americans watched too much television and didn’t do enough research, banks didn’t keep large sums of money in their storefronts anymore, hadn’t in decades, to prevent exactly this exact scenario. Still, this sort of crime was exactly what Spiderman was working up to stopping, so it was probable he would show once the clerks tripped the alarm or people started screaming.
She smirked into her tea, enjoying a last sip before calling the waitress. A girl a few years older than Peter brought the bill at her request, smiling from where she thought Natasha couldn’t see her when the super spy left a large tip. Natasha gave the girl a small nod, deliberately taking her time packing up her things as she watched the bank. Just as she shrugged on her jacket a woman across the street screamed in terror, pointing into the bank windows.
Natasha effortlessly slipped into the persona of a random civilian, looking into the bank and gasping in horror the men had pulled out large rifles and waved them at the people inside the building. Passersby and other civilians slowly began noticing the situation in the bank, screaming and calling for help.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Natasha stood up, racing out of the cafe’s seating area and across the street, dodging past an oncoming taxi. She slipped into the alley behind the bank, jumping onto the fire escape and climbing up. Scaling the ladder in a matter of seconds, she hauled herself through an unlocked window, dropping into some employee’s office. She crouched down, scanning the cityscape for her prey. After two minutes and thirteen seconds had passed she spotted the trademark red and blue of Spiderman’s suit flying between buildings toward the bank. Calculating his arrival time against the time it would take her to get downstairs, she slipped out of the office and into the hall. The floor was abandoned, the office workers all gone home for the night some hours previous. Following the exit signs, Natasha made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor just in time to watch Spiderman dramatically burst through the doors, shooting his webs at the closest goons.
“Hey fellas, making a withdrawal?” he joked, charging the men. Natasha frowned, pressing herself against the stairwell. That voice was uncomfortably familiar, but to her frustration she couldn’t place it. She watched Spiderman quickly dispatch three of the goons, distracting the other two from the hostages. He jumped to the wall to dodge a spray of bullets, cackling at the robbers. It was only thanks to her enhanced senses and impeccable training that Natasha noticed the way his left leg twitched when it hit the drywall. “Man, you’ve got some terrible aim, you know that?” Spiderman taunted, dropping to the floor to avoid another volley.
Natasha let out a stream of curses, her stomach clenching in fear as she recognized the voice. Peter had come home earlier with an identical limp, supposedly from twisting his ankle in gym class. “He’s dead,” she snarled, stepping closer to the fight.
Peter was engaging the larger of the two remaining goons, but he hadn’t paid attention to the second creeping around behind him. She waited for the man to step out of view of the window and the hostages before sneaking up behind him, grabbing him around the neck and dragging him into the stairwell. Clapping her hand over his mouth, she pulled out her Widow Bites and jabbed him in the neck. He convulsed in her grip, letting out a muffled gurgle before slumping to the floor.
Natasha smirked at him, dragging him back into the main room and setting him face first on the tile. Peter was just finishing up the last goon, taunting him as his hands were webbed to the wall. She slipped back up the stairs without a sound, making her way back into the office and out the open window.
“May?” Natasha called, shutting the apartment door behind her. Peter was still out on patrol and wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, more than enough time for a chat.
“In here!” May yelled back, the sound of clinking silverware coming from the kitchen. Natasha pulled off her boots, placing them on the small shoe mat by the door. She walked through the apartment, pausing in the kitchen doorway. May was bent over the sink, elbows deep in soapy water. The dishes from dinner were piled on the counter next to her, drying on a large towel.
“May, we need to talk,” she repeated, crossing her arms.
Her wife straightened up, shedding her bright yellow gloves. She turned to Natasha, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re about to say, but judging by your tone I’m not going to be very happy about it, am I?” she asked, walking over to Natasha.
The spy shook her head, reaching out and gently taking May’s wrist. She pulled her wife into the living room, sitting down on the old, battered couch. May sat next to her, pressing herself into Natasha’s side. “I was sent on a mission today,” she began, grasping May’s hand. Her hand was warm and damp from the dishwater, a gentle, reassuring heat. “Fury sent me to spy on Spiderman, to figure out his intentions and identity.”
“Why are you telling me this, Tasha?” May asked, her voice guarded, “you usually don’t even tell me you have missions in New York, why this one?”
Natasha chuckled, squeezing her wife’s hand. May was sharp as a whip, it had been one of the reasons she had been drawn to the woman. May Parker was a smart woman, and after a decade of marriage she had gotten good at reading her. “Do you know where Peter is?” Natasha asked, jumping straight to the point.
May blinked once before realization settled over her. She jumped up from the couch, tearing her hand out of Natasha’s and storming down the hall to Peter’s room. She threw the teen’s door open, cursing loudly as she stomped into the room. “He’s dead!” May yelled, slamming the door shut. She crashed back into the living room, eyes sparking. “How long have you known?”
she asked, glaring at Natasha. The spy stood, calmly meeting her wife’s accusatory gaze. “One hour, thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds,” she said, “I wouldn’t hide something like this from you, you know that.”
May huffed, uncrossing her arms. “Is everyone in my life secretly a superhero? First you and now Peter?”
“The doorman is Daredevil,” Natasha said.
May paused, eyes wide. “Haha, very funny, Natasha,” she said, rolling her eyes.
She smirked, walking to her wife and pulling her into her arms. She pressed a kiss to her lips, burying her fingers in May’s hair.
“Peter’s not going to stop even if you tell him to, you know that,” she said, pressing her forehead against May’s.
The younger woman sighed, wrapping her arms around Nat. “I know,” she admitted, “but I don’t want him to be a superhero. He’s not you, he’s not a super soldier trained by the KGB with decades of experience. He’s just a fourteen year old kid. He’s my baby boy, I can’t protect him if he’s a vigilante.” Her voice shook, tears filling her eyes.
Natasha’s heart clenched at the sight, fighting off the urge to bundle May away in their bedroom and drag their wayward brat home by his ear. “I can keep an eye on him,” she offered, kissing her wife’s cheek. “He’s a smart boy, he’ll keep himself out of danger for the most part.”
May sighed, digging her fingers into Natasha’s shirt. “What if he gets hurt? He’s just a kid,” she whispered. If she were a weaker woman she might have flinched, but Natasha simply placed a hand on her wife’s neck.
“I’ll watch him,” she answered. May gave a watery chuckle, squeezing Natasha’s hips. “Promise?” Natasha gave her a solemn nod. May sighed, closing her eyes. “I guess I won’t kill him then,” she said, “but he’s grounded for the next month.”
Natasha tossed her head back in laughter, a rare smile on her lips.