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“Sorry,” Natasha says quietly as she sits down beside Wanda, who jerks slightly in response to the sudden presence by her side. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Wanda moves over a bit, putting a little more room in between them on the couch. She notes the slightest unhappy twitch of Natasha’s mouth as she does so, a tell so small it’s practically invisible. But Wanda was observant long before she joined Hydra, and besides, she’s been in Natasha’s head, which always provides her with certain insights.
“You never do,” Wanda murmurs. Natasha has an unsettling manner of movement; completely silent, smooth, graceful in a way that reminds Wanda of a jungle cat, vicious and wild and beautiful. It doesn’t disturb her, exactly, but it’s rather unpleasant being snuck up on constantly. Because Natasha is around her constantly; at first, Wanda had been sure it was a security measure of some sort, a standing order to keep an eye on the newest loose cannon. But it’s been months now, and Wanda’s powers are under control, she’s under control, and still, Natasha seeks her out.
Wanda is fairly sure Natasha thinks she’s being subtle. Truthfully, she’s about the furthest thing possible from it. Wanda goes to make breakfast, and despite the fact that Wanda knows Natasha rises with the sun (or even earlier) on a daily basis, Natasha is invariably in the kitchen, nonchalant and innocent, drinking orange juice and watching Wanda as she goes about making her toast and coffee. Wanda spends her free time reading by the window in the lounge in the east part of the building, and Natasha is there, lying across one of couches, reading her own book or napping in the sunlight from the windows, again reminding Wanda of a cat, curled up and dozing in a sunbeam. It amazes Wanda that Natasha trusts her enough to sleep in front of her after Wanda violated her mind. But Natasha is perceptive, too, and maybe she can see the guilt behind Wanda’s eyes, mixed with all the fear and anger and grief and pain.
“How was training this morning?” Natasha asks. Wanda had trained with Steve that morning, since Natasha had been busy with some unspecified errand.
“It was good,” Wanda says. “I like Steve.” Natasha smiles just a bit, almost involuntarily.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “He’s…” She doesn’t finish the thought, and Wanda arches her eyebrows curiously. Natasha catches the look and, interpreting it correctly, rolls her eyes. “Stop it,” she says. “We’re friends.”
“But?” Wanda asks.
“No buts,” Natasha insists. Wanda says nothing, simply staring at her until she relents. “There was a time…” Natasha begins. She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “It was awhile ago, and it was stupid. It doesn’t matter.” Wanda turns, leaning against the back of the couch and facing Natasha fully. Natasha looks down at her lap, absently picking at a loose thread on her leggings. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, resignedly. “He—he put a lot of trust in me, when we took down S.H.I.E.L.D., and it was sort of…intoxicating.” Natasha pauses, as if waiting for Wanda to say something, to judge her, but Wanda just watches her, waiting for Natasha to continue and ignoring the odd sensation forming in her stomach that feels a bit too much like jealousy. “It was—he’s Captain America, you know? And more than that, he’s Steve. He’s probably the best person I’ve ever met, and I’m…me. He made me feel like I could be a good person, and it was a nice illusion, I guess.”
“You truly believe that,” Wanda says, not wanting to interrupt but unable to help herself. “That you are not a good person?” Natasha scoffs.
“You’ve been in my head,” she says harshly. “What do you think?”
“The things you have done in your past are not a reflection of who you are now.”
“But I still did them,” Natasha insists. “People are still dead because of me.” Wanda considers that for a moment.
“You think yourself a killer because you once were,” she says.
“That’s not the kind of thing you grow out of,” Natasha says sardonically. Wanda ignores the venom in her tone, knowing that it isn’t meant for her. Natasha is angry; Wanda knows that, felt it when she was in her head. Angry at her past and herself and the world and all that anger has a way of coming out at people it isn’t intended for. Wanda understands. She knows a thing or two about anger herself.
“I was once a member of Hydra,” she reminds Natasha. “But I am not now, and I will not be for the rest of my life. You have killed, but you are not a killer, and you don’t have to be one ever again.” Wanda gestures vaguely. “It’s the same, you see?” Natasha looks away, letting her hair shadow her face.
“That’s not the same thing,” she says quietly.
“Isn’t it?” Natasha doesn’t answer, and Wanda doesn’t pressure her to. They sit in an odd sort of intense yet comfortable silence until Natasha stands, smoothly and silently.
“I’ll let you get back to your book,” she says. She moves to walk away, but pauses, glancing back at Wanda hesitantly. Wanda smiles encouragingly. “Thank you,” Natasha says softly after a moment. She’s barefoot, which always reminds Wanda of how short she truly is, and she looks the smallest and most vulnerable Wanda has ever seen her. A foreign, painful, hot feeling explodes in Wanda’s chest, and for a moment, she’s disoriented by it, until she recognizes it for what it is.
Wanda desperately, desperately wants to kiss Natasha.
“You’re welcome,” she says, and Natasha smiles almost shyly at her before she walks away. Wanda leans back into the couch, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes.
She signed up for the Avengers, not this.