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Chapter Text

Everyone knew about the infamous Black Widow. Everyone knew her as the Russian spy who’d shown up at SHIELD three years ago and had stuck around since. Everyone knew her as the one people would avoid in the sparring ring unless they were stupid or new. Everyone knew her as the one who worked alone, because even on team missions, she’d somehow end up making them more-or-less solo. Deputy Director Maria Hill had never even had a conversation with the redhead. She doubted many agents had. Even now, staring across the cafeteria, she saw Romanoff alone at a table with a book. It was almost as if she was radioactive, with the way agents were altering their paths so as to not come within a few metres of her table. A living human repellent.

“Whatcha staring at?” Bobbi questioned, dropping her tray down beside Maria’s.

“What do you know about Romanoff?”

Bobbi raised a brow. “That no one likes working with her except Barton, she’s the only one here who’s never been to the academy- why are you asking me? You’re deputy director. Pull her file.”

“All that’ll tell me is a list of allegations and that she’s good. I want to know what she’s like.”

“Why?”

“Because Coulson’s taking time off and Fury wants me as her handler.”

Bobbi scoffed, stealing a fry from Maria’s plate. “Good luck with that. I’ve spoken to her like twice and she was an absolute ass both times. If you want to know what she’s really like, you’ll have to ask Clint or her.” Maria rolled her eyes and stood, grabbing her tray. “Hey- Maria. Maria, where are you going?”

“You all act like she’s a walking plague. I’m going to say hi.”

Bobbi gave her a mocking salute, and Maria shook her head. She made her way over to where the redhead sat, feeling sets of eyes follow her. Romanoff didn’t even look up from her book when she dropped her tray down and sat.

Maria was perfectly comfortable in silence – she’d always been taught that it was an insecure thing not to be. That said, Romanoff had yet to acknowledge her existence, so she felt the need to speak up. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Not an accident,” came the short reply.

Maria sat back in her chair for a moment before leaning forwards again and snatching the woman’s book from her hands. For a moment she thought Romanoff would grab her knife and lunge for her throat with the glare she was giving. But Maria stuck with her plan and offered the redhead a hand.

“Let’s try that again,” she said forcefully. “I’m Maria Hill. Nice to meet you.” Even if her tone said the opposite.

Romanoff’s glare narrowed, and for a moment, Maria couldn’t help but wonder if looks could kill. But she was the Deputy Director, and she wouldn’t be cowed by some agent. After a tense moment, Romanoff simply stood, not even bothering to reclaim her book or finish her food before she left the room. Maria sat back, watching her leave with an icy gaze.

When she’d seen the deputy director approaching her table, Natasha’s immediate thought had been ‘what have I done now?’. So imagine her surprise when ‘Hard-ass Hill’ turned out to simply want an introduction. Natasha would be lying if she said the woman didn’t intrigue her. The infamous ‘ice queen’, that her entire class during her recruit year had been eager to avoid. Natasha had expected Hill to remind her of the madams in the Red Room, but she didn’t. Not even remotely. She lacked the cruelty in her eyes. She had the set jaw, and hard gaze, and the intimidation downpat, but she wasn’t what Natasha had imagined. She got an email from Fury detailing her reassignment later that day. She was unsurprised that she’d been assigned to Hill’s team. Of course there had been a reason the agent had bothered introducing herself. Natasha wouldn’t have expected anything less from Hard-ass Hill.

She knew she was pissing the woman off – probably not a smart move – but Natasha didn’t want or need friends around SHIELD. Especially from those who outranked her. She had Clint, and that was enough. No one climbed the ranks by being well-liked, no matter which organisation you were looking at. She’d made a name for herself within days of walking in the door. Mind you, she understood it wasn’t a nice name. She knew there was a reason others turned quiet when she walked in the room. But although no one particularly liked her, no one – no one – would ever insinuate that she was bad at her job. She was good. She knew it and so did everyone else.

That was probably the only reason no one complained to her face when placed on a team with her. They’d groan and mumble at first, before realising that they could sit back and relax, and she’d get the job done. That was how she liked it. Clint had compared her to a Belgian Malinois, which he’d later explained was a dog breed known for their psycho nature. As psycho as they are though, there was a reason that the military and police used them – all that psycho, when used properly, made for an animal that wouldn’t quit until it achieved its goal. They’d work themselves to death, Clint had told her. Apparently they’d had some at the circus he’d grown up in. They’d go nuts without a job, he’d said. She supposed that was a more or less accurate description of her.

It had been almost three years since she’d defected from the Red Room, and coming up to seventeen months officially being an agent. God knows it had taken them long enough to realise she wasn’t going to stab them in the back. She wasn’t stupid. If she bit the hand that fed her, so to speak, she’d not only have the Red Room on her tail, but also the entirety of American law enforcement, as had been the case before she’d defected. She was good, but no one could run from that many people for that long. Fury seemed to be one of the first people to realise that.

Fury was a very different man to Dreykov. Natasha had decided that within two minutes of meeting him. Granted, it had taken her a while to get used to SHIELD not being the Red Room. In the Red Room, when missions had multiple operatives, they barely interacted. They each had their own assignments and were never permitted to share what their role was. Compartmentalisation, the madams had called it. It was a solid theory – no one could spill all the secrets because nobody knew them all – but it left for some things to be desired. Girls died, because when something went wrong, no one would know if that’s how long it was meant to take. But with SHIELD, agent safety was first priority. It had taken Natasha longer than she cared to admit to believe Barton when he told her ‘you do not risk your life to achieve the objective’ after she’d nearly gotten herself blown up. In the Red Room, it was ‘succeed or die trying’. Here, it was ‘the safety of you and your team comes first – achieving the mission is a bonus’.

That got in the way sometimes, so Natasha often chose to work alone. Her team would receive missions, and by now, the team leader knew to just hand her the file. Natasha would go away, redesign the mission to be a solo (maybe a duo if she could score Barton) and resubmit it. At first, people had argued, but then they realised that the mission success rate was higher, resource spending was lower, and people were all round happier when Natasha did things alone. She knew she was a menace to work with in a group sometimes, but hey, if it got the job done…

She had to admit, agent Hill did interest her. Natasha had done her research the moment she’d been given access to the computers. Maria Hill, born 1982, age 28. Two and a half years older than Natasha, and yet the second highest rank within SHIELD. She’d enlisted in the Marines at age 17, remained in service for three years before leaving in ’03. She’d been in SHIELD for eight years now, and from what Natasha gathered, has been deputy director since around the time Natasha was brought in. That was just about all Natasha could find on her without going into what Clint liked to call her ‘creep mode’. He’d threatened to call IT and have her computer privileges revoked if she didn’t stop researching all the agents’ histories.

She got an email from Hill after she’d returned to her room that evening, detailing the day’s schedule. It wasn’t addressed to her personally. Natasha’s eyes skimmed over the attached email addresses. Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter, who she’d met, albeit very, briefly. And two others. Clint had never been on Natasha’s team. Although they worked together on a lot of missions together, Clint was a solo agent. He didn’t have a team. He was usually assigned to solo missions, and when he wasn’t, he’d usually take Natasha from her team for the mission. It was a role typically reserved for the more senior agents or those with kids, like Clint. Being solo meant no group training, which was common for the teams. It also allowed more free time and flexibility. Natasha had no reason to ask to go solo. She enjoyed the team activities purely for the fact that without them, she wouldn’t be allowed on the training outings or the shooting range. Seventeen months and they still couldn’t trust her on the shooting range without supervision. Honestly.

Skimming over the day’s schedule for tomorrow, Natasha was quick to learn that Maria Hill ran a tight ship. They’d meet at five – yes, a.m. – at the obstacle course on the SHIELD training grounds. One and a half hours later, they were permitted an hour of free time for breakfast and showering before having a meeting in the briefing room going over open cases and paperwork that needed to be submitted. At eight-thirty, Hill had booked the shooting range for two hours. Ten-thirty through to twelve was dedicated to filling out aforementioned paperwork. Twelve through one was lunch, followed by two hours to follow up with open cases – interrogating and such. At three, sparring practise until four-thirty. More free time until five to shower, and then Hill expected them at the driving training area. Natasha couldn’t help but wonder whether Hill had organised a lot of this to see where she was at or just because this was a normal day for them. At seven, they’d have their end of day briefing, where they’d be dismissed.

No other team leaders that Natasha had ever had were so militant in their organisation. Natasha could see how Hill had become deputy director. Usually team leaders were more like ‘show up, we’ll give you some new cases and chase you up about paperwork, then you can leave’. Maybe once a week, they’d go down to the shooting range or sparring rings. Truthfully, Natasha was interested to see how different Maria Hill would be from the status quo.

She turned off her laptop, setting it on her bedside table and grabbing the metal handcuffs from the drawer. Two years and she still hadn’t been able to sleep without a cuff around her wrist. There were worse quirks to have, she supposed. She tightened the cuff around her wrist, shutting off the light. Darkness blanketed the room, and Natasha slipped off to sleep.

Natasha was stretching by the obstacle course by quarter to five the next morning. She wasn’t sure what Hill’s version of ‘on-time’ was, but Natasha imagined it was something similar to ‘if you’re five minutes early, you’re already five minutes late’. So she was five minutes earlier than that, just to be safe. She’d never needed much sleep anyway. In the Red Room, it was a rare day where they allowed the girls to get any more than five hours. The little ones would have a smidge more time, but once they deemed your brain developed, it was like the madams stopped believing in the need for sleep. Since she’d turned eighteen, Natasha couldn’t remember a day where she woke up and the sun was already brushing the horizon.

It was winter, if only just. November had just arrived, meaning that Natasha was bathed in darkness. It was about seven degrees at this time, but Natasha was content in letting the cold nip at her skin as she warmed up. Besides, next to some of the temperatures she’d been exposed to as a part of the Red Room’s ‘training’, this was nothing.

“You’re early.”

Natasha looked up at the voice. She could only just make out the figure, but she recognised the voice as Hill’s.

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, for lack of anything else to say.

She’d pissed the woman off yesterday, and now she was her superior. Natasha wouldn’t apologise – Hill hadn’t been her superior yesterday – but she wouldn’t disrespect her again. It was something far to ingrained in her and frankly, wariness of superiors was one of the few Red Room habits that neither she nor SHIELD were overly passionate to irradicate. She personally still regarded it as a healthy fear. SHIELD likely regarded it as a way to control her if need be. Just because Fury trusted her didn’t mean that everyone in SHIELD did.

“Where’s all that snark from yesterday gone?” Hill came to a stop standing over her. Natasha had to crane her neck to look up at her, wondering if this was some purposeful power play.

“You weren’t my superior yesterday, ma’am.” Natasha continued her stretches. Her tone sounded forcefully level, even to her.

Hill scoffed. “I’m deputy director. I’ve always been your superior.”

“I was under direct orders from Fury that I report to him, not you. So respectfully ma’am, you were not.”

Hill regarded her for a cold, quiet moment before saying, “Drop the excess of ma’ams. We both know it’s not said out of respect, so don’t bother.”

Natasha didn’t bother arguing with the truth. Natasha didn’t respect her, plain and simple. Just because she was authority, didn’t mean she had earned Natasha’s respect. If leaving the Red Room had made her realise one thing, it was that fear and respect were not synonymous and, depending on who you asked, were actively repulsed from one another.

“This is yours, by the way.” Hill dropped the book on the ground in front of her. Natasha stared at it for a moment. Honestly, she hadn’t been expecting to see the text again. That said, it was in Russian so she wasn’t sure Hill would have had much use for it. She was glad to have it back. It had been a gift from Clint, and she’d been more than displeased to lose it over a disagreement with the commander.

Stadium lights flickered to life, lighting the obstacle course in a ghostly white glow. Natasha blinked, her eyes stinging as they adjusted to the light. The obstacle course was rather impressive, she did have to admit. It was very similar to the one at the Red Room. She hadn’t done the SHIELD one many times – it was many used for the trainees or as punishments, neither of which were particularly applicable to Natasha. She’d done it once for her fitness assessment, then a second time when she went rogue on a mission and made half of SHIELD think she’d deserted before showing up three days later with the target her team had failed to retrieve. The last time she’d run it was months ago, when she’d woken up in a cold sweat and needing some form of exertion. She’d never been able to do it all – not all of it was possible solo, but she always tried her damn hardest.

She heard footsteps and glanced back over her shoulder to see four figures approaching. She could recognise Morse and Hunter, but the other one was unfamiliar. She stood before they arrived. Hill came over to the group.

“Romanoff, meet Hunter, Morse, and May.”

Natasha inclined her head, taking in the one that she didn’t know. May looked older than the age any widow would survive to. Granted, it was a low bar. The woman was probably only in her late thirties or early forties. In Natasha’s mind, she was old, but only because a widow reaching thirty-five was unheard of. They would either become Madams if they were vicious enough, doctors if they were smart enough, or guinea pigs if they were neither. In short, getting older was a death sentence.

“Agent May,” she introduced herself. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”

She didn’t offer her hand, and Natasha appreciated it. She inclined her head in place. She already liked May. She seemed no-nonsense and down to earth. Almost widow-like in the way she carried herself too. Natasha wondered how many years of experience she had under her belt. Twenty, maybe? Likely enough to match her own, and that was saying something. Even Clint, who was nine years her senior had only five years of experience. Natasha couldn’t help but wonder how May felt being led by someone a decade her junior. In the Red Room, ranks were largely dictated by age, since it was so closely linked to abilities. That said, there had been a few times when Natasha had led girls years older than her, but she’d been an exception. She wondered if May even wanted a leadership role. Natasha wouldn’t. Not with agents as incompetent as SHIELD’s.

She looked over to Morse and Hunter next, nodding at them. She recognised Morse from somewhere, and it nagged at her. Maybe she’d seen her in the field at some point, but that didn’t quite sit right with her. She pushed that from her mind. Now was not the time.

“Clint said you’re good to work with,” Morse said by way of greeting. “I hope he was telling the truth.”

Natasha was only half expecting a jab like ‘it’d be really shit to find out you’re still KGB in the middle of a mission’, but Morse was decent enough to not think of that. Or, at least, say it aloud.

Hill clapped her hands, regaining the group’s attention. “Alright. Now we all know each other, let’s get going. I don’t want any more time wasted.”

Hill, Natasha quickly learnt, was a very hands-on, servant-leadership type of leader. Natasha had been expecting her to stand at the side of the course and bark orders, but she was leading the way. When they reached obstacles that no one could physically do on their own without equipment, she was quick in assigning roles to each of the team. At the wall, she had Morse boost Hunter up, who’d climb on top of the wall and reach down to pull Natasha up. Natasha hated this, personally. There was one point when her entire weight was being tugged up by Hunter, and she didn’t remotely trust him not to drop her. She couldn’t help but stiffen at the touch of unfamiliar hands. Regardless, she made it to the top and hopped over the other side, landing smoothly.

Natasha was mildly shocked when instead of getting Morse to give her a boost, Hill, gave the other woman a leg up. That left the commander having to run at the wall, and awkwardly scramble high enough that Hunter could grab her, but it told Natasha a lot about her personality. She was impressed, she had to admit, but she’d never let that show. They were all sweaty and aching pleasantly by the time they finished. They were headed back up to the rooms when Hill fell into step beside Natasha. Natasha gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep an even pace so as to not out stride Hill.

“It takes a lot of agents a lot longer to get the hang of that course,” Hill said in a not-fully-a-compliment sort of way. Natasha didn’t point out that she’d been doing courses like that since she was four. They began descending the stairs towards the locker rooms. “But,” Hill continued. Natasha almost missed a step. Since when was there a ‘but’? “You have a long way to go in terms of teamwork.” Natasha bit back a scowl, giving the woman a chance to explain. “I understand that you’re new to the team, but I was getting the impression that you weren’t eager to help your teammates through some of the obstacles.”

“You shouldn’t rely so heavily on others that the task cannot be achieved on one’s own,” she said, repeating the words that she’d heard a thousand times over in childhood.

“That’s not how we do things at SHIELD.”

Natasha bristled. “It’s how I do things.”

“You can’t do everything alone. If you find yourself having to breach a room without the knowledge or means to know the layout of the room, how many are inside and whether they’re armed, what are you going to do?” she challenged. “Do it yourself and hope someone doesn’t sneak up behind you or take a partner to cover your back?”

“Neither. I’d set up a sniper point on a neighbouring rooftop and observe until I have all the intel necessary to complete the mission flawlessly.” Natasha wasn’t sure whether it had been a trick question or Hill was just trying to prove a point that was already on unsteady legs.

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

Natasha didn’t reply to that. She’d never been one to waste words, nor was she trying to be difficult. Regardless, they’d reached the changeroom. She went over to her locker, pulling her shirt over her head. She tried to ignore the irritation buzzing through her at Hill’s words. But. Natasha didn’t need a team. She never had, and she never would. She slammed the door of her locker shut, twisting around. Morse and Hill moved so quickly to avert their eyes that Natasha knew they’d been staring. She knew she was covered in scars. She was no stranger to the fact. But no one had stared in the Red Room. No one ever did double-takes, because scars were normal there. She was getting really bloody sick of being stared at here.

“Fun fact,” she snapped bitterly as she moved towards the showers. “Even kids being raised to kill are taught that it’s rude to stare.” That’s all she deigned them with before closing the shower door behind her.

Chapter Text

When they went up for breakfast, Natasha sat at her usual table. She was content… until Hunter and Morse took it upon themselves to sit opposite her. She didn’t say a word as she stood and simply left.

The briefing was as boring as any other. Natasha resisted the urge to spin in her chair or tap her fingers on the desk. As someone who’d grown up in a place that worked her to the brink of exhaustion all day every day with physical exertion, there was not nearly enough opportunity for movement in SHIELD. She’d gotten more used to it as she spent time here, but when she’d first arrived, she’d spent every other free hour she’d had in the gyms because she wasn’t allowed outside to run. It was a bit ironic, because on a mission, she could lay still for hours. But at least there she was thinking. Always on alert. Here, in a briefing room, she was not.

In the Red Room, you got a mission, you went out, completed it, and that was done. At SHIELD, you get the assignment, create a mission plan, get the plan signed off, do the mission, come back, file evidence, complete incident reports, evidence reports, mission debrief, written review, get all that signed, hand it in… etc. It was just a long process, and it bored Natasha near to death. But she’d never complained because that was beneath her. She just got over it and moved on. That was what she was good at.

“Romanoff,” Hill said, snapping her fingers. Natasha’s eyes flickered over to her. The look on the deputy director’s face told her that it wasn’t the first time her name had been called. “Welcome back to the land of the living. As I was saying, I’m missing five of your latest mission reports.”

Fury had never chased her up about those. She always handed them in within a month of their due date. He knew that. Hill clearly didn’t.

“I’m aware,” she said carefully. They were sitting half-done on the desk in her room. She completed them in the middle of the night when she woke up and needed something to remind her where she was. Or rather, where she wasn’t.

“Then why aren’t they on my desk?”

She raised a brow. “Do you want my half-finished reports?”

Hill only scowled. “Finish them and hand them in. You have until Friday.”

Natasha gritted her teeth. A month’s worth of mission reports in two days. How was that at all fair? She had to admit, her time management skills were poor. She kept herself busy with the wrong things because she was still getting used to having freedom over her own choices.

But that wasn’t even her main problem. The main problem was that all of her reports needed to be done in English. Now her spoken English was by no means bad, but it was still her second language and the only proper education she’d ever gotten in English writing was from the age of eight to eleven. Yeah. She had the literacy of an eleven-year-old. The Red Room taught them punctuation and grammar well enough, but it wasn’t necessary. They never needed to write down anything in English apart from maybe a meet here at ___ scrawled on a napkin. Any emails or other communications were sent by their handlers, and they rarely even saw them. Any time they needed to write, it was in Russian. Half of the time she’d write her reports in Russian, then stick them in google translate. She knew it was an awful habit, but it was the only way to get anything done.

Natasha could kind of read but again, it was mostly unnecessary. She was familiar with menu items, and travelling terms, but it took her ages to decipher full paragraphs. She’d usually end up having to sound out words before she realised what they were. That was when google translate came in handy again. She’d copy it in and read it in Russian. Whenever she had missions with Clint, he’d take the paperwork. She’d never outright told him about her issues, but she was almost certain he’d figured it out. He sometimes took some of her other missions as well, if he had nothing to do. But he’d been away on a break for the last couple of weeks, so Natasha was more behind than usual.

She was glad when they wrapped up the briefing and headed down to the shooting range. Natasha could shake off some of her anxiety in the repetitive movement of taking her gun apart, checking the pieces, and putting it back together. She was unsurprised to be the best shot in the group, followed unusually closely by Hill, and then losing by only three millimetres larger of a grouping came May. Even Bobbi with the most spread grouping was far better than what Natasha had witnessed from most SHIELD agents so far. Except Clint. He held the range record, despite how many times Natasha had tried to beat him. She supposed she had to let him win at some things (honestly though, she wouldn’t let him win anything if she had any say in the matter).

“When did you learn to shoot?” May questioned.

Natasha frowned a little. “I don’t remember really.” And honestly, she didn’t. She’d started so young. She knew that the little ones usually start with BBs when they’re four, but proper guns only really around the age of six or seven. But she didn’t remember. She’d first pulled a gun on someone of her own volition when she was eleven. She hadn’t touched a weapon in three years, but at the time, the movements had felt so natural. “They expose us young. I was shoot confidently by the time I was eight.”

After shooting came Natasha least favourite part of the schedule. She’d wanted to go back to her room to try and get some work done, but Hill had ordered her to bring her work back to the meeting room. Natasha had just gritted her teeth and complied. Everyone else seemed used to this. They settled into their seats and started their work quietly. Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to sort through her mountain of paperwork. It’s not like she’d be able to read most of it anyway.

In moving one pile, she knocked another of the desk. “For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath.

Hill looked up, raising a brow. “What was that?”

“What, you got a no-swearing rule too?”

“We’ve been here half an hour and all you’ve done is move papers around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it,” she muttered, bending down to pick up the papers. By now, she’d sorted them into their respective missions five times, but there was no computer for her to use google translate and she certainly wasn’t about to try reading it aloud.

“It doesn’t look like you’re getting to it,” Hill said, her tone strong evidence of her irritation. She took a seat opposite Natasha at the table. “Your mission in Berlin was over a month ago now,” she chastised, pulling the papers towards her and flicking through them. Natasha resisted the urge to snatch them back. “You’ve had a month, and yet these are only half done!”

“Well spotted,” Natasha snapped. “And yet, miraculously, your noticing is not helping matters.”

She was done with this. She put her papers in one pile again, grabbed the wad from Hill’s hand, and left. Maria Hill was grating on her nerves.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha absolutely smashed sparring and evasive driving training that afternoon. It was good. Neither were team activities, and they both got her mind off her need to do paperwork. Hill had clearly been displeased by her just leaving earlier, but Natasha ignored it. She’d been paired up with May who, as Natasha had guessed, was very skilled in the sparring ring. She’d make a good widow, Natasha thought absently.

But her paperwork needed to be done eventually, and Hill didn’t seem like the sort to wait until Clint was back to help her out with it. So Natasha lugged it back to the room they’d been in earlier that day and set it all out again. She’d considered doing it in her room, but since Hill’s team seemed to do it here every day… maybe she thought it would help her brain learn better or something. She didn’t know. She just didn’t want to be in her room because there were a dozen other things she could be doing in there.

She opened her SHIELD-issued laptop and brought up google translate. She knew it was a god-awful habit to rely on, but it was eight p.m. and she was tired, so fuck that. It took her three hours to finish the first two reports, and her brain was slowly turning numb from it all. She jerked in her seat at a sudden knock at the door. Through the glass panel, she caught a glimpse of Hill. She forced herself to take a breath as the woman entered.

“I saw you in here hours ago. I thought you would’ve left by now.”

Natasha scoffed. “What can I say? I have paperwork.”

Hill’s eyes glanced over the paper. “Three hours and it’s still not done?”

Natasha wanted to screw up the reports and lob them at Hill’s head at the comment. She looked back down at her work, trying to make sense of it now that she couldn’t use the translator. Hill watched her closely. After a couple minutes of Hill staring and Natasha being immobile, the redhead looked up.

“Is there anything else Deputy Director?”

There was something calculating in Hill’s eyes. “You can’t read it.”

Natasha set her jaw, but didn’t deny the fact. There was no point in lying if Hill had already figured her out. 

“You needed a translator. That’s why you didn’t do any work this afternoon.”

It seemed to be clicking for Hill now. Natasha was tense, waiting for some reprimand. Something like you should know English by now.

Hill nodded slowly, “I can help you. Or Bobbi, she-“

“I don’t need you or anyone else, and you’re not going to tell anyone else about this.”

It was the closest she’d come to threatening a superior since arriving, but not writing or reading English was a weakness and weaknesses were not tolerated.

“Or what?” Hill dared.

Natasha gritted her jaw, already regretting her words. She sat back. “I don’t think you want me to finish.”

Hill bristled, leaning down to brace her arms on the desk. “Or what?” she repeated. It was no longer a question. It was an order.

Natasha didn’t have much on Hill, but she may or may not have done just a touch more digging than what Clint would deem appropriate yesterday. “How many people in SHIELD know about your stint in juvie for aggravated assault?”

Hill had turned impossibly stiff. Natasha mirrored it. For a moment, she wondered whether she had gone too far. Whether Hill was about to lash out and strike her across the face. She was ready for it. Waiting. She would accept it. She would let Hill hit her as she had allowed others to do so many times before. It would be the same. It would not be very ‘SHIELD’ of her, but it would be the same.

Hill’s knuckles were white with how hard she was holding her hand in a fist. Her jaw was set and her eyes hard, but she said nothing before turning on her heel and leaving the room. Natasha let out a breath. She felt almost bad for bringing that up, but as soon as a closed court file had appeared on her screen, Natasha couldn’t help but login to the SHIELD database and access it. It was morally wrong. She knew that. But she wanted to know the people she was working for. Of course, from that, she’d also seen Hill’s reasoning behind the ‘assault’. Allegedly, her drunken father had come at her with a broken beer bottle. The jury hadn’t believed her. She’d had a history of violence in school, but Natasha wasn’t so sure. Hill was a morally black and white person, and Natasha couldn’t see her attacking an innocent.

It didn’t matter. The information did its job in getting Hill off her back. That was all Natasha cared for. She didn’t give a shit what the deputy director’s childhood was like. Between her, Clint, and Hill, it seemed that bad childhoods made for the best spies.

At the briefing the following morning, Hill was going around assigning cases and collecting reports.

“Morse, you’re up.” Bobbi dutifully slid a stack of papers down the table. “Perfect. Romanoff?”

Natasha had to hide a cocky grin as she took out five stacks of paper and started sliding them down the table in order. “Berlin, Moscow, Dublin, Stuttgart, Paris. Satisfied?”

Hill only hmphed as she flipped through the papers. “We’ll talk about your flippancy with grammar at a later date.” Natasha raised a brow but said nothing. “Right, now onto our latest mission assignment. A group assignment.” She pinned Natasha with a look as she flicked through the powerpoint on the screen. “Bobbi will be using her Hydra cover.”

"You worked in Hydra undercover?" Natasha questioned, her eyes narrowing in thought.

"Head of security," Bobbi answered.

"Huh."

Hill raised an impatient brow. “Romanoff, you done disrupting my briefing?”

Natasha turned back to Hill and gave a mocking salute. “Take it away Commander.”

“It’s Deputy Director,” she said firmly.

Natasha scoffed. “What?”

“If you’re going to use my rank as a title, do it correctly.”

Natasha was just satisfied that she’d gotten to the woman. She sat back, inclining her head. Hill continued with the briefing. Natasha was more than displeased to hear that she wouldn’t be involved with much of the mission. She wasn’t able to infiltrate Hydra with Bobbi because they knew she’d defected the Red Room, and that left her with May in the Quinjet waiting for extraction. Even Hunter would be doing foot surveillance. But Natasha didn’t argue. As much as she hated being left out, she hated Hydra missions even more. She’d only had three since defecting, and they were the only missions that she wouldn’t poach from her commanders. Hydra gave her the heebie-jeebies anyway. This location they’d be going to now in particular.

The Red Room didn’t have the means to do the graduation ceremonies on base, so they’d use Hydra’s labs with all their medical equipment. Natasha’s blood turned cold when she realised that the base they’d be going to was where she’d lost her ability to have children.

Eventually, she said, “Why do I have to come at all? I’m not doing anything.”

“It’s a group assignment, Romanoff. You have to come. It’s non-negotiable.”

“It adds an unnecessary risk.”

“Is there a reason we should be calling you a risk?”

“We’re going to a place where everyone knows my face and wants me six feet under. You tell me.”

“You’re coming, Romanoff. I don’t care how you try to convince me otherwise.”

Natasha gritted her teeth and sat back, knowing there was no point in arguing.

When Maria finished, she looked at Romanoff, expecting her to argue her role again – or rather, lack of thereof. But the redhead had sunk into her chair and turned unusually quiet. If Maria was the sort to care about Romanoff’s feelings, she may have been concerned. But she and Romanoff weren’t friends, so unless it impacted her performance, Maria didn’t care. She dismissed them. Bobbi lagged behind. Maria raised a brow in silent question.

“Can I talk to you as your friend?”

Maria nodded, dropping her arms from their crossed position that she so often took up when giving orders. She mentally shook the commander from her mind, replacing it with Maria.

“Yeah sure. What’s up?”

“What’s with you and Romanoff?”

Maria almost snapped back into commander mode, but she caught herself and let out a huff. Bobbi was her friend. One of few that she hadn’t pushed away. Bobbi knew as much about her as she did.

“She threatened to rat out my stint in juvie to the team.”

Bobbi’s expression turned calculating as she processed that information. “Why?” she asked after a moment. Maria was silent, but Bobbi pressed. “I haven’t known Romanoff for long, but there’s a reason behind everything that she does. And she doesn’t make enemies of people in power for no reason.”

Maria ground her teeth together, but eventually said, “I found out something about her, and I think it made her feel threatened or vulnerable or something, so she lashed out.”

“What?”

“Bobs, I shouldn’t.”

“So what, you’re gonna fight this war with her forever? You’re her CO, but she’s a shark. It’s going to end in a stalemate or you getting each other killed in the field. There’s gonna be a point where it puts the rest of us at risk too.”

Maria knew that she was right, but that didn’t mean that she had to like it. “She can’t read English.”

Bobbi faltered for a second, but then she seemed to think about it. “That makes sense. So she can’t write either?”

Maria shook her head.

“No wonder Clint always seems to have one of her reports on hand. He’s been helping her write them. She just speaks English so well it’s hard to think that she can’t read or write. It’s a miracle she’s been here for so long without people realising.” Bobbi was quiet for a moment before saying, “Page her.”

Maria’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Page her. She can’t go forever without learning, and Clint doesn’t know enough Russian to teach her, and I don’t think she’d let you teach her even if you could. I can help her.”

“Bobbi, she’ll rat me out. You know she doesn’t play games.”

“She threatened you because she was cornered. The only thing that telling the team about your history would gain her is a rocky relationship with the Deputy Director. Not to mention that she is well aware that the team cares more about you than her. She’s not stupid.”

Maria hesitated before acquiescing and paging Romanoff.

The redhead showed up a few minutes later, faltering when she saw Bobbi in the room as well. “What do you want?”

Bobbi took over, crossing her arms. “You need to learn to read and write in English.”

Maria saw the tension roll through Romanoff, and for a moment, she wondered whether the woman was going to lunge or bolt. But then Romanoff seemed to regain control of her body and forcibly relaxed her muscles. She pinned Maria with a death glare so cold that Maria could swear the temperature dropped a few degrees. Maria raised her chin and stared right back. Eventually, her gaze flickered back to Bobbi and she snapped,

“So what, you’re going to teach me?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said evenly.

“And in return?” Bobbi faltered. Romanoff continued. “I have no money, very few belongings. How do you want me to repay you?”

“Hand in your work on time,” Bobbi replied.

Natasha gritted her teeth. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Great.” Bobbi sat, pulling out a file.

Romanoff raised a brow. “What, now?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said bluntly.

“Don’t you need to prep for the mission?”

Bobbi waved a hand. “I use this cover all the time. She’s a second skin by now. It’s the others that need prep time. We’ve got three hours, so we may as well start.”

Maria took that as her cue to leave, shooting Bobbi and IOU look as she left.

“So what do you know?” Bobbi asked.

Natasha gritted her teeth. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that.”

“I speak ten languages.”

“How many can you read and write in?”

Natasha paused for a few moments. “I’ve only ever needed one.”

“No one’s blaming you, Natasha,” Bobbi said gently. “Most agents here can’t even speak two languages, let alone read or write in them. This isn’t some weakness you need to hide.” Natasha visibly flinched at the word ‘weakness’, and Bobbi had a feeling she’d hit the nail on the head. “Alright, let’s start at the beginning then.”

Chapter Text

By the time three hours had passed, Natasha’s brain felt about ready to explode. Bobbi had said she’d picked a lot up fairly quickly, but Natasha wasn’t sure if she was just saying that to be nice or not. They’d gone through a lot, starting at the alphabet and ending with Bobbi helping Natasha through writing sentences. At first, Natasha had tensed every time she’d gotten something wrong, expecting Bobbi to hit her as a madame would have. But Bobbi never hit her. She just pointed out the mistake and corrected it before moving on. Natasha was sure that Bobbi had noticed her minuscule flinches, but she was glad the woman said nothing. She was a good teacher, Natasha had to admit. She’d explain things in Russian and that just helped so much more.

“You were acting weird during the briefing,” Bobbi said as she started packing up. “Is it something to do with the mission?”

“No,” Natasha denied instantly, because saying yes would be admitting weakness. But Bobbi raised a brow.

“If you have an issue with a mission, you can tell Maria you don’t want to do it. She may be a hard ass, but she knows you wouldn’t say no for no reason.”

“I’m fine with this mission,” Natasha insisted.

Bobbi hummed but didn’t keep up the argument.

Natasha went back to her room, grabbing her go-bag. It was a habit formed in the Red Room. Every time they went out on missions, they were expected to have a go-bag. Something that they could just grab and run if need be. It was always fully stocked with a first-aid kit, long-life food, a change of clothes, money, identification, weapons, a tarp, and water. Widows could survive with that. Even though SHIELD protocol was to hand out necessities on the way into the field, Natasha always had her go-bag. She always brought it and stashed it somewhere – behind garbage bins, in alleys – anywhere close enough that she could make sure nothing happened to it whilst not getting in her way. Fighting with a backpack on isn’t the easiest thing in the world, after all.

She was the last to board the Quinjet. Only May was missing from the cabin, but a glance up to the cockpit revealed her in the pilot’s seat. They took off, and Natasha tried her best to stifle the anxiety that was crawling up her throat.

“What’s with the bag?”

Natasha glanced at Hill, subconsciously tucking the bag further under her seat protectively. Clint had never asked, nor had her previous teams – they all knew she had her own way of doing things – so she’d never had to explain it before. Now that she did, she simply said,

“Precautions.”

Hill scoffed. “You’re not even leaving the Quinjet. Why would you need precautions?”

“Be prepared for everything and you’ll never be caught unawares.”

“That’s very girl-scout of you.”

Natasha gave her commander a look. “Getting caught unprepared gets you killed. You should know that.”

Hill studied her for a moment before sitting back. “What’s in it?”

Natasha gritted her teeth, but answered regardless. “Money, ID, spare gun and ammo, knives, clothes, food, water, tarp, first-aid kit.”

“Sounds like you’re ready to desert. Bored of SHIELD already?”

Natasha could handle a lot of jabs – lord knows she’d heard a decent amount of Russian slut, redheaded devil, and overcompensating feminist comments since she’d joined – but questioning her loyalty rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it wouldn’t have when she’d first joined, but she’d spent two years now working her ass off for SHIELD, trying to wipe the red from her ledger, and yet half the organisation still didn’t trust her. She knew Hill meant it as a joke, but frankly it wasn’t funny. She’d been working so hard to prove her loyalty to the organisation that saved her from living hell and showed her what life was meant to be. She would put herself in front of a bullet for Fury. And Clint. Because that’s who she was. She was loyal to a fault to those who deserved it. She’d just never known that before because no one had earned her loyalty. But she would fight until she broke, she would die for what she was loyal to. So for Hill to insinuate that she’d lose loyalty out of boredom alone…

“Romanoff, I think you’re making people nervous,” May called back from the cockpit. “You’ve got that look.”

Natasha knew the look. Clint called it her ‘muder’ face. She blinked, clearing the expression in an instant and replacing it with a blank mask.

“Plotting my murder already?” Hill prodded.

“If you call my loyalty into question again, that joke may not be quite so funny.”

Hill huffed out a breath. “What, it’s not like you’re the most loyal type. You did abandon the organisation that raised y-“

Natasha scoffed, cutting her off. She wanted to snap how she was twelve the first time she’d begged to be killed. Because being killed was better than being made to torture the girl who she’d let become her friend. That organisation that ‘raised’ her never had permitted any kind of touch that wasn’t punishing. That organisation raised her to serve a master like she was his bitch. That organisation raised her and hundreds of other girls like the disposable objects they made them believe they were. Instead, she landed on saying,

“The word ‘raising’, Agent Hill, implies that some form of care was given.” One in twenty. That was the statistic they were given. One in twenty survive the training. The other nineteen? They were killed as examples, or froze to death because they couldn’t start a fire, or got poisoned because they didn’t check their food. “The Red Room doesn’t raise children, Agent Hill. It creates killers.”

The quinjet was silent. She hadn’t shared much, but even the snippet was more than she’d given them thus far.

“Don’t assume to know me, Agent Hill. And never call my loyalty into question again.”

“Is that a threat?” Natasha was only mildly impressed that Hill had been able to keep her composure.

Natasha summed Hill up. “I tolerate a lot of things. Call me a slut and I’ll brush it off. Call me a monster and I’ll probably agree with you. But never call me disloyal. You may be my superior, but I have no problem in making your life a living hell.”

“You don’t scare me Romanoff.”

And suddenly it was like no one else was in the room. It was just her and Hill, sitting across from each other.

Natasha’s tongue was heavy in her mouth as she replied with, “No? Maybe I should.”

Then she got up and headed into the cockpit to sit with May. The woman pressed a button, and the door to the cockpit closed.

“What was that about?” May questioned.

“She questioned my loyalty.”

“Why did it get to you though?”

She was right about May. Natasha couldn’t tell whether she was impressed or off-put by how May seemed to see right through her. Natasha sat back. “I don’t have many… favourable qualities. I’m not kind, or compassionate, or empathetic, or honest. I am a killer. I have always been a killer, since I was five years old. But I have always been loyal. I was waterboarded because I refused to give up information about another widow I’d considered my friend. I never broke. My loyalty was- is – the one thing they couldn’t take away. I was never loyal to Dreykov. I obeyed him because I was fearful of him, but I’ve learnt that fear is not respect. Fury taught me that. I obey Fury because I respect him. I am loyal to him. They took so much from me, but that, I was able to keep.”

“So Hill saying that you were disloyal, even if she was just poking fun, was- I understand. What’s said in the cockpit, stays in the cockpit.”

Natasha inclined her head, “Thank you.”

She spent the rest of the flight in silence with May. She only went back into the cabin of the aircraft when the others had been dropped off. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t anxious. It had nothing to do with the team on the ground. She couldn’t care less if they ended up in Hydra. But she was concerned about staying in this airspace for any longer than necessary. She wasn’t like the others. If they were captured, they had a chance at being able to fake switching sides to save their hides. She’d already done that. They wouldn’t bother trying to turn her. They’d simply ship her back to the Red Room and use her as an example.

So of course she was anxious.

She busied herself with trying to read mission reports as she paced. She’d made it through a full page by the time the others trudged back onto the Quinjet. Natasha’s eyes immediately swept them for injuries. Everyone but Bobbi looked like they’d just sprinted the mile. If she cared a little more, Natasha may have asked why. Instead, she went back to her seat and strapped in. Bobbi sat beside her, letting out a satisfied sigh. Hill leant down, pulling a plastic bag out of her mission kit and tossed it to Hunter, who picked out a pack of gummy bears before tossing it to Bobbi.

“Love your work Hill,” Bobbi grinned, opening the bag and pulling out a snickers bar. “What’s your poison Romanoff?”

Natasha peered into the bag of candies. There was everything from Skittles to Reeses to Hershey’s. “What’s all this?”

“It’s Hill’s thing,” Hunter said around a mouthful of food. “Sweets after missions.”

Natasha shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

The bag got passed up to May.

“So how was it?” May asked from the cockpit as they took off.

“Things got a bit tight on the way out, but Bobbi’s cover wasn’t blown and we made it out alright,” Maria said. She glanced at Natasha. “There was a widow there.”

Natasha glanced up, unsurprised. “Yeah. Hydra and the Red Room work closely together. We know this.”

“Yeah, well if we’d known that she was going to get suspicious of us within seconds of entering the room-“

“Don’t pin your lack of preparation on me,” Natasha snapped.

“We work as a team here, Romanoff. If you’d predicted a threat, you should have said something.”

“I’m not a fucking fortune teller.”

“Watch your language. I’m still your superior officer.”

“I thought we were a team,” Natasha replied mockingly.

Hill’s eyes narrowed. “Well since you seem to think so…” she crossed the quinjet, dumping a file on Natasha’s lap. “You get to complete the mission report. We’ll get our statements in by the ends of the day. You can fill in the rest.”

Natasha scoffed, shaking her head. She didn’t argue, but she muttered something about Hill in Russian that made Bobbi choke on her water.

“What was that?” Hill demanded.

“Nothing I can repeat in English,” Natasha grinned, the expression all teeth and no humour.

Hill gritted her teeth, her eyes hardened. “You are aware that legally I’m fully within my rights as your commander to say… give you diminished rations, or forfeit your pay, correct?”

Natasha leaned forwards with a raised brow and a mean smirk. “Gosh are you sounding an awful lot like the Red Room right about now.”

“Fine. I’ll be assigning you to help in the kitchens for the next week. You’ll report every day after lunch and dinner.”

Natasha scoffed lightly, sitting back. She knew that this would irritate Hill more than anything. Dismissing her was worse than any comeback Natasha could have come up with. The rest of the flight was in silence.

Maria was getting very sick of Romanoff very quickly, so when she got wind that Barton was back, she was quick to set up a meeting time with him. The second he walked into the meeting room where she was waiting, he said,

“So she got to you already, huh?” He grinned, but Maria found it less than amusing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clint didn’t drop the grin as he replied, “Nothing, it’s just-“

“Just what?”

“You’re two very…" he chose his words incredibly carefully at the look Maria gave him. "...strong women, and Natasha’s not exactly known to be easy to get along with.”

“Not easy? She’s damn near impossible.”

Clint only chuckled. “What has she done?”

“She just refuses to communicate, and when she does, it’s downright disrespectful.”

Clint shook his head a little. “What have you done about it?”

“Well there’s only so much I can do. Nothing bothers her.”

“No,” Clint argued. “Stuff affects her. You just have to figure out what.”

“Well anything that does affect her is trauma based. I can’t very well go limiting her rations or keeping her confined. I threatened her with that and she said ‘that’s very Red Room of you’.” A small smile quirked at Clint’s lips. “It’s not funny!”

“You know she just said that to get to you, right? If she genuinely thought you were anything like the Red Room, she wouldn’t be acting out.”

“So what, to get her to listen, I need to mirror that abusive shithole?”

Clint sighed. “Stop trying to force your authority on her. She’s stubborn. If you push, she’ll push back.”

“So let her get away with it? What kind of precedent does that set?”

“I’m not saying to let her get away with it. You need to earn her respect. If she respects you, she’ll listen to you. But you’re not going to gain her respect by forcing it on her. This is her testing you. It gets easier. I promise.”

Maria scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to find teams to work with her? Fury gave me the job once and it took a week to find someone willing to add her. Then when they do, they all stop working and she does it all.”

“Why do you think Fury put her with you? You won’t take that from her. Look, she works hard. You can’t deny that. The reason she challenges you isn’t because she thinks you’re crap at your job, it’s because she doesn’t trust you. Once she trusts you, getting her to work with your team will be a lot easier.”

“What do you mean?”

Clint sat back. “Imagine you’re… I dunno. Rock climbing. You been rock climbing?” Maria nodded. “Well, the person who’s belaying you makes a difference right? If the person belaying you is distracted and there’s slack in the rope, you’re afraid that if you fall, you’ll get hurt. You won’t want to climb as high. Now if you know and trust that person, and there’s no slack in the rope, you’re confident that you could fall and they’ll catch you.

“Natasha lived her whole life relying on herself. If she screwed up, there was no one to catch her. There was no room for error. That’s her mindset. She learnt to be unbreakable because there would be no one there to fix her. She’s afraid that if she leaves your tasks to you, and relies on you to be able to complete her own mission, then she’ll pay the price for it. All she needs is to learn that you’re there.”

“And how do I do that?”

Clint chuckled. “I can’t give you all the answers, now can I?” At Maria’s stern look, he continued. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been working with her for two years now. We’ve had time. We’ve had loads of miniscule moments were I’ve covered for her to keep her from getting in trouble and that sort of thing. It really makes a big difference, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Maria sighed. “Thank you Barton.”

“Any time Hill.”

With that, Maria left; her mind whirring with all this new information.

Kitchen duty wasn’t bad, per say, but it meant Natasha had far less time on her hands. She was almost certain that that was Hill’s intention. After lunch and after dinner. Both times that were set aside for her to do paperwork. Now, she only got back to her room after eleven, and was often playing catch-up until two or three am.

Wednesdays, Natasha quickly learnt, were the worst. They were the days when most agents returned from missions and were too tired to go home to eat. That meant more people. And more people meant many more dishes to clean up. She was there until past midnight, despite still having to finish the paperwork for their HYDRA mission on top of the solo mission she’d taken last-minute the day before last. Regardless of how she tried to explain this to the head of the kitchen staff, he threatened to report her if she left. She supposed she could understand – if anything, these last few days had made her recognise that the kitchen team did more than they ever got credit for – but that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated.

When she eventually was able to leave, she headed back to her room, grabbed the paperwork and her laptop and made her way to what she now called the ‘paperwork room’. She was far more efficient doing it in here than in her room anyway. She was there for a few hours until she was interrupted. A knock at the door had her looking up at Hill. She tried to push down her irritation, but she was tired, and had been dealing with people all day. She could only handle people for so long before burning out.

“It’s three a.m.”

Natasha almost rolled her eyes. Almost. She knew what the time was. “Now’s not a great time.” She looked back down at her paperwork, hoping Hill would leave, but the woman only stepped further into the room.

“What’ve you got left to do?”

Natasha looked up. She’d been expecting some reprimand for her tone, but Hill seemed to have brushed over that. The brunette took a seat, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she leant on the table. It was forcibly relaxed. Natasha could tell. The question was, why was the commander making such an effort?

Natasha pushed a file towards her. “There’s the stuff for the HYDRA assignment. I’m still putting together the arrest and crime reports for the guy I brought in on Monday.” She rubbed a hand over her face. Her eyes ached, and the beginnings of a headache were tugging at her skull.

“I can take care of those.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s fine. I-“

“You’re no use to me as an agent if you drop dead from exhaustion. I was there. I can handle the reports. You go get some sleep.”

Natasha didn’t drop her suspicious gaze. “What do you want?”

“I thought we just went over this. Go. Sleep.”

“I can do it,” she insisted.

“I know you can, but we’ve got an assignment for tomorrow, and you play a part in it. I need you focused, which you won’t be if you’re falling asleep.”

“I’ve been trained to stay awake for-“

“Romanoff,” Hill snapped, her tone warning. “That is not a request, it is an order. Go get some sleep.”

Natasha had never been ordered to do something that benefitted her. Half of her wanted to accept it and go sleep, but that would be letting Hill win. And letting Hill win was the equivalent of rolling over. Natasha didn't roll over. Her gaze turned hard.

"I've got it."

Hill scoffed. "Fine. I was just trying to help."

Natasha didn't let herself feel the twinge of regret at not accepting the offer.

Chapter Text

Maria had no fucking clue what she was doing. She knew that Clint was right, logically. She hated that. Everything he'd said about Romanoff's lack of trust was on point. He's said that she'd spent her whole life relying on herself and it hit Maria that she and Romanoff came from simultaneously similar and different lives. As much as Romanoff rubbed her the wrong way, she couldn't deny that they had things in common. Maria knew all too well what it was like to have no one but yourself.  She knew that she’d gone too far on the plane. Loyalty seemed to be a touchy subject for Romanoff and she’d used that against her. She didn’t know why Romanoff was so offended at being accused of disloyalty, but she was sure there was a reason. Then she’d threatened Romanoff with things she very well knew she wouldn’t carry through with. She knew what it was like to not have basic needs met. Diminished rations were an old military thing that she’d seen commanders dish out to their subordinates on occasion. Military law and civilian law differed in many aspects that way. With Romanoff’s past, Maria didn’t know how it was that she’d seemed to know that Maria wouldn’t follow through.

She’d landed on kitchen duty, resolving to treat Romanoff like any other agent. She didn’t hate many people, but she thinks she’s starting to hate Romanoff. That said, Maria was above punishing her more harshly simply because of that. In the Marines there had been many, many, soldiers that refused to respect her rank due to her age or gender. She learnt long ago how to manage that. Even if Romanoff wasn’t fighting her because of either of those reasons, Maria refused to lower herself to her level. Romanoff was having a go at her, and Maria would deal with that and that alone, disregarding any personal dislike of her.

She’d landed on kitchen duty knowing all too well that it would limit Romanoff’s time to do her paperwork. She could only restrain herself so far. But she still hadn’t expected Romanoff to be up at 3 am trying to complete the work. She’d expected her to hand it in late, despite the deal she’d made with Bobbi to hand work in on time in return for Bobbi teaching her. But no, Romanoff seemed to be trying to abide by that promise. Maria wasn’t sure whether that was because Romanoff didn’t want to owe Bobbi anything or for some other reason, but regardless, her depriving herself of sleep made Maria feel just a little bit guilty. Of course, Romanoff refused her help and that just pissed her off. Granted, Maria was already a little on edge – she hadn’t been up at three a.m. for the fun of it. She rarely found anyone working at that time, so she had been rather surprised to see Romanoff in the first place. She shouldn’t have even gone into the room. It wasn’t worth it.

Part of Maria wished she could do a deep dive into Romanoff’s past, but not only was that a huge invasion of privacy (regardless of whether Romanoff had done it to her) but the files were also redacted. Everything from Barton’s reports as he helped her rehabilitate to all the files on the Red Room were redacted. And given Maria’s clearance level, that was almost impressive. Not much was redacted from her anymore. She found herself sending Fury an email. She was ready for him to scold her about the time she sent said email, but she was dying with curiosity. She wanted to know, because when Romanoff had said mockingly said ‘Gosh are you sounding an awful lot like the Red Room right about now’, Maria had realised just how little she actually knew.

The next day, Maria was handing out files in the briefing room.

“Pretty simple objective,” she started. “Make it look like a B&E, but really we’re looking for evidence that confirms that James Thompson is an agent within HYDRA. As of yet, he remains working for the CIA, but SHIELD has been led to believe that he’s a double agent using his position to tip off HYDRA to classified intel. Have a read through the files and get back to me with any questions. We leave at 0900 hours.”

Natasha had done plenty of these sorts of missions before, so she wasn’t too concerned that she wouldn’t be able to finish the file before she left. Her jaw stiffened as she stifled a yawn. Hill raised a brow at the action.

“Tired, Romanoff?” she questioned.

Natasha had to fight the urge to say something along the lines of ‘shut up’, and instead chose to be the adult in the room and pretend she hadn’t heard. She skimmed over the important stuff, and skipped the unimportant stuff. She was far more comfortable with this than the HYDRA mission. He may be an agent, but he wasn’t on HYDRA turf, and that was what Natasha mainly worried about.

This would be easy.

By the time they arrived, it was past eleven. It was a rainy day, so the team took cover at a bus stop. It was a posh neighbourhood, filled with houses of people that Natasha was almost certain were more morally grey than they’d ever admit to – after all, moral greyness was usually a requirement to have enough wealth to live in a place like this in houses like these.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Hill questioned, her eyes scanning the group.

They all nodded, and Natasha started. “I ring the doorbell, ensure the house is empty. I’ll contact you guys over comms.”

Morse took over. “Hunter, May, and I bust in the back door.”

“I’ll follow in after Romanoff,” Maria added.

“Morse and I cover the top floor-“

“May and I take the basement and ground floor.”

“Hill and I get to smash a bunch of stuff before coming to help,” Natasha added.

“Good,” Maria said. The group halted as they laid eyes on the house. “Your move Romanoff.”

Natasha inclined her head and set off to the door, half jogging in an attempt to stay as dry as possible. She’d never been much a fan of the rain. She was well aware of the cameras that followed her every movement the moment she stepped onto the property. She wasn’t concerned. She’d never met her target, hence it was unlikely he knew her face, let alone could recognise her from CCTV footage in the rain. If he did… well, what was he going to do about it from the Bahamas?

She rang the doorbell, leaning against the wall of the alcove. At best, there’d be a maid and she could pretend she’d gotten the wrong house and go back to the group and wait until she left. The door opened, and Natasha was faced with a well-dressed man in his forties. Shit. It was their target. James Thompson. She had two options. One: she could play the ‘sorry, wrong house’ card and follow the plan they’d made in case something like this happened. Or two: she could abandon the plan and make it up as she went along. Plan number one would require her to go back to the group with nothing. Plan two however…

She plastered a smile onto her face and put on a cheesy southern accent.

“Hey handsome.” She grinned giddily and twirled her hair around her finger. “I uh-“ she let her eyes wander down his suit. “I got a call. Said he was a friend of yours. Said you were a little lonely.”

He was a recent divorcee, Natasha knew. She was fully intending on taking advantage of that fact. He looked a little suspicious, but Natasha could work with that.

“Who?” he questioned, raising a brow.

“I think it was someone called Ben, or Barry, or… Bruce! That was it, Bruce. Said he works in communications at your office.”

There was a Bruce in communications at Hydra. At least, there had been two years ago. She must’ve gotten lucky, because recognition sparked in his eyes.

“Ah, yes. So, I- come in.”

She grinned and stepped inside.

“Romanoff,” Hill hissed over the comms in her ear. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’ve got a lovely home mister.” She smiled sweetly. She wasn’t in the best outfit to play the prostitute act, but hey, she could work with it. She was dressed casually – leggings and a simple shirt.

“Thank you…”

“Samantha,” she finished. “But you can call me whatever you like.” She let out a stupid giggle.

“Romanoff.”

“So Samantha, what exactly did Bruce tell you?”

Natasha stepped a little closer, looking up at the man from under her lashes. Inwardly, she grimaced. She hadn’t done a honeypot in years. Clint seemed adamant that she’d never have to do one, but if the shoe fits…

“Don’t you think we should go somewhere a little more comfy?”

“Get out Romanoff. That is an order.”

She drew her bottom lip into her mouth. It was all calculated. At any given moment, she was analysing him – seeing what made him tick. Supposedly all people were different, but when it came down to it, men were never opposed to sex. At least, none of the ones Natasha had ever met. Except Clint and Fury maybe, but they were simply exceptions to the rule.

He nodded, a little dumbly. Natasha had to wonder how this guy, who could be so easily manipulated, had ever survived in the CIA and HYDRA simultaneously without being caught. Well she supposed he had been now.

“Yeah, sure.”

She let him lead her upstairs. She knew they were headed for the bedroom, but she paused outside the ajar office door. Thompson stopped and looked back at her. She gently tugged him forward by the lapel of his jacket, as if she was nervous.

“I’ve uh-“ she forced a blush to her cheeks. “I’ve always had this fantasy about being in an office with a…” she ran her hands down his chest. “Strong man.” If there was one thing a powerful man liked more than sex, it was his ego being boosted.

She started backing up into the room and he dumbly followed. She pressed a kiss to his lips, even if it made her want to puke when his stubble grazed her chin. He was quick to get handsy, and after a few moments of allowing that much, she pulled away.

“Do you have a condom?” she breathed out.

He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

He left and she immediately got to work.

“Romanoff, come in. What in-“

She took the earpiece out, pocketing it. She didn’t have time for distractions. She knew she didn’t have long. She couldn’t be gladder that the idiot had his computer passcode on a sticky note on the desk. It wouldn’t have taken her long to hack in, but that made it just that little bit easier. She stuck a USB in and started hacking into the locked files. Those ones, he was smart enough not to leave the passcode for on a sticky note. It didn’t take her long to bypass his firewalls, and it was a good thing too. She heard footsteps. She turned dragged files to be downloaded then turned the computer brightness down until the screen was black. Then, she covered the USB with the only thing she could think of. Her shirt. She retook her original position.  

He entered and faltered at the sight of her sitting shirtless on his desk. He was immediately on her, grabbing and kissing her harshly. She almost forgot to breathe as a wave of panic washed over her. God she’d gotten weak. She forced the anxiety down, but when his hand moved to his belt buckle, she decided she was done.

She pulled away quickly. “Sorry, my phone,” she rushed out as if she was embarrassed and a bit irritated. She pulled the device out, pretending to pick up.

“Mom? Wait, who- I’ll be right there.”

She forced her face into a terrified expression, and allowed herself to get teary. “My mom is in the hospital. I- I have to go.” She let the tears spill. The man seemed too shocked to know what to do. She grabbed the USB through her shirt and pulled it out, running from the room.

She tugged her shirt over her head, the USB stick firmly in hand. She didn’t allow herself to breathe until she’d crossed the street and rounded the corner to where the rest of the team was waiting. Morse was the first to see her, and she stood abruptly from where she’d been on the grass. Hill turned, and Natasha’s steps faltered at the expression. She didn’t allow herself more than a second’s hesitation. She handed Hill the USB.

“That has anything from his computer that may be of interest.”

Hill had a murderous look in her eyes that had Natasha backing up a step. She clenched her jaw, waiting.

Hill turned on her heel striding down to the street. The team started following in silence until Bobbi stepped up to Natasha’s side.

“Your shirt’s buttoned up wrong.”

Natasha glanced down to see that she was right, even if her comment hadn’t really been anything to do with how her shirt was buttoned. “I had to use it to cover the USB stick,” she defended.”

“It was a stupid thing to do. You put yourself at risk.”

“I got the intel,” Natasha huffed in response.

“She’s going to kill you.” Her words jolted Natasha until she realised that she didn’t mean literally. SHIELD wasn’t the Red Room.

“I achieved the objective.”

“And disobeyed direct orders.”

Natasha brushed it off. “Intelligent disobedience.”  

Bobbi only shook her head. “Maria Hill is not someone you want to make an enemy of.”

The ride back to SHIELD was deadly-silent, with only the humming of quinjet engines filling the room. The second they’d stepped into the SHIELD hangar, Maria dismissed everyone.

“Romanoff, with me.”

Bobbi gave Natasha a look as she was led away. Natasha only rolled her eyes. She groaned internally when Hill lead her outside, back into the rain. She was saturated in seconds, and shivered slightly. She had to jog a few paces every now and again to keep up with Hill’s demanding stride.

“Alright!” Natasha eventually yelled, trying to be heard over the rain that was getting increasingly more aggressive. “I get it. You’re pissed that I ignored orders. But I achieved the objective, so what the hell are we doing out here?”

Hill stopped so abruptly that Natasha almost ran into her. She spun on her heel, and suddenly they were face to face. Rain lashed at Natasha’s hair, running down her face and sticking her hair to her skin. Hill wasn’t immune to the battery either, her hair escaping from it’s usually meticulous confines. It didn't make her any less forceful. 

“You do not,” Hill growled, “Disobey my direct orders on a mission, and you certainly do not then take out your comms to ignore me.”

“I completed the assignment. What does it matter to you how it was done?”

“No mission is without risk, Romanoff. You put yourself at risk.”

“It was a low risk mission,” Natasha scoffed.

Hill grabbed her shirt, shoving her back into a tree. Natasha gritted her teeth, but allowed the deputy director to manhandle her, even if it caused her heart to skip a beat in fear. Even if it made her breath hitch and her gut screamed at her to freeze and let Hill do whatever it was she wanted. She could hide her flinches well enough by now. Hill seemed to catch herself in that moment. Natasha didn’t know whether it was because her emotion had escaped onto her face or Hill realised what she was doing. Either way, the woman took a breath before moving a step back and releasing her. Natasha stayed where she was, forcing herself to lift her chin and glare like the abrupt manhandling hadn’t affected her whatsoever.

“Run the obstacle course.”

“What?”

“Run it. All of it. On your own. Do it.”

“So what, you’re gonna run me out until I puke? Have you ever had an original idea?” Natasha snarled. She’d do it. She’d run until she dropped if it proved a point. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been made to run until she threw up and passed out. Granted, it would be the first time at SHIELD. She hadn’t thought that Hill would have the guts.

“Do it, Romanoff.”

Natasha scowled, but headed off at a jog. The first few obstacles were fine. It was a bit harder in the wet – it made the wood slippery and difficult to grip – but it was doable. At least, it was until she got to the wall so high that she couldn’t reach the top. For once, Hill wasn’t participating in the course, and so when she reached the nine-foot wall, she was stumped.

“Come on Romanoff,” Hill barked. “Move.”

Natasha ground her teeth together but took a shot anyway. She wasn’t tall by any means – years of malnutrition in childhood had that effect on most – and she missed the top of the wall by at least a foot. She let out a string of expletives in several languages before trying again. Not. Even. Close.

She ran her hands over her outfit, but the mission hadn’t required anything so the most she had was a gun strapped to one ankle and a set of throwing knives on the other. She pulled the knives out, thinking for a moment before stabbing them into the grooves between planks at around hip height. She kicked them in with her boot and backed up. She ran up again, jumping and using the knives as a foothold.

If it wasn’t pouring with rain, she may have made it, but as her fingers grasped the top, the slick wood escaped her. She fell, hitting the ground hard and sending mud flying. She struck the mud with her arm, letting out a yell of frustration. Her arm stung, and a quick glance told her that she’d gashed it on the way down, probably on one of the knives.

“Get up Romanoff!” Hill strode forwards. “Get up!”

Natasha stumbled to her feet, ignoring the stinging pain that slowly turned to a burning throb. She let Hill get in her face, refusing to back down.

“Again.”

“No.” Natasha refused to be part of Hill’s sick attempt at humiliating.

“Why?”

She’d been expecting Hill to get closer and go all drill-sergeant on her. Regardless, she could deal with the unexpected. “It can’t be done without equipment,” she snapped out.

Hill trudged over to the wall and knelt down, cupping her hands. Natasha watched her suspiciously.

“Try again,” she demanded, and Natasha knew what the implication was.

She took a run up, letting Hill boost her up. She grabbed the top. She’d expected Hill to disappear from beneath her, but the steady platform the woman had created didn’t budge. She forced her tired muscles to cooperate as she tugged herself over the wall. She dropped down to the other side, stumbling as she landed. She recovered quickly and turned, watching Hill carefully.

“That’s it.”

Natasha had been expecting something more along the lines of well what are you waiting for? Move. But here was the Deputy Director, telling her that she was finished.

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong Romanoff, I am still pissed at you, and until further notice, you will be babysat whenever in the field,” the commander clarified. “But you have learnt time and time again that the only way to do things is alone. Even here, you have been allowed to take over and do things your own way. That is not how this works. You work with me, not against me. If you can’t get your head wrapped around that, I think we need to reconsider your position as a field agent in SHIELD.”

Natasha didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what message Hill was trying to impart, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to it. She’d been doing this job flawlessly for years. Decades, even. She had forgotten more ways to kill and sabotage and manipulate than most SHIELD agents could ever hope to learn. And Hill had the absolute audacity to insinuate that she wasn't good enough alone? That she needed help? She was the Black Widow. She had been chosen and trained since infancy. She had completed more missions in her twenty years in the Red Room than most SHIELD agents did in their entire life. She was not some dog that Hill could tell to sit and roll over and beg. She was not some slave who'd bow to the will of whoever held her leash. Not anymore. 

Her muscles were tight with burning anger - a feeling that almost matched that of the gash on her arm. Almost. That would fade. This anger... she was done with being a doormat. Hill could play her games. Natasha would not partake. She was better than that. She was more than that. She was her own person, and that was something she refused to give up. Especially to the likes of Maria fucking Hill. But she was smart enough to stop now. She was not about to get chained to a desk. That was not where she belonged, and it certainly was not where her skills could be best put to use.

“You’re dismissed. And I expect your report by Saturday, as well as at least two thousand words on what you did wrong and why you won’t do it again.”

Natasha gritted her jaw and forced herself to lower her eyes. She had to, otherwise she would have started up again.

“Hey.” Natasha looked up. Hill pulled something out of her pocket and chucked it at her. “Barton said those were your favourite.” Natasha frowned down at the packet of M&Ms in her hand.

She bit her tongue to stop a sharp retort before it could sneak out. Despite there being plenty of space to go around, she didn’t hesitate to shoulder past Hill on her way back to the buildings, purposefully dropping the pack of chocolates in the mud as she went. She knew very well that Hill was watching. She just didn't care.

Chapter Text

“I need Romanoff’s file.”

Fury looked up with a raised brow at his right hand’s demand. “Good evening to you as well, Agent Hill.”

Maria gave him a look. “I need her file, sir.”

“You have it.”

“All of it,” Maria pushed. “All I have is from when she was considered an agent. Nothing about her rehab or the Red Room.”

“Do you need it?” he questioned.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Sir, you cannot expect me to work with her if I don’t know how she thinks.”

Fury scoffed. “We don’t do in depth psychological analysis of any other agents, but you seem to figure them out just fine.”

“They listen to me because I intimidate them,” Maria corrected. “Romanoff isn’t intimidated by me whatsoever. You’re acting like she’s a normal agent but she’s not. Reprogramming or not, she is wired differently. I know how to work with soldiers trained ethically, not borderline antisocial people raised to be child assassins. She’s emotionally immature, doesn’t respect authority, acts without thinking of the risk she puts herself or others in, thinks that the mission objective is all that matters. She-“ Maria frowned at the ghost of a smile on Fury’s face. “What?”

“You’re acting as though you were never where she was. I have your file, you know.” He pulled open his desk, pulling out a folder. “You were quite the troublemaker in military school, then of course juvie, and then the marines. You have twelve warnings here from your time in basic alone. ‘Hill refuses to respond to authority’, ‘Hill has a temper’. You know how this sounds when you accuse Romanoff of the very same things?”

Maria blinked for a moment. “I was never that insolent,” she denied instantly.

Fury raised a brow, but chose to leave that argument for another day. “I still don’t see why you need her file. You’ve seem to have figured her out already.”

Maria’s brow furrowed. “Is that a no?”

“It’s an invasion of her privacy, Hill,” Fury said evenly. “You know she’d hate you for it.”

Maria gritted her jaw and let out an irritated huff. She hated that he was right. As much as she hated Romanoff’s attitude, knowing the reasoning wouldn’t help in the long run. Something would change Maria’s attitude towards her, the Romanoff would find out and be absolutely pissed and then they’d never get on the same page.

She turned to leave Fury’s office, but the man interrupted her by calling her name. She paused and looked back at him.

“You’re doing well.”

The tension in Maria’s shoulders subsided just a little. She let out a breath, nodding. “Thanks Fury.”

Suffice to say that Natasha was more than pissed by the time she’d gotten back to her room and irritation had had time to set in. It wasn’t at all helped by the pain the gash in her arm was causing her. Hill hadn’t noticed the torn fabric and the blood in the rain, and Natasha was glad for it. The injury was a weakness, and she would not show weakness in front of her. After she’d showered and dried off, her arm was still slowly bleeding. It wasn’t quite deep enough or in the right position to warrant stitches, but it was still a solid 20 centimetres long and hurt like the devil. She cleaned it and fumbled to bandage it with her non-dominant hand. It was a crap job, but it’d have to do. With that, she went to sit at her desk to work on her paperwork.

The Red Room taught their operatives compliance in all aspects of the word. That said, malicious compliance, was something that widows passed onto each other. Guards could give orders, but could not punish without the consent of Madams, prior widows. As prior widows, the madams could appreciate intelligence in that aspect. If an order was given and a widow completed it with malicious compliance, it would not only send a message to the guard that they were unliked, but it would be appreciated and sometimes rewarded by a madame. Knowing when to use it was imperative. Knowing who to use it with even more so.

The handbook that went over how to complete mission reports lay in Natasha’s bedside table from way back when Clint had been showing her the ropes. In it, it was specifically said that reports had to be completed in English. Natasha supposed that there were enough multilingual agents for that to be applicable. That said, Hill had said nothing about that 2000-word essay being in English. And why would Natasha put in unnecessary effort for anyone she didn’t like?

So, after completing the report in just over an hour, she started on her essay. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t have a little fun with it. She wrote in a flippant tone, using informal language. It’s not like Hill would know. If she put it in Google translate, things such as tone would fly right over her head. It was still satisfying to write though. The topic was mildly infuriating – she’d still argue that she hadn’t done anything wrong – but she felt it would be too much if she added her argument in on top of this. That was stepping just over the line of malicious compliance into non-compliance territory, and she knew better than to do that.

She knocked on the door to Hill’s office the next day. It was a Friday – their day off – so she had yet to see the commander. Natasha knew she’d be here though. The woman never did anything but work, if she was judging by how many times she’d seen her up at the witch's hour. Natasha was mildly curious as to when she slept.

“Enter.”

Natasha pushed open the door, moving forward. She slapped the report down on Hill’s desk, followed by the essay, written in Russian.

Hill took one look at it before looking up at Natasha with a withering glare. She held up the paper. “Are you kidding? I can’t read this.”

“Welcome to my world,” Natasha quipped, crossing her arms. “I did what you asked, and handed it in early. Am I free to leave?”

Hill sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Natasha turned. She was glad that this was over quickly. However, she’d only made it a couple steps before Hill called after her.

“What’d you do to your arm?”

Natasha glanced down to see the bandage poking out from her sleeve. She tugged her sleeve down self-consciously, concealing the bandage. “I did it on the obstacle course. When I slipped, I cut my arm on one of the knives on the way down.” There was no point in lying.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Hill was looking at her strangely. Natasha didn’t quite know what to do with it. “You think I’d have made you continue if you were injured?”

Natasha didn’t answer. “Am I dismissed?”

Hill shook her head, “Come here.”

Natasha forgot how to breathe for a second before she reminded herself that this wasn’t the Red Room. Hill wasn’t going to make her kneel and abuse her. Still, it was like trudging through knee-deep mud to force herself over to Hill’s desk. The brunette twisted on her chair, but remained sitting as she reached for Natasha’s left arm. Natasha had half a mind to turn and walk away, but as Hill tugged her sleeve up, she only gritted her teeth and forced a deep breath of air into her lungs.

Hill unravelled the poorly tied bandage. “This is shit. You need to get someone to wrap it for you if you can’t do it adequately yourself.” Natasha dug her nails into her palm, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Hill, who tapped at her hand and gently uncurled her fingers. “It’s not an insult to your ability. If you’re left handed-“

“I’m not,” Natasha lied instantly.

“Yet you write with your left hand when you think no one is looking, and only use your right when you’re in a group,” Hill mused.

Natasha shifted uncomfortably as Hill began removing the gauze from her arm. “All widows are right handed.”

“Why?”

Natasha could only shrug. Of course, the Red Room followed old Soviet ideals. That included suspicion of anyone who was different. Besides, being right-handed is convenient. Guns, scissors, cars, planes, and most fighting styles rely on being right-handed.

“They used to tie my left hand to the leg of the table so I couldn’t use it.”

Hill blinked, glancing at her wrist briefly. “Is that where you got those scars on your wrist?”

“No.”

Natasha didn’t offer any more than that, and she was glad when Hill dropped it and went back to inspecting her wound. With a sigh, she opened a drawer, pulling out a first-aid kit. “I’d tell you to go to medical for this, but I’m guessing you would walk out of here and not even think about it?” Natasha didn’t reply. “Sit.”

Although Natasha bristled at being commanded like some dog, she went over to the other side of the desk and sat. Hill rolled her chair around to sit next to her. The deputy director pulled Natasha’s arm closer, laying it on her thigh. Natasha tried not to be uncomfortable with the proximity, turning her head away and focusing on the clock ticking in the corner of the room.

“You forget to breathe when you get tense. You know that?”

Hill’s voice broke her out of her head. She glanced at the woman, who looked up from where she was disinfecting Natasha’s arm. There was a clinical edge to the question. Natasha looked away, not knowing how to reply.

“Breathe, Romanoff.”

Natasha sucked in a breath, her aching lungs thanking her. Hill reached over her desk, grabbing something and shoving it into Natasha’s free hand. It was only then that Natasha noticed the small red crescents in her palm leaking blood. Natasha squeezed the foam ball, finding it surprisingly therapeutic.

“I don’t bite Romanoff. You don’t need to be so anxious.”

“I’m not anxious,” Natasha snapped.

Hill shook her head, “Fine. Either way, I don’t bite, so you can relax.”

She began rewrapping Natasha’s arm. Though Natasha hated to admit it, hers by comparison had looked like a toddler had done it.

“You’ve had practise at this,” Natasha mused.

Hill hummed, “Yeah. You’re not the only one around here disinclined to go to medical. The marines were even worse. I don’t think the phrase ‘I’m injured’ exists in their world. If I had a dollar for every man or woman I’ve patched up because I’ve ordered them to accept help, I would be a very rich woman.”

“Would you still work here? If you didn’t have to?”

Hill seemed to think about it for a moment. It was a shockingly personal question compared to all Romanoff’s other inquiries – she usually couldn’t care less about her opinion. “I enjoy the work and the people. I don’t know what I’d do without this job, so yes. I think so. What about you? If you could go anywhere, what would you do?”

Natasha scoffed. “I’m not even allowed to leave campus without prior approval.”

“What if those restrictions were removed? If you could go anywhere.”

Natasha paused. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment. “The Red Room would still be looking for me.”

“What if you’d never been a widow?”

“Then I wouldn’t be me,” Natasha said wryly.

“Amuse me.”

Natasha let out a breath. “A farm on the coast of Greenland.”

Hill tilted her head, a small grin on her lips. “That’s random. Any reason in particular?”

“0.03 people per square kilometre. I would live alone, except for some farm animals that I’d use to be completely self-sustainable.”

“Your ideal world is one where you never have to talk to people? Wouldn’t that get lonely?”

Natasha shook her head. “People aren’t worth the effort. Nor do they deserve it.. All the world’s problems are caused by people.”

“That’s cynical of you.”

“Do you disagree?”

Hill tucked the end of the bandage away neatly and sat back. “I suppose not.” She stared at the bandage on Natasha’s arm. “You could have told me you were injured.”

In an instant, Natasha closed herself off again. Hill held back a sigh.

“Am I dismissed?”

“Yeah, sure. Go.”

“Hey Bobs.” Maria fell into one of the cafeteria chairs opposite the blonde.

“Hey Maria, what’s up? You looked like someone kicked your puppy.”

Maria huffed out a laugh. “Romanoff.”

Bobbi sat back with an amused look. “Uh oh. What’d she do now? Kill someone?”

Maria pushed Romanoff’s Russian essay over to her. “Can you translate for me? I told Romanoff to write me 2000 words on why what she did on the mission was wrong.”

Bobbi snorted. “You realise that this will all be bullshit then, right? She doesn’t think she did anything wrong. To her the outcome is all that matters. She’ll have had the SHIELD code of conduct right beside her, and give you the textbook answer of everything you want her to say.”

“Yeah,” Maria sighed. “I just wanna see if she was cussing me out in it because she knows I can’t read it.”

Bobbi chuckled, her eyes scanning over the paper. “She’s not that stupid. You may not know Russian, but she knows I do. The worst that’s in here is a bunch of informality and a flippant tone.”

Maria’s brows furrowed. “Could you teach me Russian?”

Bobbi raised a brow and grinned a little. “You want to learn?”

“I want to know what she’s saying about me.”

Bobbi chuckled. “How does seven p.m. to nine p.m. every day except Saturdays sound?”

Maria groaned. “Every day?” 

“Do you want to learn?”

Maria shook her head, but she did. Fuck, this was going to be a shit ton of work. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Bobbi handed the paper back. “But this isn’t really what’s bothering you, is it?”

“She was injured when I was making her run the obstacle course and didn’t tell me. When I asked her about it, she genuinely thought it wouldn’t have made a difference if she’d told me. She thought I’d make her run it injured.”

“Well you are known as Hard-ass Hill,” Bobbi grinned.

“Not funny.”

Bobbi let out a breath. “Look, I know they have this whole ‘don’t let your subordinates see you smile for the first year of knowing them’ thing in the marines, but do you really think that’s gonna work on Romanoff?”

“I’m her superior. She needs to know that.”

“Oh, she knows. Why do you think she’s picking fights with you and not the rest of us? The only thing that makes you stand out is your rank.”

“Then why doesn’t she do that with Fury?”

“For all intents and purposes, he’s the reason she got out. She owes him. Besides, she’s like a daughter to him by now. More than anyone else, anyway. He’s wrapped around her finger, and she knows that you can’t really do anything meaningful to her without his go-ahead.”

“The last thing she wants is to be my friend.”

Bobbi shrugged. “You don’t need to force it on her. I’m not telling you to take her to Disneyland. I dunno. I mean the rest of us see you as a friend as well as our superior, maybe you just need to show her that you can be both to her as well.”

Maria was silent for a moment. “How would you feel about going to the bar tonight?”

Bobbi smiled a little. “I’ll go see if the others are on board. You want me to tell Romanoff?”

“She’ll probably take it better from you,” Maria pointed out. “So seven?”

“Romanoff has kitchen duty.”

Maria waved a hand. “Tell her she’s exempt for tonight.”

Bobbi nodded and stood. “See you then Hardass.”

Chapter Text

When Natasha got the invite to go out drinking with the team, her immediate reaction was to say no. She rarely went off SHIELD base apart from on missions or when she needed new clothes for a cover. Clint had taken her out a couple times, but it hadn’t taken long for him to learn that she’d much rather play a video game with him than go out into a crowded area where she had to be ‘on’ at all times.

But Bobbi was rather convincing. She’d pointed out that Natasha needed to get more comfortable with the team, and that the bar would be some fun. Besides, she’d added, it was just around the corner and Natasha could leave whenever. So reluctantly, she’d acquiesced.

She didn’t have many non-SHIELD clothes in her closet. She had a few skimpy dresses for seduction missions, and a few other getups that matched whatever character she was playing, but she didn’t really have a style of her own. She was whoever her cover was. She’d been out for three years, but she’d never really had a chance to learn what she liked. She wore her SHIELD tac suit when out on missions, and her general duties uniform when she wasn’t, and a shield hoodie and tracksuit pants when she was lounging around. Even her gym-wear was all SHIELD-issued. It’s not like she could talk to Clint about the whole fashion issue either. Of course, she barely considered it an issue, but still.

She ended up wearing jeans and a black shirt. She’d stolen some of Clint’s flannels at some point, so she pulled on one of those for warmth, rolling up the yellow and black checked sleeves. She didn’t mind it.

For once, she let her hair out of its bun. It was a Red Room habit she’d kept. Her hair was in buns when she was at base and braided when she was on missions. She only ever kept it loose when she was alone in her room. Even Clint had been shocked to learn that her hair could actually be loose. It was getting long now – brushing her mid-back. She wanted to cut it at some point. The Red Room had never let her cut it until it got long enough to be in the way. They cut all the girl’s hair just below their shoulders – another aspect of uniformity. They’d never much liked her red hair. It brought unnecessary attention to her and it was a defining feature, but she’d gotten used to it. She brushed it out. It was almost always wavy from being braided so often.

She met up with the others at the bar. They were sat in a booth in the corner of the room. It was a tactically sound place to sit, with eyes on both entrances and the doors to the bathroom and without many blind spots. Bobbi was the first to notice her and barely covered a surprised expression.

“Your hair’s longer than I thought."

Natasha shrugged.

“Is that Barton’s?” Hunter asked, pointing at the flannel.

Natasha shrugged again. “I don’t have many clothes. Where’s May?”

“She’s never been the ‘go out to a bar’ type. She had something on with Coulson anyway. Maria will be here any second though.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Hardass Hill drinks? How scandalous.”

“Well what can I say? I am human.”

Natasha turned to see Hill approach. She bit back the urge to say something along the lines of really? I couldn’t tell. Instead, she stepped back, gesturing for Hill to slide into the booth first. She raised a brow, but didn’t argue. They both knew it wasn’t for politeness’ sake. It was so Natasha could make a quick exit if she deemed it fit.

The waitress came over and, Bobbi was quick to order a Mojito, followed by Hunter getting a Guinness. The woman turned to Natasha expectantly.

Natasha shook her head. “Oh no, I’m good.”

“I’ll grab two gin and tonics then,” Hill said.

The waitress nodded and left.

“What about ‘I’m good’ did you not understand? I thought English was your first language.”

Hill rolled her eyes in the least commander-like way Natasha had seen her act yet. “I’ll drink it if you don’t. But seriously, loosen up. We’re not at work.”

“And yet somehow you make it feel like we are,” Natasha muttered, letting her eyes sweep over the space warily. She’d been in plenty of bars on missions, but they always ended the same way. Honeypots. Men grabbing too roughly and leaving bruises for days, Natasha feeling disgusting because she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of their hands on her body or their rancid breath on her face or the sounds they made as she tried her best to block it out. And that wasn’t even counting the number of times drunk men had thrown themselves at her so persistently she’d been tempted to pull out a gun. Those ones weren’t even her marks.

She gave in when their drinks arrived, taking a sip of the gin and tonic. She’d never drunk for fun before. It was always for a cover or in private. Once Clint had walked in on her with a half-empty bottle of vodka and asked her what she was doing. She’d drunkenly replied with something along the lines of “rubbing alcohol for external wounds, drinking alcohol for internal wounds. That’s how we do things in Russia”. He never let her forget it either, every time he opened her fridge and saw the vodka in the back (another thing he teased her about). She always complained that Americans didn’t know how to drink vodka.

Natasha was content to watch the others interact. Eventually Hunter and Bobbi got up to go play a game of pool. It didn’t take long for Natasha to head up to the bar, mostly to get away from Hill and the awkward silence that accompanied.

“Hey, could I grab a vodka straight, chilled?” she asked.

The bartender nodded. “You’ve been taught how to drink vodka right,” he mused with a grin.

Natasha allowed herself a small smile. He slid the drink towards her and turned away to serve another customer. She downed the drink in one.

“Hey darlin’, that’s a hell of a drink for a little lady.”

This. This was why Natasha didn’t hang around bars if she didn’t have to. She ignored him, but he ignored the hint and sat down anyway.

“So what brought you here?”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, “A pretty lady.”

She placed the shot glass down and stood. “Hey, didn’t your parents ever teach you a little respect?” He grabbed her wrist.

“Oh fuck off,” she snapped, trying to tug her wrist out of his grip. This time over a year ago, she would’ve already broken his hand, but she knew better by now. He wasn’t a threat. He was a lonely misogynist with an overdeveloped ego.

“Hey.” Natasha looked up at the sound of Hill’s voice. “Haven’t you ever heard of boundaries?”

He gave her a sleazy grin. “What, you jealous sweetheart?”

She pulled out her SHIELD ID. The man faltered and Natasha was able to pull her arm away. “And for the record,” Hill added, “She has one too. So you can either get lost or get arrested. Up to you.”

He glared, but got up and left to go bother some other poor girl. Hill rolled her eyes and ordered another gin and tonic from the bartender. Natasha watched her carefully.

“I could’ve dealt with that myself,” she said after a moment.

Hill regarded coolly her for a few seconds as she sipped on her drink. “You can never just say ‘thank you’ can you?”

“That implies that I owe you something in return.”

“I don’t hold debts over peoples’ heads.”

Natasha hummed. Of course she didn’t believe the words, but getting into a disagreement over it would be fruitless.

“Thank you,” she said after a minute of silence.

Hill looked over at her, inclining her head.

“Jesus you two,” Bobbi huffed out as she came up to the bar. “I can feel the iciness from across the room. You need to ease up.”

Hunter appeared beside Bobbi. “If we’re hungover the day after tomorrow, can we get a free pass from training?” Hunter asked hopefully.

Natasha was expecting that classic Hard-ass Hill glare, but instead, she chuckled and said, “Fine. Just this once.”

Natasha ordered another drink.

Maria had expected Romanoff to be able to drink most people under a table, but she’d underestimated how much alcohol the woman could drink before getting affected. Her increasing drunkenness was subtle, mainly seen when Bobbi challenged her to a game of darts and she went from all near-bullseyes to barely hitting the outer ring. She was a very controlled drunk, Maria had to admit. It was almost impressive.

That said, she didn't quite know what to think of Natasha's drinking style. She'd gone from not wanting to touch alcohol to ordering shots and downing them in rapid succession. Maria knew all too well what it looked like when someone was drinking to get drunk. She hadn't thought Romanoff would feel comfortable being drunk around others. That said, she may be cocky enough to think her drunken self could take most in a fight - maybe she could.

Maria herself wasn’t one to get wasted like Bobbi and Hunter seemed all-too-eager to do. Her father had been an angry drunk and that was not something she wanted to risk herself. He was an alcoholic. It had taken her years to even touch alcohol.

Romanoff wasn’t so much of an outwardly emotional drunk – Maria hadn’t yet seen her giddy or overexcited like most people got when tipsy. She was still quiet and more-or-less controlled, even if she stumbled quite a bit more. Eventually, she saw Romanoff coming back over to the bar where she was sat. She half-fell onto a chair, and Maria tried to hide her chuckle, knowing Romanoff wouldn’t appreciate it regardless of her state of inebriation.

She ordered the same as her last, and the one before, and before that, and before that, and before that. It was rather impressive how much vodka she could down, but Maria would hate to be her liver.

“You know,” the redhead started, “I don’t mean to be a bitch to you.”

Maria raised a brow, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “Oh?”

“I mean you’re a bitch to me too, right? So it’s like a balance.” Drunk words, sober thoughts, she supposed. “And like, the Red Room sucked. Like, colossally. I mean, I’m full of childhood traumas. I’m like a psych nerd’s dream. And you- you hate me but we’re the same.”

Maria’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

“Everyone else.” Romanoff waved a hand at the crowd in the bar. “They matured off age. We matured off pain. That’s why we’re different. That’s why they don’t like us. That’s why you’re hardass Hill and I’m the Russian slut.”

Maria frowned. “They call you that?”

Romanoff hummed affirmatively. They fell into silence for a few moments.

“You know,” Maria was only saying this because she was certain that she wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow. “Sometimes I’m a little jealous of you. The Red Room made you stronger.”

Romanoff downed another shot and shook her head. “I was a child. I didn’t need to be stronger. I needed to be safe. At least, that’s what Clint says. He says I didn’t deserve it.”

“You didn’t.”

Romanoff shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“You were a child.”

“I didn’t fight.”

“What?”

Romanoff threw out a humourless laugh as she ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. “I was eleven. We were in Cuba, on our way back to the Red Room, and I got a gun. I knew how to use it, of course. I mean,” she scoffed. “I was eleven. I’d been in the Red Room for eight years before I was even assigned to Ohio. But Yelena was still so little. Not as young as I’d been. I mean, I’d been an infant, but she was still too little. And I could’ve shot them. I could’ve shot Dreykov then, but I didn’t. I let them take the gun from me and inject us with sedatives and take us back.”

“What happened to her? Yelena.”

Romanoff stood and it was then that Maria knew that despite her drunkenness, that was still a card that the agent kept close to her chest. “I think I’m gonna go home now.”

Maria wanted to walk her, but then she’d disappeared into the crowd.

Maria had been hoping that the team outing the other day would have softened Romanoff some, but nope. She was still cold and closed off. Maria would be lying if she said it wasn’t mildly infuriating. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Of course, Maria supposed she should be grateful. She didn’t think sober Romanoff would’ve appreciated her words at the bar, but… maybe it would’ve been nice if she’d remembered some bits of their little heart-to-heart.

“Alright. It’s that time of week ladies and gentleman,” Maria said as she entered the briefing room for their first meeting of the new week. “New cases.” She dumped a pile of cases on the desk. “Fury assigned these, not me, so if you have a complaint, take it up with him. Morse and Hunter, acting on that intel you got from your CI.” She slid the files along the desk. “May, possible inhuman sighting. I’m assigning you with Coulson’s team to figure that out. He’ll instruct you on how to proceed. Romanoff, you get...” She opened the file, brows furrowing at the content. “The case that should be going to the NYPD, not SHIELD.”

Romanoff tilted her head. “What?”

Maria tossed her the file. “String of murders. Don’t know why it’s in our pile, but you’ll be working that with me.”

She watched the redhead flip open the file. “This doesn’t mention that I need a partner.”

“The case doesn’t require two. It’s you who needs a babysitter,” Maria reminded with a stern look.

For a moment, she thought Romanoff was going to argue, but then the redhead dropped her gaze back down to the file.

“Alright, Morse, Hunter and Romanoff, I want your continuation plans by end of day. Dismissed.”

They all stood to leave except for Romanoff who was still staring at the file. Maria clicked her fingers in front of the redhead’s face. It took a moment, but eventually she looked up with an irked expression.

“There you are. What are you thinking?”

“That the reason Fury poached this from the NYPD is because it’s a widow making these kills.”

That got Maria’s attention. “What?”

She pulled a photo out, twisting it to face Maria. “No DNA left, no traces, no witnesses. Too varied to be a serial killer. The victims have nothing in common.”

“That’s not enough to know for sure.”

“No, no one’s this good.”

“The Red Room isn’t the only place that makes good assassins.”

“No, but it is the only place that has weapons that leave marks like that.”

Maria found herself looking at what seemed to be similar to that of a taser, but in a different shape.

“That’s from one of these.” She lifted the manilla file and used her widow bite to shoot it at a low voltage. Maria jumped back at the sudden movement and Romanoff gave her a look. She recovered quickly and glanced at the folder. The mark it left burnt on the paper was identical to that on one of the victim’s bodies.

“Why do you still have those?”

Romanoff scoffed. “That’s your question? I still have them because they come in handy.”

“You’re not meant to use non-SHIELD issued weapons.”

“Fury doesn’t have a problem with it,” Romanoff argued. “Besides, what does it matter if it gets the job done?”

“It matters if SHIELD’s brought to court over a wrongful death and it’s found that-“

“Hill, I don’t care,” Romanoff said harshly. “You can argue your point as much as you want, but they’re my property and I’ve been training with them since I could walk.”

Maria sighed. There was no point in arguing this. But it did open up another avenue of conversation that Maria had been wanting to go down. “You were there since you were an infant right?” that’s what she’d said the other night.

Romanoff’s gaze turned hard, but she nodded. “So?”

Maria shrugged. “I don’t know. I just-“

Romanoff stood. “Unless there’s a point to it, don’t ask about my past. We’re not friends.”

She turned and went to leave. In a last ditch attempt, Maria called out, “It’s not a capture mission, it’s a kill mission.”

Romanoff paused. She didn’t turn to face Maria, but she didn’t let that get to her. “So?” the redhead asked.

“What if it’s a widow you know? Will you be able to complete the mission if it’s your sister?”

Romanoff spun on her heel. “Shut the hell up.”

Maria could only blink at the pure fury in Romanoff’s eyes. “It’s a very real possibility,” she argued. “If we get there and you find Yelena on the wrong end of your gun-“

Maria didn’t even have time to raise her hands in defence before Romanoff’s fist struck her face, and pain sparked across her nose. She let out a yell as Romanoff shoved her down onto the table hard enough that her head smacked the wood and black flashed across her vision. Romanoff’s arm was across her neck, cutting off her oxygen as the widow leant down over her. Maria twisted, kicking out, but it was fruitless.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” Natasha spat. “I was drunk when I shared that with you. That was a mistake, and it will not happen again. You will not mention her again.”

Maria couldn’t breathe. She was gasping for air that wouldn’t come, her nails scratching at Romanoff’s arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her chance. She grabbed a pencil and drove it into Romanoff’s side – not wanting to hurt her, but needing to regardless. The woman jerked back with a hiss of pain, which gave Maria the space to kick Romanoff back with both legs. Maria shot to her feet and reached for her gun, pulling it out and flicking the safety off. Romanoff stilled, looking like a deer in headlights for just a second before the shutters snapped down on her features. Slowly, she raised her hands to shoulder height and took a small step back. It was the closest to scared that Maria had ever seen her. Romanoff looked stubbornly ready to take the bullet that Maria had no intention of shooting.

Silence blanketed the room. Maria didn’t lower her gun as she said, “That was very stupid.” Slowly, she lowered the gun, flicking the safety back on. “I think that answers my question about this mission.”

“I-“

“Shut up.”

Romanoff stilled at her harsh words, but Maria was too pissed to feel any pity.

“Now what’s going to happen is you’re going to hand in all your open cases. You will not be allowed to leave base. You are not permitted on the shooting range, or to train with weapons unless supervised by an agent of level seven or above clearance. During the day, you will be training with the recruits, because it is abundantly clear that you need a refresher on how we do things here. If they are shooting or training with weapons, and their instructor is not of level seven or above clearance, you will be sitting on the sidelines. Understood?”

Romanoff was incredibly stiff, her jaw clenched and her features hard. Maria wondered for a second whether she’d attack again. Slowly, she inclined her head.

“Words, Romanoff,” Maria snapped. “Yes ma’am or no ma’am. Do you understand these conditions and why you have been subjected to them?”

“Yes ma’am.” The words sounded almost painful for Romanoff to force out.

“Then get out.”

She left quickly, and Maria allowed herself to collapse into a chair and catch her breath. She’d have to report this. She wasn’t sure what Romanoff would have done if Maria hadn’t gotten herself out of it. She wasn’t stupid enough to kill her, surely. But her sister was clearly a very sore topic. Maria was no stranger to family dramas and traumas. She knew all-too-well what it could be like to get protective. Of course, being the youngest, she’d been the little sister being protected in her youth. She remembered how her older brothers would get into screaming matches with her father to take his attention off her. Their father had always hated her more. He blamed her for her mother’s death. She remembered one time when he’d grabbed her hard enough for her to cry out, her eldest brother had come in and shoved their father so hard that the ex-marine fell back onto the glass table and it shattered.

She knew family trauma. She knew what protective older siblings looked like. And from the looks of it, Romanoff cared greatly for her little sister. She didn’t want to have to report that, but she could already feel her neck bruising, and after touching a hand to her face, she discovered her nose bleeding. What if, next time, it was a recruit? Or even worse, a civilian? She huffed out a breath.

She'd pushed too far. She knew that now. She should have known before, but of all of Romanoff's past arguments with her, she'd never been so... explosive. And certainly never violent. There was too much Maria didn't know. She knew the Red Room was fucked up. Could they have killed Yelena? It would explain why Romanoff was so reactive about it. She honestly almost felt bad about it. She should've known not to push. That said, if Yelena did show up, Maria wanted to know what she'd do. Now she knew. She'd protect her sister with her life, regardless of whether that meant going against SHIELD. Maria wouldn't try to change that - she knew Romanoff well enough to confidently say that trying to would be a waste of time - but it was an insight to how the ex-widow thought. 

She wouldn't put in the paperwork. She'd let this slide. Keep it off the books. Romanoff didn't need the black mark on her already fucked up file. It would only make it harder for her to assimilate if everyone saw each and every one of her past transgressions each time they opened her file. Of course, Maria was still pissed, but the anger was dwindling. Because she'd learnt a long time ago that anger was not a stand-alone emotion. She'd let Romanoff ride out her sentence for a few weeks and give them both time to cool off. Maria could bloody well use the break. 

God, Romanoff really wasn’t trying to make this easy for her, was she?

Chapter Text

Natasha tried to conceal her shaking as she strode back to her room. She couldn’t breathe. The world was closing in around her. She slammed the door to her room shut behind her, locking it with the variety of locks she’d added to it before sliding down to sit on the floor. She hated this flurry of emotions that were assaulting her.

Yelena. She could barely remember her and Hill’s conversation at the bar – she’d been pretty drunk – but she could remember mentioning Yelena. Then Hill had the audacity to bring up her little sister. It was none of her right to use Yelena as a reason why she couldn’t complete her mission. Besides, Yelena was dead. They’d shown her CCTV footage in the Red Room. She’d been called to Dreykov’s office in the Red Room and he’d greeted her with a grin that had made her heart drop into her stomach. She could remember the feeling even now. The feeling of utter dread and despair as she watched her sister make the mistake that cost her her life. She’d slipped. She’d slipped and it had given the opponent the opportunity to plunge the dagger into her leg. The film was black and white, but Natasha could tell there had been so much blood. She’d tried to look away, but Dreykov had made her watch as her sister’s eyes rolled back into her head and no help had come.

Her sister had died under Dreykov’s hand. She’d died doing the work that no child should have to do. She’d only been thirteen or so. Now she would’ve been seventeen. Natasha had shoved the grief down then, but it was resurfacing now. Grief she’d never dealt with was eating away at her. Hill just had to bring her up.

The moment she’d said Yelena’s name, Natasha had seen red. Hill had no right to speak on what she knew nothing of. She shouldn’t have attacked her, she knew that. But she’d said Yelena’s name and suddenly all her anger at Dreykov for letting her sister die, for making her watch it again and again, reared its ugly head and she’d just- widows were taught to never let emotions fuel them, but Natasha had. Yelena was off-limits. Hill needed to know that. Natasha would protect Yelena until the day she died, even if it no longer mattered. Even if she was just protecting a memory of the last happy day of her life.

She deserved the punishment she was receiving. She’d attacked a superior. Threatened her life, even if she’d never meant to do any real harm. That didn’t mean she had to like the punishment. She’d hoped for less but expected more. She’d almost expected Hill to shoot her. She’d readied herself for a bullet. It wouldn’t be the first one she’d survived. But no. Hill had lowered the gun and instead restricted her privileges. It would be humiliating training with the recruits, and needing to be babysat with weapons, but she understood. She was a widow. Hill wouldn’t forget that quickly. Even after three years, some SHIELD agents held it against her. She couldn’t blame them. She’d killed some of their friends, their family. So she accepted their battery. She supposed she could add Hill to the list of people who didn’t like her.

She wondered what Clint would think. Whether he’d be disappointed in her. She’d threatened his life many times when they’d first been working together. He’d taken it all in stride. He’d always been calm, almost kind. He’d always spoken to her after she’d calmed down, to try and understand. He’d quickly learnt that there was always a reason. She wondered if Hill even cared to understand her side of this. Whether she could.

The thing was, she didn’t want pity. She didn’t want Hill to hate her either, but she wasn’t sure how well she was going in that department. She never tried to make people hate her. It just happened. She wasn’t easy to get along with. She knew that. Making friends had never been allowed in the Red Room. She’d had a three-year window to learn how to make friends, and at that age it had been as simple as ‘we have the same colour shoes, let’s be besties’ or ‘our parents are friends so we’re friends’. Sometimes Natasha wonders what happened to the kids she’d befriended. They’d all been kids of SHIELD agents that had likely been killed when Melina and Alexei blew up the North institute. She hadn’t let herself miss them when she’d gone back to the Red Room. She’d locked the Ohio part of her away in an attempt to protect it. Protect it so that when she was bleeding out from a bullet wound and thinking she was about to die, she had something nice to think about. So that there was a pleasant memory for her to remember when she was made to put a bullet in the head of a girl who’d done nothing wrong.

She’d lost the ability to make friends. In the Red Room, everyone was competition. And that was an attitude she’d carried on here, despite how much she wanted to shake it. Clint had helped a bit, but there was only so much one person could do.

Maybe she was just meant to be alone.

Natasha had trained with the recruits when she’d first arrived at SHIELD. It had lasted all of two weeks before she’d snapped and broken a recruit’s arm after he mocked her. She was assigned to Clint shortly after that. She knew better now.

She showed up at the gyms at five, when the recruits’ day started. She got some looks and whispers, but she ignored them, instead pulling out her phone and flicking through it mindlessly.

She recognised the instructor that entered. Not from SHIELD though.

“You will be working with Hydra to receive the intel.” Natasha didn’t question a thing as the Madame led her through the unfamiliar corridors. Sixteen years old, and the best in her class, she’d been chosen to aid Hydra in completing a mission.

Madame stopped Natasha at a door and turned to her, piercing her with that icy glare.

“Do not disappoint me,” she warned before raising a skeletal hand and knocking on the door.

The door opened, and a tall man in a suit looked down at Natasha. She kept her eyes on his shoes as he spoke to the Madame.

  “Good to see you again, Mr Garrett,” she said in a flawless American accent as she shook his hand.

 " And you, Madame Petrova. This is the kid?” he asked, waving a hand in your direction. Natasha flinched minutely, but Madame’s iron grip on the back of her neck stopped her from going anywhere.

“Yes. I think you’ll find her skillset adequate.”

He nodded. “This is one of mine, Grant Ward.”

She looked up.

His eyes hadn’t changed a bit. Still darkened and cold. Ward’s eyes settled on her for a long moment before he ordered the recruits to get into their usual pairs and start sparring. He gestured for Natasha to approach. She did, her limbs stiff. She’d been sixteen years old at the time. He would’ve been seventeen or so.

“Are we going to have a problem?” Ward questioned, his voice low.

Natasha assessed him. “Whose side are you really on?”

Ward’s eyes turned calculating. “I think we both know that I was too young for SHIELD to put me in undercover.”

“You still HYDRA?”

He shrugged, “Not according to SHIELD. You know how this works, don’t you?”

“I rat you out to SHIELD, you rat me out to the Red Room?” she guessed.

He grinned, the expression all teeth. “Bingo. I have no interest in you, honestly. I don’t care that you deserted. That’s your poor choice to make. I’ll stay quiet if you do.”

Natasha was no stranger to government corruption. She’d killed more corrupt cops and politicians than most members of SHIELD would like to believe existed. She knew how this worked.

“One condition,” she said firmly.

He raised an amused brow, as if she were a child trying to negotiate getting a reward. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Stay away from Clint Barton. Everyone else is fair game.”

He chuckled. “So the widow has a heart.”

“The widow owes a debt,” she corrected. “Do we have a deal?”

He inclined his head. “You haven’t changed much. You’re still a spitfire when there aren’t any madams around, aren’t you?”

“I’m not the same person I was,” she gritted out.

“Now you just work for new masters.”

Ward had always hated her. Ever since she’d come along and stolen the attention of his mentor. They’d always had an icy air of professionalism though. The only bright side had been knowing that they’d both be in deep shit if either of them tried anything to the other. It had been a safety blanket for them both. No such safety blanket existed now, leaving Natasha feeling oddly vulnerable. Ward had more power than her, and they both knew it. If she blabbed about his Hydra involvement, he’d set her up next time she was in the field and she’d find herself back under Dreykov’s thumb. She couldn’t risk that and he knew it. She had no leverage.

Even so, she wouldn’t take his taunts lying down. “I work for people who don’t abuse children.”

“They’re not any less corrupt.”

Natasha shrugged. “Maybe not, but they work towards a better cause. That’s what I’m with them for. I want to clean my ledger.”

Ward shook his head, starting to walk away. “It’s too late for that. Come spar with me.”

Over the next few days, it became clear that Ward held that same grudge from all those years ago. He seemed to be working out his residual anger on her. Natasha was quickly getting tired of his snide remarks towards her. She held her tongue, of course. Whether she liked it or not, he was her superior. In sparring every day, he didn’t pull his punches or avoid nasty strikes to places like the liver or kidneys that Natasha found most agents doing. It made her remember how to properly fight. He got irritated every time Natasha floored him, and she knew it was only a matter of time until he snapped.

She was right.

It was the fifth day’s evening sparring practice. After the hour was up, everyone else was dismissed… except her. So, she found herself faced Ward again.

He got the upper hand for just a moment and Natasha found herself thudding down to the mat. She didn’t even have time to suck in a full breath before a boot was on her neck, pressing down hard enough that she struggled to breathe. She scrabbled at his boot with increasing desperation as her lungs began to ache. In her head, she could hear her madams screaming at her to do better, to fight harder. Eventually she was able to jab the nerve behind his knee to make him buckle, and used the lack of balance to trip him, roll out from under him and jump to her feet. She gasped for air as her vision blackened momentarily.

Ward didn’t even warn her before he came out of nowhere and struck her down again, making her head hit the mat with a thud that had her vision swimming and her ears ringing. She got up dutifully when he barked at her to do so, only for him to knock her flat on her back midway through getting up. She didn’t bother defending the attack. This was what he wanted. He wanted to feel superior, and she would let him. She didn’t want to, but if she wanted this punishment to end, she needed to get on his good side so he’d pass on his reviews to Hill. So she slipped back into the Red Room mindset that she’d kept in the back of her mind for something just like this and let him.

His fingers twisted into her hair. She gritted her teeth as he pulled her to her feet before shoving her back hard enough for her to fall to the floor again. She didn’t get up. She lay motionlessly on the ground, hoping Ward would just get bored before deciding to do any actual damage. She muted her flinch as his boots appeared in her vision, but then he only turned and walked away. She let out a breath before forcing herself to her feet. At least the day was over now.

She showered and went to the cafeteria, trying to push her aches and pains aside. She’d been at her usual table for a few moments before a tray clattered down opposite her. She looked up at Bobbi.

“Hey, how you doing? We haven’t seen a lot of you these past few days.”

Natasha was too tired for this. Five days of Ward had drained her. Bobbi stole a chip from her plate, and Natasha didn’t even have the energy to muster a disapproving look.

“Yeah, well I’ve been busy.”

Bobbi’s brow furrowed. “Hey, are you okay?”

Natasha didn’t look up, continuing to push food around her plate. “Fine and dandy,” she muttered.

“Hey.” Bobbi reached out, and Natasha flinched back, suddenly sitting up straight. Her expression quickly melted into a glare to disguise the shock of fear. Bobbi’s eyes zeroed in on her neck. “Natasha, who did that?”

Natasha raised a hand to her neck, which was slowly bruising from Ward’s boot. “No one.”

She stood, abandoning her food and moving towards the door. Bobbi caught up to her in the hallway, grabbing her arm and forcing her to halt. Natasha spun around and shoved at her.

“Leave me the hell alone Morse,” she growled.

“Look I get it if you don’t want to talk to me, but talk to Clint or Maria at least.”

“Clint’s on vacation,” Natasha reminded her. “I’m not bothering him.”

“Maria then.” Natasha scoffed, but Bobbi continued. “Despite what you think of her, Natasha, there is a boot mark on your neck! She’d want to know about it.”

Natasha shook her head and continued moving towards her room. “This is my punishment. I don’t-“

“Your punishment is having your privileges revoked. Not your rights. You’re not allowed weapons, you’re not allowed off base, and you have to train with the recruits. Those are your punishments. Not being abused.”

Natasha forced out a dry laugh. “This is not abuse. We were sparring. It-“

“We don’t step on people’s necks when we’re sparring.”

“God, stay out of it, Morse.”

Natasha had reached her room, and those were her final words before she slammed her door in Bobbi’s face.

Chapter Text

“When was the last time you spoke to Natasha?”

Maria looked up at Bobbi’s sudden intrusion of her office. It was rare that the woman just walked in without knocking, and even rarer for her to start a conversation so demandingly.

“Hi to you too,” Maria said dryly. “How can I help?”

“When was the last time you spoke to Natasha?” Bobbi repeated.

Maria’s brow furrowed. “Not since I reassigned her. Why?”

“I saw her today, and she has a recent bruise on her neck that looks an awful lot like the tread of a boot.”

Maria sat back. “She hasn’t come to me about anything.”

“Does she seem like the type to report abuse?”

Maria sighed, rubbing her temple. “No, she’s the type to suck it up and deal with it because she thinks it’s normal. I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Yeah, you should do that.”

Maria looked up at Bobbi’s tone. “Why am I getting the impression that you think I’ve done something wrong here? I couldn’t just let her get away with attacking me. You know that right?”

“Do you know why she did it?”

“Kind of. Maybe. But that doesn’t make it acceptable.”

“She wasn’t raised like us Maria,” Bobbi reminded. “She was raised to think that violence solved problems. If you don’t know what you did, what do you thinks going to happen when you do it again? Punishing her won’t solve all your problems. Sure, it might teach her not to react violently, but if you do whatever it was that you did again, she’ll still feel the same. She’ll just internalise it.”

“So what, are you the Romanoff whisperer now?”

“No, but you know how valuable third-party opinions can be.”

Maria sighed. “Yeah, right. Thanks Bobbi.” Bobbi nodded and left. Maria allowed herself a few moments before she stood and left her office.

She knocked on Romanoff’s door a few minutes later. The hope was that Natasha would be less hostile on her own turf, but for Maria, it really felt like a coin toss. This could completely backfire.

It was too late to change her mind though when she heard several locks click second before Romanoff opened the door. Maria had never seen her look so bone-tired, even if it was only for a second before she forced her barriers up.

“Deputy Director,” Romanoff greeted evenly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” It sounded like anything but a pleasure with how she said it.

“I don’t mean to intrude. Can I come in?”

Romanoff opened the door fully, stepping back. It seemed more out of obligation than free will, but Maria took the opportunity regardless and stepped inside. Papers and a dictionary were spread over the dining table, but that was the only mess in the room. Somehow it didn’t surprise Maria that everything else in the room was pristine. It looked like a marketing ad – clean to the point where Maria wondered if anyone actually lived here. Most agents living on campus decorated their rooms, but Romanoff’s walls were blank, and any surfaces were clear. It was almost sad.

“Sorry for the mess,” Romanoff said, pushing the papers aside to give them somewhere to sit. She tried to do it casually, but Maria didn’t miss her grabbing the bottle of vodka and putting it back in the small fridge in the kitchenette. It was none of her business what Romanoff did outside work hours anyway.

“No problem. I suppose you don’t generally have too many surprise visitors.”

Maria wasn’t sure what it was, but Romanoff did seem a fair bit more relaxed here. Maybe it was because this was her space. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just the fact that she could get around in grey tracksuit pants and a loose SHIELD hoodie with her hair out and socks on. This had to be the first time Maria had seen her not-so-put-together.

When Romanoff turned back to her, Maria’s eyes settled on her neck. Bobbi was right. The usually pale skin was reddish, with parts already tinted with blue. Romanoff noticed her stare and let out a breath.

“You spoke to Morse,” she surmised.

“She’s concerned for you.”

Romanoff bristled. “Well she shouldn’t be. We were sparring. You get bruises in sparring.”

Maria kept her tone gentle as she said, “Not bruises like that. Not here.”

“Look, if this is all you’re here for-“

“It’s not,” Maria cut her off. “But I do need to know who did that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I wasn’t asking, Romanoff.”

Romanoff let out a humourless huff of laughter. “So you’re going to come into my place of residence out of work hours and order me around? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Someone who wants to help,” Maria said, her irritation growing. “But you seem intent to deal with whatever abuse people throw your way on your own. Why?”

“Because I’d be putting myself in more danger if I told you who had done it. Because you’d have more questions. Questions that I would not be able to answer without putting myself at risk. There. Are you happy?”

“Whatever they’ve threatened you with-“

“They’re not some recruit Hill. They have status here, and you’d never believe me if I told the truth about them.”

“Try me.”

Something in Romanoff’s eyes flickered, and Maria knew in that moment that the woman wanted to tell her. She wanted to trust her. But she was trapped. Maria sighed.

“What if I swear not to act on anything without your say-so?”

Romanoff faltered. “I need your word.”

“You have it.”

She dragged her fingers through red hair, tugging hard at the knots she found. She turned away. Maria didn’t chase her. She had a feeling the woman just needed a second to collect herself. To think about her options.

After so long that Maria thought she’d never get an answer, Romanoff forced out, “Ward.”

Maria faltered. “Ward? As in level 7 SHIELD agent Grant Ward?”

Romanoff scoffed. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

Maria hated that she knew exactly how Romanoff felt. She’d told people about her father’s abuse countless times, but he was a convincing liar. No one had believed that the marine veteran with two upstanding sons and a constant smile was abusive. Maria refused to be one of those people to Romanoff. They may not get along – hell, Maria didn’t even like her – but she would never subject anyone to abuse like what she’d gone through.

“I was just clarifying,” Maria said patiently. “What I don’t understand is why?”

“He’s HYDRA.” Maria did a double-take. “I met him in HYDRA when I was sixteen and he was seventeen. If he knew that I told you, he’d rat me out to the Red Room. He’d tell them where I am, who knows me well, and how to get to me. And that’s if he didn’t choose to set me up in the field, which I wouldn’t put past him either. We worked together for half a year. His mentor became mine and I suppose he got jealous.”

“Ward’s really HYDRA?”

“What reason do I have to lie?”

None, Maria supposed. She had no foothold here. Maria had no reason to believe her claims. Romanoff wasn’t stupid. If she was going to come up with a lie like this, she would’ve made sure there was something she could base some form of evidence off of. Ward had none. There was no proof whatsoever. It was Romanoff’s word against his, and suddenly Maria knew why the woman had made her swear not to do anything. Even if Maria brought this to Fury, they had nothing solid, and the second Ward caught wind of it, he’d strike back.

She forced herself out of her head and glanced at Romanoff. Her heart fell a little at what she saw. Romanoff’s knuckles were white as she gripped the kitchen counter behind her. Her face was tense and all her muscles stiff. She looked more scared than Maria had ever seen her. So, she told the redhead what she’d always wanted people to tell her.

“Okay,” she said. “I believe you.”

And just like that, the tension that had been surrounding Romanoff eased, and she let out a visible breath.

“You could have told me,” Maria said softly. Romanoff’s eyes met hers, and there was a vulnerability that Maria hadn’t known that the redhead could show.

“I haven’t got any proof. If word got out-“

“I know. That’s why I won’t say anything until we have hard evidence.” She could see the tension easing out of Romanoff’s shoulders.

“You said that that wasn’t the only thing you wanted to talk about.”

Maria knew that that was her way of saying that the conversation was done. She’d respect that boundary. They could talk about that later. “Yeah. The other day, in the briefing room.” And just like that, the tension was back. Maria pretended not to notice. Keeping Romanoff relaxed and open was like walking backwards along a tightrope blindfolded. “I-“

“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want? I apologise. I-“

“Romanoff,” Maria cut her off. The apologies weren’t genuine. They were forced and borderline desperate, as if Maria was now dangling the threat of Ward over her head and Romanoff was afraid to upset her. “I’m over it. I just wanted to know if there was something I said or did to upset you.”

“No.”

It was a clear lie. Maria sighed. “Romanoff, you and I both know that you’re a purposeful person. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do something on a whim. I need to understand what I did if you don’t want me doing it again.”

“My sister is dead, Hill. The widow killing those people is not her, because she is dead. They made me watch footage of her death over and over. She is dead. So just-“ Romanoff cut herself off and took a forcibly deep breath. “Just pretend I never told you about her. It was a lapse in judgment.”

“I don’t think it was,” Maria said after a moment. “For what it’s worth, I know from experience that no matter how hard older siblings try to protect younger ones, they can’t always protect them.”

“You have siblings,” Romanoff surmised.

Maria nodded. “You read my court case. My father was abusive. I wasn’t lying about that. My brothers were older. They always tried to protect me. Sometimes it would work. They’d distract him for long enough that he’d forget about me. But then one left to join the army, and Jake couldn’t always defend me on his own. Then eventually he left too – marines. He apologised so many times, but he just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Were you ever mad at him? For leaving?”

“At first. I was mad that he didn’t come back to testify when I was accused. I was angry throughout my months in juvie. But I understand now. And-“ she hesitated, wondering if this would be a mistake. “if you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think Yelena would be angry at you. I think she’d understand.”

Romanoff turned away, shuffling papers into piles, but Maria was almost certain that it was because her mask was slipping away.

Maria took this as a cue to leave. “Thank you for speaking to me about all this. I expect you in our morning briefing tomorrow. Consider your privileges returned.”

With that, she left.

That night, Natasha dreamt of Ohio. She dreamt of lamp bugs and mac and cheese and playing in the playground outside their house. She dreamt of competing with Yelena over who could hold a backbend for the longest or who could swing the highest on the swing set. She dreamt of playing hide and seek as the sun went down, except when she was hiding, she heard a blood curdling scream. And suddenly it was dark, and she was in the alleyway where Yelena had been murdered, and she was kneeling beside her little sister trying desperately to slow the blood that was shooting from the wound in her leg. But it coated her hands, her clothes, and no matter how much she screamed for help, none came.

She woke up in a cold sweat, her heart threatening to break her ribs. She forced herself to breathe slowly and talked out loud to herself to remind herself where she was. Or rather, where she wasn’t.

She left her room quickly, needing to move, to shake this feeling away. It was three in the morning – too late to bother going back to bed when she’d be at the obstacle course by five. So she headed down to the gun range. Technically she wasn’t meant to be here out of hours, but she’d been caught before by one of the range masters, who’d just said ‘just put it back where you found it when you’re done’. She looked through the range of weapons, eventually picking up the Makarov PM. The very same gun she’d threatened Dreykov with on the airstrip in Cuba.

She imagined it was him she was shooting as she hit bullseye after bullseye.

Chapter Text

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Natasha’s head shot up at the familiar voice. She allowed a small smile onto her face. She knew that Clint knew that that was the equivalent of her running up and hugging him. Clint said hi to the others in the room briefly before claiming the chair beside hers. He dumped his bag on the floor, proof that he’d come to find her before even putting his stuff away.

They were in the briefing room, going through their usual evening routine of doing some paperwork and occasionally getting input from others on their open cases. May and was still with Coulson’s team and Hunter had finished up and left early, leaving just her, Bobbi and Hill. Clint shuffled through the papers she’d already written out, eyes scanning over them.

“This is pretty good,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear. “Did Google translate get updated?”

Natasha scoffed playfully, shoving him so his chair rolled away. He laughed. Natasha slipped into Russian to say, “I missed you idiot. How are Laura and the kids?”

“Laura asked me to make you take time off, Cooper had his seventh birthday, Lila wants to know when Auntie Nat’s coming back.”

Natasha couldn’t hide her genuine grin. She’d first been to the farm six months after coming to SHIELD. She’d been unsure about the kids at first – in the Red Room, Cooper would’ve already been learning to shoot, and Lila would’ve been well on her way to being proficient in at least three languages. But after a week there, she’d gotten more comfortable. She hadn’t expected Laura to trust her with his kids. Clint knew her, but Laura didn’t. All Laura knew about her was that she was the assassin that Clint had brought in instead of killing. One night she’d been unable to sleep and heard Lila start crying. She’d gone into the girl’s room, unsure at first as to how to stop her crying. In the Red Room, crying was dangerous. It brought attention and showed weakness. The little ones would often get hit for crying. Natasha hadn’t wanted Laura and Clint to hurt Lila, so she’d picked the girl up, and the crying had stopped.

Laura had walked in seconds later and frozen at the sight of her daughter in Natasha’s arms. “She’s quiet now,” Natasha had said quietly, desperately. “You don’t need to hurt her.” She could still remember the expression on Laura’s face. The expression of realisation that Natasha had been raised to think that kids crying resulted in them getting hurt. She’d realised that Natasha holding Lila wasn’t an aggressive, but rather a protective thing. She’d become much more comfortable letting Natasha around her kids after that.

Lila was Natasha’s favourite. Cooper had – unfortunately – just been old enough to recognise Laura’s apprehension at her presence and had decided that she was scary before she’d even said a word to him. He’d gotten over it as Laura had, but it meant that she’d just bonded more with Lila. Laura had learnt to love her too. Natasha had heard the couple talking one night, and she’d hear Laura refer to her as the puppy Clint had adopted. She’d been irritated at first, but she then realised that it meant that Laura didn’t see her as a threat, and she appreciated that.

Soon, she and Laura had gotten closer. Laura had more-or-less turned into Natasha’s big sister, though Natasha would never say that aloud. She taught Natasha the life skills that the Red Room never had. She’d taught Natasha how to bake cookies, and which movies were best to watch on rainy days, and she’d bought Natasha this music box with a ballerina inside after she’d learnt that Natasha used to dance. Natasha loved it dearly. She kept the photo strip of her and Yelena inside it in the drawer of her bedside table. Sometimes Natasha wondered how different her life would be if she’d had the chance to grow up in a household like the Bartons’.

“I might be able to make Christmas if that one lets me.” She tipped her head at Hill, who looked up at the movement. Clint glanced over at her. “She can be a right ass if you get her in the wrong mood.”  

“In her defence, you usually entice her into that mood.” He shot a grin over at Hill.

Hill gave him a look. “Barton, come on. Don’t let Romanoff’s rudeness rub off on you. If you’re going to talk about people, do it in a language they understand.”

“Don’t worry ‘Ria,” Bobbi cut in as Maria looked down at her work again. “It wasn’t anything bad.” She winked at Natasha with a wry grin, but it was the knowing look that she sent Maria a second later that had Natasha’s eyes narrowing. Her and Hill’s relationship hadn’t changed a bit after their conversation, and Natasha couldn’t be gladder for it.

“She’ll let you off for Christmas. She’s a hardass but she’s not cruel.” Natasha ticked her head to the side in acknowledgement. “All right. I’m gonna go shower. You’ll visit later, yeah? Play some Mariokart?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Clint ruffled her hair as he left. He was possibly the only person in the world who could do that and not lose a hand.

“You two are close,” Hill said.

Natasha narrowed her eyes as the smile fell from her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s good. He’s half the reason you’re on this team.”

“That’s good?” Natasha scoffed. “Damn Hill, you’re getting soft on me.”

Hill looked up at her. “I might not like you, Romanoff, but you’re an asset. It’d be a shame if the entire agency refused to work with you. Don’t get me wrong. You’re a pain in my ass. Even if I wanted to reassign you to another team, no one would take you. Clint’s only half the reason you’re on this team. The other half is that everyone else refuses to work with you.”

“Thank God I’m not on this team because someone actually wanted me,” she remarked sarcastically. “I almost felt special.”

Hill scoffed, shaking her head. “Why is it that why you act as though anyone would be lucky to have you?”

“You’ve seen my mission success rates. Teams’ success rates increase tenfold when I’m in them.” It was cocky on Natasha’s part, but she knew that it was also true.

“Because you make the missions into solos.”

Natasha shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

“You have a chronic inability to work with other people.”

Natasha scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the woman with the nickname ‘Hard-ass Hill’.”

“Just because I’m a hard-ass doesn’t make me socially illiterate.”

“Well I’m sorry that the motto of ‘sharing is caring’ wasn’t so common where I grew up.”

Hill shook her head disbelievingly. “You hide behind the excuse of your childhood like it’s a shield. You’re an adult. Stop making excuses when you don’t even try to get any better.”

“I don’t try because I don’t need to get better. I play my roles to perfection. I am a brilliant agent.”

“And what about outside of that, hm? If I take away that title, who are you? Being an agent isn’t everything. Who are you as a person? You’ve had so many personas that you don’t even know who you are any more. You’ll be open and nice enough one moment then a right bitch the next. Who are you?”

“Who I am is unimportant.”

“Does the name Natasha Romanoff even mean anything to you? Does it mean anything more than Natalie Rushman or Natalia Romanova or-“

“I am whoever I am needed to be.”

“You will not always be needed.”

Natasha faltered.

“You are human, Romanoff. You will get old, or you will get injured, and you will not be able to work anymore. Who are you then?”

“Maria,” Bobbi interjected.

“No, Morse,” Hill snapped, the use of Bobbi’s last name making it abundantly clear that she wasn’t being a friend right now. She was being a commander. “She struts around like she’s got everything sorted out, but she is not as good as she thinks she is. She gets injured and pretends it’s nothing and-“

“Because it is!” Natasha snarled in response.

Hill gripped her arm. Natasha jerked back, but she didn’t relinquish her hold. She pointed out the pink scar across Natasha’s forearm. The one from the obstacle course. “Half an inch deeper and you could have bled out from this.”

Natasha tore her arm away. “You think I don’t know that? I do. I can handle a little pain. Just because you can’t-“

“You don’t know your limits.”

“You think you are far better than you actually are. You think you can do anything, survive anything. One day you’ll fuck up and you’ll end up being tortured for information and god, you would not hold up well under torture.”

Hill gritted her teeth, “And you would?”

“I did!” She hated how her voice broke. “I fucking did, Hill. You have no right. You have no right to guess who I am.”

“My guess is as good as yours. Who the fuck are you Romanoff?”

“I am no one,” she yelled. “I was made to be whatever they wanted me to be. You say that my childhood is simply excuses, but you have no clue. You have no idea how badly that place fucked me up. I am no one. You… you had the right to make your own choices that shaped who you are. You could choose to stand up for yourself against your abuser. If I’d done that…” she scoffed. “I’d be dead. If I showed so much as an inkling of a personality or an opinion, it was beaten out of me. Widows are made to be replicas of each other. We fit into the mould of a heartless killer or we are killed. You don’t understand that. I don’t expect you to. But do not judge me for not being an individual when I have had three years to discover everything about myself that you have had 28 years to discover about yourself.

“I am no one, and that makes me brilliant at my job. When that job is no longer an option for me, I suspect I’ll have nothing left. This job is everything I’ve ever had and everything I will ever have. I have no family. And as you’ve thoroughly pointed out, I have no friends. I have no hobbies. I don’t know what I like to do or don’t like to do because whenever I’ve done something, I’ve done it as some persona. When I no longer have this job, I will have nothing.”

Hill was silent, looking like she regretted her words already.

Natasha stood, taking a deep breath. She looked Hill dead in the eyes with an expression that would have most trembling like a leaf. “You continue to amaze me with your ignorance and your inability to try to understand matters before pushing your opinion on me. Your hard-headedness is admirable, truly it is, but until it is matched with knowledge, you are like a child with a gun. You can go around creating damage, but none of it will be the intended target. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to the likes of you.”

She didn’t give Hill a chance to respond before she turned and walked away.

The second Romanoff had disappeared, Maria groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “God, I fucked that up.”

“Yup,” Bobbi confirmed, leaning back. “Can’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

“It’s just-“ she let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t read her. Last night she was relaxed and open, and I thought that after that she’d be a little more at ease, but she’s like a whole other person, and I don’t know who she is. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

“You understand her conversation with Clint?”

Maria frowned. “She called me an ass.”

Bobbi chuckled. “Trust me, that’s an improvement. Now, should we get back to you proving her right about you being an ass?”

Maria let out a slow breath, raking her fingers through her head. “It’s always one step forward, three steps back with her. God I feel awful.”

“An apology might go a long way,” Bobbi suggested.

“If she doesn’t twist my words again.”

“You can’t blame her. She expects the worst of everyone all the time.” Bobbi gave her a small smile. “I need to go, but just… take a breath, Maria. You always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. If you can’t do this right now, don’t. Give yourself a break.”

Maria nodded, watching as Bobbi left.

When someone knocked on Natasha’s door past nine that evening, her immediate thought was that she’d left something in Clint’s room where she’d spent two hours playing video games just earlier. But when she opened the door to reveal Hill, that thought suddenly became a shattered dream. She stiffened a little, waiting for whatever shoe was about to drop.

“I owe you an apology.”

Those were not the words Natasha had been expecting to hear. She analysed the Commander’s features. She looked so… tired. Like she was half-expecting Natasha to slam the door in her face and tell her to fuck off. Natasha had half a mind to, but Clint had told her to cut Hill some slack just earlier, so she’d honour that. She opened the door further and stepped aside, inviting Hill in.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Natasha said, moving over to her fridge and grabbing the bottle of vodka. She brought out a couple shot glasses, pouring out two and sliding one across the counter to Hill. The woman examined it for a moment. “It’s not poisoned. Scout’s honour.” She threw back her own shot as if to prove it. “I wouldn’t waste this by poisoning it.”

Hill lifted the glass, but before it touched her lips, she said, “This is what I mean. We were screaming at each other earlier and now you’re offering me a drink like a friend.” She drank the shot in one.

“Clint told me to be nice,” Natasha said by way of explanation.

“You’re happier here,” Maria noted. “I mean, in your room. You seem happier.”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s my space. It’s the first place that’s ever been mine, I guess.” She busied herself with pouring another drink for each of them. “Not only that. It’s the first place where I’m not monitored – no cameras, no prying eyes. I’ve never had privacy before. It's relaxing in a way that I’m still getting used to.”

Maria nodded slowly, watching as Natasha threw out the now-empty bottle of liquor. “You drink much?”

Something flashed in Natasha’s eyes and for a second Maria thought she’d pushed too far. But then Natasha answered, “Only when my past refuses to leave me be.”

“And how often is that?”

“That depends. Are you asking me as my superior?”

“No, just a concerned coworker.”

Natasha chuckled. “Right. Well, not as often as you clearly think. It’s a 750mL bottle, making it about seventeen shots. I’ve had the bottle for a two months. Not counting the two shots you’ve had, that’s fifteen shots in two months. Seven and a half a month. If we’re rounding up, that’s maximum two shots a week, and it’s the only alcohol I drink.”

“You’ve done the maths.”

“I’m conscious about not becoming reliant. Surely you’ve used alcohol to take the edge off once or twice.”

Maria shook her head. “I only ever drink when I’m invited out, and I order two glasses and make it last.”

“Your father’s influence?” Natasha guessed.

Maria hummed affirmatively. “Guess he was good for something.”

“What doesn’t kill you, I guess.”

The fell into silence for a few moments. “I suppose we’re back to hating each other tomorrow?”

Natasha met Maria’s eyes. “Probably,” she answered honestly.

Maria tried not to show her disappointment. “Right, well I should be off.”

“For what it’s worth,” Natasha made her pause. “I thought you would’ve given up by now. That would be the smart option.”

Maria glanced back at her, leaning down onto the counter with her shot glass half-raised. “Maybe, but as you know, I’m hard-headed. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get rid of me.”

“Who said I wanted to get rid of you?”

Maria faltered, and turned away, walking to the door. “Sleep well, Romanoff.”

“And you, Deputy Director.”

Natasha watched the door close. Who said I wanted to get rid of you? What the hell was she doing? The worst part was that it was true. She didn’t really want Hill to go anywhere. Maybe she had originally, but now… she was recognising more and more that they had in common every interaction they had. Of course, there was the logical part of her that wanted the Deputy Director in her corner. But then, she had to admit that she did usually enjoy her and Hill’s verbal sparring matches, even if they went a tad too far on occasion. Hill challenged her in a way not many people did, and it gave Natasha more than enough reason for some self-reflection.

She put on a show, letting herself get riles up at some of Hill’s comments, but when it came down to it, she enjoyed it. She enjoyed the argument. She’d never really been allowed to argue before. Now she could. Whilst SHIELD agents above her would punish her and those below her would back off too easily, Hill would bite back. She like that. She couldn’t quite pinpoint when she’d realised this – maybe subconsciously the very first time they’d met. She supposed she’d admitted to herself that she didn’t hate Hill as much as she wanted to when the woman had believed her about Ward.

God, what the hell was she doing?

Chapter Text

As Maria had predicted, she and Romanoff were back to their usual tension the next day when Maria was following up with the team on their cases. May was back, and Hunter had retaken his seat next to Bobbi.

“Romanoff.” The redhead looked up with a raised brow. Maria dropped the file with the recognisable burn on the cover. “The agents I assigned this to have no idea what they’re doing with it and we had another victim found early this morning. An hour’s drive from here. You’re back on it.”

Romanoff gave her a cocky grin. “Of course I am.” She flicked open the file. “You free later?”

Maria raised a brow, “Why, you wanna ask me out?”

Romanoff scoffed. “You wish. No. I want to go check out the scene.”

Maria nodded. “You lot all good?” The team made a collective agreement. “Good. Let’s go, Romanoff.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

Natasha insisted on taking her car. Well, ‘her car’ was technically SHIELD’s, but Fury had all but given it to her. She didn’t have the same advantage every other agent did of having a history outside SHIELD. She supposed he’d felt pity on her that without a car, she was practically stranded without public transport. Regardless, it was her car by now. She’d stocked it with everything she may need if she needed to get away quickly. It also meant that when Natasha pushed to be the one to drive, Hill had allowed it. They drove in silence that was only broken by the occasional google maps direction and noise of traffic until they left the bustle of the city. She’d read through the most recent murder. A politician on holiday in a quaint farming town an hour out of New York, murdered. Found by his wife and kid. Sad. The kid would hopefully get over it. Natasha wasn’t so sure about the wife. She recognised where she was driving as they got closer. Her brows furrowed. She took a turn.

“Uh, Romanoff, the directions said right, not left.”

“I know.”

“So where are we going?”

Natasha didn’t reply. If Hill knew, she’d almost certainly make her wait until backup showed up.

“Romanoff,” Hill said, her tone warning.

Natasha pulled over, reaching over Hill to open the glovebox. She pulled out a Glock and checked it over, clearing it and sliding in a magazine before tucking it into her waistband.

“You have a weapon?” she asked.

Hill’s brows furrowed, but she shifted her jacket to show Natasha the occupied holster. Natasha nodded approvingly.

“Where are we?” Hill demanded.

Natasha twisted awkwardly to reach into the back seat, pulling a duffel bag into the front. “That.” she pointed at a house just in view. “is one of my old Red Room haunts. She’s probably not there, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

She pulled a set of comms out of the bag, handing an earpiece to Hill.

“We should wait for backup.”

“It’s been six hours since the body was found. She’s most likely gone by now.”

“You are aware that this counts as going rogue, right?”

“Do you want to do this? Because I can go in alone.”

Hill huffed. “Incorrigible.”

Natasha didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t need to respond, since Hill was already getting out of the car.

“So how are we gonna play this?” Hill asked as they approached the house.

Natasha rolled her eyes, stepping up to the door. She tried the knob. It was locked. She stepped back and let out a breath before kicking the door in. Hill was quick to catch on, entering behind Natasha with her gun raised. Natasha gave her a look. She hadn’t even pulled her gun out yet. There was no need. Her eyes surveyed the room. Fairly simple layout. Open-plan. She could see the kitchen and living room, and on her left, a set of stairs led up. Not a thing out of place, except…

She knelt down. Blood. And judging by the colour and the way light glinted off of it, it was fresh.

“Romanoff!”

Natasha just had time to dive behind the couch as a bullet to the floorboards sent splinters flying. Natasha cursed colourfully, pulling out her own gun ready to return fire. The widow was gone. Hill was half way up the steps, and Natasha ran to catch up.

“We’ll get up there and there’s a short hallway. You go left, I’ll check the rooms on the right.”

Hill nodded. They split at the top of the stairs. Natasha went into the room on her right, holding her gun high. The widow was starting to pull the window up, ready to flee.

“Don’t move,” she ordered, before repeating it in Russian.

The widow paused before raising her hands to shoulder height and turning. Natasha stilled.

“Ingrid, right?” she asked carefully. The dark-skinned girl inclined her head. Her arm was bandaged, but red was already soaking through the white. “You were in my sister’s class.” Something in the girl’s eyes flickered, but she nodded again.

Natasha had never been so torn. This was a kill mission. Hill had made that clear. So had the file. This murderer was too dangerous to let live. But Natasha was staring right at the girl, still a teenager. She’d been assigned to Natasha for a brief time. Natasha could still remember the year stamped in it as her year of birth. Seventeen. She would be seventeen. Yelena’s age, had she still been alive. It struck a chord in Natasha. How could she kill a girl the same age as her sister. 

What if it’s a widow you know? That had been Hill’s question. Now Natasha understood why she doubted her. This girl was just that – not a woman, not an adult, a girl. A child.

“SHIELD wants you dead.”

The look in Ingrid’s eyes didn’t change. “I didn’t do all the deaths you’re looking into.”

Natasha inclined her head. Widows were often partnered up if they worked particularly well with someone else in their class. She paused. “Is the other widow here?”

There was a loud crash, and Natasha’s finger flinched towards the trigger. She hissed out a frustrated breath, lowering her gun. “Run.”

Ingrid had looked ready for the bullet. “What?”

Natasha was already turning towards the door. “You heard me. Run. I may be SHIELD now, but I won’t kill you in cold blood. Go, and for god’s sake, hide your tracks better next time and lay low. Off SHIELD’s radar.”

Ingrid didn’t need to be told a third time. She yanked the window up and jumped. Natasha ran into the next room. Hill was on the floor. The curtains had been ripped from the window and a widow Natasha didn’t recognise was trying to choke Hill out with the material. Natasha sent a warning shot. The widow jerked back, releasing Hill. 

"You," she hissed in Russian. "Traitor." 

The widow lunged at her. Natasha threw her gun aside to draw a knife. She narrowly missed the widow's fist flying towards her stomach. She jumped back, lashing out with the knife. SHe hadn't fought a widow in a long time. She'd lost her edge. This was reminding her harshly of the fact. The widow caught her off guard, shoving her back into the wall. As the widow struck her temple with the hilt of a short knife before twisting and driving it into Natasha's shoulder. Natasha refused to cry out in pain. She stabbed the widow in the abdomen. The girl stumbled back, tearing the knife from Natasha's shoulder. Natasha's knife twisted as it ripped out of the girl's stomach. The girl jerked back and stumbled to the widow, throwing herself over the ledge. Natasha would have followed had she felt that she could stop leaning against the wall without falling over. Her shoulder was burning something fierce. She was glad that the blood was mostly hidden by her black SHIELD jacket. 

As the pain dimmed, Natasha watched Hill gasp in breath, scrabbling at the material around her neck. She didn’t bother helping, instead moving over to the window and leaning against the windowsill and trying to settle her nausea. The widows had disappeared already, but that was no surprise. She turned back around when Hill had finished choking and gagging. She watched the woman’s face return to a normal colour as she leant back against the window.

Hill glanced at her. “You hold back in training, don’t you?”

Natasha raised a brow, mildly impressed at how quickly Hill bounced back from the near-death experience. “What makes you say that?”

“That widow was- she was toying with me. She got my gun, and could’ve shot me, but she just threw it aside. And you and her-”

Natasha slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “We don’t kill anyone we don’t need to. You couldn’t identify her, she had no way of knowing you were SHIELD. She probably thought that you were some civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she deemed you not a threat, she wouldn’t kill you unnecessarily.”

“She was good. Really good.”

“She was holding back,” Natasha said simply.

“What?”

“You haven’t got a scratch on you. In the Red Room when they made us fight properly, there’d be broken bones and dislocated shoulders. She wasn’t trying with you. Or me." She could've killed me. I slipped. But she didn't. We are both incredibly lucky."

Hill blinked. “How much do you hold back in training?”

She shrugged, standing. “Most of the moves the Red Room teaches us results in injuries that would get me suspended if I inflicted them. We train four hours a day six days a week from the time we can walk. No offence, but not many people have a chance against that.”

Hill finally stood up. Natasha’s eyes zeroed in on the long cut crossing her collarbone and leading up to her shoulder. It had torn through the material of her turtleneck, darkening the black of the shirt with blood. A few inches higher and it would’ve nicked her carotid. It was no mistake on the widow’s part. Hill may not have picked up on it, but Natasha sure did. It said one thing – screamed it, really. Don’t fucking mess with me.

Natasha swallowed, letting out a breath.

“You alright?”

She looked up at Hill, who seemed as though she hadn’t just been attacked by an assassin. No, she wanted to answer. Her shoulder was killing her. She could feel the warm wet of blood soaking her jacket. She pushed the pain to the back of her mind. “God, you don’t even know how lucky you are. Not all widows are kind enough to leave you alive. I know many who would’ve seen me enter and broken your neck to make a point.”

“Alright, I get it. I’m a weakling next to you. What else is new?” she snapped.

Natasha sighed and didn’t respond, instead leading the way back to the car. After getting back in the car, Natasha dug the duffel bag and pulled out a med-kit. “Take your shirt off.”

Hill jerked back. “What the fuck Romanoff?”

Natasha gritted her teeth at Hill's raised voice agitating her throbbing headache. “I need to have a look at that cut.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s still bleeding, and sometimes widows will lace their blades with poison. Let me look. If I wanted to see your tits, I’d be taking a very different angle to this.” She smirked a little, raising a brow.

Hill clenched her jaw, but pulled her shirt off. Natasha pretended not to notice the way her ears tinted just the slightest bit pink. Natasha busied herself with tearing open an antibacterial wipe. She didn’t bother warning Hill that it was going to sting as she wiped the blood away. The good news was that there didn’t seem to be any poison. Hill wasn’t displaying any signs, and the wound wasn’t any more irritated than what would be expected.

"You're bleeding too," Hill pointed out.

"The blood's not mine," Natasha lied. Even as her shoulder throbbed in protest. Regardless, Hill believed her, and that's what mattered.

Hill was stoic through Natasha cleaning the wound. It was impressive. Even so, Natasha reached into the backseat and handed Hill a bottle of vodka.

“What’s this for?”

“I don’t have any anaesthetic and you’re going to need stitches,” she muttered as she pressed a cloth down on the still-bleeding wound.

“You’re not giving me stitches.”

“Then get out. You’re bleeding on my upholstery.”

They locked into a staring competition. Hill was clearly considering her options. Natasha had been dead serious about making Hill get out. She wasn’t about to return the car looking like someone had been murdered in it. Eventually, Hill said,

“Have you done this before?”

Natasha huffed and sat back, lifting the hem of her shirt. “Pick a scar, any scar. I probably sewed it up.” Hill was looking anywhere but at Natasha. Natasha huffed. “Come on. You’re bleeding. A lot. And I know from experience that it’s easier for someone else to give you stitches than doing it yourself.” She allowed just a smidge of sympathy into the tone.

Hill unscrewed the bottle lid and took several large gulps. She handed the bottle back to Natasha. “Fine.”

Romanoff was brutal in giving her stitches. The few times Maria looked, her face was void of emotion, even as Maria tried her hardest to refrain from twisting in pain. She was done fairly quickly, even if it didn’t feel like it, and started covering the wound.

“Go to medical and get those taken out in a week or so.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

Romanoff began driving as Maria pulled her shirt back on, careful not to pop a stitch. “Did you find anything?” Maria questioned. “At the house.”

“No.” The answer was quick. Romanoff’s eyes were fixed on the road.

“That’s funny, because there were two half-full cups of coffee in the kitchen.”

She saw Romanoff’s hands tighten around the wheel. “Maybe someone else left before we arrived.”

“We both know that’s not what happened.”

Romanoff was oddly silent. A muscle in her jaw ticked as she ground her teeth. If Maria didn’t know better, she would’ve thought the woman was anxious. Good. That was a sign that she was on the right track. “Was the widow’s handler?” No response. “Another widow?” Nothing. “Come on Romanoff, give me something. Give me one good reason why you would’ve let not one, but two criminals go.”

“They’re children,” she forced out.

Maria faltered. “What?”

“I ran into a widow in the other room. Her name was Ingrid. She was a child. I doubt the other girl with her would’ve been more than two years older if they were in the same class.”

“How old?”

“Seventeen. According to her file. They aren’t always accurate, but the year’s usually right.”

“You knew her.”

“I trained her for three months.”

Romanoff swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Report me if you want, but I don’t regret my decision. I’d make it again. This isn’t they’re choice. They’re children.”

She sounded borderline desperate, and Maria couldn’t help but feel a flash of pity. “I’m not going to report it.”

Romanoff’s eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

“There’s a difference between killing an adult who’s made a conscious decision to harm others and killing a kid who never had a choice.” Maria was silent for a moment. Romanoff was still staring at her. “Eyes on the road.”

The redhead’s eyes reluctantly flickered back to the asphalt. They fell into silence.

The SHIELD garage was bustling with agents going out and returning when they got back. Maria stepped out of the car, brow furrowing when Romanoff didn't follow. She glanced down at the woman. "You coming?"

Romanoff had her eyes closed, her head tilted back against the headrest. "Give me a second."

She looked unusually pale. Maria frowned leaning over to her and shaking her shoulder. Romanoff gasped in pain, eyes flying open as she flinched back. "Fine, I'm moving," the redhead groaned.

She stepped out of the car. She stumbled, grabbing onto the car for stability. 

"Romanoff-"

The redhead's white-knuckled grip on the car loosened. That was the only warning Maria got before she passed out. 

Natasha winced as light infiltrated her vision. Sound became louder as the world came back into focus. She blinked, staring up at white, fluorescent lights.

“You are a fucking idiot Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha jerked in surprise at the unexpected voice, making an aborted move to sit up. It was only Hill’s hand on pressing down on her uninjured shoulder that kept her from sitting up completely. She was groggy – too groggy to bother fighting the contact. So she gave up, slapping Hill’s hand away as she leant back on the pillows.

She looked around at the blue curtains concealing other beds and the medical carts and monitors. The monitor she was hooked up to started beeping faster as her heart rate rose. She tore the traitorous patches off her chest. She didn’t need a fucking machine telling her, or more importantly, Hill, that she was nervous. No. Fuck that.

“Hey, Romanoff. Easy,” Hill ordered, grabbing her wrists to stop her from tugging the rest of the wires off.

“Get your hands off me,” Natasha snarled.

Hill raised a brow at the tone, but raised her hands to shoulder height placatingly and took a step back. Natasha finished disconnecting herself, and turned her attention to the IV in her arm, pulling it out with little regard. She pressed down on the bleed with her thumb.

“What happened?” she demanded as she sat up.

“You passed out because you are a fucking idiot. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were injured?”

“It wasn’t relevant.”

“It was pretty bloody relevant when you passed out and very nearly hit your head on the concrete.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Lying to me about being injured when we’re here is one thing. We have access to medical care here. But out there is another story Romanoff. An entirely different fucking story.” She was yelling now. Natasha forced herself to bite her tongue and take it. She wasn’t really in a position to do anything else. “Out there, when you don’t communicate that you are injured, you are putting your life on the line.”

“Our job is to put our lives on the line,” Natasha retorted.

“No, our job is to protect the people that can’t protect themselves and we cannot do that if we are too busy dropping dead ourselves.”

“I can look after myse-“

“Bullshit. You can’t. What if you’d passed out in the field instead, and I hadn’t had the resources to help you? I know that you take death lightly Romanoff. I get it. You saw a lot of death in the Red Room, and I can be sympathetic to that fact. But I cannot lose another person under my command. Especially not to something as trivial as lack of communication. I will not do that, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean another?”

There was a pain in those bright blue eyes that Natasha had never seen before. When Hill answered, her tone was clipped, and her expression forcibly neutral. “I have lost people before Romanoff. Good soldiers that did not deserve to die. They died for their country from causes that we could not have foreseen or prevented. Bleeding out when you’re next to me in a car with a first aid kit? That, we can foresee. That, we can prevent. You are a good agent, Romanoff. You get results, and you save lives in doing so. You can’t keep clearing your ledger if you keep spiralling down this path of not looking after yourself. It will come around to bite you in the ass, and if you keep going this way, I can’t guarantee anyone will be able to help you out of the grave you’re digging yourself.”

Natasha got out of the bed. “I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”

With that, she left.

Chapter Text

As was slowly becoming a habit, Maria found herself knocking on Romanoff’s door later that evening. The redhead opened it, not even looking surprised at the sight of her anymore. She stepped back to let her in.

“When did I start expecting you instead of Barton?” Maria didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question. Romanoff continued. “So, what do you want?”

Maria raised a brow at her bluntness, but asked, “You’re cleared from medical?”

“They let me out a few hours ago.”

“So what are you planning to do next?”

“Well,” Romanoff replied wryly. “Sleeping is a natural consequence of being awake all day.”

Maria huffed out a breath. “I meant about the widows. The case. They’re not going to stop.”

“No, they’re not,” Romanoff agreed.

“So? What are you going to do about it?”

Romanoff looked up at her, considering her options. “Reassign the case.”

The redhead turned away, as if she was expecting that to be the end of it. Like Maria would shrug and leave and close the door behind her. She did the opposite.

“Wait-“ She stepped in, closing the door behind her and grabbing Romanoff’s arm. The woman gave a slight flinch, but turned to her again. “You’re not serious, are you? The next agents that find those girls will kill them.”

Natasha shook her head, “They won’t find them. We only found them because of me. You only survived them because of me. Assign it to some borderline-retired agents that won’t get out from behind their desks. That way no one dies.”

“Except the next victims of them.”

“It’s not likely there’ll be another victim. They’ve gained attention. The Red Room will pull them out, lay low for a couple months. Then send them elsewhere.”

“You don’t even want to try to get them out?”

“It’s too risky.”

“I never took you for the selfish type.”

Romanoff’s eyes flashed darkly for a second. “Fine then. You go out and try and bring them in. They’ll kill you, but what do I care?” She turned away again, but Hill grabbed her shoulder. Natasha spun on her heel, grabbing Hill’s arm and bending it harshly enough that the woman hissed in a pained breath. Natasha released her with a small push. “Don’t grab me again.”

Hill took a step back warily, waiting for Romanoff to come at her again. “Why the hell are you so adamant you get off this case?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is, actually. Because I got you back on it after you got yourself kicked off the first time.”

“For God’s sake Hill. Use your brain. I know you have one. If I stay on this assignment and we come across those girls again, I won’t kill them. They will have no issues in killing us. My hesitation will get myself and anyone else with me killed and I will not have SHIELD blame those deaths on me. I’m done with the Red Room.”

Hill watched her with calculating blue eyes. Natasha was stiff under the intense stare. After a moment, Hill asked, “If it came down to shooting a widow or a SHIELD agent, who would you shoot?”

She seemed more curious than anything, but Natasha shook her head disbelievingly. “I know what you want to hear.”

“Tell me the truth,” she demanded.

Natasha scoffed. “Truth is, it depends. ‘Widow’ is a broad term. I’d shoot a fully grown man over a seven-year old girl any day. Now if we’re talking about a widow like a madame, then I’d happily shoot her. It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Me or Ingrid?”

“What?”

“If you had to shoot one of us, would it be me or Ingrid?”

Natasha was silent for far longer than what was comfortable. Hill scoffed, and made towards the door, but Natasha called out her answer, “I’d shoot Ingrid.” Hill paused. “I’d shoot her, because chances are that she’s gonna die in the next few years anyway and a bullet to the head would be a far more merciful death than what the Red Room would afford her.”

“So it’s got nothing to do with loyalty to SHIELD.”

“Do you not know me at all? I don’t have loyalty to SHIELD. I have loyalty to Nick Fury and Clint Barton and Laura Barton, and few others. And they have loyalty to SHIELD. Organisations are corrupt, Hill. I don’t stand for the organisation. I stand for the good people within it. Nick Fury knows that. He’s fine with that. Are you?”

Hill pierced her with a stare. “Were you ever loyal to the Red Room?”

“What do you define as loyalty?”

“Did you ever believe in their cause?”

Natasha leant back against the counter. “I’m going to answer this honestly.” She scanned Hill’s expression for any sign that she was preparing to order a strike team in to take her down. “When I was little, yes. I was raised in that place for eight years. I didn’t set foot outside the Red Room base until I was six, and then it was only for training exercises. Their ideology was the only ideology I ever knew. I was raised to think that we were saving the world.” She paused.

“And then… I saw the real world. I went to a little primary school in Ohio where the teachers never raised their voices or hit the kids. I saw what a normal childhood looked like. I’d play hopscotch at lunch and swing on the monkey bars. And when I’d get home, I’d be handed a gun with a silencer by the widow pretending to be my mother and she’d teach me to shoot. And after that she’d spend hours sparring with me, and teaching me ballet sets until I physically could not. I thought that was normal. Three years in Ohio taught me that it wasn’t.

“Then when I was told that we had to go back, I felt like the world had disappeared out from under me. And then my sister was wrenched away from me, and that was when I realised that the Red Room was not the place that I’d been made to think it was. We were not saving anyone. I stopped believing in their cause when I was eleven, but if I’d said that, I would have been tortured to death as an example or turned into a guinea pig for the scientists to toy with.

“So to answer your question, no. I’m not loyal to them, and I haven’t been so in a dozen years. Happy?”

Hill let out a breath. “I’ll reassign it.” She headed towards the door.

“And Hill?”

“Hm?”

“Tell anyone that I told you any of that and I’ll ruin you. And before you ask, yes, that’s a threat.”

Hill inclined her head before she left.

A few days later, Natasha was cleared to go back to the field. As there were sat in a room doing paperwork, Hill asked, “You said you know how to dance, right?”

Natasha looked up at Hill from where she was sitting next to Bobbi. “Yeah? Why?”

“Just a simple mission. Checking in with a UC. You in?”

“I’m confused as to why you opened the conversation with dancing when you could’ve just said we had to make contact with an undercover operative,” Natasha said wryly, exchanging a look with Bobbi. Even Hunter had looked up from his own work on the other side of the room.

“Because according to my source, events like this are a ball. So that means fancy dresses and dancing.”

“I’m not fucking any old geezers.”

Hill choked on her water, Hunter looked shocked, and Bobbi coughed. May seemed to be the only one who realised the reason that Natasha had said that was because she’d had to in the past.

“I’d hope not,” Hill snapped. “All we need is to do is check in with our UC.”

“What’s their mission about?”

“He’s looking into a human trafficking network. I thought you’d have some valuable input if he had any questions.”

“Yeah, sure. We all know I’m the resident expert in human trafficking.”

Bobbi couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped her. Natasha, for one, was just glad the joke had landed with someone.

“Oh come on Hill, it’s a funny joke.”

“Human trafficking jokes aren’t generally very funny.”

She started walking away. Natasha was half-laughing as she called out, “Come on! It’s fine when you’re the one who was trafficked.”

“I’ll get you something to wear. Be ready to leave at seven.”

Romanoff stepped up beside Hill outside SHIELD at seven on the dot. “Romanoff, you ready?”

Romanoff turned to her and suddenly Maria’s mind went blank. Romanoff was standing in an absolutely stunning black dress. It was figure-hugging, drawing Maria’s attention to everywhere that she didn’t want it to go. She forced up to Romanoff’s face before she could notice much more about the outfit. The redhead’s lip had quirked up slightly in amusement.

Maria cleared her throat. “You clean up nice.”

“You know how hard it is to find places to stash weapons in a dress like this? I mean Hill, I love your taste and all, but how practical is it?”

Maria scoffed, her eyes settling somewhere over Romanoff’s shoulder. “Firstly, it’s not my taste. Talk to SHILED’s UC division. Secondly, we’re not getting in any physical fights tonight, so you shouldn’t be needing the weapons.”

Natasha’s eyes travelled over Hill’s outfit, a feminine suit with a lower cut than Natasha thought Hill would ever be caught dead in. “We’re going to be surrounded by horny businessmen all evening. Chances are that we’ll be using the weapons.”

“Let’s try to avoid it,” Hill muttered.

They got in the taxi Hill had ordered, and Natasha was the first to break the awkward silence. “So how are we going to play this? Our relationship, I mean.” Hill blinked. “Well if someone asks, I’m not going to just say ‘professional’. Don’t get all prude on me now.”

Hill’s cheeks coloured slightly, “Fine, call it romantic.” Natasha almost laughed at the tension coursing through Hill’s body. Natasha had never seen her look so uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry Hill, it’s not like they’re going to ask us to fuck to prove it.” Hill’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not very used to these types of missions, are you Maria.”

Hill gave her a stern look. “I’m usually running them, not partaking in them. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve sent you in alone, but the agent wouldn’t recognise you. Plus, you clearly can’t be trusted based off your last couple times in the field.”

“Touche.” Natasha grinned. God, this was going to be fun. “You need to ease up. No one’s going to believe we’re together as long as you look like I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

“We’re not there yet. I don’t need to start acting too early.”

Natasha chuckled. “Look, if it’s any consolation, what happens in the ballroom, stays in the ballroom.”

The car eventually pulled up outside a plain building. The change in Hill was instant. From the second she stepped out of the car, she threaded her fingers through Natasha’s and led the way up the stairs. Natasha was surprised, but she’d always been adaptable, and quickly fell into her role. She let Hill handle getting them in, playing the part of the girlfriend that was just excited to be invited to her rich girlfriend’s invite only event.

As soon as they stepped inside, Natasha was on alert, her eyes scanning the crowd for their subject. She slipped an arm around Hill’s waist from behind, resting her chin on the woman’s shoulder.

“You’re still tense, my love.” She smirked. Hill’s muscles eased robotically – purely because she had forced them to, Natasha was sure.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Hill asked, guiding her into a corner where they could watch the goings on.

Natasha batted her eyes and put on an innocent expression. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You enjoy making me uncomfortable.” Hill scoffed.

Natasha stepped closer to her, a small grin on her face. “Very much so.” Her expression flickered into something serious for just a moment. “But tell me to stop and I will.”

And in that moment, Maria was abruptly reminded that this was a woman who’d been forced into missions like this in the past but hadn’t had that option to tell the other person ‘no’. As much as Romanoff liked to rub her the wrong way, Maria knew that this was a line she would not cross. She nodded. It wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t like Romanoff was some handsy agent that was using the cover as an excuse to grope her. Despite all her closeness, neither Romanoff’s hands nor eyes ever wandered. And Maria wasn’t afraid to admit that Romanoff was objectively attractive. As much as she irritated Maria on the day to day, she wasn’t as bad to work with in a duo as she was in the team. She supposed it made sense – Romanoff’s downfall was communication, and communication with one person was easier than with five.

“You’re not allowed to go rogue here, you understand?” Maria said, her tone turning commanding for a brief second.

Romanoff inclined her head.

“I’m serious Romanoff. You’re on thin ice as is. I’m not above suspending your ass.”

“I get it,” Romanoff snapped in response. “Can we get back to it now?”

Maria shook her head, but let the matter drop. “Let’s head out there. See who we see.”

They started weaving through the crowd. It was a very high-end thing. Maria saw a few CEOs, some investment bankers… she wondered if many of them were even aware of some of the transactions that occurred in places like this. She linked her arm through Romanoff’s, mostly to make sure the woman didn’t run off anywhere she wasn’t meant to. She stopped abruptly when Romanoff jerked to a halt, and turned to see an older man with a hand on Natasha’s arm.

“Hello, my dear,” he said with a grin that sent shiver’s down Maria’s spine. “It’s been too long. What, a decade now? No matter. I wasn’t aware this was your peoples’ kind of scene.” From his body language, Maria had a sickening feeling that this man didn’t know Romanoff as ‘Natasha’, but rather, as Natalia.

Romanoff took it in stride, smiling sweetly and giving the man a look that had Maria wanting to throw up a little. “Well sir, all due respect, but if that’s what you believe, then you either don’t know all the types of… transactions that occur with this crowd, or you don’t know the General very well.”

“I thought the Red Room was far too much of a cheapskate to flirt with this kind of crowd.”

Maria stepped forwards, placing a possessive hand around Romanoff’s waist and silently praying she didn’t mind. “Not when he has my money.” Honestly she had no clue who ran the Red Room after Romanoff killed Dreykov, but she assumes he was a ‘he’.

The man’s eyes flickered to her. “And, you are…”

“The head of the Red Room needs his money from somewhere, now doesn’t he? I’m one of many investors in his…” she trailed off for a second, glancing Romanoff up and down. “business.”

“And yet your accent is American. What do you stand to gain from his politics?”

“No one can argue that his widows are useful in times of need. I don’t need much more convincing.”

The man raised a brow and looked at Romanoff again. “They really do train you versatile, don’t they?” Maria felt ill at his implication. She felt Romanoff stiffen slightly under her hand. “You wouldn’t mind if I stole your company for a few moments, would you?”

And just like that, Romanoff turned incredibly still. Her hand brushed Maria’s and squeezed tightly – almost painfully – in a silent plea. No. Maria couldn’t believe that Romanoff thought she’d ever allow that. The man was looking at Romanoff like she was his next meal, and it disgusted her.

She smiled stiffly. “I don’t like to share my things.” And in a last-ditch attempt to get the man to leave them alone, she hooked a finger around Romanoff’s necklace and pulled her into a quick kiss. The widow was quick to soften and reciprocate, if only for their cover, but feeling the redhead’s muscles lose some of their tension reassured Maria that the other woman wasn’t too uncomfortable with this. Good. She pulled away, turning to look at the man, who suddenly looked highly uncomfortable.

“Right, uh- well, give him my regards. And if he ever wants to repay me for one of my many favours, he knows who I like.”

Maria had half a mind to pull out her gun and shoot him point blank, but she kept her features under control until the man had disappeared into the crowd. Romanoff visibly relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Maria thought of to say.

“It’s fine,” Romanoff replied, even if her tone said anything but. “It got him out of our way.”

“He’s disgusting,” Maria spat.

“He’s one of many,” Romanoff sighed. “I’ve recognised a few faces. They just haven’t recognised me yet.”

“He said it had been a decade. You were fourteen ten years ago.”

Romanoff ducked her head and gritted her jaw. “I know.”

“Romanoff that’s-“

“I know what it is,” she said harshly. “But now is not the time to discuss it. 3 o’clock.”

Maria took a breath before casually turning. Her eyes swept over the crowd on her right, barely pausing as she recognised their contact.

“What would you say about a dance?”

It was a smart move. Their contact was currently mid-waltz, and dancing would be the only way to get closer to him. Natasha inclined her head, letting Hill lead her to the floor. They fell into step quickly, rhythmically, as if they’d done it a hundred times. Natasha raised an impressed brow.

“Didn’t know you could dance.”

“Military school,” she answered. “I got out of juvie and went straight there. From fifteen up until I graduated. They taught us for the formal dinners at the end of school terms.”

Natasha followed her footsteps with alarming ease. Waltzing had never been her favourite – she’d always preferred classical ballet – but Hill made it feel natural.

They edged closer to their contact, and by the time the song ended, they were within a few feet.

Natasha twisted, coming face to face with the man as she pretended to bump into him. His expression twisted into something cold as he appraised her. She held her chin high and stared right back. Hill sidled up to her, wrapping an arm around her. His expression softened some. Not much, but enough to tell Natasha that he’d recognised Hill.

“Sorry about that,” Hill said.

“No problem,” he said with what seemed like forced evenness.

With that, he turned and walked away. Natasha and Hill watched him leave, go upstairs and into another room. After a minute, they followed him.

The room they entered was a lush office with deep red carpet, a mahogany desk, and aesthetic bookshelves lining the walls, filled with books that looked like they’d never been touched.

“I cleared this room just as the party began. It’s safe,” he said as he leant back against the table.

Natasha gave Hill a questioning glance. Hill nodded, understanding and answering the silent question. Natasha started sweeping the room herself, only half-listening as Hill asked the basic questions. ‘Do you feel confident in your progress?’ and ‘is there any way SHIELD can better support you in achieving your objective?’ etcetera.

Natasha finished sweeping the room and ended up leaning against the wall furthest from the other agents.

“So what intel do you have so far?”

His eyes flickered to Natasha, who met his gave evenly. “Are you sure she should be here?” he questioned. “Half of these people are those she used to be… involved with. I saw you interacting with one of our prime suspects. He seemed to know her.”

Natasha pushed off the wall with a scowl. “Let’s just say I was never involved with them by choice.”

“Well excuse me if I don’t believe you,” he snarled. “Now if you could just leave-“

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Hill said sharply. “She has been a valuable asset to SHIELD for two years. If she wanted to desert us she would have done it by now. She’s been given plenty of opportunities. You give me your report with her present or I write you up for discrimination.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he glared at Natasha, but he eventually relented. Natasha couldn’t be more glad when they finished and she and Hill could finally leave.

Chapter Text

 The second they got out of there, it was like a switch had been flicked. Natasha resorted to slamming her walls up again mostly because she knew that Hill would be doing the very same. It was second nature by now, slipping back into the cooler, controlled version of herself, even if she sometimes wondered whether she preferred the people she pretended to be.

“You alright?”

Natasha looked over at Hill, who was regarding her with a careful look. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You weren’t expecting to see familiar faces tonight, or interact with them for that matter.”

“It’s not important.”

“Well it was if he was one of those ‘old geezers’ you were so against sleeping with.”

“Forget it, Hill.” Her words were sharp, and Maria knew better than to push by now.

“Fine. I’ll drop it. But if you need to talk-“

“I don’t know how many times I need to say it, Hill. We’re not friends.”

Maria should’ve expected it, but Romanoff had been so… different earlier. Flirty and at ease. Maybe part of her had hoped that not all of it was fake.

“No, we’re not,” Maria agreed, tone cold. “But you should talk to someone about this. It’s not healthy to-“

“Hill,” Natasha cut her off. “Part of not being friends is keeping our noses out of each others’ business. So if you want to go into detail about your court case and juvie, I’ll spill all the details of my countless rapes. Happy?”

Maria looked away. “Point taken.”

Natasha couldn’t sleep that night. She found herself in the gym in – of all things – her pointe shoes. It was three a.m. in one of the less busy gyms. She’d been down here enough times to know that it was highly unlikely that someone would walk in on her. So, she turned on a familiar tune and went through the set she’d done well over a hundred times.

There was something about this that had always calmed her, even when she was in the Red Room. Even when they’d made her dance until her feet bled and she threw up and she passed out. Even when they’d made it into a form of torture, something about it had always been able to ground her. She allowed herself to fall into the music, to feel the rhythm in her bones. She moved with the fluidity and grace that had long-since become second nature. All her thoughts melted away, because this was all that mattered right now. Keeping her chin high and her back neutral and her shoulders back and her core engaged.

She’d missed this – the serenity that overtook her when she did this. It was one of few non-violent things that was taught in the Red Room. It had never been made to harm or threaten. Quite the opposite. Maybe that’s why she always craved it when her mind became too dark for her to handle. This was her eye of the storm. When the weight of matters she had no choice in were bearing down on her, this was her anchor. She’d never had someone to call her anchor, so she’d made something her anchor.

It wasn’t always nice like this. Some of the time, it only brought back memories of her legs being lashed with switches when she stumbled, and constantly aching muscles. But on days like this, it had quite a different impact.

This night’s nightmares had been particularly cruel, filled with wandering hands and pain of both the emotional and physical sense. She’d woken up in a crippling panic. Part of her was afraid that it would still be there when she stopped dancing. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time.

When Romanoff had said she could dance, Maria wasn’t expecting this. She’d been unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares. So she’d come down to the gyms, intending to spend a few hours punching something. But a redhead had taken up her usual haunt, moving with an inhuman grace to music just as fluid as her movements.

When Romanoff had said she could dance, Maria imagine a mediocre mover who’d taken a few years of ballet class. But this… Romanoff could’ve turned in her badge and done this full time instead. She wasn’t even looking. Her eyes were closed and Maria had never seen her so genuinely relaxed. Her muscles had lost all their tension, her shoulders were low and pulled back in a silent confidence, and her limbs moved in wide arcs in ways that Maria had never seen anyone bend in real life. She knew she shouldn’t stare – she felt like she was prying into some private moment – but she couldn’t help it.

The music faded to a stop, and Natasha stopped. Her eyes opened, and suddenly she saw Maria and her defences were up again. Or… no, not quite. It looked more like she’d been a little rattled at the sight of Maria and was still trying regain her composure enough to put her walls up again.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said quickly. “I couldn’t sleep. There’s not usually anyone down here. I can go.”

Romanoff didn’t respond. She turned away, running a hand through her hair. Maria was only just able to catch the trembling in her body.

“Romanoff.” No response. “Natasha.” Nothing.

Screw it. Maybe she’d end up with a broken bone, but something about this wasn’t right. She reached out and brushed Romanoff’s back. The redhead flinched so violently that Maria snatched her hand back as though she’d been burnt. Romanoff spun around, her eyes meeting Maria’s. Maria stilled for a moment before backing up a step. She was used to Romanoff shielding her emotions, but this… Romanoff looked completely empty. Like she was a shell of a human being. The expression, or rather, lack of thereof, flickered. Maria had a feeling that it was for her own benefit.

“Are you alright?” she asked carefully.

“I’m fine,” Romanoff said in a quick breath as she turned away. “You can go.”

“No.”

Natasha turned to face her again. “Fine. I’ll leave then.” Maria let her pass, but followed. It didn’t take Natasha long to realise. She spun around again. “What do you want?”

“You’re not alone, Romanoff. Don’t cut yourself off from everyone because emotions make you feel weak.”

“I’m not weak,” Natasha spat out. “I am made of marble.”

“Where’d you get that one from? The Red Room’s inspirational poster board? You’re not okay, and that’s fine, but frankly I don’t even know when you sleep. If you’re not doing paperwork at some godforsaken hour, you’ve scanned into the shooting range or you’re down here.”

Natasha scoffed. “You’re using my ID to track me?”

“You’re one of mine now, and given that you’re in the range out of hours around four times a week, yeah. I have probable cause to look your ID number up in the system.”

“Because you have such a reliable sleep schedule yourself,” Natasha ridiculed. “You absolute hypocrite.”

“As your superior it’s my job to care for your welfare.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” she spat.

“I’m not pretending to do anything! Just because we don’t always get along doesn’t mean that- you’re one of mine, Romanoff, whether you like it or not. You are on my team, and whether you believe it or not, I would put myself in the path of a bullet for any of my soldiers because I’m not you. I am loyal to the end, even to the people I don’t particularly like. I may not like you very much, Romanoff, but do not pretend that I have ever knowingly put you in a situation where you feel at risk. And as long as you know me, I don’t care how much you piss me off. I will never knowingly put you in a situation that you are not 100% comfortable with.”

Her firmness on this startled Natasha. Her main question was, “Why?”

“I’m a hard-ass, Romanoff, but there’s a difference between being a hardass and being abusive. You lived with the second for so long that it’s no wonder that you can struggle to see the difference. You expect the worst of me. I get that. But don’t accuse me of not caring. I care, Romanoff. So you’ve got three options. You can talk to me, you can talk to another agent, or you can talk to a therapist. Your pick, but you’re talking to one of the three, or you’re on desk duty.”

Natasha hesitated. “What do you want to talk about?”

Maria softened somewhat. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

When Hill had said ‘somewhere more comfortable’, Natasha hadn’t been imagining her quarters. Yet here she was, in the Deputy Director’s kitchen, leaning against the counter as Hill went about making hot chocolates with rum. A nice addition, Natasha thought, considering the conversation they were procrastinating.

“Can you grab some spoons? You’re leaning against the cutlery drawer.” Natasha nodded, pulling the drawer open.

She grabbed the spoons but spotted something wedged at the very back of the drawer that certainly didn’t belong. She pulled it out, raising a brow when she recognised it. She turned back to Hill, holding up the object. Hill’s eyes fixed on it and immediately the woman snatched it from her. Hill pushed past her, stuffing the medal back into the back of the cutlery drawer and slamming it shut.

“You do realise that’s a Silver Star, right?” Natasha asked, raising a brow.

“Of course I know what it is,” Maria scoffed. “It’s mine.”

Natasha blinked, not bothering to hide her shock. “You got a Silver Star? Isn’t that like, kind of a huge deal?”

“It’s no Medal of Honour,” she muttered.

“Right, it’s just a fraction away from it. It’s yours? What did you do?”

“There’s a reason this thing isn’t mounted on a wall, Romanoff. It’s not usually something I enjoy talking about.”

If Natasha was good at one thing though, it was pushing. This was just too good of an opportunity to pass up when there was a secondary benefit of learning a little something about Hill. “What happened? Someone die?”

Hill was refusing to meet her eyes, and her muscles were filled with a kind of tension that Natasha hadn’t yet seen in the woman. Eventually, she replied. “Yes. Someone died.”

“When you were on tour? Afghanistan right?”

“Do I want to know why you know that?”

“You were serving from early 2001 through to late 2003. I made an educated guess. I didn’t find any mention of a Silver Star,” Natasha pushed.

“It’s on my military service record,” Hill shrugged. Natasha thought it was more to try and ease the tension in her shoulders than anything else.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“You’re not going to drop this are you?”

“No.”

Hill sighed as she poured a little more rum than usual into her hot chocolate. “You’re right. It was Afghanistan. 2003. I was a corporal in a Marine Expeditionary Force. We’d been called in to support a platoon that had been ambushed. We got there, my squad leader was wounded. I took charge and led the assault through the tree line where the ambush had originated. It’s a… long story and one I don’t really want to go into depth about.” Her voice was strained. “People I cared about died, but they called me a hero.”

“You probably were,” Natasha said, almost feeling bad for pushing now. She hadn’t known. “More would have died if-“

“I’ve heard the speech, Romanoff,” Hill cut her off harshly before forcing herself to relax. She let out a breath. “I almost refused it, but my sergeant said I’d be an idiot to do that. That I deserved it.” She shook her head. “I got the bloody thing, but never wanted it to be made public. Then my contract ended and I left. Fury recruited me only a couple weeks later, and I came here. The second I got out of the academy and into this room, I shoved the medal there and forgot about it. I haven’t seen the thing in almost six years.”

“Does anyone here know?”

“Fury, Bobbi, and Hunter probably by extension, but I didn’t tell him. Other than that, no.”

Natasha nodded. Hill handed her the hot chocolate and led her over to the couch. Hill sat in the chair across from Natasha, taking a moment to sip her drink.

“Alright. I’ve shared. Your turn. How much sleep are you getting?”

Natasha swirled the liquid in her cup around a bit before answering. “Enough.”

“That’s not a number.”

“Four hours or so when I get woken up. Up to eight other days. You?”

Maria supposed it was only fair that she answered too. “About the same. Do you get woken up often?”

“A few times a week.”

“Nightmares?”

Natasha sighed, “What else.”

Maria paused there, sensing that they were getting into sensitive territory. She was on a roll here. She didn’t want to ruin it.

“Why’d you choose to talk to me, not someone else?”

Natasha gritted her jaw in that way she usually did before she snapped. Maria was ready for it, but then Natasha relaxed and let out a breath. “Because therapy in the Red Room involved getting berated and beaten for every weakness we admitted to. I knew a girl afraid of heights. They pushed her out of a plane seven times in one day. She had a parachute, but still… and as for another agent, the only person I know well enough is Barton and that is not a relationship I need ruined because of my crap.”

“So you chose me for lack of options.”

“That and you can’t dislike me more than you already do. You’re a safe bet. You see the worst in me already so nothing I say can shock you.”

“I don’t see the worst in you,” Maria argued.

“See that’s the kicker. You think that you don’t.” She took a sip of her drink. It seared her throat pleasantly. “But you’ve fought with a widow now and there’s a part of you that knows that that’s still in me.”

“You left that part of your life behind.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, I left the people and organisations behind. I’m a widow. I’ll always be a widow. I was raised in a certain way and that will never be erased. You know that. You’re not stupid. You’re not scared of it, but you’re aware, even if you don’t know that.”

Maria nodded slowly, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Natasha smirked at her over the brim of her glass.

“How the hell do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Switch between personalities like that. I swear you’re giving me whiplash.”

Natasha only hummed in response. She wasn’t trying to. She supposed she knew why. She’d never been allowed to have a personality. Any inkling of an opinion would be beaten out of her. The best widows had learnt to lock the emotive parts of themselves away. Hill had had 28 years to figure out who she was. Natasha had only had three.

“I don’t do it purposefully,” she ended up saying.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were trying to throw me off.”

Natasha chuckled. “That’s just an unintended upside.”

They fell into silence for a few moments before Hill said, “I didn’t know you did ballet.”

“Not many people do,” Natasha responded, her eyes fixed on the ground. “It’s not something I tend to share.”

“Why not? You could go professional with how good you are.”

Natasha shook her head. “It’s not a hobby. I don’t enjoy it most of the time.”

“Then why do it?”

Maria resisted the urge to fiddle when Romanoff’s intense gaze started analysing her, as deciding whether to tell her the truth. The redhead sighed. She started slowly, carefully weighing her words. “They used ballet to teach us three primary things. Discipline, control, and strength. It taught us to be aware of each part of our bodies at any given point in time.”

“It’s a form of grounding,” Maria surmised.

“If you’d like to call it that.”

“What was the nightmare about?”

Romanoff’s gaze turned hard. “We’ve talked. Can I leave now?”

“I didn’t tie you to the couch,” Hill responded, forcing an edge of humour to her tone. “But if you’re struggling-”

Romanoff stood. “Good thing I’m not then.”

“Let me finish.” Romanoff turned away as if she hadn’t heard her. “Hey, Romanoff.” The redhead ignored her again. Maria reached out and gripped her sleeve. “Romanoff. Don’t just ignore me.”

Natasha spun around on her heel when Hill’s hand closed around her wrist. Her heart thudded in her chest, and suddenly her nightmare seemed a lot more recent. She looked down at Hill’s hand, gritting her teeth. Slowly, the pieces clicked into place. She was in Hill’s room, at some godforsaken hour of the morning. Hill had made her think it was her choice to be here, but it wasn’t and now the woman wasn’t letting her leave. She wanted something, and a sinking feeling in Natasha’s gut told her that it wasn’t ‘to talk’. God she should’ve seen this coming.

Natasha hadn’t thought Hill to be that type of person. She’d thought that SHIELD was better. She’d offered her services to Clint once, but he’d adamantly refused. That’s how she’d learnt about Laura. Maybe it was just her nightmares influencing her. Hill was so stubbornly moral… but Natasha had never known anyone without flaws. She just hadn’t seen it before, but now it was making sense. Being on her side about Ward, organising missions where they posed as a couple, kissing her. Hill was trying to make it look like it was her choice, but it wasn’t, not really. Because Natasha had played this game a hundred times before, and she knew that everyone’s patience came to an end. Natasha supposed that it was kind of Hill to give her a chance to make this choice of her own volition, but eventually she’d grow tired of the long way and she’d do what Natasha had been on the receiving end of so many goddamn times.

There was a bitter taste on her tongue, and Hill’s hand on her wrist felt like it was burning her. There was white noise in her ears. Hill was saying something, but Natasha couldn’t piece it together. All she knew was that Hill was still holding her in place, and not letting her go anytime soon.

She had two choices. One, at least, made it somewhat her decision. At least then she’d retain some sense of control. Of dignity. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad then. Women were usually gentler anyway. At least, the women Natasha had been with had been. Even when they were forcing her to, there were some kind touches, some whispered reassurances, some empty praises. Somehow Natasha didn’t see Hill giving out praise that wasn’t meaningful. But she’d been wrong about her before. She’d be good. She was always good.

At least Hill had given her some liquid courage before. That had been a kindness not always extended to her. It would take the edge off her nerves. Maybe if she went back and opened another bottle of vodka and downed half of it, she’d forget. She’d never had a chance to try that method – the Red Room had never allowed her that much alcohol, and it was too much risk to try in the field. But maybe she could make herself forget. Even if she knew it would happen again, because really, it always happened again.

Maybe she could convince Fury to reassign her. She wouldn’t be able to rat Hill out. Not with the threat of Ward hanging over her head combined with her being his right-hand. Stupid. She never should have told Hill about Ward. She’d traded in a short-term problem for a long term one.

She didn’t want this, but there was no way out of it. Maybe if she made Hill happy enough, she could get off lightly. She wouldn’t get off lightly if Hill lost patience with her. She knew that much. She wasn’t stupid. She had to make a choice and she had to do it soon.

Hill was still speaking, but Natasha cut her off by pressing their lips together.

Chapter Text

Natasha pressed their lips together. Hill made a quiet noise of surprise as Natasha pushed her back against the wall. Hill sunk into the contact a little, her muscles easing. It only lasted a fraction of a second before something clicked in Hill and Natasha was abruptly being pushed back. A fist connected with her jaw, hard enough to send her stumbling and seeing stars.

Maria shook out her hand, her knuckles stinging as she tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Romanoff had kissed her. Maria had been mid-sentence about how SHIELD would pay for external therapy, and shit, and Romanoff had just kissed her. She hadn’t been fully unaware to how the woman had been spacing out, but she’d assumed that that had been about… well anything other than kissing her. The strike to Romanoff’s jaw hadn’t been premeditated. But Romanoff had kissed her, and pushed her back, and by the time Maria had realised what she was doing, Romanoff was already reeling back from the force of the blow. Maria just couldn’t believe- what the hell had Romanoff been thinking?

She shot an angry look at the woman. “What the hell was that?” She stepped forwards, and Romanoff stumbled back into the couch, not answering. Her eyes were fixed on something on the floor. Maria scowled, clicking her fingers. “Romanoff. Eyes here.” Even the fear in Romanoff’s wide green eyes didn’t soften her anger. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Now I’ll ask once again. What the hell was that?”

“I-“ the words seemed to catch in the redhead’s throat. Green eyes dropped to the floor again.

Maria gritted her jaw, her muscles tense. She forced herself to take a breath. She’d never known Romanoff to be lost for words. There was always some quick, witty remark up her sleeve. The redhead looked as shaken up as Maria felt. The anger surging through her was doing nothing of use. She forced another breath, in and out. She counted to ten, then for good measure, she counted back again. All those years in mandated therapy was finally doing some good. When she’d calmed some, she looked at Romanoff again. The woman was standing so still she could be made of stone. Maria wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. There was a mark already forming on her jaw from where Maria had struck her. A trace of guilt wormed its way into Maria’s gut. She took a slow step forward, reaching out.

Romanoff flinched back so violently that Maria stopped in her tracks. Romanoff had nowhere to go with the couch right behind her. She was pressed back against it, her face turned to the side as if waiting for another hit. Ever so slowly and even more gently, Maria gripped the woman’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting her head so she could take a closer look at the bruise. Romanoff was like putty in her hands, despite how stiff she looked. Maria recognised the action. Romanoff was just trying not to anger her further for fear of her hitting her again. The fact that Romanoff thought that little of her stung a little.

“Sit down,” Maria ordered, stepping back.

Maria turned away to go to the freezer. Her mind was racing. This was… god, she didn’t know what to do. This had never happened to her before. She returned to the couch with an icepack wrapped in a cloth in-hand. She sat beside Romanoff, pressing the icepack against the woman’s jaw. Romanoff winced and pulled away a little, but Maria wrapped her other hand around the back of her neck to stop the movement.

“It’ll be worse tomorrow if you don’t ice it,” she chided.

Honestly, she knew Romanoff could have done this herself, but she wanted to show the redhead that she didn’t mean any harm. That her touch didn’t need to result in pain. She made a show in front of recruits to intimidate them, but she knew that none of them were genuinely afraid for their safety in her presence. None of them had ever flinched the way Romanoff just had. Maria refused to appear in Romanoff’s eyes the same way that her father had appeared in her own eyes. She refused to become the person she hated most.

She found her thumb absentmindedly running over the spot just behind Romanoff’s ear, and soon she felt the woman start to lean into the touch.

“Breathe, Natasha,” she reminded quietly when she noticed how still the woman was. Romanoff released a heavy breath. “Good.” She let the woman take a few more deep breaths before addressing what had to be addressed. “I still need you to tell me why you did that.”

And just like that, all the relaxation she’d been achieving was thrown out the window as Romanoff tensed up again. This time, when Romanoff pulled away from her touch, Maria let her, not wanting her to feel trapped. Maria sat back, granting Romanoff the space she silently asked for with no more than a shift of her body.

“Romanoff,” she said, keeping her tone relatively gentle. She saw a muscle tick in the redhead’s jaw, and Maria sighed. Fine. Simpler questions. She could do that. Clearly Romanoff wasn’t up to spitting out full sentences. “Did you kiss me because you wanted to, or because you felt obliged to?” That was the crux of it, really.

Romanoff’s eyes flickered up to hers, scanning over her expression as if searching for the correct answer.

Romanoff’s voice was unusually raw when she forced out a hesitant, “Yes.”

“Look at me Natasha.” She did. “Take a breath.” She did. “Good.” Maria took a steadying breath. This version of Romanoff was off-putting. “You thought that if you didn’t kiss me, what- that I’d rat you out to Ward?” The way Romanoff’s head dipped slightly was enough of an answer.

Maria sat back, taking a deep breath. “I will never dangle a genuine threat over your head. Nor will I ever expect you return any debt to me, especially in the form of sex.” Her tone had taken on a hard edge, and she felt more than saw Natasha stiffen. “Breathe,” she reminded her again. “I will never make you do anything that makes you feel at risk of harm, emotional or physical. Do you understand?”

Romanoff nodded. Maria stood pacing away a few strides to give them both some space. It was clearly an overwhelming subject for Romanoff. With a shock, Maria realised that she was probably Natasha’s first superior to say no to her in such an abrupt manner, or at all for that matter. The woman was gripping the couch hard enough to turn her fingers white, her eyes jumping to the door every few seconds as if she was weighing the pros and cons of bolting.

“I’m not going to report that this time, but you cannot do that again. Understood?”

Romanoff tilted her head down and nodded. In this light, the bruise forming on her jaw was prominent. Maria was reminded of the icepack that had been discarded. She picked it up, pressing it against Romanoff’s jaw again. This time she didn’t need her other hand to keep the woman from pulling away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you. I overreacted.” No reply. “You can go. Please, try to get some sleep.”

Romanoff stood and left without another word. Maria would have preferred she took the ice pack with her, but she seemed in a rush to get out, and Maria wasn’t going to try stopping her again. When the door snapped shut. Maria let out a heavy breath, sinking back into the couch. Well shit.

Natasha didn’t try to get some sleep as Hill had all-but-ordered. It would be a waste of time. By the time she fell asleep, it would be time to get up. So instead, she went to the shooting range. She shot for hours, again and again. With rifles, and semi-automatics, and pistols. She didn’t care. She could shoot any weapon placed into her hands. She just needed to destroy something.

She couldn’t stop her train of thought. How could she have been so stupid? Hill was so irritatingly good, and yet Natasha had gotten a seed planted in her mind and forced things to fit the narrative that sprouted. She’d just assumed the worst of the woman. She knew she had an excuse, but still. Hill was good, and Natasha didn’t know whether it was her past experiences keeping her from believing that or whether she just wanted to find a reason to not like Hill. She’d fucked up. She knew that. God, she’d fucked up so badly, but Hill had been… she’d been kind in a way Natasha hadn’t ever known anyone to be. 

Honestly, she was almost glad that Hill had hit her. It had told her that in no realm, Hill had so much as thought of taking advantage of her like that. That sort of knee-jerk reaction didn't happen any other way. It solidified a boundary that Natasha had tested, and truthfully, she appreciated the bluntness and clarity that would not have come if Hill had gently pushed her away and told her that that wasn't okay. Because a gentle push said that some part of her wanted it, and that would have just been confused. Hill's bluntness was one of the few things Natasha liked about her. Clint and Fury were great and all, but their conversations with her about what was and was not okay left her reading between the lines far too often. A punch was clear, direct.

That said, when Hill had punched her – god did she have a wicked right hook – she’d expected more. She’d expected that she’d just have to take either the physical or verbal lashing that would follow. And Hill had been understandably angry at first, but then she’d stopped, and she’d breathed, and Natasha had seen a glimmer of guilt in those trademark blue eyes. That's what stopped her from holding a grudge about it. 

She knew that she should be icing her face, but she'd never been one to look after herself well - a fact that Clint often admonished her about. She never went to people when she was injured. Not even Clint. He’d learnt that about her very early on. Maybe one day she’d ask others for help, but not today. 

Maybe the worst part was that Natasha hadn’t entirely hated it. When Hill had relaxed into her… and Hill’s hands on her body weren’t grabbing or roaming or trying to get under her shirt. Gentleness had been Hill’s natural reaction. And Natasha had thought, for just a moment, maybe this time won’t be so bad. No. She couldn’t think like that. The thoughts were entirely wrong, and Hill made herself and her boundaries very clear.

And then of all things, she’d apologised and iced Natasha’s bruising face. It was an undeserved kindness that Hill had offered her. God, she hadn’t even apologised in return. Had their rolls been reversed, Natasha was sure she would’ve punched Hill and not felt an ounce of guilt or remorse.

She couldn’t stop those thoughts as they stuck on a loop in her mind. Natasha hit bullseye after bullseye until her watch showed 5 a.m. Really, it hadn’t been too long. She’d only left Hill’s room about an hour ago. She put her weapons away, moving out to the obstacle course. She wouldn’t avoid Hill. She had no right to. She didn’t want to see the woman, but Natasha had been the one to screw up, and going M.I.A would just inconvenience Hill. Natasha was an ass to the woman a lot of the time, but not today.

She headed down to the obstacle course.

Maria had to say, she’d expected Romanoff to revert to avoiding her. She was completely and utterly surprised to find the redhead at the obstacle course when she arrived, already stretching beside May. Bobbi and Hunter were also present, chatting quietly as they stretched.

“Morning team.”

They all looked up. She didn’t miss Romanoff tensing slightly.

“Note the date everyone,” Morse said with an easy grin. “Maria Hill is 2 minutes late.”

“It’s been a long night,” she said, though a small smile played on her lips at her friend’s teasing. She couldn’t help but glance at Romanoff, wondering if the woman had gotten anymore sleep. It didn’t look like it. Despite her hair in an immaculate braid as it always was in field exercises, there were traitorous dark marks under her eyes and a slight slump to her usually perfect posture. She forced herself to look away. “Okay, let’s get going.”

After the exercise, when the others were heading back, she saw Romanoff slow her pace and drop back. Maria kept her own pace so the redhead could fall in beside her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“I want to request permission to leave SHIELD grounds unaccompanied this afternoon.”

Maria tried not to let her confusion be too evident. “Agents can leave at any time they like. It’s a Saturday. You know I run half-days on Saturdays.”

Romanoff shook her head. “Normal agents don’t need to request permission to leave. The Security Council still doesn’t trust me to not fuck off to Russia.” There was a bitterness to her tone. “I can’t leave the state on non-SHIELD business, and I can’t leave grounds without prior approval of my superior. I know I fucked up last night, but-“

“I’m not going to restrict your freedom as a punishment, Romanoff. Go. I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign.” Romanoff pulled a form and pen out of her pocket. Maria raised a brow, but read over the document silently before signing. “I’m happy to give you a couple personal days if you need it.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly.

“Okay,” Maria accepted, hearing the abruptness in Romanoff’s tone. “Just tell me if you change your mind. As far as I know, you haven’t taken a day off since you started here. And no, sick days don’t count.”

“I go to the farm with Barton on occasion.”

Maria scoffed. “Yeah, Fury told me he had to order you to do that.” A small smile glimmered on Romanoff’s features before she seemed to remember who she was talking to, and it disappeared. Maria tried not to be disappointed. “I thought things would be weirder after what happened last night.”

Romanoff’s steps faltered in a way that was barely noticeable. “I crossed a line. You clarified the boundary. Why would it be weird?”

“I punched you.”

“I would’ve done the same thing,” Natasha mused. “And you’re an idiot if you think a spur of the moment punch is the worst I’ve been corrected with. I won’t hold a grudge over a knee-jerk reaction.”

Maria thought over that for a moment before nodding. That was good. It meant that whatever Romanoff had done between 4am and now had helped her clear her head. Maria was just glad it hadn’t stunted the – albeit minimal – progress they’d made. “Are we ever going to just be friends?”

Romanoff shot her a mistrusting glance. “You’re my superior,” she answered carefully.

“That didn’t stop you kissing me.”

“I’ve never been friends with a superior before but I’ve fucked loads of them. There’s a difference.”

She said it so indifferently that Maria almost tripped. “Was that… common? There?”

Romanoff scoffed. “You can call it the Red Room, you know. The name’s not taboo. It won’t have widows popping up and snatching us.”

Maria faltered and grinned a little. “Was that a Harry Potter reference?”

“Laura made me read the books.”

Maria nodded. “That checks out. Are you avoiding my question?”

Romanoff glanced at her briefly before answering, “It was common. It was a way of them showing widows who was really in power if they couldn’t beat us, like before a honeypot or something.”

She said it so factually, like she was recounting last week’s weather. Logically, Maria knew it was probably her trying to distance herself from the emotion that plagued it. She looked at the redhead. The tension was back in her shoulders and face, her brow furrowed and creating a small crinkle between her eyebrows. Maria decided that she’d pushed enough for now, and fell silent. The silence seemed to ease the other woman somewhat as they went down to the change rooms.

They’d been walking slowly enough that May and Bobbi were exiting as they were entering. Maria couldn’t decide whether the fragile silence as they changed was uncomfortable or not. Her eyes flickered over to the other woman, wondering if she found it at all awkward. Her gaze fell on a heavily scarred back. She’d been careful to avoid staring ever since the first day Romanoff had been with them and called them out for doing so. But now, it was difficult. In the harsh white light, the scarring was evermore prominent.

Thin, white scars criss-crossing the younger woman’s back. It was all well-healed – she’d been at SHIELD for two years by now. There was what looked like a bullet scar on her left middle-back, the rounder shape contrasting the thinner lines of the other scars. Maria wondered what could have made those. Some weren’t thin enough to be from a knife. But the strangest mark on the redhead had to be the mark on the back of her right shoulder. Maria hadn’t seen it at first. It was so faint. But now, from only metres away, she could see it better. A circle, inside of which was… an hourglass? No, it was like an hourglass, but with sharp corners. Like what you’d see on the back of a black widow spider.

“You can ask.”

She jumped a little in shock when Romanoff looked over at her. “What?”

“You can ask. About the scars. I know you’re curious, and you don’t seem like the sort to be able to forget about it until you have answers. So ask.”

“Why offer to tell me now? You were so defensive a few weeks ago.”

“Firstly, no one else is here, so if you tell, I can deny and it just turns into a rumour rather than gossip. Secondly, I figured if you can keep Ward quiet, you can keep this quiet.”

The unsaid words in between the lines said more than what Maria knew the redhead could admit – she trusted her. Well, with this, at least. They were far from trust about other things. Maybe it was a test. Romanoff was seeing what she’d do with the information. She’d deemed it not harmful enough that if Maria chose to use it against her, she could handle it. Of course, Maria would never, but Romanoff didn’t know that.

Slowly, Romanoff reached out to grasp her hand. She guided Maria’s fingers to trace over a scar running along her ribcage. "It's okay," Romanoff said, seeing her hesitation about the physical contact.

“How’d you get this?” Maria asked softly, leaning against the locker beside her so she could see Romanoff’s face. The woman’s eyes flickered up to hers, a muscle in her jaw ticking before she forced the tension away. Maria backed up a step, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. A small smile flickered across Romanoff's features at the movement.

“It’s not a nice story,” the redhead warned.

“Nor was my Silver Star story,” she pointed out quietly.

Romanoff took a steadying breath. “There were four main types of punishment in the Red Room. You already know about the sexual abuse. There was also medical abuse, where they’d send us down to medical and the doctors could poke and prod us and open us up without anaesthesia. That punishment was usually when a widow screwed up too much to be of use anymore. The neater scars,” she pointed to a scar just visible above the waistline of her pants. “Those are surgical. I only ever had one surgery. They have a graduation ceremony. It’s a hysterectomy.”

“How old were you?” Maria asked quietly.

Romanoff swallowed. “Sixteen.” She looked away, but kept speaking. “There’s also psychological punishments – isolation, waterboarding, starvation, making us kill other widows. Sometimes in winter they’d dump us out in the snow in nothing more than our underwear and boots and only bring us in just before severe hypothermia set in.” She hesitated. “Sometimes they didn’t bring some girls back in at all.” She looked at Maria again, who recognised the analysing look in the other woman’s eyes. She kept her face carefully blank. “Then physical. The madams carried bamboo switches. The wider scars are from that. Then of course, some of them are accidental.” She tapped the bullet scar on her upper abdomen. “Bullet went right through me into my target. Bye bye bikinis.”

Maria huffed out a soft chuckle at the bad attempt at humour. She dared to raise a hand to trace the purposeful mark on the back of Romanoff's shoulder. “This wasn’t an accident.”

“No,” Romanoff agreed. “It’s a brand.”

Maria breathed out shakily. “That’s sick.”

Romanoff tilted her head, meeting Maria’s eyes with an honest look that Maria had never seen in her before. “But it’s part of the reason I’m here.”

Maria moved her hand to push Romanoff’s hair back, exposing a thin scar across her neck. She pretended not to notice the woman’s small shiver, but she did quietly say, “If you want space, just ask.”

“No, it’s okay. You told me your war story. It’s about time I tell you mine.”

“It’s not a debt.”

“I know. This is okay. I swear.”

Maria nodded, but took a small step back as she traced across the thin line at the base of the redhead’s throat. “This looks like it was a close call.”

“It was.” She didn’t offer more of an explanation than that, but her eyes landed on a small scar just above Hill’s temple. She brought a hand up to trace the mark. “Was this a close call?”

“Beer bottle to the head,” she answered. “I think the doctors in the ER did pretty well. They brought a plastics guy down. Avery, I think his surname was. When I asked why I needed a plastic surgeon, he said ‘you’re fourteen. It’d be a shame to have a nasty scar scaring off all the boys, no?’.” she chuckled. “I said I didn’t have much money, so he did it for free.”

Romanoff hummed. “It would be a shame.”

They fell back into that fragile silence, but this time, Maria didn’t even have to debate that it was comfortable. Then she heard footsteps, and the moment shattered like glass. Romanoff abruptly pulled on her shirt, taking a quick step back. Maria also stood back. As a class of recruits entered, Romanoff called out,

“See you Hill.”

Then she disappeared and Maria was left wondering what the hell had just happened.

Natasha mentally slapped herself as she left the changeroom. That had been too much. Far too much to maintain the professional boundary Hill had attempted to set up last night. If she was so determined to remain professional then why had she gotten so close? Maybe she was reading into it too much. But she couldn’t forget how Hill’s hands tracing her scars ever-so-gently had sent pleasant shivers running up her spine. She hadn’t even let Clint touch her scars. It was a personal topic. But so had Hill’s decoration. And Natasha had pushed her about that, so she’d figured the woman deserved the information about her own haunted past. The worst part was, she hadn’t hated it. Even without feeling like Hill had earned it, she wouldn’t have been opposed to telling her.

Hill had been so… when others saw her scars, they looked horrified without even knowing the story, but Hill hadn’t had any of that. She hadn’t pitied Natasha because her past, and Natasha couldn’t be more grateful for that. She hated it when people pitied her. Hill hadn’t looked horrified, or pitiful, but she hadn’t been calloused. Natasha knew that she had scars of her own, no doubt from war. She understood. She understood what it was to get injured in the fight for survival. She knew that there was a price for life when not everything was handed to you on a golden platter.

Natasha was just glad she’d received permission to leave. She needed space. She needed the afternoon to clear her head away from SHIELD. She just needed to breath.

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Natasha left as soon as Hill had dismissed them. She didn’t know where she was going, but she just got in her car and drove. It was getting rather cold now. No, chilly. Cold was standing in knee-deep snow with nothing more than underclothes and boots to protect you from the elements. New York wasn’t cold. It was chilly. Natasha didn’t fully know where she was when she stopped driving, but it was free parking and she’d seen a mall a bit back. She could get some lunch and walk around and just be.

Hill was right. She didn’t take much time off. Maybe she should remedy that. It was her birthday the day after next. That would be enough of an excuse. She abandoned the idea mere seconds after it entered her mind. She’d always spent her birthdays working. She had no reason to change that now. The most of a celebration she’d ever had was last year when Clint had found out and bought her a cake from the supermarket and covered it in twenty-four candles. It had all been very last minute, and Natasha had made him swear to not tell anyone, but it had been the best birthday she’d ever had. The cake was good too. She and Clint had stuffed themselves with it as they binged James Bond movies.

But she had to admit, her birthdays always brought back memories of Ohio, when all they’d meant was that the paradise they’d created in their little bubble was coming closer to ending. Melina had insisted on celebrating. The first year she’d resisted. She was a widow. And eight years old. Birthday parties were for little kids. But she’d relented and let Melina pin one of those stupid pink ‘birthday girl’ badges on her and put a party hat on her head. Secretly, she’d enjoyed it, but Ohio had still been new, and she’d still been acting every bit the widow they’d trained her to be before she’d been assigned. Her ninth birthday was different. After she’d seen Yelena’s fourth birthday. She’d had no idea. She’d enjoyed it so much. She’d been covered in cake and giddy all day. When they’d gone back to preschool, she’d bragged about all her presents.

Then the next year, they’d had their school classes come over. Natasha found it more than a little overwhelming, but Melina had given her the sage advice that she could disappear every few minutes – kids are selfish, she’d said. They’re not here to pay you any mind. They are here for cake and their friends. They are not like you. They are simple. They will not think into it if you go away for a few moments every half hour.

God sometimes she wished she could go back to Ohio. Back to feeling safe, before going back. She could let herself believe that she’d never go back to the Red Room again. She’d have her sister. Her living sister. Now her birthdays only reminded her of all the ones Yelena would never get to have.

She entered the mall. She had her card with her. It had all her SHIELD wages on it. She rarely used it for anything more than gas for her car and alcohol. She got lunch, losing interest in the stores quickly. She bought a new bottle of vodka and made her way back outside, taking to strolling the streets. It was getting later now – around four in the evening. She moved slowly, just because she could for once in her life. Out here, she was just another face in the masses. She didn’t need to walk with purpose to avoid being pulled into conversations, she didn’t need to have a constant glare to avoid getting harassed by those who made crude jokes about her past. She could dawdle and no one would think anything of it. She could pretend to be normal.

She used to love pretending to be normal. When she was young and going out on missions, she’d get to dress up and pretend to be a normal little girl. That was the only time she’d been allowed to giggle and grin and run without needing to get anywhere. Ohio had been a culture shock. Never had she pretended to be normal for so long. She’d gone to school, and at first it had all been an act, just like usual. But then she’d found herself thinking of it less as a job and more as a life. That had been her first mistake. She’d forgotten her mission briefly. A visit from the general had gotten her back on track quickly enough.

SHIELD had felt like an act at first too. When she’d started falling into the rhythm of things – when she’d started making a life for herself – she could remember feeling that same fear again. She’d been there for a year, and she could remember how Clint had been so confused when she suddenly withdrew from everything. Not just taking steps back, but turning around and sprinting because that could never be her life. She knew better now. She knew Dreykov wasn’t going to come knocking on her door and tell her that it was time to come home. She knew that logically, at least. Sometimes she still woke up in a cold sweat trying to remember if this was real.

She found herself wandering through the park, buying a warm pretzel from a stand. Melina used to take her and Yelena down to the pond to feed the ducks. Not bread, Melina was a scientist and knew all too well that that would only lead the ducks to an early death. No, they’d come down with containers of grapes cut in half, or defrosted peas. Yelena loved those days. Natasha remembered the first time, when they’d been in Ohio for just under a week. She’d been almost certain that Melina was going to make her grab a duck and kill it. That’s what a madame would have done. So she’d stayed away at first, melting into the background like she’d learnt to do as she watched Yelena toddle around with bated breath. Melina had gestured her over and shown her how to stay still and feed the ducks.

Natasha let out a slow breath. The memory wasn’t fully unwelcome, but it came with a nostalgia that made her heart ache just a little. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a healthy childhood environment. How different would she really be? For once, she made herself lean into that uncomfortable feeling. She had time to do so now. It was safe to do so now. It ached, but it was a good ache. A bearable ache.

When Natasha got back to SHIELD, it was edging on eight p.m. She headed for the cafeteria, intending to get some real food before going to bed. It would still be open and waiting for all the agents returning from missions that ran later than originally intended. She grabbed a tray of food, sitting down in her usual space in the corner. The bright side of coming in this late was that it was more-or-less empty. Those who were still here were finishing up their meals. Natasha appreciated the quiet. She needed the time to think.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice anyone approaching until Hill’s tray cluttered down opposite her. She jumped, and Hill raised a questioning brow.

“I’ve never known you to be so out of it.”

“Long day,” Natasha said quietly, pushing her food around its plate. Hill took a seat.

“You were gone a while. Where’d you go?”

“I walked around for a bit. Fresh air is nice.”

Hill nodded. “You alright? You seem… off.”

“Today’s been a lot,” Natasha admitted.

“Care to share with the class?”

She shook her head with a small smile. “It’s personal stuff. It wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

Hill leant forwards, placing her elbows on the table. “Try me.”

Natasha sighed. She had a feeling that Hill would drop the matter if she insisted, but she didn’t intend on doing that. After a moment’s contemplation, she said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my sister recently. This time of year… it meant a lot to me when we were kids in Ohio because I knew that with every year that passed, we’d have to return to the Red Room. She didn’t even know what was going on. She had no idea that it was all fake.”

“You sound like you could use a drink.”

Natasha forced an amused look onto her face as she glanced up. It wasn’t as hard as she might have liked it to be. “Isn’t a superior supplying a subordinate with alcohol against some rule in the Code of Conduct?”

“We’re not on duty. And I’d be giving you alcohol as a friend. Friends can have a drink, no?”

Everything in Natasha screamed at her to deny the offer, but she had to admit that there was a small part of her that wanted to accept. It was a dangerous game they were playing. Natasha was overly aware of that. But it was also an intriguing one. Natasha would be the first to confess to that. It was a different sort of relationship to hers and Clint. Then again, she didn’t have many friendships to compare this to.

“I suppose so,” she answered with a small smile. She’d bite. Maybe Hill was playing with her, but she had a feeling that Hill was a soldier, not a spy. Hill would have no motivation to do this to her. But if she did… so be it. Natasha would take it in stride.

“Good choice. I make a mean sex on the beach.”

“I don’t mix my vodka,” Natasha mused. “I was raised better than that.”

Hill smirked a little. “I forget you’re Russian sometimes. Until you say something like that.”

Natasha dropped her American accent that she’d grown so close to over the years. Her Russian one still was and would forever remain the more natural of the two though. She let it shine through as she said, “Well, that is rather the point, now isn’t it?”

Hill’s surprise showed on her face. “You put on a good accent.”

Natasha shook her head. “Russian is my first language. The American accent is the one I’m putting on.”

“It’s convincing.”

“It has to be. Not so many Americans are particularly fond of a… oh, give me a good insult. Russian slut, communist bitch, government slave… take your pick really. When it comes down to it, my nationality makes people uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Hill disagreed. “Nor anyone with two braincells to rub together.”

Natasha allowed her smile to grow just a touch. “I thought you promised me a drink.”

“Impatient much?” but Hill stood and led the way down the corridors to her room.

Hill went over to the kitchen and started on making drinks. She pulled the vodka out of the fridge, holding it up to show Natasha.

“I thought I’d give your technique a try. See if it makes much of a difference.”

Natasha inclined her head.

“So,” Hill continued, “how come you’re so friendly outside of work?”

“As you said, you’re not my superior out of work.”

“So it’s really just about me being your superior?” she slid Natasha a shot over the kitchen island, which the redhead downed in an instant.

“Partially.”

A small crinkle formed between Hill’s eyebrows. “What’s the other part?”

Natasha leant forwards onto the counter. “Call it trust issues.”

She refilled Natasha’s glass. “You should talk to a therapist about that.”

Natasha ignored that, instead gesturing at the glass. “Trying to get me drunk?”

Hill chuckled, copying Natasha in leaning against the bench. “Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.”

“Now I never said that I didn’t want to,” Natasha amended with a smirk.

They fell into a slightly awkward silence, until Hill said, “You want to watch a movie? That way we don’t have to talk.”

“Thank God,” Natasha said wryly.

“You’re welcome,” Hill smirked. Natasha chuckled. “Have you watched The Old Guard yet?”

“No, but sounds good.” They settled on the couch and Hill flicked the TV on. They were only a couple scenes into the movie before Natasha looked over at Hill. “She’s a bit like you.”

“Who, Andromache?”

Natasha tilted her head in confirmation. Hill scoffed but couldn’t argue. They watched the movie in relative silence, only interrupting every now and again to complain about flaws. When the credits started rolling, Natasha stood.

“Well, Hill. Thanks for the alcohol and movie. I should probably go get some sleep.”

“You know, you can call me Maria. Everyone else does.”

Natasha hesitated. There it was again. Hill wanting to be closer to her. “Thanks Hill.”

She tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut as she left. Maria. It seemed so… personal. Natasha could slowly feel the walls she’d spent so much effort putting up crumbling around her. She shoved the thoughts from her mind. She couldn’t think this way.

Chapter Text

When Natasha woke up the next morning, she wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t decide whether it was her pounding head or aching chest that was more uncomfortable. She descended into a coughing fit as she forced herself to her feet. She knew enough about flu symptoms to know that she’d likely come down with it – it had been going around SHIELD as of late. But Natasha Romanoff didn’t get sick. She was a black widow, and black widows were made of marble, and marble didn’t get sick. She groaned as the room spun a little before stilling. It was an effort to drag her clothes on and force her legs to take her out to the obstacle course.

She was brilliant at pretending to be fine. At least until they started moving. She made it halfway through before descending into a harsh coughing fit. She was shivering, but she blamed that on the cold. New York in fucking winter and they were out at 5:30. She forced herself to keep moving before the others slowed down. All the obstacles felt like a lot more effort. Her muscles trembled, her bones aching every time she moved. It felt like they were moving for a lot longer than they actually were. Hill called the session short.

“Romanoff, you okay?” she asked, stepping up beside Natasha.

Natasha tugged her jacket closer around her body. “Fine.”

Hill’s brow furrowed. “You look like crap. Take the day.”

Natasha shot her an offended look. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sick, and we’ve got field exercises scheduled for the better part of today. I don’t run sick people into the ground.” That would have made her like her father. Her father who had dragged her out into a freezing field early on a Tuesday morning whilst she was burning up from a fever and made her run until she'd puked. She refused to work sick agents.

“I’m not sick,” Natasha snapped.

“Don’t test me Romanoff. Go back to your room before all of us get sick.”

Her tone left no room for argument, but secretly, Natasha was relieved. She made a show of gritting her jaw and glaring, but really, her bones ached and even breathing was an effort. She trudged back to her room, collapsing onto her bed still in her outside clothes. She still pulled the blankets up to her chin and curled up with her knees to her chest.

Maria wished she could’ve sent Romanoff to her room and left it at that. But her damn morals prevented her from forgetting Romanoff’s pale face and shaking hands as she held her coat closer to her body like they were in the tundra. She was able to get away at midday, and grabbed soup from the cafeteria on her way up to Romanoff’s room. She knocked softly. There was no response. She supposed there were pros to being so highly ranked – she could access the rooms of probationary agents, Romanoff included.

“Romanoff I’m coming in,” she warned before swiping her key card.

The door clicked open. The room was dark. Romanoff was just a bundle on the bed.

“Get out,” the redhead groaned.

“You need to eat something,” Maria said firmly, kicking the door shut behind her and flicking on a lamp.

With the improved lighting, she was able to see that Romanoff did actually look like crap. Sweat stuck her hair to her flushed face, yet she was still shivering on top of her bedsheets. She’d shed several layers of clothing, leaving her in a tank top and boxers. Her skin was shiny with sweat. Maria had seen enough fevers in the army to know what this was. She made her way over slowly.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Romanoff forced out. “Or I swear to God-“

“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,” Maria said evenly, placing the bowl of soup on Romanoff’s bedside table. She knew the threats were made only out of fear. She didn’t want Maria seeing her weak. It was understandable, but Maria wasn’t going anywhere. “Where do you keep your medications?”

“Get out,” Romanoff snapped.

Maria tried not to roll her eyes and instead started rifling through Romanoff’s drawers. Eventually she found Tylenol. She returned to the bed with the medication, a glass of water, and a damp cloth in hand. Romanoff seemed to be past the point of fighting her and had turned to ignoring her instead. She was curled up in the far corner, tucking into the corner of the room.

Maria’s eyes fell on a set of handcuffs attached to the bedpost. She wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the time. She sat on the side of the bed and tossed the meds at Romanoff. The redhead jumped before twisting to glare at Maria over her shoulder.

“Take two,” Maria said, holding out the glass.

Slowly, Romanoff uncurled and sat up, leaning back against the head of the bed. She popped two pills in her mouth before taking the glass of water from Maria and downing it instantly. Maria handed her the damp towel.

“Why are you here?” Romanoff asked, staring down at the towel in her hand.

“I was checking up on you,” Maria replied. “Good thing too.” She grabbed the towel back from Romanoff, reaching up to press it against the younger woman’s forehead. Romanoff balked for a moment, but let out a restrained sigh of relief when the cool material met her flushed face. “You are not a good patient.”

“I’m not sick,” Romanoff grumbled in return as her eyes slipped shut. “I don’t get sick.”

Maria scoffed, “What, you’ve never been sick before?”

Romanoff mumbled something unintelligible before saying louder, “The girls that got sick were killed off. Widows aren’t useful when they’re sick.”

Maria frowned. “Everyone gets sick. It’s a waste if they kill off anyone who gets knocked out for one day.”

Romanoff shrugged. “One in twenty survive the training. They weren’t too concerned with keeping kids alive. Dreykov always said that girls are the one resource the world has too much of.”

Maria nodded slowly. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat it anyway,” Maria insisted, passing Romanoff the bowl.

“You don’t need to be here.”

“You have the flu and an inability to look after yourself,” Maria chided.

“You’ll get sick.”

“I’ve had my flu shot,” Maria replied easily. “Have you?”

Romanoff gave her a flat stare. “I haven’t had a shot since I was four years old. The Red Room didn’t care much for influenza immunisation.”

Maria hummed. “Well that’s probably why it’s bowled you over.”

Romanoff frowned, pushing her had holding the towel away from her face. “I’m not ‘bowled over’.”

Maria huffed out a laugh. “God Romanoff. It’s fine. People get sick. The Tylenol should kick in soon and you should be back to work in a couple days.”

Romanoff sat up a little more. “I can work fine.”

Maria eyed her for a moment. “There’s no way you’re staying in this bed unless I give you something to do, is there?” Romanoff’s non-reply was enough of an answer. Maria gave in. “Fine. I’ll find you some cases to work your brain, but you will not be doing any form of fieldwork or training.” She stood. “Clear?”

“Hmm,” Romanoff replied, tilting her head back to lean against the wall. “This isn’t going to be the first time you barge into my room whilst I’m out, is it?”

“Nope,” Maria returned. “I’ll leave you alone for now. Finish the soup. Look after yourself.”

“Careful Hill, someone might start to think you care.”

A small smile curled the corner of Maria’s lips as she reached the door. She felt Romanoff’s eyes on her until she shut the door behind her.

Four days later, it was a sunny Wednesday, with weather unusually warm for the time of year. It was almost thirteen degrees, and whilst that wasn’t necessarily warm, it was warm enough that Natasha had been able to persuade Hill to let her do her paperwork outside. She was just content to be outside in the fresh air. Natasha had finally been allowed back to proper work yesterday, when the worst of her symptoms had passed. She couldn’t be more glad. Despite never having been victim to bedrest before, her three days of it had made her learn very quickly that she hated it.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up at Clint and a smile crept onto her face when she saw what he was holding.

“I thought you were out on an assignment.”

“I was. I finished up early and had just enough time to grab this for thee.” He placed the very same store-bought cake that he’d gotten her last year in front of her as he sat. The surface of it was littered in candles. She grinned fondly.

“I forgot.”

“I know you did. You’re useless,” he teased, starting to light the candles. “Happy birthday Natasha. God, 26. My little girl’s all grown up.”

She rolled her eyes, punching his arm. “Jackass,” she muttered, but blew out the candles regardless. “Thanks.”

Clint shot her a small smile. “Anytime. Well, once a year, but you know.” He took his hearing aid out, scoffing. “Damn thing’s almost out of juice again.”

Natasha shrugged before signing, I can get some ASL practice in then.

Clint nodded and started cutting the cake up. “You should come to the farm, you know.”

Natasha hadn’t even thought about that. It would be a nice break. She hummed. I’ll see.

“Fury would want you to.”

SHIELD always understaffed at Christmas. Fury doesn’t care because he puts all the organisational roles on Hill. She’s the ones stretched thin trying to be everyone all the time.

Clint raised an amused brow. “Oh, so now you care about her being stretched thin. When did that change?”

Natasha scoffed and shook her head. You’re so nosy.

“I’m a spy. It’s in the job description,” he pointed out. Natasha supposed he had a point there.

They fell into a comfortable silence until Natasha heard footsteps. She tapped the ground in front of Clint to warn him of Maria’s approach behind him. He looked up, following her gaze over his shoulder.

“Hey Hill,” he greeted, turning on his hearing aid.

“Hey Barton, Romanoff. How’s the paperwork coming?” she looked down at the cake pointedly.

“She was doing fine until I got here a couple minutes ago,” Clint chuckled.

“Is that a birthday cake?”

“Yeah,” Natasha answered. “Want some?”

Hill ignored her question. “It’s your birthday?”

“Don’t ask her. She can barely remember the date,” Clint teased. “Kind of ironic given that ‘Natalia’ is literally means birthday, to an extent.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Natasha huffed out a chuckle. “Do I look like the type of person that wanted the entirety of SHIELD belting an out-of-tune ‘happy birthday’ at seven a.m. on a Wednesday as I’m trying to eat my breakfast?”

Hill offered a small smirk in response. “No, I suppose you don’t. But I would’ve given you the day off, you know.”

Natasha leant back against the tree behind her. “I’ve never had a day off on my birthday. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

Hill hummed. “Before I go, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I organised this mission a while back.” She handed Natasha a file. “Have a read. Decide if you want to come along, given recent… Well, you’ll see.”

“As ominous as that sounds,” Natasha grinned. “I’m in.”

“Read the file Romanoff. Then decide if you’re comfortable with it.”

“I’m comfortable with everything. Well, everything that SHIELD would do. Your morals are sky-high next to the Red Room’s.”

“Kidnapped kids,” Hill said simply. Natasha’s gaze snapped up. Slowly, she opened the file, daring to read the printed words. Hill continued. “SHIELD set up schools for inhuman kids with minimal access to education. A class of six was kidnapped, and are being held in a German paramilitary base. They’ve been held in this building for days, with people coming in and out twice a day.”

“What do they want with them?” Natasha questioned. God this made her sick to the stomach.

“They’re Inhuman. Take a guess. People going in and out stopped yesterday.”

“So they’re moving them soon.”

Hill inclined her head. I sent out an email to the team. We leave tomorrow.”

“Objective?”

“Free them, take them to a rendezvous.”

Natasha let out a breath. “I don’t let personal shit get in the way of my work.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hill sighed. “But you don’t have to-“

“If you don’t want me there, just say that.”

The sudden defensiveness almost startled Hill. “Easy Romanoff. If you want to come, then we leave from hangar four at 0600 hours.”

She knew the other woman was just tense because of the situation, so she tried to grant her a grace period whilst she digested all the information.

“Go. Read the case file. If you’re not on time tomorrow, we’ll leave without you.”

Natasha inclined her head, backing up. “I’ll see you then.”

“Well I’ll leave you to it.” Hill turned and left.

“You two are starting to get along,” Clint mused once Hill was out of earshot.

“She’s not always a pain in the ass,” Natasha conceded.

When Natasha returned to her room that evening, she found a wrapped box with a note. Saw this the other day. It looked like your style. - M. H.  Upon unwrapping and opening the box, Natasha found a butterfly knife. She allowed herself a small grin, flipping it around for a moment. Maybe Hill knew her just a bit better than she thought. She didn’t hate the idea as much as she should.

Chapter Text

After reading through the entirety of the case file over and over again, Natasha barely slept. She kept getting shocked awake by memories of being stuffed into cargo boxes with dozens of other kids, overwhelmed by the heat and stench of human waste. She remembered holding Yelena close to her as her little sister sobbed. She remembered being the only one to know where they were going. Hell. When word had travelled that she was a widow, all the girls had clamoured around her, asking where they were going, who was doing this, when they’d see their families again. Natasha had given them their answers. They hadn’t liked them. She remembered being dragged out and blinded by floodlights and torch beams that were shone into her face. She remembered her sister being torn away from her. She remembered screaming, tearing a photo strip in half and shoving it into her sister’s hand before she was manhandled away. She remembered Dreykov seeing her and approaching her and cupping her face with false kindness. She remembered slipping back into her mask like the second skin that it was.

She was at the hangar early, sitting on a wooden crate as she disassembled and re-assembled her gun again and again. The familiar movement was soothing. It kept her hands from shaking and her mind from wandering to places she never wished to visit again. She hated to admit that there were certainly a lot of old feelings she’d never properly addressed coming back up. Not that she’d confess that to anyone. Ever.

When the others arrived, she shook any previous thoughts form her mind, and got on the quinjet with the rest of them. She took out her butterfly knife, gifted by Hill, and flipped it open and closed again and again, if only to keep her grounded. They went through the plan on the plane, though Natasha’s mind was only half in it, a fact that Hill was not afraid to call out.

She snapped her fingers in front of Natasha’s face the third time she zoned out, and Natasha’s eyes flickered up to her. “I heard you,” Natasha forced out.

Hill only frowned. "Get your head in the game Romanoff.”

Natasha tried her best not to snap in response. It was difficult to hold her tongue, but she managed. She waited, and tried her best to pay attention. When Hill finished, she approached and sat beside her. Natasha pretended to be unfazed, even as she was hyper-aware of their shoulders brushing.

“You don’t have to do this,” Hill reminded her, her tone softening some.

“Stop trying the talk me out of this.”

Hill's eyes narrowed, and Natasha expected some sharp retort. But then the woman let out a breath and turned her attention elsewhere. Natasha was just glad that the rest of the five-hour flight was spent in silence.

When they reached the drop zone, they started pulling on parachutes. Natasha checked how hers was folded twice before clipping it on.

“Trust issues much?” Bobbi teased.

Natasha knew it was meant to be playful, but with her current mood even the best of jokes would fall flat. “I’ve seen a girl no older than twelve fall thirteen thousand feet to her death because she trusted that the person who had packed it had done so properly. I don’t intend on going out the same way. So yeah, call it trust issues.”

Bobbi watched her for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Natasha didn’t give her a chance to reply before she opened the side door and jumped.

Maria was the last to jump. As usual, she had to make sure the rest of her team made it down safely. They each had maps, compasses, weapons and anything else they’d possibly need in their bags, but she was still anxious as she waited at the rendezvous. Bobbi and Hunter were the first to show up, followed closely by Natasha. May had opted to stay behind, and Maria hadn’t pushed. May had always been funny about anything involving kids, and Maria knew her well enough that if May said the mission was beyond her limits, it was. She may be the Deputy Director, but she was no stranger to the fact that there were agents that ran rings around her in experience. May was one of them. When Maria had first come into command of the team, May had been her advisor. Maria was almost certain she would have failed without May. She’d been a soldier, but May had taught her to be a spy. To lead spies where she had led soldiers in the past.

There were some things that never changed. Maria would always be the first through a doorway in a breach. She’d always be the one to wait to ensure that they wouldn’t be followed. Servant leadership, they’d called it in the military. She didn’t think of it as such. She thought of that being the bare minimum of what a leader should be. Willing to lay down their life for their team.

When Natasha arrived, there was something different about her. She didn’t have time to ponder it, but as they fell into formation, Maria kept an eye on her. There was a stiffness in her gait, a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t usually there. Yes, Natasha was always ready for something, but this was different. Normally she’d be more at ease on missions. At first, it had made little sense to Maria. But as she’d gotten to know the redhead, she’d gotten to know that this was what she was born and raised for. The field was her comfort zone. She felt in control here. But her body language now was not of someone who felt in control.

Maria knew it wouldn’t interfere with the job they had to get done. She trusted that Romanoff was better than that. She glanced over. Cold set into her bones, deeper than the chill of the air could reach. She would not like to be on the wrong end of her right now. There was a dead look in her eyes. One that was only present to mask the anger that shuddered through her body with every step.

They reached the crest of the hill and set up. Maria allowed Hunter to step forward. They’d both been in the armed forces for their respective countries, but he’d also been SAS and a mercenary for years before SHIELD. She was good at this, but he was great. So she let him and Bobbi work like the well-oiled team that they were – well, most of the time anyway – and instead moved over to where Natasha was leaning against a tree. She knew that this would be tough for the redhead so she wouldn’t push, but she would offer an out.

“You can stop at any time.”

Natasha didn’t look at her. “I don’t need an out. I wouldn’t have come if I was on the edge about this mission.”

“Really? Because you were distracted the entire way here.”

She examined the redhead’s features, noting when she saw her bite back what she was sure was some snappy remark. Instead, Romanoff gritted her jaw and turned her head away so Maria could no longer see her expression.

“Hey,” Maria said quietly. Romanoff glanced at her again. “I’ll trust you on this if you swear to tell me when you reach your limit.”

Slowly, Romanoff nodded.

They observed for the rest of the day, taking shifts to watch the goings-on from their lookout point. They started getting ready to infiltrate as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Being winter, it dipped fairly early, just before six. With the sun went the warmth, and the temperature plunged into negative degrees Celsius. Natasha was the only one that seemed at ease with the cold – whilst Maria, Bobbi and Hunter all pulled out scarves to cover their faces, she was content with her face being exposed, her un-gloved hands tucked under her arms for warmth. Maria remembered Natasha telling her about how the Red Room had dumped girls outside in the middle of Russian winters with little to nothing on them. She had to wonder whether the chill reminded her of that at all. It was only now that she realised that Romanoff did always keep her room rather warm. A couple degrees above what Maria would prefer. It was the little things, she supposed. She doubted Romanoff would have ever been able to control the temperature of the place she slept, so having it slightly warmer than what was comfortable would have reminded her that it was, in fact, her choice. That she wasn’t there, and that freezing to death was no danger here.

She watched the woman stare down over the forest below, wishing she could know just what it was that she was thinking.

Natasha forced herself to breathe. She’d done plenty of missions like this before. She’d infiltrated her first army base when she was eleven, and she had far less support than she did now. So surely she could handle a paramilitary when she had proper weapons and a team that cared whether she lived or died. No, as much as she wanted to blame it on the parameters of the mission, she knew it was the kids that were making her tense. They had a plan for extraction. All they had to do was get the kids out and to the main road four kilometres away, and there they’d split ways. That was like, an hour max of dealing with kids.

They snuck in after dark. Natasha shot two guys on the way in. One hadn’t even noticed them. She’d just wanted one less asshole in their way when they were running for the exit. A large portion of personnel had left as the sun was setting. If they’d counted right, that left about twenty on the base. Eighteen now.

They were travelling in pairs. Natasha with Hill, and Morse with Hunter. It became very clear to Natasha very quickly that this was where Hill was in her element.

“How many of these missions did you do in the marines?” she asked quietly as they waited for Hunter and Morse to clear their next path.

Hill glanced at her. “How many assassination missions did you do in the Red Room?”

It was an answer in itself. A lot.

By the time they found their way into the main building, they’d scratched off ten more guards. Surely someone would notice something amiss very soon. The intel they’d gotten guided them down to the basement. Suddenly it went from low- to very high-tech. They’d snatched badges from the guards they’d killed for this very reason. They swiped their keys and the door slid open with a hiss. Natasha couldn’t help but falter at what she saw.

A corridor lined with cells. On either side of her was a pane of glass between her and a kid. Bobbi slipped into German to say,

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you.”

Hunter and Maria were walking up the corridor, opening cell doors. Natasha was rooted to the spot. The kids crept out warily. The oldest two seemed close. The second he got out of his cell, he was pulling her close and glaring at anyone that dared to come near. Despite being the oldest, they couldn’t be much older than sixteen or seventeen. The girl’s eyes met hers with a firm glare that had Natasha looking away. She had no wish to interact with these kids.

Bobbi explained who they were and what the plan was. She asked if they could walk for an hour, and thankfully, they all said yes.

Getting out was easy. Any guards that they came across would be taken care of instantly by some very angry teen with powers that made Natasha just a little bit nervous. She hung up the back for that very reason – to keep an eye on everyone. Bobbi took the right side, Hunter the left, and Maria led the way. Simple. As expected. Natasha tried not to be just a little disappointed at the lack of a challenge.

They were half an hour into their walk when the girl separated from the boy and slowed into step beside her. Natasha gritted her jaw, but otherwise didn’t react.

“You changed sides.”

The girl’s accented words caught Natasha’s attention. She didn’t know how the girl knew that, but she wasn’t about to let her know that. “I did,” she confirmed.

“You don’t remember me.”

“Should I?”

“No.” There was a brief moment of silence. “You visited Hydra once. I was there. I looked into your mind and saw marble floors stained with blood and a bullet being sent into a blindfolded man’s head.”

Natasha glanced at her, her jaw set. “Get out of my head.” She remembered them now. The Maximoff twins. She’d been warned to stay away. ‘He’s fast and she’s weird’ the guard had told her. She’d never gotten their first names. She’d never asked.

“I’m not in your head,” she retorted sharply.

Natasha didn’t rise to her bait. This was not a fight she would win, and she was smarter than to be the one to start it. “What’s your name?”

“Wanda. That’s Pietro,” the girl answered nodding over at the boy she’d been close to earlier. “Yours?”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then said, “You remember me. Surely you remember my name.”

“I do,” the girl agreed, “But it’s not an introduction if I wasn’t meant to hear it.”

Natasha hesitated before answering, “Natalia.”

She saw Hill half-tilt her head back as she said the name, but the woman gave no other indication of eavesdropping.

The girl nodded and fell silent. After a few moments of nothing being said, she shivered and curled in on herself some. She was one of few kids that were in gear far less appropriate for this weather. With a sigh, Natasha shrugged her jacket off and handed it to the girl, who gripped it with white knuckles but didn’t make to put it on.

“Don’t drop dead from hypothermia before we get where we need to go.”

 Hesitantly, the girl pulled the jacket on with a quiet thank you. She snuggled into the warmth.

They spent the rest of the walk in relative silence. Occasionally one kid would whisper to another, but that was the extent of it. Natasha was relieved when they got to the road and the van was waiting. Wanda inclined her head, and Natasha returned the gesture.

“Hey.” Natasha grasped the girl’s arm loosely, letting her pull away with minimal resistance. Wanda turned to her. “If you need it, ask for Romanoff.” She paused before adding. “Don’t need it.”

Wanda’s green eyes turned calculating for a moment before she nodded. With that, the kids were loaded into the van and then they were gone. Natasha breathed out a sigh.

“So,” Hill started, stepping up beside her as they followed the road towards the town. “Natalia. That’s a name I’ve never heard you use.”

“Natalia Romanova died with the Red Room,” she answered brusquely.

“I’m not interrogating you Natasha,” Maria reminded in response to the tone.

“Then let’s go back to you avoiding personal questions,” she snarked.

Maria stopped abruptly, grabbing Natasha’s elbow loosely. “Hey.” The other woman stopped and turned to her with a firm glare. The rest of the team paused, but Maria gestured for them to go on ahead. They did so, albeit hesitantly. “Drop the attitude.”

Natasha stiffened and glared. “Make me.”

“We’re not doing this here,” Maria said, her tone firm. “You want to pick a fight with me? Fine. But don’t be stupid enough to do it when we’re in the middle of nowhere. And you know I don’t make you do anything. If you wanted, you could turn around and walk away. You could walk down this road for hours until you reach the next town. and we will not follow you, we will not stop you, we will not track you. But you won’t walk away, because you’re smarter than that. So you need to drop the attitude and get your mind off whatever it is that’s making you lash out like this. Understood?”

Natasha blinked at her abruptness, before inclining her head. "Understood."

And for once, her agreement wasn't mocking or forced.

Chapter Text

 The first thing Natasha noticed about the safehouse was that it was small. Clearly designed for solo agents as opposed to a group of four. That said, she didn’t care much for space. What she did care for was that the place had a selection of easy escape routes, several bus and train stations nearby, hidey-holes for weapons, and, being on the corner of the building, allowed them to observe multiple directions from dusty windows. It was by no means a luxurious space. The wooden flooring was way past dulled from lack of care, and the paint was peeling off the walls. It was a miracle if all the lights in a room worked, but given there were only three rooms, that was fine. The kitchen and living room were combined, and the bedroom had a queen bed with barely a foot of space on two sides of it so they could move around. But Natasha had shared less space with more people for longer periods of time. That said, her lack of complaint didn’t stop the others – mainly Hunter.

“God this place is a dump,” Hunter said, trailing a finger along the windowsill and pulling it away with a grimace at his now-black fingertip.

Natasha wasn’t in the mood to listen to his whining, so she was glad when Hill said, “The couch pulls out into a bed. You two can share that and Romanoff and I can take the bed, or the other way around.” Natasha stiffened slightly, but said nothing. Of course, Maria picked up on it. “Bobbi and Hunter are more accustomed to sharing a bed, but if you want to-“

“It’s fine,” she said gruffly, dumping her bag in said bedroom before opening the hallway cupboard in a search for bedsheets.

It was almost midnight by now. They’d been walking through snow for the past two and a half hours. Natasha was cold and hungry and tired. They didn’t have food right now, so she could only solve two of the three problems, but it was better than nothing. She changed into bedclothes. Well, her bedclothes still consisted of pants and a buttoned flannel. Normally, she’d have put on her tracksuit pants and hoodie, but given she wouldn’t be sleeping alone… she felt safer as she did up her belt a little tighter than comfortable and did up each individual button on her shirt. Buttons and belts made clothes harder to take off.

Hill didn’t seem to have such an affliction, padding out in socks, tracksuit pants and a sloppy joe. It occurred to her now that she’d never seen Hill with her hair down before. She always had her hair in a bun, even when she’d found Natasha in the training rooms at three a.m.. Now her hair was loose, hanging just brushing below her shoulders in gentle waves. It made her look different. Softer, somehow. Even as she stood with her arms crossed and that same look on her face that she always had.

Hill raised a brow. “You’re wearing a belt to bed?”

The woman’s words pulled her out of her head. “Yes,” she answered simply. She didn’t mention that the knife that Hill had given her was also digging into her hip bone. “You’re wearing socks to bed?”

“I hate having bare feet. What’s your excuse?”

Natasha pressed her lips together, looking away.

Something flickered in Hill’s eyes. “I’m not going to touch you, Natasha. You know that, right?” There was just an edge of something in her tone… Natasha couldn’t quite place a name to it, but it almost sounded like Hill was guilty that Natasha would even think she’d take advantage of her.

Hill wasn’t even Natasha’s only concern. The bedroom door didn’t lock, and although she knew Hunter and liked him to an extent, an overwhelming percentage of men in her life had taken advantage of her. Even after SHIELD, the percentage of men who she’d spoken to and who’d tried to rape or otherwise harm her outnumbered the percentage of those that hadn’t. She’d done the maths. Had it just been her and Hill, she may have dared to be a little laxer, but between her lack of rest last night and all the memories this mission was dredging up, she was far too paranoid.

She got up onto the bed, moving over to the far corner and slipping under the covers.

“You good for me to turn the light out?” Hill questioned.

Natasha nodded, even if the idea of not being able to see made her more than a little uncomfortable. Darkness flooded the room and the bed dipped as Hill got in. Natasha pressed herself back into the corner. She hated how she forgot that it was just Hill, forgot that Hill wouldn’t grab her arm and pull her close and clash tobacco stained teeth against her lips in an aggressive attempt at romance. She let out a shaky breath, pressing her back against the wall and using that to ground her.

This was stupid. Girls shared beds all the time in the Red Room – on cold winter nights when the barracks’ lack of heating systems became all too apparent, when the freezing air stabbed through their pyjamas into their bones – they’d slip out of their handcuffs and into the bed of the girl next to them for warmth. This was basically the same. Except the heater was on, and Hill wasn’t just another widow. She was a superior. A fact that Natasha’s brain refused to let her forget.

“Natasha,” Hill said softly, and her voice alone reminded Natasha that it was just her, that it was safe. That she wasn’t too close, and that she wasn’t angry or drunk. It told Natasha where she was and who she was and that helped her.

“Maria,” Natasha forced out in return.

“You need to breathe.” How the woman knew she hadn’t been breathing was unbeknownst to Natasha, but she did as she was reminded, and her aching lungs thanked her. “If this is too much-“

“It’s not,” Natasha said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” But Maria didn’t quite sound like she believed her.

The woman turned her back to Natasha, and hesitantly, the redhead did the same, pressing her forehead against the cool wall. It was a nice relief to her flushed face. Maybe this was stupid – turning her back to someone whilst in the same bed as them. Almost subconsciously, she shifted to hold her right wrist above her head. She had a pair of handcuffs in her bag, but she couldn’t use them with Hill here. She dreaded to think about the judgement she’d be subjected to if the woman knew about her dependency on them.

She heard Maria’s breaths even out after half an hour. After that, she found it marginally easier to relax. Not enough to sleep, but just enough to not feel so on-edge. Truthfully, she was just a little afraid to sleep. She wasn’t afraid of Hill, not really. But she was afraid of nightmares. That she’d wake up in a cold sweat and Hill would see her weak. She wasn’t sure she could handle that.

Hill moved a lot when she slept. She shifted and occasionally mumbled something unintelligible. Natasha stiffened the first couple of times, but soon became accustomed to it as the night dragged on. At least, until an arm draped over her. She braced, waiting for a sign that Hill had woken up, waiting for the hand to start wandering and touching. She leant her forehead against the wall, letting out a shuddering breath. But the touches she was waiting for never came. Hill’s arm stayed loosely draped over her waist, a warm – almost pleasant – weight. Hill shuffled closer, and Natasha felt her breath ghost the back of her neck. It was almost uncomfortably close, and yet… if the wall hadn’t been in front of her, she wasn’t sure she would have moved away. Hill was warm behind her, and warm was alive. Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept with a living person without feeling in danger of being assaulted. She let herself relax into the hold. It was just Maria. Maria, who smelt faintly of lavender and gunpowder, not alcohol or blood or sweat or BO. Maria Hill.

She tried to pull her mind back to the present. She was a little surprised that Maria “Hard-ass” Hill was the cuddly type in sleep. She supposed it was logical that any touch-starved person would seek out contact subconsciously. And Maria Hill was almost definitely touch-starved. Natasha was familiar with craving physical contact. At least, she may have been a long time ago. She had long-since gotten used to not getting what she wanted, and had learnt to focus on getting what she needed. But this was… she hated to admit that this was nice. It wasn’t like Hill would know – she was absolutely knocked out. So she allowed the contact, and slowly closed her eyes.

When Maria stirred, the air in the room was just a few degrees shy of cold. She nuzzled into the warmth in front of her, the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Wait- she blinked her eyes open, and abruptly realised that that nice warmth and that sweet scent was Natasha. She stiffened, slowly beginning to pull back. The watch on her wrist glowed dully, telling her that it was just past five in the morning.  

“Never took you for a cuddler,” Natasha said wryly.

This was too much. It was too close – too intimate. This wasn’t what co-workers would do. She pulled back abruptly. As if she’d noticed the change in her demeanour, Natasha didn’t protest as Maria slipped out of the bed, changed, and left the apartment, careful not to wake Bobbi and Hunter on the way out. Then she did the only thing that she knew would clear her head. She went for a run.

She didn’t get back to the safehouse until the sun had just about risen at seven. She dumped bags of groceries on the kitchen counter, the noise waking Bobbi, who started groaning about Maria’s ‘damn military time’. She shut up fairly quickly when Maria tossed her favourite brand of instant-coffee that they could rarely find abroad.

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” she yawned. Hunter only chuckled, being all-too-used to the early wake-ups.

“How was sharing a room with Natasha?” Bobbi asked.

Maria rolled her eyes, but didn’t otherwise respond.

A flash of red behind Bobbi signified Natasha’s entrance as the blonde said, “You’re telling me that nothing happened? Like she’s not secretly some teddy bear under all those walls of stone?”

“We slept on opposite sides of the bed and interacted so much that we may as well have been in different rooms,” Maria said. Technically it wasn’t a lie. They’d been sleeping on opposite sides at the start of the night. Glancing up at Natasha, she saw some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Really, it should be me asking how it was to share a bed with your ex-husband.”

“She still hogs the blankets,” Hunter teased.

Maria chuckled. “So what does everyone want for breakfast. I’ve got cereal, toast, eggs…’

“I vote eggs on toast,” Hunter said.

Maria nodded. “Bobs?”

“Same, if you don’t mind.”

Maria nodded, glancing over at Natasha. “You?”

The other two jumped at the redhead’s seemingly sudden appearance.

“Whatever’s easiest.”

“Eggs too. Right.” It may not have been easier than cereal, but she didn’t put it past Natasha to forgo her own hunger for Maria’s ease. Maria was determined to act as though nothing had happened, and she was grateful that Natasha seemed to want to do the same. She lingered by the door – a fair thing to do given the limited space in the room.

“So what’s the plan for today?” she questioned.

“Well,” Maria started, “We’re here for two days. SHIELD has a contact who can help us out, so we’ll head out later and see what he has to say.”

“Who is this contact?” Natasha questioned.

“A middleman. Weapons dealing, supplying transport, that sort of thing. And the first thing we always do in these cases is follow the money. Hopefully he’ll help us figure out whether this is just Hydra, or there is a new group out.”

“Germany is Hydra territory,” Natasha mused, “But there were no widows, and I didn’t recognise the base.” She trailed off before asking, “Can this contact be trusted?”

“He’s a known arms dealer, smuggler and who knows what else. No, he can’t be trusted. But he can still be useful. Natasha, you’ll come with me whilst Bobbi and Hunter set up sniper points in case things go south. The meeting will be at a diner. It has two access points. Bobbi and Hunter will cover them separately. Clear?”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Maria went about making breakfast.

Natasha had dealt with plenty of arms dealers and smugglers in her life. She’d long-since grown used to their crass nature. She’d pretended not to understand their vulgar comments about her in a variety of languages, and pretended not to care when they grabbed her ass. She hated dealing with those types of people, but she supposed it was an occupational hazard. What she was interested in was how Hill would handle it. The Commander was not the sort to take that shit lying down, and Natasha doubted now would be any different.

They stepped into the diner, and though Natasha had never been showed photos, she could immediately pick out the men they were here to speak with. One had a scar across his cheek, the other had a wad of tobacco stuffed in the side of his mouth. They were both large men, with their arm muscles seemingly restricted by their shirts. They stared Maria and Natasha down as they approached and slid into the booth. Natasha never liked booths. They restricted her view of their surroundings. Then one smirked, and the other mirrored the expression. The one with the tobacco turned to the other and muttered something in Hungarian that, although Natasha spoke fluently, she refused to translate when Hill gave her a questioning glance. She was not about to tell Hill that it was only orders that was stopping these guys from trying to take them to the alley out back and do things that even Natasha struggled to comprehend.

“Well now,” one mused with a sly grin, “What are two little ladies like yourselves doin’ in this business. Nasty stuff, this is.”

Natasha saw a muscle flicker in Hill’s jaw as she leant forwards. “What do you know about-“

“Ah, no questions for us,” one dismissed with a wave of his hand. “That’s for the boss. We were just here as guinea pigs to see if you were the shoot-on-sight type.”

Hill gritted her teeth. “We’re here for information. If you have none-“

“Come now beautiful, isn’t our company enough?”

“Do not call me that.”

They wanted to respond, but before they could, someone approached from behind Natasha and said, “You’ll have to excuse my colleagues. They lack etiquette and social skills.” You two can leave now.” Natasha felt the tension bleed out of her at the familiar voice. She glanced up at the man behind her.

“But boss-“

“I can vouch for this one,” Rick said firmly. “Now get out. You’re not needed here.”

They left the booth, grumbling. Natasha let a small grin onto her features.

“Hey Red,” Rick mused, holding out a hand. Natasha grabbed it, letting him pull her up and into a chaste hug. He ruffled her hair, and Natasha batted the hand away

Natasha shook her head fondly. “Ass. It’s like you want to lose that hand.” Her words lacked bite though. Truthfully, the action was endearing. She pushed Rick into the booth, following him in. “Hill, meet Rick Mason. Rick, Maria Hill.”

Rick tilted his head, his eyes calculating despite the grin that stayed ever-present on his lips. “So you’re the one who’ll be head of SHIELD in a few years’ time.”

“It’ll take longer than that for Fury to retire,” Maria replied cautiously, feeling just a bit more vulnerable now that Natasha was sitting on the other side of the table.

“If he gets the chance. He’s wanted dead by a lot of people.”

Maria bristled protectively, and Natasha was quick to intervene. “That’s not a threat, Hill. Rick doesn’t care for American intelligence bureaucratic nonsense.”

“She’s right,” he mused. “Red knows all.”

Natasha punched his arm harmlessly. He chuckled.

“He’s that fourth person you mentioned,” Hill said, staring at Natasha.

It took Natasha a second, but it clicked eventually. “Right, yeah.”

“Fourth person? Ouch Natalia. My heart and soul.”

“She goes by Natasha now,” Maria said quickly.

Natasha raised a brow at the woman’s defensiveness. It was clear that Maria was trying to find some way of regaining control of the situation that had spun out of hand the second she and Rick had seen each other. It occurred to Natasha that she must suddenly feel awfully alone and a tad bit vulnerable.

Rick glanced at her questioningly, and she gave a half-shrug in response before saying in quick Russian, “Call me either.”

“Are you two friends?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Rick smirked, “What, more than friends?”

Natasha shoved him, “Shut up, asshole.” 

“You know I always wondered-“

“I’m still here,” Maria said pointedly. “And I haven’t become fluent in Russian overnight.” But she was well on her way, given the months she’d been spending with Bobbi. But Natasha didn’t know that.

Natasha rolled her eyes. Hill was clearly uncomfortable being the one left out of the trio, so Natasha urged to topic back to business. She was glad when Rick accepted the change of topic with no fuss. He still slipped the odd inside joke in the Natasha would be obliged to laugh at, but that was about it. He’d always been good at reading people, Rick. Not in the same way that Natasha was – she’d been trained to analyse micro-expressions and actions – for him, it came naturally. He was a people person, despite his trade hinting otherwise.

After minutes of exchanging information, he said, “I’d need pictures and a location of the base to tell if it’s Hydra.”

Natasha looked at Maria. “We have those.”

“Not with us,” Maria returned, crossing her arms.

“Let’s just bring him back to the apartment.”

Maria scoffed. “You expect me to allow a arms dealer and-“

“I prefer the term private contractor.”

Maria shot him a glare before turning back to Natasha. “Romanoff, you know the answer.”

“Hill,” Natasha responded. “Come on. I’ve known him for almost a decade, and he’s saved my life a dozen times.”

Hill sighed, sitting back and looking between the pair. “Fine. But if you sell this information for any price, I-“

“Got it,” he cut her off. “Don’t be an ass. Not too hard.”

“Think again,” Natasha muttered with a small grin.

Maria didn’t quite know why Rick Mason irritated her so much. Maybe it was just a personality clash. Realistically she knew she was lying to herself. It was nothing to do with Rick’s personality or her own. It was the fact that within seconds, he had Natasha relaxed and open within seconds without even trying. She tried so damn hard to make Natasha comfortable and yet she never was. Her minimal jokes were always refrained, her smiles always measured, and she’d never dream of playfully nudging anyone. Except Rick. She let him throw an arm around her shoulders and tussle her hair, and all these things that would’ve made Natasha flinch if they’d been coming from her. And she hated that. She had to admit that Rick wasn’t the ass she’d expected, that he tried to include her and that it was probably just because she was being cold in return that he didn’t bother continuing the effort.

Bobbi and Hunter had a few questions when they walked in the door, having made it back minutes earlier.

“So you know him?” Hunter questioned the second they stepped over the threshold.

“No, I invited a stranger to our safehouse,” Natasha replied wryly. “Do you guys have that file on the base?”

Maria recognised the mistrusting look in Bobbi’s eyes. It was the first time that the blonde had showed genuine mistrust in Natasha’s decisions. No one moved to get the file.

“You let her bring him back?” Bobbi asked Maria.

“She trusts him,” she replied evenly.

“It’s not her trust in him that I’m concerned about. It’s yours in her.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Natasha stiffen. Bobbi continued. “In case you haven’t forgotten, you had to sign about three dozen sheets of paper stating that you’d vouch for her. If she disappears, it’s your head on the chopping block.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not planning on disappearing,” Natasha shot at her. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Bringing a stranger to a safehouse is against SHIELD’s protocols. Since when have any of us known Maria to break those protocols?”

Off the top of her head, Natasha could think of five. It didn’t escape her notice that they’d all been for her sake.

“Let’s just give him the file and he can leave,” Hunter said, overly aware of the tension in the room – the way Natasha had shifted to half-shield Rick’s body with her own, how Maria stood stiffly, how Bobbi had shifted into a loose stance that told him that if a fight broke out, she’d be ready.

Rick seemed to be the only calm one. He was leaning back against the door, his thumbs hooked around his belt loops casually. Hunter didn’t like his confidence. Then again, he’d feel fairly safe if he had Romanoff as a guard dog too.

Hunter grabbed the files and shoved them at Romanoff, who gave him a look. Without turning her back, she held the files out behind her. Rick had the good sense to grab them and leave with a single word of goodbye to Natasha.

“You lot didn’t have to be so hostile to him,” Natasha said after a moment.

“It’s not him we have a problem with,” Bobbi snapped. “What the hell were you two thinking? What if he goes and sells that information? What then?”

“He won’t,” Natasha insisted.

“And if he’s caught and tortured for it?” Bobbi demanded.

“Then he warns me. We’ve played this game before. We’ve had close calls before.”

“And you think that gives you the right to put us all in danger?”

“I’m not putting you in danger!” Natasha shot back indignantly.

“And we’re meant to believe that from you and your one-woman team?”

“Alright! That’s enough!” Maria yelled, stepping between the pair. “We’re all tense. So let’s take a breath and-“ Natasha strode over to the door. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Out,” she answered shortly.

“Hold on-“

“Is that an order?” Her fingers were white around the door handle, her body stiff as if expecting someone to body slam her away from the door. Maria released a breath.

“Be back before dark.”

“I’m not a fucking child needing a curfew.” Before Maria could formulate a response, Romanoff was slamming the door behind her in her haste to catch Rick.  

The moment the redhead was gone, Maria turned on Bobbi. “What the hell was that?”

“You’re compromised when it comes to her.”

“What are you accusing me of Morse?”

“If it had been me or Hunter with you, that would have been a firm no, but you said yes, not to him, but to her.”

“I made a judgement call,” Maria argued, her voice rising in volume.

“A judgment call that was swayed because of her.”

“She trusts him, and I trust her.”

“And yet this time two weeks ago you were babysitting her.”

Maria hated that Bobbi wasn’t wrong. She hated that Bobbi wasn’t lying. God, what was she doing? She let out a breath. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t.”

Chapter Text

Natasha was reluctant to return after having caught up with Rick, but after spending hours catching up with him about what they’d missed in each others lives, the sun was lowering towards the horizon.

“I should get back,” she sighed.

“You could come with me, you know. I know you weren’t planning on disappearing but is that place really all that much better than the Red Room?”

Natasha glanced up at him. “I’m not leaving Rick. I’m sorry. They can be arses sometimes, but they’re my people now.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s good to hear that you found people you care for.” He didn’t say ‘trust’ because he knew better than that. He handed her a burner phone. “If you change your mind or need a saviour.”

Natasha grinned a little. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s not forever. Don’t be dramatic.”

Natasha forced a chuckle. “Sometimes I miss it.”

“It?”

“The lack of politics. The simplicity. I was given orders and I followed them. Nothing more or less. It’s more complicated now.”

“What, with Hill?”

Natasha’s head jerked up to look at him. “What?”

“Oh come on. She was jealous of me when we were in the diner. She wants you to like her. She likes you.”

Natasha scoffed. “It’s a miracle if we make it a few hours without trying to bite each others heads off.”

“Well you know what they say about opposites,” he mused. At her unamused expression, he shook his head. “Go on. Head back. I’ll see you around.”

With that, he pulled her into a brief hug before ruffling her hair one last time and turning away. Natasha didn’t let herself watch him go, forcing herself to turn away and head back to the apartment.

No one said anything to her when she entered. She didn’t say anything to them. She had nothing to say. She went into the bedroom, grabbing a set of clothes and subsequently locking herself in the bathroom. She turned the water up to a scalding temperature that turned her skin pink. Dinner was a silent affair. No one made an attempt at conversation, instead choosing to scroll on their phones. Natasha was the only one that didn’t have an iPhone – she didn’t waste her money on phones when her SHIELD-issue one worked fine for what she wanted from it.

She went back to the bedroom after dinner, settling in her corner and pulling out a book. Hill entered and tossed something at her. Natasha caught it reflexively, but the item was foreign to her so she look up at Hill, wondering what she wanted her to do.

“It’s a portable door lock. In case it would help.”

“I thought you were still pissed at me.”

“You know I don’t punish by making you fear for your safety,” she sighed in response. “Use it if you want. If you don’t, that’s fine.” She was fully aware that whilst it would stop people from getting in, it would also stop Natasha from being able to get out as easily.

Natasha thought for a moment before tossing it back to her. “I can’t be bothered to get up. Can you?”

Maria inclined her head, fitting it to the door before slipping into the bed. “What are you reading?”

“Anna Karenina,” Natasha answered.

“You were reading that the first time we met,” Maria noted.

Natasha nodded.

“Can I read the blurb?”

“Not unless you learnt Russian sometime in the past few weeks.” Natasha glanced up at her. Hill sat back, looking away. Natasha sighed. “It’s about extramarital affairs and drama basically.”

“Didn’t think that’s your type of read,” Maria mused.

“It’s not.” Natasha flipped the book to look at the front cover. It was well-loved by now. “I found it at a school book fair that the Barton’s dragged me too way back when I was still pretty new to SHIELD. A bunch of kids had brought in books they never read anymore and they had them in stacks. You know I struggle with English now – it was even worse back then. Then I saw this book, in a language I understood perfectly, and Clint got it for me, even though I tried to convince him otherwise.” She chuckled. “It was the first material gift he got me, and it remains my favourite.”

“Do you ever miss Russia?”

Natasha wished it was a clear-cut answer, but it wasn’t. She thought over her answer carefully before saying, “In a way. I was Russian linguistically and ethnically, but culturally?” She shook her head. “The Red Room took that away for the most part. I never really knew Russia all that well. I miss the language, and being able to understand everything, spoken or written. And the food. I miss the food. But it was never home. Not really.” She was silent for a moment before asking, “And you? Do you miss your country home?”

Maria shrugged. “It was never home to me. I was never safe there. My father blamed me for my mother’s death during my birth, then when my older brothers left for the military, there was nothing left for me there.”

Natasha’s eyes flitted to the small scar just above Hill’s temple. For a reason unbeknownst to herself, she reached out a hand to trace the mark. “I never had a problem with killing men like him.”

“Did you kill men like him often?”

“Sometimes. I remember once my target was hitting this girl. His girlfriend, I assumed. I had set up my sniper point and the first chance I got, I put a bullet in him. She saw me. Red Room protocol would have had me kill her too, but then this little boy – maybe four or five – came out and she grabbed him and put her body between him and my rifle.”

“You left them be?”

“I broke into the house she moved to temporarily and left a threatening note. But I don’t think she had any interest. She was just glad to be out.”

“Sometimes I wished I could kill my father,” Maria admitted. “I mean, I’d never, but sometimes… when you keep getting struck down it’s so easy to want to…”

“Hand it back to them,” Natasha finished. “Yeah. Believe me, I get it.”

They lay in silence for a few moments before Maria said, “Bobbi’s pissed at me about Rick.”

“I figured. Hunter?”

“He’d be inclined to side with her. She says I only said yes because it was you asking.”

“Did you?” Natasha watched the other woman, examining icy blue eyes with careful scrutiny.

Hill avoided her eyes. “I don’t know. You trust him.”

“I do,” Natasha agreed.

“You were happier around him than I’ve ever seen you.”

“He was my friend before I knew what friends were. He saved me from myself more than once.” When Hill’s brows furrowed at the statement, she elaborated. “I went through a stage in my teen years where I became… flippant with my life. The Red Room didn’t care if I still got the job done, but he did. He would linger with the getaway vehicle for longer, or send his men in with me. And once, when I was shot on a mission that wasn’t meant to involve bloodshed,” she absentmindedly tapped the scar through the material of her shirt, “He ran in, dragged me out of the line of fire, and completed my assignment for me. He saved my life twice in that single day. Once from my target’s gun, once from the Red Room’s. If he’d taken me back then, they would have killed me. Instead, he whisked me away to help me heal, then took me back with some fabricated story that kept me from being punished, miraculously. We’ve been through a lot together. He’s like a brother to me. So yeah, I’m close to him. You don’t need to get all jealous.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not jealous,” Maria chuckled.

“He said you were,” Natasha mumbled with a cheeky grin. “At the diner.”

Instead of denying it again, Maria just shook her head. “He made you happier in seconds than any of us have made you in the combined time we’ve known you.”

“That’s not true,” Natasha argued. “I’m very happy every time I outshoot you on the range.”

Maria rolled her eyes, but turned back to seriousness quickly enough. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Are you getting soft on me Hill?” she murmured playfully.

Maria just watched her for a second. “Yes.”

It wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. She’d expected a joking jab of a reply, not this brutal seriousness that made her feel like the rug had been ripped out from under her feet.

“What the hell are we doing?” Natasha breathed, more to herself than to Maria.

Maria only shook her head. “I wish I knew.” Silence for a few moments, then, “I’ll stop if you ask me to. I can pretend this never happened and-“

“No.” The word was so quiet, Natasha debated whether it had actually passed her lips for a moment. “No, it’s okay.” And it was, because this was different. Hill wasn’t forcing herself on Natasha – she wasn’t cornering her or demanding anything – she was asking and checking in, and Natasha thought, oh shit, as she realised what this relationship was starting to feel like. Because she’d known it was different to hers and Clint’s, or Rick’s, but she’d thought that maybe it was just a coincidence. But no. God. She had feelings for Maria Hill.

Maria could pinpoint the moment when realisation crossed Natasha’s face. That ‘oh shit’ moment. Were they in another situation, she may have laughed at the expression, but this was not the time nor place for it. The expression evaporated quickly, soon followed by Natasha shifting to press her back into the wall behind her. Maria rolled onto her back to allow the other woman the space she wanted but didn’t know how to ask for. Granted, there was only so much space she could give in this tiny room, but anything was better than nothing.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” she said, only because she knew too well of Natasha’s habit to forgo breathing in favour of remaining silent.

“Maria-“ Maria turned her head to look at Natasha. “You- we hate each other. We’re meant to hate each other.”

“You can hate me if you want to,” Maria mused, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Romanoff shook her head. “That’s the fucking problem isn’t it? I’m sick of trying to find reasons to not like you. You piss me off, and we disagree on so many things, so I don’t know why I can’t hate you.”

The quote ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ came to Maria’s mind, but somehow she thought that Romanoff wouldn’t appreciate it.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The redhead looked so lost that Maria’s heart broke just a little. Her words may not have been a question, but it was abundantly clear that she was looking for guidance. That she wanted to know what was appropriate in this scenario. Honestly, Maria didn’t know. Had this been anyone else, she would’ve said ‘fuck it’. But Natasha wasn’t anyone and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally take advantage of a woman who had been taken advantage of too many times. She rolled onto her side to face Natasha properly.

“The great Black Widow has a crush,” Maria teased quietly.

Some of the tension seeped out of Natasha’s frame as she huffed out a laugh. “Are you saying you don’t?”

It was almost a challenge. Maria knew that Romanoff could read people far too well to be oblivious to Maria’s own reluctance to accept whatever these feelings were.

“I-“ the words caught in her throat. She was not someone to be made speechless. She was Maria fucking Hill, but here she was. Not knowing what to say, and having no sharp quips up her sleeve to ease the tension in the room.

“You told me it wasn’t okay to kiss you under duress. What if it’s not under duress?”

Maria blinked, too stunned to reply as Natasha leant closer and pressed their lips together. And unlike last time, it didn’t feel forced or faked. Natasha’s body was relaxed in her arms. Maria felt powerless to do anything but respond in kind. She was afraid to move her hands, afraid to spook Natasha. The redhead had no such reservations, reaching a hand up to cup her jaw. Maria shuddered when Natasha’s nails traced along her jawline. She felt Natasha smirk against her in response. It seemed to spur the redhead on. She shifted to straddle Maria, becoming bolder in her movements. Maria finally dug up the courage to move her hands. She cupped the back of Natasha’s neck, applying just enough pressure to be noticeable without feeling entrapping.

When they both were in desperate need of a breath, Natasha pulled back with a small grin. “Are you going to report this Commander?”

“Shut up,” Maria chuckled, trying to catch her breath. “You’re good at that.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

Maria huffed out an amused breath. Well that’s a relief.  

Natasha rolled off Maria to lie beside her. “Kissing doesn’t mean I want sex,” she said abruptly.

“I’d never expect it to,” Maria replied evenly, having expected something like this. “And had you offered, I would have turned you down anyway.”

After a moment, Natasha breathed out, “Was that a mistake?”

Maria hesitated. “This doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t want it to be. I’m not entitled to anything and I’d never act as if I am. If you want to pretend nothing happened, I would do that.”

“It would make it so much more simple if you gave me a reason to dislike you.”

“Yeah, yeah it would.” After a moment’s thought, Hill said, “Don’t use this as an excuse to isolate yourself.”

“What?”

“When shit happens, you do that thing where you isolate yourself. Don’t- don’t do that because of this.”

“Well that would imply that I regret this.”

“Do you?” Maria challenged.

“Do you?” she retorted.

Maria paused for a moment, before admitting, “No.”

“Good,” Natasha murmured, rolling onto her back to fix her eyes on the ceiling. Maria could see that it was slowly hitting her what had just happened – that the high was wearing off and now she was just thinking ‘oh shit’.

Natasha didn’t know what to feel about this. She hated it, but she loved it at the same time. She hated the power imbalance, she hated the fact that she had no control over this alien emotion. Oh, but she loved the thrill of electricity that it sent through her bones. She loved the newness of it all. She’d never been allowed to enjoy this before – this intimacy. It had always been forced and rushed and rough. It had always left her with a bitter taste on her tongue and a heavy weight in her gut. But this…

This was different. And that was terrifying.

It was mid-morning the next day when there was a knock on the door. The team had been at the table, hunched over laptops as they tried to figure out what the plan was. Natasha was unsurprised that Hill was acting as though absolutely nothing had happened. It was almost amusing how hard she was trying. Natasha pretended not to notice the sneaking glances, but she’d been a spy for a long time. She knew when someone was looking at her.

Being closest to the door, Natasha was the one to answer it. Unsurprisingly, it was Rick. She stepped back to let him in, tucking the gun she’d held out of his sight back into her holster.

“So, an update,” he said quickly, turning to business hastily to avoid the tension in the room rising more than it already had. “I got in contact with one of my guys who’s familiar with HYDRA. Your base was indeed theirs, but it wasn’t Red Room affiliated.”

“So those kids-“ Natasha started.

Rick only shook his head, answering her unasked question of whether any of them had been widows. “But Hydra won’t let them go easy. If I were you, I’d split them up and place them in protection. I can put them off your scent for a while but-“

Maria stepped forwards. “We don’t need your help.”

“Hill,” Natasha said sharply. “Back off.”

Rick only chuckled, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Your friends don’t like me very much Natalia.”

“They’re protective of each other,” Natasha said, shooting the group a quick glare.

“That makes me wonder how you’re with them,” he said, slipping into Russian.

“It’s been three years. They’ve had time to get used to me. Trust me. It took a while.”

“You like it there, I presume?”

“It’s better than the Red Room.”

“Low bar,” he scoffed. “If you need an out-“

“I don’t,” Natasha said. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t need an out. Agents leave SHIELD voluntarily all the time.”

“Those agents aren’t global assassins and expert agents of espionage. Don’t kid yourself into letting yourself think they’d just let you go. When you figure that out, give me a call.”

Natasha was about to reply, but Bobbi cut in. “If she doesn’t want the job, she can leave. She’ll be monitored, probably with a probation officer and tracking device, but we won’t kill her for leaving.” She slipped back into English. “Any choices she made there were under duress and that gives her a partial defence to most – if not all – of her crimes. No one is forcing her to work under SHIELD, but I think you know that, because people like us go mad without work and I think she’d struggle to find any other job that isn’t illegal. So if you’re done convincing her to try and run off to the circus with you-“

Rick only chuckled. “No need to get snarky, Agent Morse.”

Bobbi faltered. Hunter took a defensive step forwards. “How do you know her name?”

“You’re kidding yourself if you think I didn’t look you all up the second I left.” He stared Hunter down. “Lance Hunter, ex-SAS before becoming a mercenary. I can respect that brother. You joined SHIELD through a gig involving them. I don’t think you’re in much of a position to judge me.” He looked over at Bobbi. “Barbara Morse. The only one to go straight to SHIELD following college, specifically earning a Bachelor’s in biology. Didn’t pick you for the science type, but I suppose cutting up animals suits.” Bobbi bristled. He looked over at Hill. “You were interesting. Murky history, sealed court case files-"

Maria stiffened. 

“Rick,” Natasha interrupted firmly. "That's enough. They get your point."

The seriousness in her tone had him faltering and giving her a look. He knew how to read her too well. She had a feeling that he knew Hill wasn’t quite just a friend, but he was smart enough to not voice such opinions.

After a moment, he shrugged. “I’ll head off. In case you need to contact me…” he placed a card down on the coffee table before looking at Natasha, “And in case you specifically want to contact me…” he handed her a card with another number scribbled down. Natasha shook her head and rolled her eyes, but stuffed the card down the side of her boot for safe keeping.

She grinned, even though she would genuinely miss him. “Get out of here. We’ve gotta pack.”

“Tell this Clint Barton you keep mentioning to come visit next time he’s in Budapest. I wanna see was all the fuss is about with a deaf agent who fights with a bow and arrow.”

Natasha shoved him towards the door playfully. “Go.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Dinner that night consisted of microwave mac and cheese for all of them. Natasha was the last to cook her own bowl due to having been showering before. The rest of the team had already sat down by the time the microwave beeped at her. She pulled the food out, grabbing a fork and heading for her room.

“Romanoff, where are you off to?” Hill asked.

Natasha looked over at her. “Somewhere I can get privacy.”

“You’ve been a part of this team for months and we’ve never had a meal together. Come on. Sit down.”

Natasha let out a breath and sat in the empty spot. She only half listened as Bobbi and Hunter went on about something or rather that Natasha didn’t particularly care about. She prodded at her food. Yelena would have loved this. Melina had rarely let them have boxed Mac’n’cheese in Ohio, but Yelena had loved it nonetheless. Natasha had never been overly fond of it, but she’d known better than to complain. At that point, she knew that food could be taken away as easily as it was given, even if Melina had never done so. She looked up at Hill when a foot nudged her leg.

“You good?” the brunette asked.

“Fine,” she replied evenly, but the word felt dry on her tongue.

Hill gave Natasha a look that told her she didn’t quite believe her. She supposed that was fair. Natasha didn’t know how she felt. Nostalgic, but neither pleasantly nor unpleasantly. Still, it settled a dull weight into her stomach that made her lose her appetite.

After a moment's thought, she stood and left without a word.

Chapter Text

Natasha had recollected herself some by the time Hill entered half an hour later. Hill said nothing, moving over to the bed to grab her pyjamas. The brunette turned away, pulling her shirt over her head. Natasha’s eyes fell to her lap reflexively. She knew better than to stare. Had Hill been a madame, she would have remained stock-still, staring at her lap. But Hill wasn’t a madame, and so Natasha found her eyes flicking up for just a moment. She recognised scars of abuse, and Hill had a few. Some belt marks and what looked like cigarette burns. She looked away again.

“You’re not the only one with scars,” Hill mused. Natasha was unsurprised that she’d felt her gaze. Honestly, she was just glad for the shift in topic.

“The small burns… cigarettes?” There was no point in lying about having looked.

Hill hummed affirmatively. “My father was a big smoker. When he smoked and drank, well…” She gestured at the burns before looking up at Natasha. “Don’t look so upset Romanoff. It’s not a good look on you.”

“I hate men,” Natasha muttered. She remembered the burns that girls would come back with when Dreykov smoked his fancy Cuban cigars. She’d never been so misfortunate. She remembered when she was maybe twelve, he brought her into his office, sat her on his lap and stuck a cigar between her lips and held her nose so she had to breath in the smoke. She remembered the burning feeling in her throat and lungs, and the coughing fit she had moments later. Dreykov had only laughed at her retching. She’d expected him to do to her what she’d seen him do to other girls and press the burning end of the cigar against her bare skin, but she’d been lucky. She could only imagine how it stung.

Cigarettes didn’t seem all that different.

Maria chuckled, pulling a jumper over her head. “Some of them are alright. Clint, Hunter, Rick, Fury.”

“And more of them aren’t. Dreykov, Ward, any of my hundreds-plus marks-“

“You’re cynical. That’s your problem,” Maria mused, climbing onto the bed.

“I’m realistic,” Natasha disagreed.

Maria chuckled, flopping down next to Natasha. “You need to make more friends. It’ll help you hate the human race less.”

“I love hating the human race,” Natasha grinned.

“Ah, not all of us are that bad,” Maria dismissed.

“Yeah, I guess life would be boring without at least some people to mess with.”

Maria raised a brow. “Is that what this is? You messing with me?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve gotta say Hill. I’ve kissed a shit-ton of people and you’re up there.”

“Great. I’m being ranked against rapists and paedophiles,” Maria replied dryly.

“Shut up and take the compliment,” Natasha muttered, with a grin. Slowly, she kissed Hill again.

She didn’t know why she kept doing this. It was stupid and terrifying and stupid. Stupid. This was dangerous. God, she wanted to listen to that instinct that screamed at her to stop this before Hill realised she could take advantage of it. She wanted to stop before things got heated and Hill pulled rank. But by God, all she wanted to do was this. Because this was the first time she’d been able to do this without it hurting. And maybe she was in love with the idea of this rather than the person she was doing it with, but she just wanted to enjoy it a little longer. Was that so bad of her? To use Hill to get this? This rush of adrenaline without the fear of harm or pain. No one was yanking at her hair or her clothes or shoving their tongue down her throat or their hands up her shirt. And that made the high all that more enjoyable because it was telling that little voice in the back of her mind to shut the hell up and let her enjoy this.

Hill’s hand moved up to her waist, her fingers brushing the bare skin between her pants and shirt, and for a moment, Natasha hesitated, her walls threatening to slam back up. But then instead of pushing, Hill paused, and then pulled back, and waited. Natasha was staring down at bright blue eyes that were just waiting for her to say stop or go. Part of Natasha wanted to say ‘stop’, just to see what Hill would do. But she didn’t want this to end.

“Just say the word,” Hill breathed. “I’ll stop. No consequences.”

“No,” Natasha whispered. “No it’s okay. I’m okay.” And almost desperately, she kissed Hill again, but this time, the brunette pulled away. Natasha tried not to feel the stab of rejection.

“Natasha- take a moment. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t rush yourself. Figure out what you want, tell me, then we can keep going.”

And she didn’t know why, but suddenly Maria’s hands felt too hot on her waist, and her body too close. Natasha didn’t know how Maria had known about her discomfort before she had, but she appreciated it. She shuffled away, back to her corner. Maria let her hands fall from Natasha’s hips.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“No. You don’t apologise for wanting to stop, ever,” Maria said firmly. With Natasha sitting up and Maria lying down, there was a noticeable difference in elevation. Natasha shifted down to lie beside her.

“Is this even allowed at SHIELD?”

Maria chuckled. “Pam from HR might throw a hissy fit.”

“She won’t know.”

The sudden firmness from Natasha almost startled Maria. “No one will know. Not Bobbi or Hunter or-“

“Okay,” Hill said quickly. “Easy. I won’t kiss and tell.”

Natasha let out a breath. “I don’t do relationships.”

It felt like a lie even on her own tongue, but Hill just said, “Ok.”

“This is stupid.”

Maria looked over at her. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“We should stop.”

“Yeah, we should.” Silence for a few moments before Maria added, “But I don’t want to.”

“Good.” Natasha didn’t know why, but she liked this. She wanted it to keep happening. It was new and different and god was it exhilarating. She wanted this. She didn’t know what this feeling was, but she liked it.

“What are you thinking?”

Natasha huffed. “I hate it when you ask me that question.”

Maria propped herself up on her elbow to look at Natasha. “That’s because the answer’s always interesting.”

Natasha sighed. “I’m thinking that… this feels normal.”

Maria chuckled. “You sleep with the second in command of intelligence agencies regularly?”

Natasha raised a brow. “Well you’re not the first.” Hill blinked, and Natasha shook her head. “I’m not sure ISIS counts. Anyway that’s not what I meant.”

“Hold on, back up. You’ve slept with the right-hand of one of the most major terrorist groups in the world.” Natasha couldn’t quite place Hill’s expression. Somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, she supposed.

“The Red Room wanted to expand connections and sex is a great way to gain favour,” Natasha shrugged. She should’ve been uncomfortable talking about this, but honestly it was a little funny. It shouldn’t have been, and probably wouldn’t have been with anyone else. But Hill had that ‘oh god Romanoff’ exasperated look on her face and it made Natasha grin. “So yeah, I did. But that’s irrelevant. I meant that for once I feel normal. It’s different.”

“How so?”

Natasha leant back as she tried to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. “It’s not often that I can do something and not think the way they trained me to. They trained me to always be aware. To always be thinking and analysing anything that could go wrong. But… I can lie here and not think about the advantages and disadvantages of the lack of space in this room if someone broke in. I can turn my mind off. I can’t do that a lot. And I think this is what it’s like to be normal. As normal as I’ll ever get, anyway.” With anyone else, she was sure this wouldn’t have made any sense, but Hill was nodding and humming in that way that told Natasha that she knew exactly what she was saying. “And what about you? What are you thinking?”

The corners of Hill’s lips turned up into a grin. “I’m thinking that we’re like one of those cheesy romance books’ plots.”

Natasha laughed. “Oh please, do go on.”

“You know, the one-bed, enemies-to-lovers trope?”

“Do I look like the sort to read ‘enemies-to-lovers’?” Natasha scoffed.

Hill shook her head. “It’s like when two characters who absolutely wanted each other dead are forced to share a bed for some reason or another and then they end up fucking like two chapters later.”

Natasha snorted. “I never wanted you dead Hill. I disliked you. A lot. But I never wanted you dead.”

“Really? ‘Cause I got that impression.”

Natasha smirked. “Yeah, but when I want people dead, they end up dead. You irritated me, but only because I wanted to irritate you.”

“Why? You make stuff so bloody difficult. You know how hard you make my job?”

“I needed to know,” she shrugged.

“Know what?”

Natasha hesitated. “I needed to know that you weren’t like the Red Room. That you wouldn’t snap if I pushed too far. I’m done walking on eggshells around superiors.”

“And at least if you push me purposefully, you’re expecting it as opposed to it coming out of the blue,” Maria finished. “I get it.”

“I wouldn’t be telling you if you didn’t.”

“You know, it’s Christmas soon.”

Natasha hummed, “Tomorrows the 23^rd, right? You guys celebrate Christmas on the 25^th?”

“Yeah, you don’t?”

Natasha shook her head. “Never had a Christmas in the Red Room. I had two in Ohio, but we’re Russian so we celebrated on the 7^th of January, and it was barely a celebration. Our fake mother was also a widow – Melina – and she’d been through the Red Room so many times that she’d never had a Christmas either. And Alexei…” she gritted her teeth. “He was a child about it all. He got a tree and presents and shit.”

“You’re mad at him for that?”

“I’m mad because he pretended to care and then handed us off to Dreykov. We were a chore to him. He was Dreykov’s friend. He could have gotten us out then, but didn’t. We were too young for Dreykov to bother coming after us, and Melina was skilled enough to stay out herself. But he just… he gave us back.”

“God. Imagine having a stable father figure.”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Moving on. Do you have any plans?”

Hill’s smile dimmed somewhat. “My brothers invited me to a reunion at our childhood home in Chicago on Christmas Eve.”

“Do you think you’ll go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to go alone and Bobbi has a mission that she spent ages setting up. I know she’d drop it if I asked, but she’s been working so bloody hard on this one. And I don’t have any other friends.”

“I’ll come, if you want.”

Maria’s eyes snapped to hers. “I thought you wanted to go to the Barton’s?”

“I will. It’s less than a three-hour drive from Chicago to Davenport, so I can go to the Barton’s on Christmas or Boxing Day.”

“Are you sure? I mean my family isn’t-“

“Hill, I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing to go.”

“I think we’re past you calling me Hill, Romanoff.”

Natasha chuckled. “Fine then Maria.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for just a few moments before Maria said, “You know, if someone had told me a few months ago that this is where we’d be, I probably would’ve punched them.”

“I would’ve helped,” Natasha responded, clearly amused. “This means we’re friends, right?”

Maria laughed. “Oh my god. Yes, Natasha. We can be friends if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Well I don’t know what to call it!” Natasha defended. “I’m friends with Clint and Laura and Rick, but they’re like my siblings and I don’t have relationships with anyone else who isn’t under the co-worker or ‘trying to kill me’ categories.”

“We don’t have to call it anything,” Maria chuckled. “We can test stuff out. See what happens. No pressure.”

Natasha hated to admit how soothing that was. “I’m not good at this.”

“I don’t expect you to be. No one really is. Relationships are murky to anyone, regardless of their history.”

“So it’s already hard, but us being fucked in the head makes it harder. Great.”

Maria shook her head with a grin. “We should sleep.”

“Is that your way of trying to get me to shut up?”

“Yes.” She leant over to flick the lights off. She heard Natasha scoff.

“Rude.”

“Needy,” Maria teased in response. “You used to hate having to talk to me.”

“Shut up.”

“Now who’s being ru-“

Natasha shut her up effectively with a quick kiss that left Maria stunned. “I said, shut up.” The humour in her tone made Maria grin. Class fucking A manipulation. But somehow she liked it. Liked that Natasha was finally starting to joke with her. They could do this. God, she hoped they could do this.

Chapter Text

The next day passed uneventfully, and before Natasha could realise what she’d gotten herself into, she was flying a small SHIELD jet with Maria beside her. She was pleasantly surprised that her interactions with Hill remained fairly normal. They’d still snapped at each other on the way back from Germany, and nearly gotten into a couple arguments. It was all the same, but Natasha felt more secure now. She didn’t know why, but she was starting to trust Maria Hill. Maybe it was stupid, but if it came around to bite her in the ass… well, she’d jump that hurdle if she came to it.

“I didn’t know you could fly a plane.” Maria’s words pulled her out of her head.

“Wouldn’t want to steal May’s job, now would I?” Natasha replied wryly before answering seriously. “When we left Ohio, Melina got shot, and I had to fly the plane after she passed out. I had to frantically read through the manual when I didn’t understand all her instructions, but we landed relatively safely. Dreykov placed me with a bunch of older widows when we got back and we were taught to fly properly. We were placed on the more secluded missions, when we’d sometimes have to hijack planes to get back.”

“Every skill you have has some dramatic story behind it.”

“What can I say? I’m a very dramatic person.”

After landing, they rented a car. It had been twenty minutes of silent driving before Maria said, “My family’s intense. You should know that.”

“You’re not gonna scare me off Hill.”

“My point is, you can back out if you want to.”

“I flew the bloody plane here Maria. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. If you don’t want me here-“

“I do.”

Natasha chuckled. “Then calm down. I won’t think any differently of you regardless of what happens.”

“You say that now,” Maria muttered.

Natasha only scoffed. “Don’t tell me that Hardass Hill is cowed by a family gathering.”

“Don’t try to piss me off.”

“Well someone needs to get your head in the game. You’re not some kid cowering under her bed anymore Hill. You’re the Deputy Director of one of the most prestigious intelligence agencies in the country, you have a Silver Star on your ceremonial uniform and damn if you’re not the most hard-headed woman I’ve ever met. Don’t let some drunk get to you. Who gives a fuck if he’s your father?”

Maria sighed as she pulled into a driveway. “Yeah, okay.”

 Natasha’s brows furrowed at the weak response, but she said nothing, instead taking in her surroundings. It was a nice neighbourhood – she’d guess middle class. It’s not what she would have expected, given what Maria had told her about the family, but she supposed it wasn’t like she’d told her everything.

“My mother was a surgeon and came from good money,” Maria explained. “It’s a good thing too, because I don’t even know if my father ever went back to work. My brothers and I send him a cut of our money each week.”

She got out of the car, staring up at the American flag pulled up high on a flagpole.

“How much?” Natasha asked, closing the car door.

Maria glanced at her. “Usually it’s deemed impolite to ask about people’s wages.”

“When have you known me to be polite?”

“My brothers cough up a hundred a fortnight.”

“And you?”

She shrugged. “Eight hundred a week.”

Natasha stopped dead in her tracks. “Maria, that’s like- 40 thousand a year.“

“41, 600,” Maria corrected. “It’s fine.”

“Maria, that’s a lot of money.”

“I’m Deputy Director, Natasha. I make 170 thousand a year. Giving away forty of that still puts me over 30k above average income. Plus, it’s not like I use it – I live at SHIELD, so I don’t pay rent, and I get all my meals from the cafeteria.”

Natasha let out a breath. “You know you don’t owe him for anything, right?”

“It’s what my mother would have done, Natasha.” And it was her tone that told Natasha that it was time to back off, so she did.

Natasha let out a breath. “You know you’re just casually giving away almost half my salary, right?”

Maria smirked. “You’ll get there Romanoff.”

“Shut up Hill.”

“Back at you Romanoff.”

Natasha rolled her eyes just as she heard someone call, “Mia!”

Maria looked up at the name, her eyes falling on a tall, muscular man who’d stepped out onto the porch, holding a beer in one hand. Maria’s brother, Natasha would wager.

“Max,” she grinned, moving up to him. “How are you?”

He ruffled her hair, and she slapped his hand away irritably, though a grin lessened the impact of her glare. “Meet Agent Natasha Romanoff.”

He smiled at her, stepping forwards and holding out a hand. “Max Hill.”

Natasha gave him a once-over in a look that had had SHIELD recruits trembling many a time. He seemed unperturbed by it. Over his shoulder, she saw Hill mouth be nice. Somewhat reluctantly, she shook his hand.

“You’re military?”

“How’d you guess?”

She levelled him with a blunt look. “Your dog tag’s hanging out. So either you’re a soldier or you’re a fake, and I’m sure Maria would kill you if you even thought of doing the latter.”

He chuckled, tucking the metal out of sight. “You know my sister well.”

“Not really, but they don’t call her hard-ass Hill for nothing.”

He laughed at this, looking at Maria, who groaned. “Hard-ass Hill? My baby sister is a hard-ass? You’re kidding.”

Natasha shook her head with a grin. “My recruit class made a map of her average day’s movements so they could avoid her better.”

Maria shot her an offended look. “You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

Max chuckled, “Come inside. Jordan’s here, and Aunt Tess, and of course Jake.”

“Cousin, aunt and brother, in that order,” Maria filled Natasha in before asking Max, “No neighbours?”

“Dad had a falling out with them. Refused to invite them.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Maria muttered.

“Everyone else is coming over tomorrow. You guys staying overnight?”

“Came prepared, but we’re ready to leave,” Maria answered carefully.

“Come on Mia. Give him a chance.”

Natasha was sure Maria was going to send some snarky reply, but Natasha brushed her arm with a hand. Maria glanced at her and forced herself to take a deep breath.

The group was in the living room. Talking ceased when Maria entered.

Finally, a man a little younger than Max who was clearly Maria’s brother stood. “Hey Mia. It’s been a while.”

Maria was stiff beside her. Of course. He was the one that had left her alone with their father. He didn’t come back to testify when I was accused, Maria had told her. He’d been part of the reason for her having to serve time.

“Yeah,” Maria said tensely. “Twelve years is a while.”

She glanced around the room, her eyes finally falling on a man in an armchair with a beer bottle in his hand. She nodded at him. “Hi dad.”

“Who’s this?” he pointed at Natasha, who met his eyes evenly. Natasha would be shocked if he could walk in a straight line with how inebriated he looked.

“Natasha. She’s a co-worker of mine.” Natasha didn’t miss how Maria had left off her last name. She’d file that away to read into it later.

“Well,” a girl a little older than Maria said, standing and turning to Natasha. “I’m Jordan. My mum’s in the kitchen fixing up food. I can show you where you can dump your bags and we can give these guys some alone time.”

Natasha glanced at Maria, who nodded. “It’s okay.”

Natasha gritted her teeth, but this was none of her business. She grabbed Hill’s bag from her to take it and dump it with her own. She followed Jordan up the stairs and into what appeared to be Maria’s room. The walls were bare, the desk empty save for a post-it note. The only reason she knew the room was Maria’s and not a spare. I’m enlisting. Was all it said. Natasha recognised the script as Maria’s.

“Ed didn’t touch Maria’s room after she left.”

“She hasn’t been back since?” Natasha asked, pulling a finger along the windowsill and leaving a trail in the dust that had settled there.

“No. I opened the window and turned up the fan in the hope some of the musk would leave.” Natasha nodded wordlessly, as she dumped the bags on the bed and glanced around. She was unsurprised at the awards gathering dust on shelves. Hockey, track, baseball, basketball, soccer.

“Maria and I went to the same school, and when we started our freshman year, we made a bet that she couldn’t place in all of the sports that school offered.”

“Did she?”

“Almost. She was just never a very good cheerleader.” Jordan pointed at an action-shot photo of a pyramid mid-collapse. Natasha couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her at seeing Maria in a too-short skirt darting out of the way of a falling girl.

“Chess?” Natasha questioned as she spotted a medal of a chess board.

“She’s surprisingly good. Refuses to talk about it though. I think she chose our school’s chess club because it was the only one where she didn’t have any enemies. She refused to join theatre club with me.”

Natasha scoffed. “Theatre club?”

“Yeah, didn’t your school have one?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t grow up around here. We didn’t really… have clubs.” Not a lie, just an omission of the truth. “So Maria didn’t take anything with her when she left?”

“I mean, she went straight to the marines, so all she needed were necessities. It would have killed her to leave some of this behind.” Jordan picked up a photo album, handing it to Natasha. It wasn’t just photos inside, there were notes and annotations. Almost like a journal. Pictures of Maria at sports events, with her brothers, with friends… it reminded Natasha of the family photo album Melina had when they were in Ohio. She knew the feeling of leaving something like that behind.

She put the photo album in a bag, just in case. Then she dug through her bag to take the weapons out. She wasn’t about to leave them out for anyone to use.

“So, you and my cousin.” Natasha glanced up at Jordan. “You dating?”

Natasha scoffed. “Not even close.”

“What, friends with benefits?”

“More like, ‘this time a month ago she could have gotten run over by a bus and I would’ve shrugged it off’. I work for her. Nothing more.”

Jordan raised a brow, but left the topic alone. “What’s with all the weapons?”

“You think I’m about to leave them out and about in the home of a guy with a known history of violence?”

Jordan pursed her lips. “So Maria told you the whole story, huh? I thought you said you didn’t get along.”

“We don’t. I used my clearance to open an old court case file of hers and read her statement. She’s no liar.”

“Not now. She was a… different person when she was young. Always getting into trouble and that. A lot of us didn’t believe her.”

“You never thought to think why she got in trouble so often? Why her brothers enlisted the moment they could?”

“Maria was the trouble child even when we were little. She was always the ask for forgiveness rather than permission type,” Jordan defended. “She was-“

“Look, it’s not my business. I don’t really care. If Hill wants me to know about this shit, she’ll tell me. I’m just here to drive the getaway car if things go south.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? Maria doesn’t just bring anyone here. Last I checked, she’d only told two SHIELD agents about her past.”

Bobbi and Fury, Natasha would bet. “I don’t care,” Natasha repeated, clearing her gun. She didn’t miss Jordan’s flinch at the sound, even though Natasha’s back was to her and the barrel wasn’t even remotely near her. “You’re not a fan of weapons, are you?”

“I’ve never shot a gun,” she answered honestly.

Natasha chuckled. “That’s cute.” Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone who’d never held a gun.

“This country has a gun problem.”

“No arguments from me,” Natasha mused.

“But you have no issues with using one yourself?”

“I’ve been shooting since I was six years old, and if I hadn’t been, I would have been killed before I hit puberty. My line of work is one in which you need a gun. I grew up in a place where I needed a gun. You’re in a house of soldiers. Surely you understand that.”

“I’m a doctor. I’ve fished too many bullets out of people in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Natasha could only shrug. “The world is fucked. Our professions prove that to us every day.”

With that, Natasha turned and started heading downstairs again. The others had migrated into the dining room. Maria was sitting stiffly in a chair next to Max. Their father was at the head of the table, and the woman who Natasha assumed to be Jordan’s mother was placing down a plate of turkey.

“Hi girls,” she said cheerily, contrasting the tension in the room. “Have a seat.”

Natasha took the seat beside Maria.

“All good?” she asked quietly.

Blue eyes flickered to meet hers. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Natasha’s eyes settled on the small scar above her eyebrow, but she forced herself to look away before her staring became obvious. After Tess sat down, everyone started helping themselves.

“So Natasha,” Ed said after a moment. Natasha glanced up at him. “You been at SHIELD long?”

“I’ve been working there for three and a bit years now,” Natasha answered evenly.

“And you work with my daughter?”

“For her, technically.” Maria’s eyes darted up to her in surprise, but Natasha didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t a correction she’d normally make, but Maria’s father underestimated his daughter. She’d do anything she could to remedy that.

He scoffed. “Deputy Director. Licking the boots of Nick Fury. Such a glamorous job.”

“And what do you do exactly?” Natasha asked with faux sweetness. When he didn’t answer, Natasha continued. “Maria’s ‘boot-licking job’ pays your bills and she’s one of the most respected agents in the field of espionage.” Half of the reason Natasha knew that was based on how long she’d been on the Red Room’s instant kill list. Not everyone could get on that so easily.

He only grunted. “And where abouts are you from? Sounds like New York.”

Natasha shook her head. “Russia. I just have a good accent.”

The table stilled, and suddenly it hit Natasha why Maria may have not mentioned her last name. She speared a piece of tomato onto her fork. She glanced to her left at Maria, who had a mask covering her features. Natasha knew her well enough to be able to see through it – Maria wanted to be anywhere but here.

Ed speared his daughter with a look. The change was so abrupt that Natasha found herself automatically glancing at the doors around them, debating which was best for a quick exit. Maria sank back into her chair in a very un-Maria-like fashion as Ed said, “You brought a bloody commie under my roof?” Natasha let out a quiet scoff that had him turning on her again. Good. “You laughing at me girl?”

She looked up at him. “No, I’m just not a communist. Russia hasn’t been communist for like… nineteen years. I think you need to get a new insult. And things like Russian pig and commie slut are taken so do try to come up with something original.” Maria kicked her under the table. Natasha gave her a look before muttering in quiet Russian, “It’s not my fault he’s a prick.”

She was shocked when Maria snapped back with, “Don’t call him that.” Admittedly the accent was off, but it was undeniably Russian. Natasha grinned, but the amusement was short-lived by Ed slamming his hand down on the table. Natasha’s hand reflexively tightened around her fork, her other arm shooting out to  hover in front of Maria, ready to shove her back. Maria pushed her arm away, shooting her a look. As Ed said,

“I will not have you speaking fucking tongues in my house Maria Hill.”

“Dad-“ Jake started

“Quiet,” he snapped. Jake fell silent instantly.

“You should not have come back here Maria. You-“

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Natasha spat. “She is not some child you can shove around anymore.”

“She is my daughter. I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Maria stood, tugging Natasha up with her. “Come on Natasha. Let’s just go.” She moved towards the exit.

Ed stood, stepping in front of the door and grabbing Maria’s upper arm. “No, you listen here young lady-“

Natasha stepped up to him, even when she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She shoved his hand off Maria’s arm as she snarled. “You do not touch her. Now back the fuck up or I’ll make you.”

He laughed, and Natasha bristled. “And how will you do that love? I was in the marines for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve killed dozens of Russkis bigger than you.” Natasha was willing to bet that none of them were trained a tenth as well as a widow was.

Maria grabbed her arm and Natasha let Maria pull her back. This wasn’t her fight. It was Maria’s. She was here for Maria. For once, she’d be a good soldier and do as ordered. So she let Maria pull her back and watched as she stepped up to her father. Her hands were trembling, but when she spoke, her voice didn’t so much as waver.

“I want to leave. Step aside.”

“Maria, don’t-“ Max tried to warn. Maria ignored him.

“Get out of my fucking face,” Ed spat.

“Get out of the doorway.”

“Maria-“ Jake started, but he was cut off when Ed swung at Maria’s head with his beer.

When he swung, Natasha almost intervened, but Hill had it covered. She grabbed his arm, twisting as she kicked him in the groin. “I am not fourteen years old anymore.” She shoved him back. He hit the floor with a thud, swearing colourfully at her. “You do not get to hit me because you fucking feel like it. And you-“ She spun on her heel to face her brothers, knowing Natasha was watching her father, that it was safe to turn her back because of that. “you don’t get to try and talk me out of standing up for myself like you’re fucking protecting me. And you two.” She stared at Jordan and Tess. “I don’t care if you think I’m a fucking liar. Because we’ve been here five minutes and he tried to hit me. And we’re leaving. Come on Natasha.”

Jake seemed torn. “Maria-“

“Back the hell off,” Natasha spat, intercepting Jake when he tried to step towards Maria.

“I can’t do this Jake. Not here,” Maria said. “Come to SHIELD sometime. You’re welcome there. But I can’t do this here.”

With that, they left, grabbing their bags on the way out.

Chapter Text

The second they got back into the car, Maria’s walls crumbled. Natasha didn’t say anything, barely looking her way as she started driving. Maria was glad for the time to collect herself – to remember how to breathe. God she’d barely breathed that whole time. From the second they’d walked in, she’d been assaulted with memories. He cornered me and screamed at me in that room when I was eight. He threw me down those stairs when I was twelve. That bloodstain on the floor is from when he smashed that beer bottle against my head when I was fourteen. He choked me against that wall when I was sixteen.

She couldn’t stop the thoughts. She couldn’t stop them and she felt trapped in her own head. She couldn’t breathe or feel or do anything but watch as the events replayed in her mind. It had started when she was little. She remembered getting yelled at for the smallest things. She remembered being sent to bed hungry and not being allowed to come out the next day until dinner. She remembered Jake barricading her bedroom door when she was five, and she remembered her father hammering drunken fists against the wood as Max held her tightly hidden in the closet. She remembered how it progressed to being physical after Jake left, and how it had left Max needing to distract their father to keep her safe. She remembered when he left and the sinking feeling that there was no one left to protect her, that she had to do it herself.

She’d been lost in that in the dining room, but then Natasha had been there. Standing and putting herself between Maria and her father. And Maria knew they weren’t close yet, but god, in that moment, she would consider Natasha her favourite person because she’d needed that. Then when she’d asked Natasha to step back she’d had, and Maria had appreciated that even more, because this was her fight. She shouldn’t have gone back. She should have known better.

“Are you alright?”

She glanced over at Natasha. “No.”

“What can I do?”

“Stop talking.” Maria didn’t mean to snap, but she couldn’t do this right now. She couldn’t.

They drove in silence for ten minutes before Natasha pulled into a motel. It was only another two and a half hours to the Barton’s, but Natasha seemed to understand that she didn’t want to be around people right now.

“Stay here,” was all the redhead said as she got out of the car and went to reception.

She came back moments later with a room key, and guided Maria to the room. It was basic, but nice. Clean, at least. She was sure Natasha had slept in worse, as she most certainly had during her time in the Marines. It was habit alone that had them each sweeping half the room for bugs and hidden cameras, pulling out phone flashlights and such occasionally.

“You want to shower?” Natasha questioned.

“No.” Because all showering would do was remind her of how her father used to shove her under a stream of icy water as punishment when she was little. Most of the time she hadn’t even done anything.

Natasha didn’t push, instead going into the bathroom. Maria changed and settled in the bed, curling up on her side. Natasha had clearly forgone bothering to ask for two beds, but somehow Maria didn’t mind. She heard Natasha exit the bathroom, but didn’t care enough to react. Natasha slipped into the bed behind her. Maria jerked a little when an arm draped over her waist.

“Just me, Masha,” Natasha said quietly, her breath ghosting the back of her neck.

Maria twisted her neck to look at the other woman. Natasha had this unusually soft expression on her features. Slowly, she pressed a kiss against Maria’s lips. Maria sunk into the contact, welcoming the distraction. She shifted onto her back as Natasha got bolder in her movements, her hands brushing the skin under her shirt.

“What are you doing Nat?” Maria murmured.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Natasha breathed in response.

“You weren’t this forward the other day.” Natasha tried to cut her off with a kiss, but Maria’s firm hand on her upper chest stopped her. “You weren’t this forward the other day,” Maria repeated more firmly.

“I want to help you.” And it seemed to be such an innocent intention, but…

“Nat, just because I had a shit day doesn’t mean I want sex.”

Natasha blinked, and the confusion in her eyes struck Maria hard. “I’m sorry.”

Maria let out a deep breath and reached up to play with Natasha’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“I want to help you.” And it was so goddamn genuine. “How can I help?”

“Just be here,” Maria whispered. This was such a new side of Natasha. She found that she didn’t hate it. “You are so different now.” She twirled Natasha’s hair around her finger, careful not to pull.

“What?”

“You’re so different. Open and relaxed. How did we get here?” She couldn’t even pinpoint a moment where it had clicked – where she’d done something or…

“You trust me now.”

"Why? My father-"

"You are not your father."

The words were so firm it almost surprised Maria. She hated how her eyes were stinging with unshed tears. She blinked them back, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“You couldn’t be if you tried.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was raised to read people, Maria. And I would not be lying here unarmed in this bed with you if I thought you were anything remotely like that man. Maria, look at me.” She tilted Maria’s chin up with her fingers, all but forcing eye contact. “You are nothing like him.”

Maria nodded. “I think I like this side of you.”

Natasha chuckled. “Good. I like this side of me too.”

The next morning, Maria woke up to find herself alone. She couldn’t say she was surprised. Natasha wasn’t exactly the type to wake up in a bed with someone and stay there. Maria took her time getting dressed. She’d woken up several times throughout the night, her brain playing tricks on her. It was cruel – her mind making her think that there was someone outside their door, or that she was back in her childhood bedroom waiting for her father to stumble through the door in the wee hours of the morning. She pulled on a jacket wandering out the front door. Natasha was leaning against a railing, a cigarette between her fingers and smoke curling from her lips.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said by way of greeting. She didn’t bother trying to keep the tint of displeasure from her tone.

Natasha glanced up at her. “Happy Christmas to you too.”

“Merry. It’s merry.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you just a bundle of fun this morning.”

Maria let out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep great.” She paused for a few moments before adding, “I’ve never seen you touch a cigarette before.”

“No smoking allowed on SHIELD campuses,” she answered blandly.

“For good reason. You’ll kill yourself.”

“I don’t want a lecture, Hill. Of all my risk-taking behaviours, this isn’t one you need to concern yourself with.”

Maria blinked at the abrupt change in tone. “What happened to the side of you I liked?”

Natasha met her gaze. She was silent for long enough that Maria was starting to think she wouldn’t answer, but then, “There’s a reason I don’t do relationships, Hill. And it’s not for lack of people throwing themselves at me.” God knows enough SHIELD men have tried and failed to bed her.

“So what, it’s because you like to push people away?”

Natasha sighed, taking a drag before answering. “It’s because I have mood swings like a feral cat and I can turn it on and off in a heartbeat.”

Maria raised an amused brow. “Feral cat?”

“If you can’t handle me being civil one minute and snappy the next, you don’t know me well enough for this.”

“I never said I couldn’t handle it,” Maria mused with a small grin. “I’ve been handling your mood swings for months. I’m just wondering what brought it on.”

Natasha tapped the cigarette against the railing she leant against. “I don’t comfort people.”

“You comforted me.”

“I’ve only ever comforted Yelena. Clint’s never needed my comfort, nor did any of the widows in my past. It was seen as weak to need the support of others.”

“It’s not-“

“I know.”

Maria let out a breath, leaning against the railing. “I used to smoke. When I was a teenager. The school would close at seven, and I’d start on my way home. I’d dawdle, because the later I got home, the more likely it was that my dad had already passed out. In winter it got so cold, so one day I took a packet of cigarettes my eldest brother had left and gave it a try. It’s how I got the burn scars. My father found out. Said smoking wasn’t a lady’s thing.” Her hand ghosted over the scars on her side, and for the first time, Natasha noted how her eyes flickered down to the burning tip every other second. “It didn’t stop me, but the military got me out of the habit.”

Natasha huffed. “The Red Room got me into it. My first cigarette was from my fake father when I was eight. He was smoking and wanted me to try. It was our first week on the mission. Melina hated the idea of it, but she was a widow and he was her superior. He was my superior. I didn’t dare argue. I hated it then, but when I got older I started to rely on it. When I was dumped on a street corner acting as a prostitute, or I was waiting in some alley for a contact. It was a comfort.” She tapped the ash off the end again, almost missing how Maria shifted her weight away, just barely. “Hell, I never thought I’d live long enough for cancer to get me anyway, so I thought ‘what the hell?’.”

She glanced over at Maria, who was zoning out as her eyes locked on the cigarette. Natasha sighed, stubbing it out on the railing.

“You weren’t done,” Maria noted dully.

“I know.” They stood in silence for a few moments before Natasha said, “I grabbed something from your room whilst you were there.”

Maria glanced at the photo album Natasha pushed towards her. A small smile tugged at her lips. “You- how did you know?”

“Jordan said you cared about it, and I figured we might have to make a quick getaway, so…”

“Thank you,” Maria replied. “God, thank you Natasha.”

“Who are those two people you’re always with?” Natasha questioned, opening the book and pointing at a photo of Maria with her arms slung around a girl and a boy.

“Those two were my best friends. Mike and Angela. He’s actually CIA now, and she’s a cop in New York.”

“You have a specific taste in friends,” Natasha chuckled.

“I suppose I do. You know, we should probably pack up and head to the farm.”

Natasha knew what shutting down a conversation was when she heard it. She didn’t bother arguing, instead nodding and heading back inside to allow Maria to flick through the album alone.

Maria had never been to Clint’s farm before, but after he’d heard the whole situation with her going to visit her family with Natasha, he’d invited her too. Natasha knew that Bobbi and Hunter would be there too – Bobbi had been Laura’s rookie before Laura had retired and passed her title onto Morse. Given their lack of family outside of SHIELD, they’d been invited to the Barton’s. It would be no problem in terms of space, of course. Their house was huge.

They pulled into the driveway after over a couple hours of driving. Snow covered the fields and the front yard. The only place exempt was the driveway. Still, Natasha drove slowly, all-too-aware of the possibility of ice. Natasha parked the car, twisting around to grab the bags from the back seat. She shoved one towards Maria before getting out of the car. Looking over at the porch, she spotted Laura and the kids. Lila squealed excitedly, running down the stairs and throwing herself at Natasha.

“Merry Christmas Auntie Nat!”

Her little five-year-old arms were vice-like around Natasha’s waist. The redhead chuckled, tugging the girl up onto her hip.

“Lila! Merry Christmas! How’s my favourite niece doing?” she asked in Russian.

“I’m you’re only niece!” she said indignantly. “Mama’s been teaching me more Russian. I’m getting soooo good.”

“Oh really?” Natasha smirked. “Tell me something.”

Lila started babbling in broken Russian about what she’d gotten for Christmas, inserting English words on occasion when she didn’t know how to say something. Natasha moved towards the house, responding to Lila every now and again with a stupid little grin on her face that made Maria scoff and shake her head as she trailed after them.

“Okay Lila,” Laura chuckled, reaching out to grab the child from a grateful Natasha. “Let’s let Nat and Agent Hill settle in. How about you go find a movie you want to watch?”

Lila nodded and dashed back into the house. Laura let out a breath, turning to Natasha and giving her a one-armed hug. “Hey, how are you?”

Natasha gave an honest half-smile. “I’ve been better, but I’m alright. You?”

“I’m good.” Laura turned to Maria. “Agent Hill. I heard you made Deputy a couple years back. I still remember when you were a rookie.” Natasha grinned. Now that was something she’d pay to see.

“I’m intruding in your home. You can call me Maria.”

“Any friend of Nat’s is welcome,” Laura replied warmly. “Come inside before you get cold.”

Whilst the place was unfamiliar to Maria, it seemed to be the opposite to Natasha. The redhead shrugged her jacket off as she stepped into the warm house, toeing her boots off simultaneously. Clint stepped out into the hallway, still draped in an apron. He grinned.

“There they are.” He ruffled Natasha’s hair, ignoring the glare she gave him in response. It was almost unfamiliar to Maria to see Natasha like this. Like she wasn’t looking over her shoulder at any given time, like she wasn’t eyeing off the exits and entrances for possible escape routes. It was one of those things that you didn’t notice someone doing until they stopped.

The tension in Natasha’s face eased, letting an easy smile form on her lips. “You’re an ass Clint.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You love me anyway.” She scoffed and shook her head, but didn’t deny it. “So how are you?”

“Well, I helped free a bunch of Hydra kids, one of whom stole my jacket. And the team is pissed at me for bringing Rick back to the safehouse.” She sighed. “It’s just been a long few days. Can we not talk about it?”

Clint nodded. “Come on. Laura made pie, and I made hot chocolate, and the kids are getting ready for a movie.”

Any tension that Natasha had been holding onto melted away as she stepped into the living room. Quiet Christmas tunes and the crackling of the fire permeated the air. The lights were all warm and cosy. It was like in any Christmas film you’d see – warmth and calmness. Paper littered the floor, mostly gathered near the tree. The newly discovered toys sat around, half of them pulled out of their respective boxes already.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Clint said, walking over to the tree. He picked up a box and handed it to her.

“Oh God,” Natasha groaned.

Maria scoffed. “Natasha, it’s a gift. What are you complaining about?”

Natasha gave her a deadpan look before pulling the lid off the box. Glitter exploded, covering both her and Maria. The brunette shot back, a hand flying to rest on her weapon. Clint had wisely taken a few steps back before the dramatics. Natasha chuckled, shaking her head to rid herself of some of the glitter.

“Prank gifts are Clint’s and my thing. The first proper gift he got me resulted in me offering him sex as payment, so from there on it we limited it to prank gifts and it just became this running gag.”

“It’s a good thing the kids are upstairs,” Laura said dryly as she entered the room. “I don’t particularly want to explain what sex is to a curious child on Christmas.”

Clint, meanwhile, was red in the face at the reminder. Natasha shook her head fondly, grabbing a small box out of her bag and chucking it to Clint.

“You had that the entire mission?” Maria questioned, eyeing the colourfully wrapped box suspiciously.

Natasha nodded as Clint warily peeled the paper back to reveal a wooden box. He glanced up at her when nothing immediately exploded and started to slide the lid off. It was at that moment that a plastic spider shot out of the box. Clint yelped and threw the box across the room.

Natasha cackled in response. “You’re so dramatic!”

“In my defence, I wouldn’t put it past you to put a real spider in a box,” he said quickly.

She huffed out a laugh. “At least mine didn’t make a mess.”

“She’s got a point there babe,” Laura chuckled, patting Clint on the shoulder patronisingly. “Seriously though, this is for your birthday that we missed.”

Natasha smiled softly as she took the gift from Laura. “Oh god it’s heavy.” It was a foot long and dense. She sat on the couch to tear the paper off. It was a set of books. She grinned widely. “I fucking love you guys. Seriously.”

Maria stepped closer. “Is this… Harry Potter?”

“In Russian,” Natasha grinned. Maria had never seen her have such… childlike joy. “You guys really didn’t have to do this. Thank you. Really.” She got off the couch and dug around in her bag for a moment. “This is my proper present for Laura, and this one’s for you Clint.”

Laura’s was a nice bottle of champagne that she’d told Natasha she loves ages ago. “Where the hell did you find it?”

“France,” Natasha grinned.

Clint’s was a new set of custom arrowheads that did a bunch of different stuff on impact. “The tech guys owed me a favour,” Natasha said. “They have instructions in there for what they all do.”

Maria wasn’t expecting a box to be chucked to her, but it was. She caught it reflexively, glancing at Natasha like it had been a mistake. The redhead only gestured for her to open it. She did, pleasantly surprised to find the softest beanie, matching scarf and matching socks of all things.

“I got it when I was out with Rick. You said you hate being barefoot, so…”

Maria smiled softly. “Thanks. I didn’t get you anything though.”

Natasha only shrugged. “I guess you owe me then,” she smirked.

Maria scoffed, but truthfully, she liked the gift. A small part of her wondered whether she’d gotten stuff for the rest of the team too. Something told her she hadn’t.

The kids came down a few minutes later, having decided on The Flight Before Christmas. They were overjoyed to find that Natasha had gotten them gifts – some trains for Cooper’s train set and a pretty snow globe for Lila that she must’ve gotten in Germany. The girl squealed excitedly shaking it and sending snow flying within it.

“I get her a snow globe from whichever city I visit on missions. She’s got a rapidly growing collection,” Natasha explained.

“So how about we watch this movie, hmm?” Clint asked, putting the CD in. Natasha settled in her usual beanbag as the Barton’s took the couch. Granted, there was an armchair, but Natasha had a soft spot for beanbags – after all, she’d never actually been allowed to sit in one until three years ago. Maria settled in beside her, accepting the mug of hot chocolate that Laura handed her. She took a sip. Natasha smirked at the shocked look on her face.

“There’s rum in this,” Maria whispered so the children couldn’t hear.

“Laura’s famous hot chocolate,” Natasha smirked, sipping her own drink.

Maria had to admit that this was the most she’d allowed herself to relax in a long time. She rarely took vacation days, let alone sick days (because everyone knew that Maria Hill did not get sick). This was a nice reprieve. A chance to turn off her brain, even if it was just for twenty-four hours.

After the film, they headed off to their respective rooms. Natasha, apparently, had her own room. Maria couldn’t say she was surprised. Between the whole ‘Auntie Nat’ thing and how close she seemed to the family, it was clear she’d practically been adopted. That said, her having her own room left Maria alone in the spare room. Of course, it was a nice room, the Bartons were very hospitable. But if she was being honest with herself, she’d liked sharing a room with another person. She shook the thought from her mind and went about her nightly routine.

She hated admitting that it was harder to get to sleep tonight without the warmth of Natasha in the bed beside her.

Chapter Text

 The farm was one of the few places where Natasha could sleep comfortably without a lock on the door. It was in the middle of nowhere and, being an ex-SHIELD-safehouse, had a state-of-the-art security system. So she slept easy. At least, until she was woken up by a loud thud. She was on her feet instantly, quickly unlocking the safe that Laura had insisted on her storing her weapons in so they were away from the kids. She cursed how long it took her to input the code, but it was mere seconds before there was a weapon in her hands. She poked her head into the kids’ room first, but they were both sound asleep. She knew that in all likelihoods it wasn’t an intruder, but still, adrenaline had the hairs on the nape of her neck rising.  

“Maria?” she called out quietly, tapping on the door. No response. She knew how light of a sleeper Maria – or anyone in their line of work, really – was. “I’m coming in,” she warned as she nudged the door open.

Her blood turned cold when she saw that the bed was empty but unmade. Maria didn’t seem the sort to leave an unmade bed. But then she heard movement and stepped closer. Maria was on the floor on the other side of the bed, trying to untangle herself from a blanket as her breaths came in quick gasps. Her eyes were wild, her movements desperate and not at all calculated as she clawed at the blanket. Natasha put her weapon away, moving around the bed to help. 

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Maria forced out through gritted teeth. But her trembling hands and flighty eyes said otherwise.

Natasha knelt down beside her, pulling the blanket away. Maria shoved at her reflexively. Natasha fell back. She scooted away, raising her hands placatingly.

“Get out.”

“No.”

Piercing blue eyes looked up at her. Natasha could still see lingering fear in them as they darted between possible exits. “I don’t want you here.”

“Tough.”

“What do you want?” Maria demanded, her voice shaking slightly.

Slowly, Natasha shifted forwards to sit opposite Maria. “We’re at the farm,” she said. “We’re at Clint and Laura’s farm. We had Christmas here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Maria snapped, twisting and trying to push her away. Her breaths were coming in short gasps.

“Maria you need to breathe!” Natasha retorted harshly as Maria shoved her back again. She switched to Russian to say, “Fuck Hill. It’s me. I’m not the enemy.”

“Stop fucking crowding me then,” came the sharp reply. But the added concentration grounded her some.

“Where did you learn Russian?”

“Bobbi. She is teaching me.” The struggles ceased some as she thought through the proper grammar and pronunciation of the words.

“What has she taught you?” Natasha pushed.

“Fuck you Romanoff,” Maria scoffed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Why? Afraid of showing weakness?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“When I had a nightmare, you made me come back to your room and talk to you,” Natasha pointed out. “I fucking hated it but it helped. Just because you’re the commander doesn’t mean you have to pretend not to feel fear.”

Maria shoved her away. Natasha finally let her, shifting back a little. Her voice shook slightly as she snapped, “I’m not you, Romanoff. Get out.”

“What was the nightmare about?”

“Out.”

“Maria-“

“That was an order, Agent Romanoff.” Natasha recoiled slightly at the change in tone, throwing her mental walls back up and placing a mask over her expression. “Do not make me ask again.”

Had they been in the Red Room, Natasha would have backed off before she’d even entered the room. But they weren’t, so she refused to back off. “Look, I know-“

It shouldn’t have been as unexpected as it was when Maria shoved her. Natasha swore as her head cracked against the bed post. It was different this time. It wasn’t a fear reaction or a reflex. It was a thought-out act. It wasn’t the first time Maria had put hands on her – she’d punched her after that kiss, and before when she’d been panicking – but it had never been with intent. Natasha hated that she was a little shell-shocked for a second. She should have expected this. She should have. Maria Hill was a commander, and people don’t come into power through being nice. She shifted back to put more space between them.

Without another word, she got up and left.

By the time Maria entered the kitchen the next morning, the entire family, Natasha included, was up and moving around. The kids sat at the kitchen table as Clint cooked eggs, Laura fetched plates and Natasha poured the kids juice in a shockingly domestic way. Maria lingered at the doorway so as to not get in the way. Laura was the first to notice her.  

“Hey Maria, how’d you sleep?”

Maria glanced at Natasha, whose green eyes flickered away the second she’d been noticed staring. She looked back to Laura. “Well, thanks.”

Natasha went to grab the plates from Laura, only to knock over the juice carton. “Crap,” she hissed, catching it before it spilt any more.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maria move closer. She reflexively moved away. It happened before her brain could process that Maria was probably only trying to help clean up. She glanced up at blue eyes that were staring at her with some unidentifiable look. Honestly she hadn’t even moved away because she thought Maria would have a go at her for screwing up. It was just a reflex to give superiors space, and last night, Maria had acted like a superior. She’d made that boundary and Natasha was respecting it. God, respect. Bullshit. She couldn’t pinpoint when she’d started respecting Maria Hill as her superior. Likely when she’d started blurring the lines. Regardless, from the look in Maria’s eyes, she had clocked Natasha’s movement away from her.  

Maria was quick to shake the expression from her features and grab a cloth. Natasha made herself both useful and scarce by putting what remained of the juice back in the fridge before helping Clint.

Maria was quiet all through breakfast, but Natasha pretended not to notice.

It was mid-morning when Clint and Laura took the kids out to feed the horses and empty the chicken coop. Natasha had offered her help, but she’d been denied on the basis of being a guest. That left her and Maria sitting in half awkward half incredibly tense atmosphere in the living room. She tried to concentrate on reading her new Harry Potter book. That was, until Maria broke the careful silence they’d made.

“I was an ass to you last night.”

Natasha let out a slow breath as she looked up. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Natasha looked back down at her book, not replying.

“I was triggered and upset and I shouldn’t have shoved you and-“

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not!” she insisted, her voice raising. Natasha tensed, her eyes shooting up again. “Shit. Nat I’m sorry.”

“You gave me an order. I didn’t listen.” Natasha would be lying if she denied the edge of bitterness to her tone.

“We’re not in a work setting. I shouldn’t have pulled rank.”

Natasha only shrugged. Maria stood, moving to pace the length of the room.

“Nat, come on!”

“What?” Natasha snapped.

You need to yell at me!” Maria said, raising her voice. “Be pissed at me Natasha. I was shitty to you yesterday and you’re taking it like a fucking doormat. Since when did you do that?”

“What, you want me to fight with you?” Natasha dared, dog-earing her page and standing.

“Well I don’t want you to just shut up and take it. That’s not you. I want to know what you’re fucking thinking.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Natasha demanded. “I’m thinking that this won’t fucking work if you pull rank on me every time I don’t listen to you. I think that despite your ‘hard-ass’ reputation, you have a chronic inability to separate the personal from work. I think that you are going to use your standing as deputy director to fuck me over at some point just because you can. That’s what I’m thinking. Because I’ve never had a proper relationship. I have been used and fucked over and dumped when I’m no longer useful, and last night, that was you decided to back out because you couldn’t deal with me trying to help you. You don’t let anyone help you. You help others. That is what you do, and I fucking love that, but you never accept help from others. You force your help on me, but when I try to force it on you, you pull rank. I can’t be in a genuine relationship with someone like that, because that is not what a relationship is. That is what I am fucking thinking.” 

Maria let out a breath, collapsing onto the couch. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She glanced up at Natasha, who was standing stiffly and awaiting some form of retaliation. She sighed and patted the spot next to her. Hesitantly, Natasha moved to sit there. “I had a dream about my father. He always complained that I relied on him too much when I was young. So I learnt to cope without others. I don’t have friends at SHIELD. I never went out of my way to try and make friends, so I deal with that shit alone. Bobbi’s really the only one that knows all my shit. I just… wasn’t expecting you. And it’s not an excuse, I know. But I’m asking for another chance if you’d be willing to let me try again.”

“Try and do what?”

Maria gave a half-shrug. “Let you in? I don’t know. I haven’t had a relationship since the military, and that guy was a right ass and a walking sexual harassment complaint.” She chuckled a little, and a small smile showed on Natasha’s face. She sobered up again to say, “I am sorry.”

“I know you are,” Natasha mused. “Just don’t shove me again. I’ll listen next time. I just don’t know how to comfort people.”

Maria laughed. “God, we’re fucked up. You don’t know how to give comfort, I don’t know how to accept it. It’s the blind leading the fucking blind.”

Natasha grinned. Maria moved a hand to cup her jaw. Natasha leant into the touch. The kind touch. She could count the number of people that had given her kind touches and still have fingers left over. That said, she didn’t let many people touch her.

“Just fucking kiss me already,” Natasha smirked.

Maria complied, leaning forward to capture Natasha’s lips with her own. They only broke apart when they heard the back door open as Clint and co returned.

That evening, as Natasha was reading before going to bed, Maria slipped into her room. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Natasha didn’t need to hesitate before nodding and patting the empty space beside her.

“I thought you were asleep already,” Natasha said quietly. “It’s past midnight.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She laid down, and Natasha moved to rake her fingers through dark hair. “Can you read to me?”

Natasha raised a brow. “In Russian?”

“I want to hear your voice.” 

And really, how could Natasha say no to that?

It only took Maria a few minutes to fall asleep after that.

After returning to SHIELD, things seemed oddly normal as the weeks passed. The team got back into the swing of things with training and such. As far as her and Natasha’s relationship, they were keeping it casual. On occasion they’d have a moment alone together. Maria still didn’t quite know what to call it. Flirtation, maybe. It wasn’t all that much more than the odd teasing kiss or dirty joke. She did feel like there’d been some sort of a shift in Natasha. Like on the obstacle course when she allowed Maria to hold just a little bit more of her weight when she was pulling her up onto a ledge. Or how she’d sit with her back to a door if Maria was facing it. It was just a lot of little things that most people wouldn’t have noticed. Natasha was starting to trust her. Proper trust. Not obligatory trust because not trusting your team in the field is a death wish. Not just trusting her ability to do her job. But trust her.

“I see Agent Romanoff’s finally started settling in,” Fury said.

Maria nodded. It was their usual weekly meeting. She sat opposite him at his desk, pulling the odd mission report out from a file if it needed to be mentioned. It was mostly casual now, though it hadn’t been at first. Fury was a hard nut to crack, but then again, so was Natasha.

“She is. She’s getting better.” She couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face.

“As your superior, I do feel the need to remind you that fraternisation with subordinate agents requires a trip to human resources.” He raised a brow.

Maria faltered. “We’re not- she’s… sir-“

Fury raised a hand, an amused half-smile playing on his lips. “I know you, Maria.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know how you are with your friends, Maria,” he argued. “Talk to Romanoff, but I expect to see an HR form on my desk before the entirety of SHIELD knows about this.”

He nodded at her in dismissal. She made it halfway to the door before turning back around to ask, “How did you know?”

“You haven’t been this happy in a long time, Hill.”

Maria allowed a small smile onto her face. Fury was right. Shit.

Natasha looked up from the file when she heard a knock on her door.

“It’s open,” she called out.

Maria pushed the door open, entering. “Since when did you leave your door unlocked?”

“Since you became a regular visitor,” Natasha smirked. “I was about to make some dinner. Want to join me?”

“You cook?” Maria asked disbelievingly.

“It’s astonishingly hard to fuck up grilled cheese and tomato soup from a can,” Natasha shot back wryly.

“I think we can do better than that.”

“What, are you Gordon Ramsey’s lost daughter?” Natasha scoffed.

“Go out with me.”

Natasha faltered, looking up at Maria. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“I-“ Natasha held up a finger to indicate for Maria to wait. The brunette tried not to show her disappointment as Natasha darted into her bedroom. Moments later, she returned with a piece of paper and pen in hand. “I need permission to leave, remember?”

Maria let out a breath and chuckled. “I’m fairly certain this is a conflict of interest,” she mused as she signed. “Done. Let’s go.”

Natasha scoffed but acquiesced the near-demand. “Where are we going?” she asked as she followed Hill off the SHIELD campus.

“There’s this good Spanish restaurant twelve minutes away if we take a bus. That work for you?”

Natasha smirked. “So bossy. It works. I haven’t been able to bust out my Spanish in a while.”

Maria scoffed. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Fluently? Russian, English, Chinese, Italian, French, German, Vietnamese and Latin. Enough for basic conversation, Spanish and Hungarian.”

“How do you even speak Latin?”

Natasha scoffed. “You don’t. It’s a dead language. But it’s useful for learning European languages and working undercover in legal or medical sectors. It is also one of few languages I can read well. What about you?”

Maria clicked her tongue as she sat down on the seat at the bus stop. “I’m afraid high school Spanish class never did much to save me. But you know about me learning Russian.” Natasha chuckled. Maria glared at her. “Why is that funny?”

“It’s not. It’s just… it’s not an easy language to learn if English is your first language.”

“Bobbi’s been helping me.”

“Why?” Natasha pushed. “Why bother?”

“You were pissing me off.” Natasha raised a surprised brow. “With all your conversations right in front of me that I couldn’t understand and the name-calling. It pissed me off.”

Natasha laughed. “Only you, Maria Hill, would learn a difficult language out of spite.”

Maria shoved her playfully. “Not all of us were raised to speak ten languages.”

“Aw, ‘Ria. Are you jealous of my upbringing?” Natasha teased.

Maria groaned. “You very well know that is not what I meant.” She flagged down their bus.

Natasha did, but she liked the banter. She liked seeing Maria smile. She liked making her cheeks tint pink and the tension that she was so used to carrying seep away. She didn’t even know if Maria knew how she carried herself. All the time, she looked ready to spin around and start barking orders. Only recently had Natasha begun to seek out what would make her loosen her stance – so her shoulders weren’t always so square, her chin not so set, her eyes not so unyielding. Natasha liked the softer Maria that came out when they were alone.

“You’re staring Nat,” Maria mused as she sat on one of the seats.

Natasha blinked and looked away. They sat in a comfortable silence. Eventually, they got off, and Maria led Natasha down the road and into a nice-looking restaurant. Warm light lit the space. A divide split the restaurant from the bar, on the restauarant side, booths lined the wall, whilst square tables lined the divide. The chairs were red, the walls a deep orange with beige patterns accentuated by the yellow lights around the space. It felt almost vintage in its authenticity. It was like Natasha had stepped out of New York city and into some much calmer space.

They were shown to a booth in the back of the restaurant and given menus. Maria knew exactly what she wanted, so she didn’t need to look for long. She glanced up at Natasha to see the redhead examining the menu with a small crinkle between her eyebrows and that expression on her face that she always had when she was thinking hard about something.

“Nat? You good?”

Natasha glanced up, her expression clearing instantly. “Yeah, fine.” She looked back down at the menu. “I’ll get whatever you do.”

Maria raised a brow. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I can’t fucking read this,” Natasha forced out through gritted teeth. “Is it even fucking English?”

A small grin tilted Maria’s lips. “Half of it’s Spanish. Let me help.” Maria twisted the menu so she could read it as well. “That stuff is for the table to share, then there are salads, soups and mains.” She pointed it out as she went. Eventually, they ordered their food. Natasha did so in Spanish, much to the surprise and delight of the Latino taking their order.

“Show off,” Maria grumbled after he left.

“Okay, so I’ve already made a fool of myself with my limited English, so now it’s your turn. How much Russian do you know?”

Maria blinked in shock. “Oh… uh-“ Natasha raised an expectant brow. “Not much.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Come on. You can do better than that.”

“I have not been learning that long!”

Natasha smirked.

Maria knew she had to mention the whole HR thing to Natasha eventually, but maybe she could put it off a little longer.

Food came out and Maria supposed that waiting any longer would just mean she’d never get around to it.

“Fury knows,” she said, pushing her food around her plate as she waited for Natasha’s reaction.

“Fury knows a lot of things. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“He knows about us.”

Natasha looked up. “Oh.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Maria swore.

“Okay,” Natasha said evenly. “So what does he want us to do?”

“There’s a form we need to fill out for HR.”

“That’s all?”

Honestly, Maria hadn’t expected that to go down so easily. "We can push it off for a bit, but before everyone else knows, yeah."

After dinner they headed out into the cool night. The harsh cold of winter was coming to a close. They meandered through the streets. The moon was high above them, lighting their path in a silvery glow. It was a quiet night – at least where they were walking. More or less deserted save for the occasional passers-by. Natasha eased into the calmness of it all. She was almost disappointed when they stepped back into the SHIELD on-campus housing block.  Maria followed behind Natasha towards her room. Eventually, they reached her door. Natasha turned to face the brunette, leaning back against the door.

After a few moments, she said, “Thank you. This was nice.”

Maria smiled. “So is that a yes to a second date?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Sure. But our first date isn’t over yet.”

Maria raised a brow. “Oh?”

Natasha opened the door behind her, tugging Maria inside. She connected their lips as she kicked the door closed.

“I thought Fury finding out would put you off,” Maria breathed out as Natasha pulled back to help her out of her shirt.

“People were going to find out eventually,” Natasha said as she pressed kisses along Maria’s neck. Maria tilted her head back to allow her proper access.

“So does this mean you’re okay with people knowing?”

“What, you want to show off your prize?” Natasha smirked, her teeth grazing Maria’s pulse point in a way that made the woman bite back a moan. “Talk later,” she said, ending the conversation as she pushed Maria back onto the bed.

Natasha made quick work of Maria’s pants, doing what she did best and bringing Maria to the edge with skilled fingers. She relished in the way Maria gasped and writhed in her hands. She savoured how her back arched and her grip tightened around Natasha’s shoulders. Never before had Natasha actually enjoyed sex. It had always been too-rough hands and drunken lips crashing against her. Never before had it been so soft and open and vulnerable.

And when Maria went to return the favour, Natasha let her. She trusted her. She wanted to be vulnerable with her.

She loved Maria Hill.

Chapter Text

They didn’t get the chance to tell the team about their relationship themselves. Natasha had been curled up on armchair in Maria’s office catching up on paperwork late at night when Hunter and Bobbi returned from a mission.

Hunter took one look at Natasha and raised a brow. “How long have you two been a thing?”

Maria, for one, choked on her water, which made Bobbi smirk. Natasha hated the traitorous heat that rose to her cheeks and ears, tinting her face pink.

“How-“ Maria started.

“You two hated each others guts a couple weeks ago. No relationship ever develops this quickly unless there was some form of sexual tension. Come on, Hill. We’re spies. Don’t insult us.”

“So how long?” Bobbi pressed, glancing at Natasha.

Natasha only shrugged. “Like a month now?”

Hunter grinned, clapping his hands. Bobbi groaned, handing over a twenty. Both Maria and Natasha’s expressions morphed into frowns.

“You betted on us?” Maria demanded.

“Ever since the Hydra mission.”

Bobbi hummed in agreement. “I mean, come on. You shared a bed for multiple nights and refused to talk about it. You don’t refrain from telling us stuff unless it’s personal, and Romanoff… well, apparently that was personal.” She smirked, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

Maria scoffed and shook her head. “You two are incorrigible.”

Clint was the next person to find out, and he made a groaning Natasha sit through ‘the talk’ as if she hadn’t had sex a hundred times by now. After Clint, though, they couldn’t put off HR any longer. Though Natasha had never met Pam, she decided in the five minute interaction they had, that she liked her. The woman had simply raised a brow as she read over the page, glancing up at Maria, then at Natasha, then back again. ‘So the ice queen does have a heart’, the fifty-something woman had muttered wryly as she placed the paper in a tray.

Maria’s room slowly became Natasha’s as she left clothes there, then a toothbrush, then started taking to having her meals there too. It struck Natasha that neither she nor Maria would have given up such vast amounts of privacy before. Things had changed so bloody much. She could still remember the days when ‘I hate Hill’ were frequent words on her lips as she complained to Clint.

News spread around SHIELD like a forest fire after they started sharing a room. Surely someone at some point had seen them leave together in the morning or something - it was a building full of spies after all, observation skills was in the job description. Some of the guys were utterly shocked that Maria ‘Hard ass’ Hill wasn’t straight, others grinned as their friends paid up what they owed. One guy's reaction had ticked Maria off. Natasha didn't know him, but evidently he and Maria had some sort of past tension that was at its tipping point. He’d approached Natasha in a corridor and said something along the lines of ‘are you really that much of a slut that you sleep with the deputy to get her on your side?’. Maria had turned the corner just in time to hear him say that, and result was a hardy punch to the face followed by assigning him to clean the gyms for the next two weeks. She'd then proceeded to glare around the room at anyone who dared challenge her. Her eyes met those of none other than Grant Ward, and that prompted Maria to deal with the Ward issue that, admittedly, had taken a backseat in her mind. Later that evening, she got in contact with a young red-headed witch who she knew to be previously involved with Hydra as she gathered proof.

Natasha blinked her eyes as the bed underneath her shifted. She tiredly glanced over to Maria, who was getting out of bed. One thing, Natasha noticed, was that her nightmares lessened when she slept in Hill’s room. As such, it became commonplace.

“What time is it?” Natasha groaned.

“Five-thirty,” Maria replied, her voice full of humour. “Come on sleepy-head. Let’s go spar.”

“It’s my day off,” Natasha huffed.

Maria leant over to kiss her. “Please?”

Natasha sighed. “I hate you Hill.”

“Back at you Romanoff,” Maria chuckled as Natasha dragged herself out of bed. She began to wake up more as she followed Maria down to the gyms.

“You know,” Natasha mused as they stepped onto the mats. “The gyms are empty at this hour for a reason.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Quit complaining and attack me.”

Natasha scoffed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

When it came down to it, they both knew that Natasha could beat Maria in general context, but there wouldn’t have been any benefit to sparring if she just kept flooring Maria over and over. That said, Maria had gotten a lot better in the daily sparring sessions she’d forced Natasha to have with her.

Eventually, they ended up on the floor, Natasha one arm over Maria’s throat and the other pinning her hands to the floor over Maria’s head. They were both panting and sweating, but god did Maria look hot in a tank top and bike shorts.

“Give up?” she challenged with a smirk.

“When I have you right where I want you? No way,” Maria replied wryly, well aware that she would’ve been dead five seconds ago in a real fight. “Kiss me.”

It was direct, but in the empty gym, Natasha couldn’t care less. She moved her hands to cup Maria’s jaw and kiss her deeply. Suddenly, Hill bridged and flipped them over. Natasha blinked at how quickly she found herself with Maria’s hands pinning her wrists to the mat on either side of her head. Maria sported a proud grin.

“You are a dirty, dirty fighter Maria Hill,” Natasha chuckled, realising that Maria had played her like a fucking fiddle.

“You love that about me.”

Natasha laughed and tapped out. “Cheater.”

Maria grinned, settling her weight over Natasha’s hips before leaning down to kiss her. “I’m not sorry.”

“What would your precious recruits think of their commander making out with her girlfriend on the gym mats?” Natasha dared.

Maria chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. I still terrify them.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” someone said wryly.

Natasha jumped at the voice, sitting up quickly and making Maria lose her balance. Natasha got to her feet, glaring at none other than Grant Ward.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you Romanoff, I didn’t think you’d have the balls to go after Hill to get your protection.”

Natasha scoffed. “I don’t need her to protect me from the likes of you. What do you want?”

“Well I was going to train before leaving for a Hydra op,” his eyes glinted. Natasha knew all too well that he thought it was an inside joke (amusing for him, at least). He was brilliantly unaware that Maria knew exactly what kind of traitor he was.

She shot a glance at Maria. A Hydra op would not only present him with an opportunity to fuck up the objective, but also relay information back to his handlers in detail, putting lives at risk. But Maria didn’t meet her gaze, instead regarding Ward coolly as he said,

“Now I think I’ll head straight there.” He was playing with them. Natasha itched to say something to stop him from going. But she couldn’t without letting him know that Maria knew. But there was something else holding her back. The way that Maria was smiling politely and nodding. Maria never smiled politely and nodded. At anyone. Let alone people she hated.

“We’ll see you when you get back, Agent Ward.”

Ward nodded his head, shooting one last smirk at Natasha before leaving. The moment Natasha was sure she was out of earshot, she said,

“Maria, we can’t-“

Maria only chuckled. Natasha frowned. “Nat, he’s not going to a Hydra op.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“I got in contact with that kid you met on our Hydra assignment. Her and a few others ID’d Ward as Hydra in a time before he joined SHIELD. I spoke to Fury about it, and he deemed it sufficient evidence for an arrest. Ward’s not headed to Germany, he’s headed to a cell in the middle of nowhere.”

“You- didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to be sure it was going to work.”

Natasha scoffed. “You, Maria Hill, are fucking brilliant.”

Maria grinned as Natasha kissed her.

It was just after breakfast when a gangly recruit was all legs approached Natasha and Maria, ringing his hands nervously.

Natasha had to consciously stop herself from laughing as Maria said, “What do you want boot?”

The recruit smiled uneasily. “There’s someone waiting for you in the lobby ma’am.”

“Who?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Maria let out an irritated sigh. “Do you know what they wanted?”

“No.”

She waved a dismissive hand, and the recruit looked relieved to be allowed to leave. “Want to come with and see what this is all about?”

Natasha gave a shrug. “Maybe you’ve won the lottery.”

Maria snorted. When they reached the lobby, Natasha could immediately pinpoint who it was that was waiting for Maria. A man dressed in a military uniform. Maria halted beside her as she too recognised her eldest brother. Natasha ran a hand up and down Maria’s spine in silent comfort. The brunette leant into the contact for a moment before a resolute look took over her expression and she stepped forwards.

“Well this is a surprise.”

Max turned to Maria. “Hey Mia.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

Max pressed his lips together. “To apologise.”

Maria let out a breath. “Come on.”

She led Max to her office. Natasha followed closely. Maria shut the door when they’d all entered. “Feel free to have a seat.”

Natasha settled in the armchair in the corner of the office, allowing the siblings to take the seats at the desk.

“Continue.”

Max glanced at Natasha. “I think this is more of a family matter.”

Natasha raised a brow, but she didn’t have to worry about a response when Maria simply said, “She stays.”

Max sat back in his chair, looking between them. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “I wanted to talk about the other week. None of us meant for shit to hit the fan. I didn’t think dad would go there, and I think if we tried again-“

“Go there?” Maria parroted, interrupting him.

“I didn’t think he’d hit you Maria,” he said firmly. “I think if you came over some other time, we could-“

“Just because you want to mend our broken little family Max, it doesn’t mean I do.”

“Well you should!” Max yelled, raising his voice. Natasha sat up a little, ready to get defensive, but Maria glanced at her and shook her head minutely. “You never got to see the good part of him. He was a good dad, Maria. He’d practice basketball with me in the backyard and take me to practice and all that. He was a good dad before- before…”

“Me,” Maria finished.

“Before mum died,” he corrected.

“You realised he blamed me right?” Maria demanded. “He always blamed me for her dying.”

“You know that’s not right, Mia, but before she died he was- he was good.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“It would be easy for you too if you gave him a chance to show you who he is.”

“No, Max. It wouldn’t be. Because I never got that positive relationship you had with him. All he’s ever done is abuse me and I won’t just forget that. I have made myself here. This is my life now. This is my family.”

“They’re not your family. They don't share our blood.”

Natasha flinched a little at that, despite his back being to her, and despite the words being directed at Maria. She knew that Maria had caught the movement when she glanced over. She knew enough about Natasha’s own fucked up ‘family’ to know how much that simple statement meant.

“This is nothing to do with blood. My ‘blood’ has accused me of being dishonest when I just wanted to get out of a bad- no, a dangerous situation. Because that’s what it was to me, Max. He never hit you, but he hit me, and there were times I was genuinely afraid for my life.”

Max faltered. “What, you’re saying he’s hit you before Christmas?”

Natasha watched Maria closely, watched that crinkle form between her eyebrows and her shoulders tense. She didn’t miss how she shifted to hold her hands under the desk, out of view. Natasha was sure that there’d be crescent-shaped marks in her palms from clenching her fists when Max left.

“You left before it got physical. When you left, he was only bad when he was drunk. After you left, he didn’t need the alcohol to pound on my bedroom door and yell threats up the stairs. And sure, he’d grab Jake and I hard enough to bruise, but he rarely hit us then. But then Jake left and he could be stone-cold sober and find a reason to choke me hard enough that I couldn’t go to school for a few days until the bruises healed. And I would hear him call you and tell you about how I was turning into a trouble child, so really, I don’t blame you for not showing up when I was charged for assault.

“You want to know what happened that night? He'd gotten a call from the school about me failing a class and he’d grabbed me by the hair, dragged me over to the fire and threatened to shove me into it. But then he said that ‘that’ll cause a ruckus’, so instead, he threw me to the floor and kicked me in the ribs so hard that I couldn’t walk without pain for weeks. So yeah, I got up and grabbed the nearest item and hit him. At the time, I’d thought ‘it’s just a bruised rib, I’m fine’. When I had my SHIELD medical exam, x-rays showed me that I’d broken my rib.

“And you never showed up for my trial.”

Natasha had never seen Maria so detached from her emotions. But here she was, recounting the worst parts of her life with a cold expression and a tense posture. Natasha would dare say she almost looked like a widow.

“I didn’t realise,” Max said quietly. “Maria, I’m so sorry.”

Maria only blinked, shaking her head with a sigh. “Look, I get that you thought that you understood, but I can’t go back there again. I can’t- Max I can’t do that again.”

“I just-“ Max let out a breath. “Shit. You didn’t say anything.”

“I tried calling you from Juvie.”

“But you went radio silent the second you got out, and even after joining. I saw you at one of the bases but you refused to acknowledge me.”

“Because you not believing me put me in juvie for six months, and in an abusive home for another few months before I could enlist. I was trying to make a new name for myself. You need to understand that.”

Max nodded slowly. “Do you still want us to be around? Mia, I want my little sister back, and Jake does too. Jordan misses you as well.”

“Yes, but I can’t have dad back in my life. Do you get that?”

“Yes. Yeah, I do.”

Maria glanced over at Natasha, who met her gaze. Natasha understood the silent message instantly and got up, slipping out of the room. Natasha would let them fight it out all they wanted. 

Natasha found Maria in her office late that night. It wasn’t uncommon that she’d catch up on paperwork at this hour, so Natasha had been less than surprised to find her in an armchair in front of a coffee table covered in work.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted quietly as she shut the door behind her.

“Hi.”

“How’d it all go?”

Maria glanced up. “Max is moving up here, to Brooklyn. He’s bringing his expecting wife, who I have yet to meet.”

Natasha smiled a little. “You’re going to be an aunt.”

Maria grinned. “Yeah.”

Natasha lowered herself onto Maria’s lap, resting her head against her shoulder. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed my family.”

“And Jake?”

“He’s going on deployment next month, but Max said he’d drag him to SHIELD when he comes back.”

“You did well,” Natasha said quietly. “Drawing the line about your father.”

“Visiting him reminded me of all the reasons why I left. It was helpful, I think.”

They trailed off into silence. Maria fiddled with Natasha’s hair before moving to absent-mindedly trace patterns on her back.

“I’ve got to know,” Natasha said after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your little trick with Ward?”

Maria wrapped her arms around the redhead, pulling her to lean against her. “Because if I’d gotten you involved, you would’ve stressed yourself over it, and it was an easy fix thanks to the eyewitnesses we had in those kids. The witch – Wanda – seemed very keen to help you out.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said softly, tucking her head under Maria’s chin.

“I would do anything for you, Nat.”

Natasha sat up a little so she could look at Maria properly. “I would fight the world to keep you safe. You are mine, Maria Hill.”

“And you are mine, Natasha Romanoff.”

And the words created a warmth that filled a hole in Natasha's heart that she hadn't known she'd had. This was love. This was what love was meant to be. Unconditional, incomprehensible, so complicated and deep that she didn't know whether she could put it into words. But that was okay, because she didn't have to, because Maria knew. They were both their particular shades of fucked up and that meant that Maria knew without her having to say it. Maria knew that this was love. Maria knew that when Natasha kissed her then, she was pouring all of her emotions into showing Maria how much she meant to her. And it was terrifying. It was like a little piece of her heart had jumped out of her body and was walking around this dangerous world unprotected, and that was fucking scary. But as she cupped Maria's jaw and kissed her deeply, she felt like nothing could touch them. She loved Maria Hill, and she would kill anyone who tried to take her away. And despite Maria generally being the one to take the moral high ground, Natasha was sure that Maria felt the same. 

So she did something that left her feeling bare and exhilarated all at the same time. Something that left her buzzing with this electricity that shot through her whenever Maria looked at her with those beautiful eyes, or spoke to her in that soft tone reserved just for her, or touched her with gentle hands and gentler intentions.

She did something that she never thought she could do again. She did something that she thought the Red Room had beaten out of her. She did something that was crazy, and scary, and vulnerable, and oh, so worth it.

She loved.

Chapter Text

The first time Maria had told her she loved her had been when she was making scrambled eggs. Maria had slipped up behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist and murmured ‘I love you.’ Natasha still wasn’t sure whether she had been referring to the fact that she loved Natasha for making eggs, or loved her full stop, but after that the words had become more frequent. For the first week, those three simple words had had Natasha freezing up. Love was dangerous. Love created weakness. Love was the death of duty. But Maria Hill was not dangerous. Maria Hill was not weak. And Maria Hill had such a strong sense of duty that she’d spent her life fighting for what she believed in. The Red Room had lied to her. So she learnt to crave the words that fell from Maria’s lips.

The first time Natasha said it back, she’d thought Maria was asleep (she wasn’t). The first time, she’d been lying in bed with her arms wrapped around Maria’s body, holding her close. And so carefully and so quietly she’d whispered those three words, as if she was afraid that the moment she admitted it, Maria would be torn away from her. She never saw Maria’s eyes flicker open as she registered the words. Maria never admitted to hearing them. The first time she’d said it properly was after a bad mission. Natasha had come back with cuts and bruises all over her face. Maria had sat her on the couch and tended to her wounds with a care that no one had ever wasted time in giving her before. And as Maria patched up the gash on her forehead, Natasha found herself saying, I love you, Maria Hill.

Maria would never confess that she’d been waiting to hear those words to her face – she’d never admit that she was just a little disappointed every time she admitted her love and got nothing in return. She never said anything because she knew just how hard it was for someone who’d learnt that love was a death sentence. She’d never even expected to hear the words from Natasha. When she did, she tilted Natasha’s face up and kissed her so softly, so lovingly, that Natasha had damn near died and gone to heaven.

Of course, moments later she’d gone back to berating Natasha for being so stupid on the mission that had nearly killed her. They still had their moments. That would never end – at least, Natasha hoped they never would. It took a while for Natasha to learn that Maria wouldn’t revoke her love as a punishment. That even after the Deputy Director yelled at Agent Romanoff for fifteen minutes straight, she’d go home and Maria Hill would be waiting with soft words and gentle hands. The distinction was maintained. In SHIELD, they were agents. At home, they were in love.

When Natasha screwed up spectacularly on a mission several months later, she was called into Hill’s office. Technically Maria had to get approval before applying disciplinary action as a part of the contract they’d signed about workplace relations. That didn’t mean that Hill couldn’t summon Natasha to her office to berate her. Natasha had shown up knowing what to expect, but she hadn’t seen Maria for weeks, so even though Commander Hill was pissed, all Natasha could see were those ocean blue eyes and the person she’d come to love.

She crossed every line they’d ever made when she cut Maria off with a kiss.

“I hate you Maria Hill,” she laughed. “Will you marry me?”

And Maria had been too stunned to reply immediately, and Natasha had pulled back uncertainly, thinking she’d done something wrong. But then Maria had placed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

“Yes,” she murmured.