Work Text:
Natasha’s never been hit by a bus. She’s been hit by a lot of other things: Madam B’s stick, her classmates’ fists, Yelena’s foot by accident when Alexei tickled her and Natasha was in kicking range. But never a bus.
Waking up this Thursday morning, though, she imagines this must be what it feels like.
Her throat feels sharp — like the pointy wire at the top of the Red Room fence — and her nose is closed, making it hard to breathe. It reminds her of the time she had to go underwater, hold her breath for at least three minutes or else they’d hold her head under for longer.
Her body is hot — hotter, even, than a day spent running around in the yard with Yelena. Hotter than the time the air conditioning broke in the middle of the summer and Alexei had to spend the whole day trying to fix it.
Natasha isn’t stupid. She knows she’s sick. Her sort-of friend Jenna (she’s kind of bossy but doesn’t pick Natasha last for kickball, so that’s something) was out for three days last week because she had the flu, and her not-friend Susan (she’s really bossy and does pick Natasha last for kickball, even though Natasha’s gotten more home runs than any other kid in their class) missed four days the week before.
The illness has become so notorious and so feared that her best friend Ximena (she’s not bossy at all and picks Natasha first for everything, even basketball, which she’s not bad at but still not nearly as good as she is at kickball) even confided in Natasha that she managed to successfully fake sick for a day this week.
Natasha wouldn’t dream of faking sick for several reasons, the first of which is that sickness equals weakness equals a big target on your back. There’s no such thing as a sick day in the Red Room — part of the training is pushing through anything. And if you are deemed bad enough for the medical bay, it’s not exactly a vacation. She’s never been there herself, but she’s heard talk of long needles and creams that burn and pills that make your head cloudy and body still. And that’s from the girls who come back from it at all.
Natasha’s been in Ohio for a little over a year now, and with everything she’s observed, she’s pretty sure that won’t happen here. Melina can be a little scary sometimes but only when Yelena insists on doing things she hasn’t been trained to do yet like light matches and wave knives and chase balls into the street. And while Alexei made her nervous at first — with his broad shoulders and loud voice — he wouldn’t hurt a fly. (Literally. He favors trapping the insects in a cup and freeing them outside instead.)
Yelena had a stomach bug a few months ago, and they didn’t even punish her when they threw up all over her sheets. She’s younger, so maybe that’s part of it, but still, Natasha’s taking that as a good sign.
Examining all the facts, she probably won’t get in trouble for it here, but she doesn’t want to get used to it, because “here” is a temporary thing — a tiny blip on the radar of forever.
So that’s the first reason.
The second is that Natasha actually sort of likes school, even though the subjects are usually way too easy and the kids are usually way too loud. She likes the books and the maps on the walls and (this one is particularly silly so she’ll never admit it to anyone) the way she gets a sticker whenever she gets a perfect score on her spelling tests. (Which is every time.)
She’s not inclined to skip school on a normal day, and she’s certainly not about to miss today of all days — the best day, the older kids have assured her.
Because today is museum day. The Center of Science and Industry day, to be more exact. The day that all the fourth graders pack into a bus and drive the hour to Columbus to see dinosaur bones and learn about electricity and sit in a real-life planetarium.
And not only that, but there’s a secret task Natasha has to complete, too — a perfect idea for an important mission that planted itself in her brain ever since she heard Jenna’s older sister talking about going on the trip last year.
Natasha gets out of bed, her body aching as she unsticks the covers from her sweaty skin. She slowly walks to the bathroom, holding onto the dresser when a wave of dizziness washes over her. She can do this, right? She has to do this.
When Natasha gets to the bathroom and looks in the mirror, it quickly becomes very clear that she cannot do this. Not in her current state, at least.
Her cheeks are rosy red — in a fire engine way, not like Yelena’s doll — her eyes watery. She’s hit with a sneezing spell while trying to unscrew her toothpaste — one so violent it nearly causes her to drop the cap.
She wouldn’t make it past reception, much less her teacher, without immediately being sent to the nurse’s office.
And that’s assuming she makes it to school at all. Alexei is already at work, which just leaves Melina, whose attention is usually focused on Yelena most mornings, making sure she puts on shoes that match and brings her backpack to school instead of a sleeping bag that, to be fair, is pretty close to the same size and color as her school bag.
If Natasha times it just right and gets a little creative, maybe — just maybe — she can use Yelena’s antics to her advantage and sneak past Melina.
Natasha racks her brain, trying to remember how Ximena pulled off her operation: a thermometer under a lightbulb, fake coughing, a dab of her mother’s blush. If she finds a way to do the opposite, she can play not-sick and still make it to the museum.
The first one is easy enough. She knows they keep the thermometer under their bathroom sink, so she retrieves it, running it under freezing-cold water. Check.
The coughing one shouldn’t be hard, either. She remembers how in class her teacher would give students a piece of hard candy when they couldn’t stop “hacking up a lung” (Mrs. Brown’s words). She still has a few pieces of Halloween candy left in her bedroom, so she pulls a Lifesaver from her dresser and pops it in her mouth. It seems to do the trick for now — the tickle in her throat kept at bay.
The third one is going to take a little more effort, a little more planning. She peeks out her bedroom door, peering into the hallway. Thankfully, Yelena’s door is cracked open, and she can see her and Melina engaged in a battle of wills about whether Yelena will be permitted to wear her Belle Halloween costume to school that day.
She assumes that showdown will take long enough to do what she needs and considers this her opening, tiptoeing her way to Melina and Alexei’s bathroom. Once inside, she softly closes the door behind her and opens Melina’s makeup drawer, her eyes glazing over tubes and powders until she finds what she’s looking for: a container of whitish foundation.
She clicks open the cap, pouring some in her hand and spreading it on her face until her reflection is somewhat ghostlike. It’s not completely normal-looking, Natasha muses, but she’s definitely not red anymore.
She doesn’t have time to overthink it, as she hears the faint sound of two sets of footsteps going downstairs — Yelena must have relented and changed into non-costume clothes.
“Natasha!” she hears Melina call. “Let’s go, big girl — you’re going to be late!”
“Coming!” Natasha calls back, hoping Melina can’t hear the scratchiness of her voice. She slides the drawer shut, scampering her way back into her bedroom to snatch her backpack. Her head feels light, a little fuzzy, but she pushes through as she double-checks that her permission slip is firmly tucked in her folder pocket, the paper zipped securely in her backpack.
She swings the backpack over her shoulder, scurrying down the stairs and making a beeline for the front door.
“Bye,” she calls, grabbing her coat from the hook and shrugging it on.
And she’s so close. Her hand is on the doorknob, starting to twist it, when Melina’s voice stops her.
“Hold on a minute,” she says. Natasha grits her teeth, freezing in place.
“Yeah?” she asks, but she makes no move to turn around — it’s already hard enough to lie to Melina. She thinks it’d be nearly impossible to lie to her face.
“I thought I was driving you.”
“I was going to walk with Ximena,” Natasha explains. She’s met with a beat of silence — one too long to ignore. She has to turn around and look at her. “Is that okay?” she asks.
“Are you...” Melina starts, occupied with wiping a dribble of milk from Yelena’s mouth — she’s not the most careful cereal eater; the most careful anything, really — but her eyes flicker to Natasha for half a second, and it’s enough to make her freeze, napkin in hand. She squints, changing the course of her original comment. “Wearing makeup?”
Crap.
“It’s for a play,” Natasha blurts. “Sorry, I should have asked, just…you were busy.”
Natasha bites her lip. Privacy was a big rule, and for a moment, Natasha worries she might be punished for sneaking into her bathroom, borrowing her things without permission. But Melina’s mind is elsewhere, for better or for worse.
“I thought you were going on a science field trip today,” Melina says, inching her way across the room toward her.
Natasha swallows hard, the saliva burning her itchy throat.
“I am. We’re doing a play there,” Natasha says without thinking. Then adds: “I’m...a white whale.”
“Okay,” Melina drags out the word, meaning she’s clearly not convinced. She moves to fasten the buttons of Natasha’s jacket. “Well, have fun.”
“Thanks,” Natasha replies, twitching at the closeness. “I will.”
Melina does the last button before brushing a hand through Natasha’s hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This in and of itself isn’t unusual — it’s become part of their morning routine, even, these past few months. A part Natasha doesn’t completely hate.
What is unusual is the fact Melina’s lips linger for a moment longer than normal before she takes a step back to look at her, eyes narrowing again.
“You’re warm,” Melina observes.
Double crap.
“I have my coat on,” Natasha says, a pathetic little excuse but the only one coming to mind right now.
“Do you have a fever?” Melina asks, putting a palm to her forehead.
“I don’t think so,” Natasha lies, eyes dropping to the ground as the words leave her mouth. It takes everything in her not to flinch away.
“Well, we’re going to check to make sure,” Melina says definitively. “Stay right there.”
Natasha does as she’s told, toeing the floor with her shoe as she waits. She tries to think of a last resort — any more of Ximena’s tricks she can flip in the next 20 seconds before Melina gets back — but nothing else comes to her head. Her head that, frankly, is starting to pound a little.
It’s not long before Melina returns with the thermometer.
“Open,” she says, and Natasha reluctantly unclenches her teeth and allows her to slide the still-chilly plastic under her tongue, hold it there until it beeps a few seconds later.
“What’s it say?” Natasha asks, hands fidgeting as Melina looks oddly at the result.
“66 degrees Fahrenheit,” she replies flatly.
Natasha remembers what they learned in class: the human body’s natural state is around 98.6. Way off. Suspiciously off. And Melina knows it, an eyebrow raised.
Triple crap.
“That’s...not a fever?” Natasha tries, unable to help her grimace.
“Nice try. Back to bed,” Melina orders, patting her shoulder.
“But-”
“No buts,” Melina shakes her head, undoing the jacket buttons she’d just fastened. “No school for you today.”
“I’ll skip school, and Natasha can go!” Yelena calls from the kitchen, standing on a chair. “I want to go to the park instead!”
“That’s not how it works, little one. And we sit in chairs — we don’t stand on them,” Melina admonishes, flashing Yelena a stern look. Yelena’s face falls, dropping to sit on the chair with a huff.
“But I feel fine,” Natasha promises.
“Not to me,” Melina says, placing a hand on her burning cheek as if to illustrate her point. “I’ll call your dad, have him swing by and take Yelena to school so I can stay with you.”
“I can go, really,” Natasha argues weakly. “I’ve felt worse.” I’ve had to do worse is implied.
“I know,” Melina nods, reading between the lines she’s speaking. “But that’s not how it works here.”
Natasha’s shoulders deflate. There’s really no convincing her. She’s lost. It’s over. The jig is up, as Alexei would say — one of his favorite American phrases.
“Go lie down,” Melina tells her, helping her slide her jacket off, hanging it and her backpack on the hook. “I’ll be up to check on you in a little bit.”
Natasha begrudgingly follows orders, changing back into her pajamas and crawling under the covers.
She’s supposed to be relaxing, she knows, but it all makes her feel more anxious. Melina explicitly told her to do it, but it still feels like she’s breaking the rules somehow. Doing something she’s not supposed to.
Everything about it feels wrong: being in bed this late, not doing anything. The whole thing makes her feel small and fragile and helpless. She hates it.
She’s not sure how long she sits there staring at the wall. Time seems to stretch like a wide ocean, mocking her situation. It’s at least enough time for Alexei to come pick up Yelena and Melina to call the school, she guesses.
Eventually, Melina knocks on the door, slowly pushing it open, a small tray of assorted items in her hands.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, stepping into the room.
“I’m okay,” Natasha shrugs, which earns her a pointed look.
“Natasha,” Melina says firmly. “What doesn’t feel good? From your voice, I know your throat must be sore.”
It is. Quite a bit worse than earlier, actually. But she’s not going to go that far — be that honest. So she settles on: “A little.”
Melina nods, seemingly satisfied enough with that answer. “Anything else?”
“My head, sort of. And...my skin,” Natasha admits before pursing her lips. They had their unit about germs a while back, but she didn’t remember ever hearing anything about that. It suddenly makes her self-conscious. “Is that weird?”
“Not at all,” Melina assures her, moving to set the tray on her nightstand. “Very common, in fact. A natural effect of your immune system trying to fight off a virus.”
Melina is smart — maybe the smartest person she knows — so the reassurance makes her feel a little better.
Unfortunately, the relief doesn’t last long.
“I have some medicine — it should help,” Melina announces, shaking a bottle of thick-looking purple syrup. It looks...faintly radioactive. A little terrifying.
“Will it hurt?” Natasha can’t help but ask quietly.
“No,” Melina promises, measuring out some of the liquid into a plastic cup. “Taste a little gross, maybe, but that’s what this is for. Cleanse the palette,” she says, nodding her head towards another item on the tray: a bowl of ice cream.
“For breakfast?” Natasha asks, shocked. She can’t believe it. Yelena is going to be so jealous.
“Just this once. Help numb the throat. But first,” she hands Natasha the plastic cup, “medicine.”
Natasha obeys, emptying it in one gulp. It’s not the best thing she’s ever tasted — it certainly doesn’t taste like real grapes, and it has a weird texture — but it’s not unbearable.
As promised, Melina exchanges it for the ice cream. She scoops it slowly, trying to savor it. Though it hurts to swallow, after a few bites, it does make her throat feel a bit less sore.
“What am I going to do all day?” Natasha asks after a few minutes, stirring some of the melted parts around in the bowl.
“Anything you want as long as you take it easy. You could read a book, draw, listen to music, watch a movie...” Melina lists, bringing the tray from the nightstand and putting it by Natasha’s lap so she can get a better view. There’s some paper and colored pencils, her CD player, even the tiny portable DVD player they brought with them when they went camping. Her eyes widen at the last one.
“In my bedroom?” Natasha asks. Jenna had a TV in her room, which she was pretty jealous of — screens were strictly forbidden in their bedrooms so they didn’t, in Melina’s words, “rot their brilliant brains out.”
“For today,” Melina nods, lifting the DVD player from the tray and setting it up near the end of Natasha’s bed. “The scissor kid movie?” she asks, already taking the disc from the case.
Natasha nods vigorously. The movement hurts a little, but she doesn’t care. The prospect of watching Edward Scissorhands — her favorite movie; she kind of felt like him sometimes, not quite fitting in or understanding things in this world — in bed too exciting to fully contain. She’s still sad about the museum, but this isn’t a horrible consolation prize.
Melina slides the DVD in and presses play.
“I’ll be downstairs. Yell if you need anything,” Melina says, grabbing the now-empty bowl and medicine bottle and moving towards the door.
A jolt of panic shoots through Natasha’s body. Suddenly, the prospect of being left alone right now is scary. Melina knows everything — the answer to why her skin feels achy; the knowledge that ice cream would help soothe her throat — and she wants her close in case she has any more questions.
“You don’t have to go,” Natasha says quickly. Melina gives her a curious look, which makes Natasha’s already-red face get even redder. She’s coming off as clingy. Needy. Babyish. “I mean, if you want to watch it, too, you can,” she says as casually as she can manage, picking at a thread on her blanket.
Stupid, Natasha thinks. Of course Melina knows she doesn’t have to go. The Iron Maiden doesn’t have to do anything she says.
But instead, Melina gives her a small smile.
“I’d love to,” she says, putting the bowl and medicine back down and sitting next to her. “Thank you, Natasha.”
They watch the movie in silence for a few minutes, broken only by a sneeze here, a sniffle there. Natasha lies on one edge of the bed, burrowed under the covers, Melina on the other. The medicine is making her a little sleepy, but otherwise, it’s nice.
Edward is trimming a woman’s hair when Natasha’s hit with a coughing fit — one so aggressive it feels like she’s choking. Melina pauses the movie.
“Sorry,” Natasha rasps between coughs.
“Drink this,” Melina says, helping her tilt a glass of water to her lips.
Natasha nods, awkwardly alternating between gulping it down and coughing some more. It causes that little dot of fear to bubble up again — not being able to breathe.
Melina must see it on her face because she starts gently patting her back.
“It’s okay,” Melina assures her. “You’re okay.”
Natasha nods, wants to believe her.
She’s right, of course — she’s always right. The coughs subside a few moments later, leaving her drained. Exhausted and embarrassed to have gotten so worked up over nothing.
Natasha slumps back down, this time lying on her side, looking out the window. To her surprise, Melina’s hand stays on her back, rubbing comforting circles on it.
She feels a tear bead in her eye, partly because she feels bad and partly because she...doesn’t. This — Melina calming her down, staying with her — doesn’t feel bad at all even though she knows it should. It’s pathetic, but she can’t help but want to lean into it. Can’t help but wish it could be like this forever.
“I know it’s no fun being sick,” Melina acknowledges. “And maybe it even feels a little uncomfortable, having someone take care of you?” she says softly, as if reading her mind.
And maybe she should feel ashamed or nervous that she’s that easy to read, but right now, Natasha is grateful for it. That she doesn’t have to try to find the words to say it.
“It’s…strange,” Natasha agrees.
“For me, too,” Melina confesses, shifting herself so her head is level with Natasha’s, scooting closer to her. “But can I tell you a secret?” she whispers.
Natasha wipes the tear from her eye before turning to face her, curiosity getting the better of her. It’s not every day the Iron Maiden entrusts you with a secret, and the prospect is kind of thrilling. “Okay,” Natasha says seriously — whatever she’s about to say is safe with her.
“I like it,” Melina says.
The space between Natasha’s eyebrows creases at that, trying to put the pieces together in her murky head.
“Being around a sick person?” she asks, and Melina lets out a small laugh.
“Looking after you,” she says, tapping Natasha’s nose. “Being your mom.”
She doesn’t know the secret she expected, but she knows it wasn’t that. Natasha had always just assumed she was good at playing the role. That she would be excited to get back to her suit and be a hero.
The thought has flitted through Natasha’s own mind, of course, but she’s never allowed herself to really think it. Not fully said it to herself let alone other people.
“I like you being my mom, too,” Natasha says softly. She chews on her lip, ponders whether to reveal something of her own.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks Melina after a few moments. She doesn’t think she’ll ever find the nerve again.
“Of course,” Melina replies.
“I really wanted to go to the museum,” Natasha admits. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to see it now.”
They could have four years left in this mission. They could have four minutes. The not knowing is one of the hardest parts.
“I’ll take you when you’re feeling better,” Melina promises. “We can all go,” she says before images of Yelena breaking a fossil or accidentally zapping another patron at the electricity exhibit must fill her mind. “Or maybe it could be just the two of us.”
Natasha smiles. She likes Alexei, and she likes Yelena (maybe even loves them), but she also likes this — just the two of them.
Her smile falters a little bit when she realizes this plan, though exciting, doesn’t fix everything.
“It ruined the surprise, though,” Natasha laments.
Melina cocks her head. “What surprise?”
Natasha blows out a defeated breath, figuring there’s no use in trying to keep her original idea hidden anymore. “Jenna’s sister went last year. She said there was a big gift shop full of science stuff.”
Melina blinks in confusion. “You may pick something out when we go.”
“No,” Natasha sighs. “You like science stuff. And your birthday is next weekend. I wanted to get you something,” she explains.
A look crosses Melina’s face that Natasha hasn’t seen before — one she doesn’t quite understand. She thinks maybe for a second Melina might start crying, but all she does is clear her throat, put an arm around Natasha and pull her close to her.
“So why don’t we go then?” she proposes. “I can’t think of a better place to celebrate or a better person to spend it with.”
“Really?” Natasha blinks. That can’t be true, but then again, Melina doesn’t lie. Not to her.
“Really. The best present,” she assures her, squeezing the top of Natasha’s arm before rearranging the blankets, tucking her in. “Now you better rest up so you’re better by then.”
“Will you stay with me?” Natasha asks quietly. Direct. Forward. Risky. But then again, is this not a risk worth taking?
Melina puts her chin on top of her head, and Natasha curls in closer.
“I’m not going anywhere.”