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Identity is a fickle business in their work. Names get passed down and repeated and changed. Natasha has at least ten passports all with a different name, with different lives. She used to know each as well as she knew herself or maybe she was only one more name on a passport.
Maybe Natasha is no different the Claire or Lana or Magdalena. Maybe Natasha is no one. A made up identity.
She stops in front of a dance studio. She tells herself it's an accident. Sharon's apartment, one of Natasha's favorite places in the city, is only a few blocks away. She was getting groceries and this was the best path to get back there. She didn't know about this place, barely more then a hole in the wall.
The memories of rising up en pointe, of the leotard stretching with her, the simple grace of moving over the stage. It all feels real, things she truly lived. But right now in front of dance studios in Queens, she wonders. It's not the middle of he night her fears come up, rising like monsters. She knows the dark and the shadows, she belongs among them now. But the bright sunlight, the slowly warming spring. Watching little girls laugh and smile without fear of a beating or betrayal.
She doesn't fear the monsters. She has killed worse. It is the bright light shining into shadows that sends a shiver down her spine. Lines are too sharp, like the world has turned into a knife ready to drive into her mind. She has had enough of other fingers in her head, and she will protect what is hers with everything she has.
A flash of blond makes her turn her head and she chides herself for being paranoid. Yelena is a little girl but she's determined and she's proud. She has Natasha jumping at edges even with the threat ostensibly gone. Yelena is in Morocco, Natasha knows that for a fact but when someone comes after a name it is a hard fear to shake.
It is a name that's barely her own. Given to her by long dead masters who thought to use it to manipulate her. A spider caught in someone else's web. Except she'd made it her own, stopped playing by their rules and came up with new ones.
That was what Yelena was trying to steal. This new little spider who didn't yet see who pulled her strings. She was young and angry. She wanted a name with truly understanding its power and if she ever succeeded, Natasha would pay the price.
The Black Widow who let her identity be stolen? She wasn't worth very much was she. Natasha had tried to teach Yelena, tried to calm her down. It hadn't truly sunk in, the girl would have to be dragged all the way and scrapped raw. She wanted this too much and that kept her naive.
And so Natasha jumped at nothing, feeling nauseous. Maybe it was the dance studio, or maybe she simply hasn't slept well. This day was all wrong.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she expects it to be a call to arms, or bad news. People rarely call her for any other reason. But Sharon's number is on the screen. Natasha doesn't have names in her phone, it seemed too dangerous to connect phone numbers with names with the people she knew.
"Hello?"
"How long does it take to get beer and steak?"
Natasha smiles and gives the dance studio one last look before continuing down the street. "I'm on my way."
"Good. I'm bored here, all alone."
"Don't worry. Soon."
Natasha wonders if this is really something to put her faith in. Sharon and her. Chances like this are not something daughters of the Red Room get. She doesn't need to read Yelena's file to know she's never had the chance, not when she's so devoted to the spy game. The Black Widow has no time for romance. Blood stains do not come out easy and there is no room for love in a spider's heart.
Perhaps she doesn't deserve the title anymore. She's outside of Sharon's building and looks up to Sharon's windows, top floor, easy access to the roof. Easy to make an escape if the building is compromised.
One of the neighbors comes out with their dog, nods at Natasha in passing and then disappears down the street.
Alone in a crowd. It's a feeling Natasha is used to. She makes her way upstairs, wishing she could dismiss this mood. Sharon deserves better from her. But Sharon just smiles and kisses her and draws her into the kitchen. There's music playing, something jazzy that must have been a gift from Steve.
Sharon hums along as she gets out the steak and starts preparing it, swaying her hips leisurely. Normally, Natasha would join her, but doesn't feel in the mood for dancing.
"My mother used to tell me, stop frowning or else your face will get stuck like that," Sharon says, glancing up with a warm smile.
"I'm sorry, I-"
Sharon shakes her head. "You have a beautiful frown so I don't really care."
"I…" Natasha shrugs. Not sure she can even figure out how to explain her thoughts. It was never a strong suit.
"You are with me in my apartment and we're going to have a nice dinner and no one is going to interrupt."
"You really think we'll manage to have a quiet night in?"
"We are going to have a good night, and our phones will be off." She digs Natasha's out of her pocket before she can protests and turns it off. "You need the night off," Sharon says softly. She covers Natasha's hand with hers, squeezing softly. "You need to be Natasha."
"As opposed to whom?"
"Who do you think?" Sharon kisses her cheek and her lips linger after the kiss ends. She's warm and inviting and Natasha is more then willing to accept. Her hand slips into Sharon's back pocket. "There's only us here Natasha, no need for the Black Widow."
Natasha doesn't tell her it's not that easy, it's not a costume to hang up. She is not the volunteer. That is not her role. It can never be that way.
"I can't promise anything."
"Don't want you to. Be worried if you did."
Natasha lets out a breath, not even aware she'd been holding it so long her lungs ache. She feels so old but Sharon's arms don't let go. And Natasha can breathe again because she is not alone. The music still plays in the background and with a kiss, she draws Sharon into an easy sway. There is a rustle of jeans against jeans and hands over cotton. "Dinner," she murmurs, reminding Sharon before they go to far.
Sharon's eyes dance as she turns off the oven. "It'll keep." She flicks open Natasha's pants. "You're more important. Let me. If it makes you feel better, you can return the favor later." She waits, not quite touching Natasha until she's given permission.
Natasha picks up her phone and throws it towards the couch, out of sight, out of mind. There's only the two of them tonight. The room is full of shadow, and Natasha knows them all intimately. She catches Sharon's hand and brushes her lips over her wrist. "How about I return the favor now?"
They don't bother moving and the edge of the counter digs into Natasha's back, but it doesn't matter. She knows this dance better then any other, and she gives it to Sharon freely. There is no need for names or titles in this and Sharon's lips swallow her moans. There is nothing but two bodies in the shadows.