Chapter Text
Natalie Rushman had started off as a joke. A thought experiment. A late night conversation with Coulson and Hill and Clint about how they’d infiltrate Stark Industries, hypothetically. This was back when Stark dealt exclusively in weapons, not superhero-ing, and SHIELD made it their business to have all such wild cards in their database. Under observation. Just in case.
Coulson’s hypothetical had him playing the part of the strait-laced agent, aviators included. Hill suggested she’d use her Marines background. Clint had spent at least ten minutes detailing a melodramatic heist before Coulson had pointed out it was the plot to Mission: Impossible 2. Natasha, having zoned out somewhere around minute four of Clint’s plan, had started creating an alias. A model. A linguist. An assistant. She’d shared her plan with a wry smile. Guys like Stark were too easy. It was Hill who’d given her the name. Natalie Rushman. Maria had smiled as she suggested it, like it was something secret, and before Natasha could analyse the warm feeling that had given her, it had stuck.
Three years later, when Iron Man is dying, Nat receives an e-mail from Coulson with the subject heading, ‘Miss Rushman, how do you feel about Malibu?’
The job is simplistic.
After the reveal, when Stark asks Natasha if anything about her is real, she wants to laugh. She wants to say that she’s had to break down and reconstruct her personality so many times that she knows herself better than most civilians do. She wants to tell him how, for the past few years, after a hard mission Strike Team Delta will order far too much takeout and play board games until the adrenaline wears off. She wants to tell him that at some point, they’d invited Hill along and now, when Maria can’t make it, Nat feels the absence like it’s something solid. Instead, she makes a quip in Latin and slams the door behind her. Then she pulls out her phone.
Fucking Stark, she sends off, and it takes barely twenty seconds for a response to ping through.
Yet you still found time to text me? I knew he’d be terrible in bed. Maria responds. Nat smirks despite herself.
Ha ha. I still think we should’ve sent Barton in. Natasha settles herself on one of the seats in the SI lobby. It takes a while for the next response to come through, but when it does it’s a picture of Clint, covered in purple band aids, his leg in a cast, and he’s giving the camera the middle finger.
He’s just not looking as pretty as you right now Maria follows it up with. Nat worries her bottom lip between her teeth. This has been happening a lot lately, the almost flirting between them. It’s generic enough that it could just be a joke, and that’s how Natasha has dismissed it, for the most part. Even as a joke though, it still makes her face feel warm. It’s ridiculous. She’s the Black Widow. She knows, objectively, that she’s attractive. It’s not something she’s proud of, she didn’t earn it in any way, it’s just another weapon in her arsenal. And yet… Coming from Maria, who has become Maria and not Hill sometime over the past few months, it feels different. She’s an assassin blushing like a teenager. Nat’s fingers hover over the keypad of her phone, waiting for the right response to materialise on the screen. It doesn’t.
A moment later, she doesn’t have to. Another message from Maria appears. Working from home is hell. Working from Barton’s place is torture. He’s been doing nothing but watching reality TV and chugging coffee. Remind me again why I’m the one babysitting?
Nat lets out a deep breath, grateful for the way out. He must be missing Coulson. If you left him with anyone else he’d be trying out crutches parkour. Again. Natasha hesitates, then adds, Malibu is worse than Iceland ’06. She hopes Maria understands what she’s saying.
Just then, Happy comes strolling into the offices, heading straight towards Natasha. Well, towards Natalie. She slides her phone back into her bag.
Things get hectic from there. But after the Expo, after she’s exerted her frustration on a plethora of Hammer’s goons, she checks her phone. There’s a long thread of texts from Clint, bemoaning his situation, but after she’s scrolled past them all, there’s another new message, from Maria.
I miss you too, Nat.
And Natasha smiles.