Pairing: Military! Yelena Belova x Fem! Nurse! Reader
Summary: After returning from deployment, Yelena’s closest friend, Kate convinces her to join her on vacation in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where she finally talks to somebody she’s seen a few times before.
➥ Angst & Fluff
Warnings: Mentions of War | Mentions of Drinking | PTSD
AC: Yes, I am biased towards Rio, let me have this one!! & This is lightly inspired by the song, Come Close by Omah Lay. *This is a requested repost!*
The loud sound of samba music filled the city of Rio de Janeiro as the public came together as one to celebrate the popular and colourful event of carnival. Kate Bishop, Yelena's best friend dragged the blonde on vacation in hopes it would cheer up the soldier after a rough few months away from deployment.
"Are you sure you're not coming?" Kate asked with an almost disappointed pout. Her friend looked up from her phone and nodded, "yeah, I don't think the large crowd will be good for me. I'm just going to take a walk along the beach and grab a drink at a bar, but you have fun" Yelena smiled, seeing the disappointment in Kate's eyes.
"Carnival is one of the biggest events here, you can't miss it!" Kate tried to convince the young blonde, "there will be plenty of things to keep you distracted! Music, dancing, the parade, drinks!" she added. Yelena chuckled kindly at the gesture of her friend's enthusiasm about the popular carnival, "I'm sure, besides, I just got rid of a headache so I think some fresh, ocean air will do me some good" Yelena assured the brunette, "but I will walk with you to the taxi" Yelena added as she stood from the hotel room sofa.
"I'll wait for you" Kate smiled in reply.
----
Yelena walked Kate to her taxi before making her way to the famous, Copacabana beach. The night was lit up by streetlights along with passing cars, restaurants and cafes that were open till late for the week. The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline brought a calmness to Yelena as she wandered along the path, admiring the sights of Rio as she passed by many carnival goers.
Colorful lights could be seen from a distance as the famous carnival made its presence known with the loud music washing through the city. A smile tugged at Yelena's lips when she realized how free the people of Rio were during this time, how happy and excited everybody was made her appreciate her time here just a little more. After a while, Yelena stopped at and made herself comfortable at one of the beach bars.
"What can I get you?" you asked the blonde with a soft, welcoming smile. Yelena's eyes slightly shot open at the sight of you, she smiled lightly and replied, "two shots of vodka, please".
"You know, you're the only person I've seen tonight that isn't dressed up for carnival" you spoke as you poured two shot glasses of vodka. Yelena chuckled, "Yeah, I don't think it's really my scene right now" she replied with a pause, "I just got back from deployment" she added after a few short moments of silence before downing her first shot.
"Well, in that case, here, it's on the house" you smiled softly and poured her a third shot and slid it over to her. The blonde looked familiar to you but you couldn't quite put your finger on it, her beautiful green eyes were filled with worry and sadness, a look you'd seen one too many times before. Yelena downed her second shot before letting out a light sigh when some of the street goers let off illegal fireworks.
Gently, you placed a hand over the hand Yelena had resting on the bar, "it's okay" you spoke softly as your thumb stroked over her soft skin. She looked up at you and nodded ever so lightly as she tried to drain out the few moments of loud banging. Once the fireworks were over, you looked up at the time. You only had 5 minutes left of your shift before somebody would come and take over your spot.
"Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter?" you asked the young soldier.
Yelena downed the third shot and shook her head, "it's okay, I'll be okay but thank you. You're working and I don't want to bother you" she replied.
"I wouldn't offer if I thought you would bother me" you smiled softly. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before you spoke once more, "I'm a nurse for the military".
The information made Yelena tilt her head slightly, "that's where I have seen you" she spoke, "you saved of my buddies life" she added. Suddenly the memory of when you first laid eyes on her came back to you. "Yelena, right?" you smiled softly, she nodded, "I never caught your name that day" she replied.
"Y/n, you were distressed which is very understandable! How is Oksana?"
"She's great, she got married and has adopted a baby girl. She lives out on a farm now"
A smile formed on your lips at the news of one of the many soldiers you'd saved, "I'm really glad to hear that. Most times, we just patch you all up and maybe we'll see you again and other times we never hear about you again, so, it's really nice to know she's doing well" you explained.
Right on time, your co-worker entered the small street bar and gave you a pat on the back to give the good to go. You took off your apron and hung it up behind the door before you turned to look at Yelena again. Her eyes widened as she took in your figure, under your apron you wore a very colorful outfit for the special occasion. A long skirt that had 4 main colors along with a very tropical print. Orange, yellow, pink and green that was covered with a floral design. Your top was orange and matched the skirts floral design.
"So, what's your plans for the evening?" you asked Yelena, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"I was just going to have a couple more drinks and head back to my hotel room and wait for my friend to come back" she replied with honesty. You shook your head, "come on, you're in Rio! The party city, come on, you're with me tonight" you smiled before walking out from behind the bar. Yelena saw she didn't have much choice and stood up from her stool, although she was very interested in where you'd be taking her.
----
You took Yelena to a place that had an amazing view of the city, away from the crowds and far enough for the loud music and sounds of carnival to be faded to a distance but the gentle samba music of street festivals traveled up the hill to remind you both that you weren't alone. "So, if you're a nurse, why do you bar tend?" Yelena asked, breaking the shortly lived silence between the two of you.
"It's something different, I've travelled to many different places to just be a bartender, I love meeting all types of people and hearing their stories. You'd be surprised what you get told as a bartender" you chuckled, "After the things we see, it's hard to find something that takes your mind off it" you added.
"You find that bartending takes your mind off it all?" Yelena questioned.
"Yeah, I mean, with times like this, carnival, everybody is happy and excited. It's refreshing to come home from where we go to a place like this. You're not thinking about what you saw or heard, you're in the moment here. I'm a bartender here, at home, I am nurse of war." You explained. Another moment of silence was shared, it wasn't awkward but more comforting.
"You're right, it is nice here. Maybe I have been a little closed off to the idea of letting myself have fun" Yelena spoke, her eyes dropping to her feet. "Start now" you stood from the bench with your hand reaching for Yelena to take. She looked up at you, her eyes traveling from your feet to your eyes, taking in the beauty that stood before her but with regret, she shook her head.
"Why not?" you asked.
"I don't want to hurt you" Yelena admitted, "everything beautiful I see somehow turns to darkness" she adds. You kneeled down in front of her, looking into her eyes, "you're living inside of your head" you replied, "try living in the moment. Look around you, there's no danger, you can't hurt me" you add.
Yelena took a moment to let your words process as she looked at her surroundings, she'd been so closed off that she began to believe what she saw when away was something that would follow her even when she was in the comfort of her own home. You could see she was thinking, thinking too much at that. Gently, you brushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, "trust me, it's okay" you spoke softly, breaking her train of thought before you carefully took her hands into yours and pulled her up from the bench.
She smiled so softly that if you blinked, you would've missed it. You guided her hands to your hips when you heard the street festival music getting slightly louder. Yelena looked into your eyes, "just go with it" you whispered before you led her into dance. Moving your body along with hers, you soon felt her relax and move more freely with you and eventually, she smiled. Her eyes sparkled with the streetlights as she pulled you closer to her, she felt confidence and for the first time tonight, you saw she had no worries in the world.
The two of you simply just danced as the street parade passed by and faded into a distant sound when Yelena stopped her movements and lost herself in your eyes. "Thank you" she spoke, breaking the silence between you both.
could you maybe write something with natasha and reader who sees the scars on her back for the first time?
SHARED SECRETS (- N. R. x R.)
— Drabble (- 694 words).
In the confined space of the safe house, there was nowhere to hide. It was only a room, barely large enough to hold a bed, and a small table accompanied by two chairs.
The place was far more austere than what you were used to, back at the tower, but you had no doubt that it was still far more comfortable than resting six feet under, in a wooden coffin.
But the worst was not the lack of comfort.
You could put up with the hardness of the mattress, so thin that you could feel the wood beneath it digging on your back, or the cool draft that carried a few snowflacks in through the poorly closed windows, but what your mind could not ignore was her.
Her presence, right there, just a few steps away from you, for the hours — perhaps days, because Thor knows when the Avengers will rescue you — to come.
During your training, you had learned how to survive. You could spendd days in the Russian forest in the middle of winter, escape from the most guarded prison, withstand torture,.. and a whole host of other lesson that had been carved into your soul through violence.
But how to share a cabin with a Black Widow? No, you are pretty that had never been in the manuals.
You were sitting there, uncomfortable — and not because of the pain caused by the hard mattress — wondering why you had not ended up with just about anyone else. Tony or Sam, for example. You would have even settled for the old man, Steve, and his annoying habit of always correcting you language — asshole.
You had not joined the team very long ago, but you had learned to get navigate among them pretty easily. Natasha, on the other hand? That was a complete different story.
It was impossible for you to guess the thoughts that were hiding behind that sharp gaze, the woman giving you so little that you did not even know if she felt anything like a shred of sympathy toward you — but she must, right? She woud not have taken that hit for you if that had not been the case, right?
Yet, she had not siad a word since the mission had gone sideways, and while you were desperately trying to figure out what the spy might be feeling, she did not even seem to notice your presence, taking off her t-shirt without hesitation.
You would have liked to say that you had looked away, out of respect for a sense of modesty to which herself seemed to attach little importance — that is surely what happens when you grow up in a place here nothing is your own, not even your body — but that was not the case, your eyes immediately catching what your mind took a few more seconds to process.
Her back.
It was covered with marks.
Some of the wounds were fresh, similars to yours, they were from the fights that had taken place earlier, but most were older, and since time does not heal all wounds, they had left scars behind. Those indelible marks were the only traces of the hardships of her past, and you recognized them too — because you spent every day nature made to hide the same ones.
As for Natasha, she had almost forgotten them. The years had carried the pain with them — most of it, at least — and it was not until she turned around, and her eyes met yours, that she remembered.
In your eyes, there was no pity, nor even sadness, but something that felt far worse to Natasha, something that confirmed what she had suspected ever since she first saw you, but had always refused to admit to herself; recognition.
The kind of feeling that could only come from someone who bore the same scars, left by a life of suffering, someone a bit too close to the little girl she tried to buried under a hero's mask. And maybe that is why she never felt the courage to really look at you, too scared to face the reflection of the one she used to be.
| MAIN MASTERLIST - MORE SHORT STORIES - LATEST WORK
THE THINGS WE DON'T SAY (- Y. B. x R.)
— Drabble (- 616 words).
You learned a long time ago that no lie escaped the spy's sharp attention, but that never stopped you from trying.
It was small lies that came with came with some pleasures of life that your girlfriend's skills always snatched right off your hands.
"It is really not fair," you whine everytime she catches one of your surprises too early. "Not my fault you suck, malysh," she replies with that insufferable grin plastered to her lips.
The woman usually found your antics to be adorable.
Usually.
Because, lately, the way you were desperatly trying to keep your secrets from her has been worrying. Yelena had not been able to unveil the truth yet, but she alreay knew it was different, heavier.
There was no chuckle, a sign that a joke was about to come her way, no frown, sign of surprise that you wanted to be perfect, and not even an endless stream of words, sign that some news she wouldn't like were waiting for her.
No, lately, there has been nothing.
You have been keeping your words for yourself, as if they cost a price you could not pay, and your smiles were dull, as if every one of them was thoughtfully crafted, existing only to please.
An unfamiliar distance, that Yelena did not know how to cross, had settled between the two of you, making the atmosphere so thick that she had even fled the apartment the night before.
She thought you needed space, but every day that went by only served to widen the gap, and it is Natasha, eventually, who suggested that, maybe, time was not the thing you needed at that moment.
"You know how stubborn she is, there is no way she will ask for help," the redhead had said, and both had rolled their eyes. Her, because she thought it was stupid, how stubborn you could be sometimes. Yelena, because she hated to admit her sister could be right.
When you eventually came back home, she was already waiting for you in the kitchen. It was been hours spent sitting in the uncomfortable chair, trying to find the right words, those who were firm enough so you could not avoid the conversation but kind enough so you would not feel trap.
When you finally came back, it was late, and only the glow of the streelights lit up your shared apartment.
She has been waiting for a long time, spending hours sitting on the uncomfortable stools of the kitchen — the ones you swore to get rid off but never took the time to change — trying to find the right words.
They needed to be firm enough, so you could not dodge her questions, but kind enough so you would not feel trapped. She thought them carefully, repeating the sentences in her head for hours.
And yet.
Yet, the moment you entered the room, they died on her tongue, because, for the first time in the past few days, she saw the serioussness of the situation.
You knew, the moment your gaze crossed hers, that you could not hide your secret anymore, the bruise that colored your cheek too visible to be covered up by a few dismissive words.
"Not now, 'lena, I am tired," you said, cutting her before the question that was burning her lips could fall past them, fleeing away before she could reach out.
Suddenly you were not hiding the pain your voice anymore, each of your words reflecting the weight you had been carrying for who knows how long, and Yelena felt frozen, unable to speak, as if she knew that no word, no gesture, would be enough to heal your wounds.
THE THINGS WE DON'T SAY (- Y. B. x R.)
— Drabble (- 616 words).
You learned a long time ago that no lie escaped the spy's sharp attention, but that never stopped you from trying.
It was small lies that came with came with some pleasures of life that your girlfriend's skills always snatched right off your hands.
"It is really not fair," you whine everytime she catches one of your surprises too early. "Not my fault you suck, malysh," she replies with that insufferable grin plastered to her lips.
The woman usually found your antics to be adorable.
Usually.
Because, lately, the way you were desperatly trying to keep your secrets from her has been worrying. Yelena had not been able to unveil the truth yet, but she alreay knew it was different, heavier.
There was no chuckle, a sign that a joke was about to come her way, no frown, sign of surprise that you wanted to be perfect, and not even an endless stream of words, sign that some news she wouldn't like were waiting for her.
No, lately, there has been nothing.
You have been keeping your words for yourself, as if they cost a price you could not pay, and your smiles were dull, as if every one of them was thoughtfully crafted, existing only to please.
An unfamiliar distance, that Yelena did not know how to cross, had settled between the two of you, making the atmosphere so thick that she had even fled the apartment the night before.
She thought you needed space, but every day that went by only served to widen the gap, and it is Natasha, eventually, who suggested that, maybe, time was not the thing you needed at that moment.
"You know how stubborn she is, there is no way she will ask for help," the redhead had said, and both had rolled their eyes. Her, because she thought it was stupid, how stubborn you could be sometimes. Yelena, because she hated to admit her sister could be right.
When you eventually came back home, she was already waiting for you in the kitchen. It was been hours spent sitting in the uncomfortable chair, trying to find the right words, those who were firm enough so you could not avoid the conversation but kind enough so you would not feel trap.
When you finally came back, it was late, and only the glow of the streelights lit up your shared apartment.
She has been waiting for a long time, spending hours sitting on the uncomfortable stools of the kitchen — the ones you swore to get rid off but never took the time to change — trying to find the right words.
They needed to be firm enough, so you could not dodge her questions, but kind enough so you would not feel trapped. She thought them carefully, repeating the sentences in her head for hours.
And yet.
Yet, the moment you entered the room, they died on her tongue, because, for the first time in the past few days, she saw the serioussness of the situation.
You knew, the moment your gaze crossed hers, that you could not hide your secret anymore, the bruise that colored your cheek too visible to be covered up by a few dismissive words.
"Not now, 'lena, I am tired," you said, cutting her before the question that was burning her lips could fall past them, fleeing away before she could reach out.
Suddenly you were not hiding the pain your voice anymore, each of your words reflecting the weight you had been carrying for who knows how long, and Yelena felt frozen, unable to speak, as if she knew that no word, no gesture, would be enough to heal your wounds.
Deep Red - I’m in love with you.
Red - I love you.
Pink - I think you’re cute.
Blue - You’re amazing.
Rose - You’re pretty.
Purple - You’re hot.
Plum - I would fuck you.
Violet - I would date you.
Aqua - I could stay on your blog for hours.
Lavender - You are my tumblr crush.
Orange - I want to get to know you.
Tangerine - We have a lot in common.
Amber - I wish you would notice me.
Cream - I don’t talk to you but I really love your blog.
Beige - I don’t know you at all.
Yellow - I don’t like your blog.
Green - I don’t like you.
Olive - I think you are unattractive.
Brown - I hate you.
Grey - You scare me.
Black - Delete your tumblr.
Chapter Summary: Waking up from your nap doesn't bring the relief you would expect. Unexpectedly harsh words greet you and two people you never thought you would see find their way to you.
Word Count: 9.7k
Warnings for this Chapter: none I think? maybe trauma response
A/N: at this rate no chapter is going to be under 7.5k so I'm just going to post it in full here when I feel up to it. like today :D
Series Masterlist AO3
—
You're in a field of cotton balls.
You reach out, burying your fingers into the mass, and squeeze a handful into your fist. They're fuzzy against your palm, yielding with just enough satisfying resistance to soothe the ache in your knuckles. They bloom with warmth. Your fingertips begin to thaw. You can feel the prickle of circulation returning to your skin.
You look up. It's nighttime.
The dark blue sky holds a full moon that rains down a pale glow, turning the white field around you luminous. Stars cluster into constellations in the distance. It's quiet. Not in the way where it scares you. Not in the way where your thoughts attempt to drag you under. It's a peaceful quiet where the world stands still for you.
Just for you.
You open your fist. The cotton balls roll away from your skin, plopping soundlessly onto the white expanse below. You drag your palm across the surface, tracking the soft texture. You press down with your full weight, expecting the fibers to collapse and drop you through, but they hold steady.
You gaze toward the distance, where the dark line of night seems to stretch on without an end. The scenery is identical in every direction.
A movement catches your eye. Your shadow stretches across the white surface, mimicking your posture. You look down at the dark shape. It tracks your frame perfectly, but it lacks any real definition. No features. No edges. Just a flat, black void cutting through the light.
But it's surely you.
When you raise your arm, the shadow raises its arm. When you tilt your head, the dark shape tilts its head.
You pause.
The shadow keeps moving for a fraction of a second before it snaps into a sudden standstill. It stops matching you entirely.
Staring at it makes your heart ache. You're perfectly fine with being a shadow drifting through life. Disappearing the moment the sun comes up to make room for real people—bright people with character, who roam and live and take up space.
You don't have to be special. You don't want to be. You don't need to be.
Flashes of green erupt across the dark sky. Ribbons of vibrant, shifting emerald and mint arc over your head, twisting like the aurora borealis you used to stare at in photos. They dance through the air, curving down toward you as if trying to make you smile.
The shades of green are too specific. You recognize them instantly.
"Please stop," you whisper, the sound catching in your throat. "Please don't treat me like I'm special."
The lights answer by swirling closer, tightening their perimeter until they weave into beautiful patterns around your body.
You had gotten used to the quiet. You had accepted being alone. Doing everything by yourself. Only counting on yourself
A wisp of the green light brushes past your cheekbone. For a moment, the air sparks with warmth and the smell of jasmine blooms. It reminds you of Wanda's hand against your cheek when you shared her desk. That familiar warmth. The kind that makes you want to let your head fall and let her hand support you.
A brighter, vibrant green light wraps around you, completely blocking out everything. It forms a thick, impenetrable wall—exactly like Natasha blocking out the chaotic world past the office doors.
You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your eyelids together until the pressure makes your temples throb, waiting until it's safe to look again.
When you open them, the sky is empty. The lights are gone without a trace. As if they were never there.
You're alone again.
You're used to this part. But your shoulders slump as if a weight was dropped on them. Your knees bend, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they threaten to drop your weight. You look back up at the empty sky, wishing you could see the green ribbons again, even though you're the one who just begged them to leave.
A part of you had hoped they would stay anyway, even when you turned your back.
It's fine. You're just a shadow, and the gorgeous lights have probably drifted away to find someone more beautiful. Someone who is a real person.
The corners of your mouth twitch upward into a small smile, but your gaze drops. It's exhausting being alone.
You lean back. The space beneath your heels fills with the soft give of the cotton, absorbing your weight as you sink into them. You feel completely weightless. You close your eyes, letting your muscles go slack. Your head tilts to the side, your cheek presses into the soft fibers.
Your heart still hurts. Even here, in this empty space with nothing but the moon, the stars, and the perfect comfort below you—a space made just for you—the reality catches up. You can't run away from the aching want to have someone else shoulder your burdens with you.
Or maybe two people.
The cotton slowly begins to compress beneath your spine, flattening millimeter by millimeter. The loft is disappearing. You don't know how far down the ground is.
Please, just let me stay here, you think, your fingers curling weakly, holding onto the cotton that remains. Let me stay in this place. Forever.
A sudden touch registers against your skin. Soft fingertips press against your ankle, tracing circles right over your veins.
Your eyes fly open. You crane your neck down to look, but the field is empty. There's no one there. You just continue to descend, your body getting heavier and heavier. Somehow, you know there's not much time left.
You lay your head back down, closing your eyes in acceptance.
"It's time to wake up, detka."
The softest, raspy voice reaches your ears, brushing against your skin with the same weight as the fingertips on your ankle.
And you fall.
—
The faint hum of the heater overhead. The rhythm of your own breaths, slow and even. The drag of pages turning in a book.
A hand rests on your ankle. The thumb moves occasionally, tracing a slow arc near the bone and over your veins.
Your eyes blink open. The fabric of the couch’s backrest comes into view, sharpening the more you blink. Your face is pressed into the pillow, squishing your cheek. It feels like there's a thick cloud surrounding your skull. Your thoughts lag, arriving one by one at a snail's pace.
Yesterday. Matt sitting in the common room. His grip on your hand. The suffocating smell of smoke filtering through the vent all night. Your burning eyes. Natasha demanding you take a nap. Her impossibly gentle voice.
You do feel slightly better after sleeping, but it's as though a weighted blanket has been draped over your mind and body. It's easy enough to maneuver around, but it makes itself known and stays as a nuisance in the back of your mind. Pain radiates in your throat when you try to swallow. Maybe you had been asleep longer than you thought.
You shake your head lightly, trying to force the fog away, but the clouds refuse to leave. It's still fuzzy. Thick, like cotton.
You force your shoulders back. Your spine arches slightly and the familiar popping of your vertebrae sounds through the office.
"Mmm…" A whiny groan catches in your throat at the sensation of your neck and back muscles stretching, slowly forcing themselves back to life.
The hand on your ankle squeezes lightly. You force your bleary eyes toward the source. Vibrant green eyes—identical to the light that had shielded you in the dream—are watching you with quiet amusement. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.
"How was your nap, sleeping beauty?" Natasha asks. Her tone is teasing, but a light seriousness remains in her eyes as she scans your face, tracking every twitch of your expression.
You blink a few times in a row. Your eyes don't sting as badly as they did earlier, though a slight burn still lingers behind your eyelids. It'll probably take another day to clear the prolonged exposure to the smoke. You still feel a dragging fatigue, but there are things you need to do. Spending your hours studying in Natasha and Wanda's offices instead of executing the regular tasks of an intern is already weighing heavily on your chest.
The office is slightly dim. Natasha must have lowered the blinds while you were asleep.
You flatten your palm against the couch cushion and push yourself up into a seated position. A wave of haziness washes over your vision, making the room sway before it clears within a few moments.
"I slept well. Thank you for the nap," you respond quietly. Your voice sounds weirdly scratchy, and trying to force the words out radiates a burning pain.
Natasha is seated in the open space next to your feet. Her hand remains wrapped around your ankle, the heat of her palm bleeding through your skin. The book she must have been reading is closed, resting flat on her thigh. Her body is shifted entirely toward you, treating you like the center of her attention.
"Your eyes look better than they did earlier," she notes, her thumb rubbing against your skin steadily.
She reaches for a water bottle on the coffee table that wasn't there before you closed your eyes. She cracks the plastic seal open for you and extends it. "Drink, detka. It sounds like your throat is dry."
Your fingers wrap around the plastic. "Thank you," you murmur gratefully.
Swallowing feels like sandpaper grating together. You take a long sip, but the cool moisture does little to ease the friction. The liquid slides down and stings like an open wound being doused with alcohol.
Detka. You repeat the word in your head. It's unfamiliar, but it's the exact same one she used right before you fell asleep. The way she structures her sentences makes it sound like a noun. She's calling you something.
Do you even want to ask? What if it's something bad? Maybe it's synonymous with troublesome.
There are more important things you should be asking, you remind yourself. Why are they treating you like you're special?
You set the bottom of the bottle against your thigh and glance up. Natasha has been watching you the entire time. Her lips are pulled into a rigid line. Her eyes look calculating. The shift is jarring compared to the teasing smile she had just a few minutes ago.
Maybe the thoughts getting stuck in your fuzzy head are showing plainly on your face.
"Nat—" you start, but a sharp knock on the door pulls her focus away.
Natasha’s shoulders look incredibly tense, barely moving as she turns her head toward the entrance.
"Let's talk about it later, okay?" She squeezes your ankle one last time before releasing it entirely. She casts a quick glance back at you, throwing you a smile that looks just a bit melancholic.
"Come in," she calls out.
Wanda walks in, her expression bright with a wide smile. You can almost picture sun rays following her steps as she crosses the room. Her soft yellow dress shirt matches her energy perfectly. It's the complete opposite of the dim room and the heavy mood hanging between you and Natasha.
The unspoken question sits like a wall in the space. Natasha must have anticipated it with how quickly she read your expression.
You smile back at Wanda, though the gesture lacks any real feeling. You're happy to see her, but your thoughts refuse to align properly. New questions twist alongside the old ones in your mind, but you already know they won't be answered right now.
Natasha rises from the couch and extends her arms above her head. She takes a deep breath, stretching her limbs, before looking down at you.
"I have to go to a meeting now." She gazes down at where her hand had just been resting on your ankle. A frown tugs at her lips. She looks like she's fighting a silent battle with herself.
"We'll all talk later," she says, giving a small nod to herself before offering you a tight smile. She reaches down, her fingers briefly brushing the bare skin of your ankle again.
She steps toward Wanda, who is looking between the two of you with a confused half-smile. Natasha leans in and kisses her cheek, whispering something low into her ear.
Wanda's eyebrows furrow at the words. She turns to look at Natasha, but she's already made her way to the door.
"Bye, girls. Have a good study session," Natasha says without turning around.
The door shuts with a soft thud.
Your gaze drifts back to Wanda, whose green eyes soften the longer she looks at you. She rounds the coffee table and slides onto the space right where Natasha was sitting just moments ago.
"Natasha told me you needed a nap. Do you feel better, honey?"
You look down to where your legs are still resting on top of the cushions. A heavy blanket is draped over your lap. The fabric feels far too warm against your heated skin. You shift your weight so your legs hang over the side of the couch, pushing the blanket away and bunching it into a divider between you and Wanda.
"I feel okay," you murmur, forcing a small smile. It isn't entirely the truth, but you do feel marginally better compared to when you arrived this morning.
Wanda scoots a fraction closer to you, ignoring the bunched fabric. "I've been stuck in a board meeting since I got here this morning," she says with a sigh of exasperation. Her eyes gleam as she turns her head to lock onto yours. "Can you guess what it was about?"
Your eyebrows pull together as you rack your brain for an answer. You've hardly discussed actual company logistics since you started your internship. Except for yesterday.
"Was it about the end of the quarter?" you guess with hesitation.
Wanda's nose wrinkles right at the bridge, her smile filling with affection. "Exactly, smart girl. I did say I would schedule a meeting right away after our conversation yesterday."
Her smile is infectious. Your lips curve into a soft grin despite yourself.
She leans in even closer, her shoulder presses lightly against yours. She continues, "I was able to get to the bottom of the accounting bottleneck. You were right, darling. After a few targeted questions, I narrowed it down to one of the senior managers who was creating a disruptive atmosphere while also being far too lax about deadlines."
"So what will happen now?" you ask, your head tilting slightly. You're familiar with mock scenarios in textbooks, but actually witnessing how a large company approaches problems in the real world is entirely new to you.
"Well," Wanda starts, looking up toward the ceiling with a dangerous smile. "That manager has already been replaced as of twenty minutes ago. We'll just have to see how the person who took their spot fares under pressure."
You nod your head slowly in understanding. Good luck to them, you think to yourself. You have a feeling they'll need it based on the sharp glint in Wanda's eyes.
Wanda continues to talk about the meeting. She mentions names of executives you've never met, things that need to be improved, and projects that are going well. Her voice dips into a low register when she's a bit frustrated, then brightens when she talks about things the company is accomplishing.
You sit quietly, listening but not quite absorbing her words. A heavy throbbing is starting to build right behind your temples. Maybe you're still waking up. You nod when it feels appropriate, letting her sentences bounce off your foggy mind. You watch her expressions change—her brows furrowing, then smoothing out. Her eyes rolling, then crinkling at the corners when she smiles. An accent you can't entirely decipher becomes more prominent on certain words.
You could listen to her all day. Her voice feels like music in the quiet space.
Suddenly, she pauses and looks at you with a teasing smile. "Honey, are you even listening to me?"
She reaches out, her palm cupping your jawline while her index finger taps a playful rhythm against your cheek. Her hand feels cool against your skin.
No, not really.
"I'm listening," you respond earnestly. It's painful to speak but you swallow past the burn. You don't want to hurt her feelings.
She lets out a light chuckle. "You look like you're still half asleep," she says, squeezing your cheek lightly before her hand relaxes. She tilts her head, her eyes softening. "Your cheeks are still so warm from when you slept," she notes, leaning in closer to investigate.
Suddenly, her face scrunches up in confusion.
She leans in incredibly close, her chest almost brushing your shoulder as she breathes in deeply. Her hand drops from your face entirely. She leans back, her eyes hardening as she takes you in fully. Her lips pull into a thin line.
"Darling, you really shouldn't smoke," Wanda says, her voice dropping into a stern tone. "It's bad for you."
What?
The clouds swirling around your head clear instantly. Her expression. It's the exact same look that was leveled at you countless times when you were growing up. A look full of disappointment.
Your heart begins to race erratically, thudding violently against your ribs.
"I… I didn't smoke." Your voice trembles from your sharp pulse throbbing painfully in your throat.
Wanda raises one of her eyebrows. Her jaw remains tight.
She doesn't believe you.
Your hands begin to shake violently against your thighs. You curl your fingers inward, digging your nails deep into the center of your palm. The skin breaks. A dull, wet sting follows, but the actual pain doesn't register through the noise in your chest. You slide your other palm flat on top of the wound, clamping down hard to hide the tremor.
It's too familiar. That look.
It reminds you of the times in high school when you spent days studying for tests and losing sleep, running your system entirely on fumes. You had put your all into it, truly. But when the results arrived, the numbers were just good. Not great.
Your father had always told you that as long as you tried your best, then it was okay. You really had done everything you could, but your absolute best just wasn't enough to satisfy him. After seeing the results, he had looked at you and asked if you had truly tried. You were honest with him. You told him that you had given it your all.
But he gave you the exact same look that Wanda is giving you now. The flat, heavy skepticism that tells you your words means nothing.
Why is the truth never good enough? Why aren't you good enough?
It hurts.
You haven't felt this ache since the day you packed your bags and left your parents' house. The two years that followed had been empty, colorless, and safe. No one could hurt you because you refused to allow anyone to get close enough to try.
You allowed this hurt to happen. By smiling genuinely, laughing wholeheartedly, and opening up even a fraction. By deviating from the way you've been living so far.
Alone.
You pull your shoulders back, locking your spine into a perfectly straight line. Your hand reaches up, your fingers clawing through the tight knots that had formed in your hair while you slept. The strands catch, pulling harshly against your scalp, but you ignore the sting. You force your fingers through anyway, smoothing the hair down until it obeys.
Your hand slides down to your blouse. You glide your palm hard against the soft fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles over your chest until the presentation is pristine. If you stay around Wanda for much longer, you know you might crack.
The strings pull. Your lips tug automatically into your practiced smile.
Reaching out, you grab your phone off the coffee table. The lock screen shows it's right around lunchtime. Pressing the back of your hand against the cushion, you push yourself up into a full stand. Your legs wobble unsteadily under your weight, a cold shudder running through your thighs. It must be from lying down for so long or the lingering residual effects of your sleepless night.
You grab one of the straps of your backpack, hoisting the weight upward, and slide the straps over your shoulders.
"Darling—" Wanda starts, her eyes widening as she watches your sudden movements.
"May I go?" you ask politely, keeping your voice level and deferential. "I haven't been down to the sixtieth floor in a few days, and I'd like to check in with some of the analysts I met. Maybe I can eat lunch and study there for the rest of the day?"
Before she can answer, you reach down for the blanket bunched messily on the couch. Your fingers work quickly, lining up the corners and folding the heavy fabric into a perfect, flawless square.
"Wouldn't it be better to eat with Natasha and I?" Wanda asks quickly, an edge of urgency cutting through her voice. "We're planning to order from one of our favorite restaurants," she says, her tone lightening as if trying to pull you back.
You shake your head, keeping your eyes locked on the folded blanket. "I think I should get to know the people I'll be working with, since my time on this floor will end after tomorrow."
You turn your head toward the wooden door. You don't want to look at Wanda right now.
It's completely silent for a long moment before Wanda releases a heavy sigh.
"Okay," Wanda whispers, her voice cracking slightly before she raises the volume of her voice again. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."
The term of endearment that had sent a warm flutter through your chest even a day ago sends a dull ache instead.
You nod, your chin dropping just enough to acknowledge the words. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your day."
You're already moving, your wobbly legs dragging your weight across the carpet toward the exit. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the cold handle of the door and pulling it open.
"You too, honey," you hear Wanda say quietly behind you.
The wooden door clicks shut behind your back.
A wave of exhaustion makes you press your weight back into your heels, letting your head land gently against the door. The cool wood feels good against your hot scalp. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, your teeth gnawing back and forth.
Your eyes close against the bright space.
There's nothing special about you. You'll just become another nameless intern working at their company. Eventually, their attention will shift to someone brighter than you. Someone who is actually a real person. Someone special.
Your arm lifts, fingers twitching toward the cold handle, wanting to pull it open just to see Wanda again.
Instead, you force your hand back down to your side. The walk toward the elevator feels like wading through mud. You press the button for the sixtieth floor. The doors slide shut.
Just like the emerald lights in your dream, even if you wish they would appear before you again, they won't. Because you're the one that wished them away.
—
The doors slide open to the familiar, low chatter of the sixtieth floor. Analysts offer quick smiles along the walkway. Heading toward the far left corner, you navigate to the desk where you had spent so little time, setting your backpack against the side before taking a seat.
"Haven't seen you in a few days. How's the job shadow been going?"
Eli's playful voice rings out from the neighboring desk. Turning your head toward him, his teasing smile somehow manages to make you feel a bit better.
"It's been going well," you respond, forcing a small smile that fails to reach your eyes.
Eli tilts his head, squinting as he observes your face. "Doesn't look like it," he says bluntly.
Your gaze shifts down to your lap. Silence hangs heavy between you.
"I was kidding?" Eli chuckles awkwardly, clearly trying to salvage the conversation.
Your fingers find the plastic edge of the ID card hanging around your neck. "It's okay," you say, forcing a short laugh. "I'm just a little tired today."
"Whoa!" Eli exclaims suddenly, his tone forcing your chin up. "Your hand is bleeding."
A quick glance down confirms it. A small amount of blood is smeared across both of your palms.
Eli pulls his desk drawer open and reaches for a compact first aid kit. "I always have one of these on me. My boyfriend is a clumsy one," he says with a fond smile before leveling a focused look at your hands. "Is it okay if I take a look?"
You extend your arms toward him, palms up.
The moment his hand slides underneath yours to support your weight, the memory of Matt's crushing grip flashes through your system. Your fingers snap closed into a tight fist instinctively. Your teeth bite down hard on your bottom lip, and you avert your eyes to avoid Eli's searching gaze.
His hand stays exactly where it is below yours, holding your weight up gently. When he speaks, his voice is softer than earlier.
"I don't have any siblings, let alone a sister. So, sometimes I don't really know the best way to comfort girls. Sorry if I was too forward," he says apologetically.
The genuine tone makes you uncurl your fingers slowly. Shaking your head, you finally meet his eyes with a genuine smile. "Yeah, sounds like you need to work on it."
His jaw drops before he levels you with a playful glare. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure to clean your hand extra well with the antibacterial wipe. Brace yourself."
True to his word, Eli tears open a small foil packet. He begins to tell a story about the time his boyfriend tripped over absolutely nothing and broke his leg. The cold wipe dabs against your raw skin, his touch growing gentler the closer he gets to the crescent-shaped cuts your nails made.
"He still swears he tripped over a step. Can you believe that? We were walking down a flat sidewalk," he says, shaking his head exasperatedly.
You laugh along with him as the stories keep coming, his voice filling the quiet corner of the floor. Your focus stays anchored on his words. A strange numbness is settling over your skin. You hardly even feel the sharp sting of the alcohol against your open palms.
—
It's a slower night at the restaurant. Nights like these, Angie goes around feeding the waitstaff in the kitchen and asking about everyone's plans.
The metal pass is holding more of your weight than you'd like to admit. Your body has felt almost unbearably hot since leaving the office today, but you've dealt with much worse.
Angie had asked you to wait for a moment before returning to the floor. A quick sweep of your section already confirmed everyone is enjoying their meals.
Finally turning to you, Angie squints her eyes. "You look a bit off, sweetie. You feelin' alright?"
"I'm okay. I just didn't sleep enough last night. I should be fixed up by tomorrow," you say with a tired smile.
She gives you a blank stare like she doesn't believe you. "If you say so," she drawls out before looking through the small windows of the kitchen doors into the dining room. She points in the direction of the bar. "Nicole looks bored out there. Make use of her and take it easy today. It's okay to rely on the team, y'know?"
"I know," you respond with an appeasing tone. "I'll make sure to use her." You push off the pass. It takes a moment to stabilize yourself. Luckily, Angie is still looking into the dining room.
A glance at the clock on the wall shows only around an hour left of your shift. Returning back to the house after your internship today hadn't felt daunting, since you knew Matt would be sleeping in preparation for his shift. But with the conclusion of your restaurant shift overlapping perfectly with the exact hour he wakes up, the idea of stepping back through the front door feels impossible.
A tired sigh escapes your throat. You'll just have to fold the napkins slower tonight to avoid running into him.
—
It's Friday. Usually, the end of the week brings a sense of relief with it being the last day of classes. This week, the relief is entirely different. Come Monday morning, your schedule returns to the regular tasks of a standard intern. You'll finally be able to keep your head down and blend back into the crowd.
An email from Cindy had arrived first thing this morning. She apologized for not being able to escort you due to an assignment she's currently working on, instructing you to head up to Wanda's office on your own.
Wanda. You repeat the name silently in your head.
The thought of her sends immediate pricks of discomfort through your chest. It's hard to distinguish if the feeling is pain or unease. Your arm accidentally brushes against the metal wall of the elevator, sending a sharp wave of pins and needles across your skin.
Ever since your alarm went off, a heavy mound of pressure has been building right behind your eyes and forehead. Lifting your head off the pillow this morning had taken a massive effort despite the mundane motion. Your heated skin feels exceptionally sensitive, turning every slight movement of your limbs into a radiating ache. It's exhausting just to remain standing.
The elevator doors slide open to the C-suite floor, revealing the pristine marble floor. A part of you wishes you could just drop everything and lie flat against that cool stone. But this level of exhaustion and discomfort has become commonplace. You can bear with it.
Breaths become more labored with every step until you reach Wanda's office door. Pressing your hand against the wood takes some of the burden off your body before you knock twice.
Despite the fatigue, you force your mind to stay sharp. This is the last day. You'll only see them in passing after this. The conflicting feelings and the warmth you feel around them will disappear.
Are you okay with that?
The question flashes through your mind against your will.
You have to be okay with this. Maybe it's better that it's now. You knew you would walk away one day, before they could leave you broken. Before you accidentally give pieces of yourself away that can never be retrieved.
"Come in," Wanda calls out from behind the door.
Taking a deep breath, you straighten your posture with effort and plaster on a neutral expression. You turn the handle and push open the door, revealing Wanda sitting at her desk. She stands immediately upon seeing you.
The door shuts behind you.
The same chair from before is pulled up next to her desk in the same spot. The sight makes the pressure in your head build. Stepping up to the desk, Wanda watches you the entire way, her mouth opening and closing as if she doesn't know where to start.
So, you start for her.
"I have a few questions about some of the topics in one of my classes. It's going to be covered pretty extensively on the final. When would you have time to answer them?" you ask politely. You keep your voice low, knowing if you raise it any higher, it'll break and send you into a coughing fit.
"Darling, I think we should talk," Wanda says earnestly, tilting her head to search your eyes that keep averting from hers.
"Is it in relation to my internship?" you ask indifferently, setting your backpack down and pulling out your materials.
The creak of Wanda sitting down is the only sound in the office.
"No," she starts hesitantly. "About yesterday."
Looking up, you plaster on an apologetic smile. You try to ignore the scent of jasmine swirling around you. It pulls at your heart and threatens to break your resolve. Your thumb presses hard into the bandage on your palm.
"My first final is on Monday. I already sent Cindy my schedule," you respond. "Would we be able to schedule a time to talk about it another day? I'm a bit behind on studying."
Wanda looks like she's completely withering away. Her shoulders droop, her hands find each other to grasp tightly, and the corners of her lips pull down. The sight almost makes you want to say anything and everything just to bring back her bright smile. To have her call you smart girl and send that fuzzy feeling through your body like she did a few days ago.
But the instinct to protect your heart overrides everything else. These feelings will pass with time.
"I can answer some questions now," Wanda says with a weak smile.
"Okay," you respond, forcing your eyes down to your notebook page. "I made a note here. How would you…"
—
Natasha never ended up stopping by. She was called into an emergency meeting with investor and public relations in lieu of the upcoming earnings release. It feels fitting.
The look Wanda had given you when you said goodbye instead of I'll see you later still sticks with you even now, standing in the breakroom at the restaurant preparing for your shift. It was a look that made it apparent that this was final.
You take a deep breath in through your mouth. Your nose had become increasingly more clogged as the day wore on. You had to hide your sniffles between performative throat clears that made your throat burn during your time alone with Wanda.
You practice your smile in the breakroom mirror. It's reminiscent of the time before meeting them. It doesn't reach your eyes. It stays strictly within the line of cheerful and flat—just enough of a curve to let people know you're engaged in the conversation. It's hard to hold even this manufactured smile today.
Natasha patting your stomach to even out your breaths. Wanda praising you when you gave her department solutions. That's the problem when you become too comfortable and allow color to seep into your world. When the world turns gray again, you miss the light blue of the sky. You miss the orange-red rays of the sun. The vibrant green of their eyes. It tears a hole through you.
But it'll heal even if it takes a while.
Just get through this shift, you think to yourself, trying to force a surge of energy into your mind.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Sliding it out, you glance at the message preview on the screen. It's Matt.
You shut your eyes tightly before opening them again to read the text.
I'm not working tonight. Let's hang out. I'll be waiting in the common room.
There's no apology for that night. Not even an acknowledgment. Fear courses through your system at the thought of returning home to find him sitting in the exact same spot. His calloused hand gripping yours. The suffocating mixture of smoke and alcohol on his breath. The looming possibility of what could have happened if your house leader hadn't arrived in time.
The sharp sound of the breakroom door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, your own frantic breaths become loudly clear to you.
Your coworker, Nicole, is leaning against the doorframe with a smile. "Hi," she greets you. "You're a finance major, right?"
You force your breathing to even out momentarily, contorting your expression into a polite, practiced smile. "Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?" Your voice sounds scratchy, but you maintain the pleasant cadence you were taught.
"A couple of my friends who're finance majors dined here a few nights ago and recognized you," Nicole says with a chuckle. "They asked if I would ask you to come to a party tonight. They said they've been wanting to talk to you, but couldn't find the confidence. I'll be going as well, if you want to head over together after this?"
She looks at you with hopeful eyes. You have yet to go to a single university party. Not that you ever really wanted to. The idea of standing in a crowded room with music blaring and drinks sloshing around sounds unappealing.
I'll be waiting in the common room.
The memory of the text forces your thumb to press hard into your bandage, sending sharp signals of pain through your body.
"I…" you start hesitantly, "I don't have a change of clothes." Going to this party sounds vastly better than facing Matt, but the logistics are an immediate problem.
Nicole's expression shifts into an excited smile. "Don't worry, I have an extra change of clothes right here in my locker. I promise it'll be fun. There are so many people who have been wanting the chance to talk to you."
Her body turns around to face the kitchen walkway, sending a fleeting smile back your way. "We'll talk more after the shift. I'm so excited!" she exclaims before walking away.
—
The dining room fills with a heavy rush of regulars, making the shift drag while simultaneously passing in a blur. Every step makes your joints feel stiff, like creaking bones. Even a light touch against your skin sends sharp pinpricks across your body. But you continue to chat with ease, keeping your speech charismatic and your expressions engaged. It's one of the times where you're thankful this is programmed into you.
A few customers ask about your voice, noticing the raspy edge. Hiding the scratchiness is becoming a struggle as your throat continues to swell. You brush it off with a practiced excuse, telling them you've just been talking too much lately. It wasn't exactly a lie.
The shift finally ends, leaving you in the breakroom with Nicole. She hands you a gray long-sleeve shirt and a white skirt. It's freezing outside, but with what feels like literal lava burning beneath your skin, the light clothing sounds like a relief.
You unbutton your work shirt and slide it off. The fabric of Nicole’s shirt feels like sandpaper, scraping hard against your skin as you pull it over your head. The neckline cuts low, stopping just above your breasts. It's far less coverage than you ever wear, but you've also never been to a university party. Maybe this was the norm with how quickly it could get hot in a crowd of people.
You unzip your trousers, step out of them, and pull on the skirt. The sudden blast of cool air against your bare legs brings a brief second of relief. But it doesn't last long. The relief vanishes, and the room turns far too cold. Your body doesn't normally regulate its temperature well, but for the past day, it's been a pendulum. Swinging violently from a sauna to the arctic.
Nicole throws out names of people you don't know, but who are apparently in many of your same classes. You nod and hum in understanding whenever she complains about the boys in her lectures.
You stuff your work clothes into your locker. You'll be back tomorrow anyway.
Turning around at the same time, you both stand fully dressed. Nicole sends you a wide grin. "I can see why the guys were begging me to ask you to come," she says, followed by a sharp whistle.
You roll your eyes exaggeratedly. The motion backfires, sending a dull, throbbing ache straight through your temples.
"I'm sure that's why they asked you, too," you respond teasingly, forcing the pain down.
You open the door to the breakroom and look around. The kitchen staff have already cleaned thoroughly and are grabbing their personal things to leave.
"I think we should head out so we don't hold anyone back. Ready?" you ask, turning back around.
"You bet!" Nicole calls out, grabbing her keys. She jingles them in a sporadic beat.
Despite your body screaming at you to lie down, you can't help but laugh a little at her energy.
—
Bright fairy lights string across the front yards along the sidewalk. It's a block dominated by fraternities and sororities, most having decided the weekend before finals is the perfect time to throw a party. Loud, bass-heavy music bleeds from house to house, blending together as students drift between lawns to meet up with friends.
Walking beside Nicole, you discuss university life and expected final grades. The freezing night air bites sharply against the exposed skin of your upper chest and bare legs.
Some people call out greetings to Nicole as you approach the fraternity house where the finance and accounting majors are congregating. In front of you, drunk students sway unsteadily, barely catching their balance before they tip sideways.
The street is familiar. Your daily bus route passes right by this block early in the journey. Your own house sits only a short distance away.
Excited shouting and screaming echo from the next lawn over. Sparing a brief glance, you watch a few people lying starfish on the grass, giggling to themselves as they fail to push themselves back up, only to collapse and laugh all over again.
Nicole laughs, pointing toward a crowd hyping up a student shotgunning a beer. Apparently, it's someone from one of her classes, the onlookers push them to drink even faster.
The sound of your name being shouted from the crowd steals your attention.
"Hey!" a voice calls out.
Someone from the crowd sways slightly as he walks quickly toward you and Nicole. Without warning, he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders. The sudden weight feels like he's dragging you straight down. You force your legs to lock, bracing your joints so you both don't collapse onto the sidewalk.
"I'm so glad you made it. I've been wanting to talk to you for forever," he slurs, his face too close.
"Oh, knock it off, Tyler." Nicole shoves his arm off your neck.
A sharp breath of relief escapes your throat. Tyler raises his hands in surrender, though one arm hangs clearly higher than the other.
"Us in finance are just friendly folk, Nicole. Right?" he says, sending a heavy wink your way.
"Right…" you respond, pulling your lips into an awkward, flat smile.
Nicole pipes up from beside you, leveling him with a look of disgust. "This is why you don't have a girlfriend."
Tyler rolls his eyes, but his pupils track so slowly it looks like he's seeing stars. Stealing a quick glance at Nicole, he wraps his heavy arm right back around your shoulders and forces you forward. Your legs shake violently beneath your weight.
"Hey!" Nicole calls out, following close behind. "Tyler, let her go." Her tone sounds playful on the surface, but a sharp edge cuts beneath the words.
He ignores her completely, pressing your body forward until you cross the threshold into the house.
The interior is pure chaos. Strobe lights flash erratically, sending blinding white needles straight through the heavy pressure behind your eyes. To your left, a beer pong game dominates the common room. The players slam their hands hard against the folding table whenever they miss, sending loud bangs that slice through the bass-heavy music. Crowds of students pack the space holding red cups, swaying and spilling alcohol onto the floor.
People turn their heads to track you as you pass by, their expressions shifting into pure surprise.
Tyler proudly marches you straight up to a large group standing near the beer pong table. He pats your shoulder once before finally releasing his grip.
The group looks you up and down in shock. One of the guys lets out a sharp whistle. "Wow, Tyler. How'd you manage to get finance's princess here?" His gaze travels between your face and below your chin. You pull your arms close against your chest, trying to shield yourself from the look.
"I worked my magic," Tyler slurs, leaning his weight into you. Your footing slips, and you stumble slightly before forcing your legs to catch yourself. The suffocating heat of the packed room sends sharp arrows of pain straight to your brain.
"You mean I worked my magic?" Nicole cuts in from behind. Her hands find your shoulders, holding your frame steady against Tyler's weight.
Turning your head, you give her a grateful smile. It feels like your brain is actively turning to mush. The space is too crowded. Too many eyes are locked on you.
One of the girls in the group catches your eye, offering a soft smile. "Hi," she says politely. "I've seen you in a few of my classes, but I didn't know how to approach you."
"Hi," you respond kindly. Her and Nicole's soothing voices feel like a balm against the pounding bass. "It's nice to meet you." You give her a gentle smile, lacking the energy for anything more.
The girl leans her head in a bit closer, her mouth near your ear. "I can see why people are so interested in you," she whispers playfully. "But if anyone bothers you, let me know."
"Me too," Nicole adds. You hadn't noticed her leaning in to listen, but she squeezes your shoulders lightly. "I'm going to go say hi to some of my friends real quick. If it gets too hot in here, let me know. I'll go outside and cool off with you. You feel a little warm already," she notes, studying your face carefully.
Nicole has already been so kind. You refuse to hold her back from having fun.
"I'm okay," you respond, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Go say hi to your friends," you say brightly, playfully pushing her toward a group looking at her expectantly. She throws a grin your way before disappearing into the crowd.
Immediately, Tyler presses his arm hard against yours. "So, what can I get you to drink, princess?" he asks loudly over the music.
"Just water is good, please." It isn't that you've never touched alcohol before, but the liquid always sits like a heavy rock in your stomach. It makes your brain fuzzy and your limbs refuse to cooperate. It's terrifying. It isn't the same gentle fuzziness that Wanda gave you.
Stop, you command yourself, cutting the thought off before it can dig deeper into your chest.
"Loosen up a little. Just one drink. Pretty please?" Tyler begs. He leans his face so close you're almost positive you could get drunk just from the heavy scent of vodka lingering on his breath.
"Tyler," the girl in the group warns, her voice laced with annoyance.
But the guys around him continue to press, their voices overlapping and bouncing off the walls.
"Come on, you can have the same thing as me."
"I'll make you whatever you'd like."
"Here," one of them says, shoving a red cup straight into your face. "Have some of mine."
The smell of cheap alcohol fills your nose, mixing with the suffocating heat of the room.
It's too much. You pull out your phone, casting a quick glance at the blank screen.
"Sorry, I have to get this," you say apologetically. "I'll be right back."
You wiggle your way out from under Tyler's weight. The group groans in unison as you back away.
Turning on your heel, you navigate your way through the packed room. The hot bodies of drunk students press heavily against yours, sending your heart into a rhythm that's far from steady. You force your way through the crowd faster, desperate for oxygen.
You're almost at the front door when someone's cold hand grips your wrist harshly.
You try to yank your arm away with a violent jerk, but their fingers refuse to yield. Your chest tightens. You need to get out of here. Right now.
"Is it really you?" a heavily accented voice sounds from behind you.
The lava burning beneath your skin freezes into solid ice.
No. There's no way.
Turning your head slightly, you peek over your shoulder. You're met with faces you could never forget. The two faces you've longed to see, that you've missed dearly, and that you've always felt incredibly guilty toward. A brunette and a blonde.
Kate and Yelena.
You can't do this right now. You never want to explain the reality of why you left them behind.
Yelena’s grip stays locked on your wrist while Kate stands right behind her. Their eyes widen in shock as they take in the side of your face.
Using their surprise, you rip your arm out of Yelena's grasp.
You stride quickly out the front door, the freezing night air doing nothing to clear the pressure in your head. Your eyes are frantic, scanning the front yard before you hit the concrete sidewalk and throw your weight around the corner. You need to be anywhere but here.
Rapid footsteps echo on the pavement behind you.
"Wait!" Kate calls out, repeating the word over and over into the night.
You don't stop. The remaining strength begins to wane in your legs, your knees threatening to buckle.
A hand clamps onto your shoulder, forcing your body to spin around. Yelena had always been faster than you in high school. It's exactly the same even now.
She levels a glare at you, gripping your shoulder tighter until her fingers dig into your collarbone. "What gives you the right to run away?" she yells, her voice echoing loudly around the empty space.
You cast a glance at your surroundings, grateful that the loud music bleeding from the houses makes it unlikely anyone else is listening to the commotion.
Reaching up with a shaky hand, you try to pry her fingers off your shoulder, trying to uncurl them one by one. "Let go," you grit out, your raw throat burning from the strain.
"So you can what? Run away again?" Yelena mocks sarcastically, refusing to budge. "You already did that two years ago."
Silence hangs heavy in the cold air, only the sound of your ragged breaths registering between you.
You force your eyes up, catching Kate's gaze immediately. She looks like she wants to reach out and pull you away from Yelena's grip, but she can't find it in herself to move. Her posture is frozen, as if she's terrified that any sudden movement will make you vanish again. Tears barely hold on above her lower lashes.
"I always wondered what happened," Yelena starts, her voice dropping into a low, raw register. "That maybe Kate and I had not been good enough friends. That we were not as close as I thought we were."
Her fingers claw tightly at your skin. Through the anger in her voice, you hadn't noticed the shakiness behind it. A gleam of moisture breaks through her glare as her eyes drop down to where her hand is gripping your shoulder for dear life.
"But at least when I pictured you, even without us, I thought you were happy. You were off somewhere smiling and laughing," she says shakily, before her voice spikes again. "But here you are, looking like this. How dare you?"
She forcefully shakes you by the shoulder. The sudden motion makes your vision blur and a wave of suffocating heat rushes back to your skin.
Kate steps forward, pulling Yelena's hand off your frame. "Stop it!" she cries out desperately. Tears track down her cheeks, glinting under the pale light of the streetlights. "Just stop," she whispers.
Turning to you, Kate meets your eyes with a watery smile. "Yelena and I need to sober up. Let's talk about this at a later time, okay?" she asks, the desperation clear in her voice.
You shake your head despite the sudden wave of dizziness. It feels like your consciousness is barely holding on by a thread. You won't be seeing them again after tonight.
"Why?" Kate pleads, her smile vanishing. "Why can't we talk after this?"
"Because…" you start weakly, your voice breaking entirely on the last syllable.
You sway unevenly on the pavement. Your breaths come out dangerously shallow and fast. Kate disappears and reappears in your blurry vision. The next thing you know, Kate has your arm slung over her shoulder, holding your weight up.
"Did you drink something? What's going on?" she asks frantically.
Yelena presses her palm flat against your forehead. The sudden chill of her skin feels welcome against the boiling of your blood.
"She is burning up," Yelena says, trying to search your eyes.
"I didn't drink anything," you manage to whisper.
You droop heavily into Kate, your legs completely failing. Everything around you looks pixelated. It's almost scary, but whatever is dragging your consciousness down calls to you, promising sweet relief. You want to listen to it.
A sharp, muffled sound cuts through the air from behind you, but you don't move.
Kate and Yelena's faces are suddenly lit up by a bright, sweeping beam of light Their eyes remain frantic, but a wave of relief washes over their expressions as well.
"Hey, I got your text to pick you up. Don't drink so much next time," an annoyed, raspy voice calls out. It's instantly familiar.
The sound of a heavy car door opening echoes down the street, followed by quick, decisive steps on the asphalt.
"What's going on? Did they drink too much?" the person asks, stepping in to help Kate support your body. Your head rolls helplessly to the side, leaning flat against their shoulder.
"She said she didn't drink anything," Kate says breathlessly. "I think she might have a fever. She feels really hot."
You look up slowly, trying to force your jaw to work so you can tell them all you can just walk home. It isn't far.
You're instantly silenced by vibrant green eyes looking down at you, alarmed.
"Natasha?" you mumble out, your voice barely a breath.
Yelena's hand freezes against your forehead.
"Yes, detka, it's me. I'm here," Natasha murmurs softly, her tone shifting instantly.
Yelena's hand drops away from your skin. She stands frozen, looking between the two of you in disbelief.
Natasha moves so she's standing directly in front of you. She pulls one of your arms over her shoulder. "I've got her," she says evenly to Kate.
Glancing at Kate, you see her eyebrows pulled together in hesitation, but she allows your arm to slide off her shoulder. Natasha places your other arm across her neck. Her hands find their way to the back of your thighs, and suddenly gravity isn't pulling you down as harshly. Your chest presses flat against Natasha's as she lifts you up, adjusting her grip beneath you.
Your body tenses immediately. Unwrapping one of your arms, you push your palm against her shoulder with a weak nudge.
"I can get home by myself," you argue, but the words lack any real strength.
Natasha adjusts her grip so only one arm supports your weight. Her other hand wraps around your fingers, lifting your arm and slinging it securely back around her neck. Sliding up to the back of your head, her fingers press lightly, guiding your face down until your cheek squishes flat against her shoulder.
"I'm sure you can," she says in a quiet, appeasing tone, her body beginning to rock side to side like she's lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, beginning to droop against your will. "You don't have to, though."
She uses her palm to cover your exposed ear. "Wanda, I need you to drive instead," Natasha calls out.
The muffled sound is a relief. The surrounding party noises were starting to send sharp, throbbing stabs straight to your brain.
You feel the motion of Natasha walking, holding you steadily so your body barely shifts. The sound of a car door clicking open echoes nearby before Natasha leans down, her breath brushing close to your ear. She slides onto the seat and tucks your legs close to the outside of her thighs, wrapping both arms around your frame to hold you close.
Your lips rest almost directly against the side of her neck.
"It's too hot," you whine quietly, your skin heating at the contact.
Natasha's hand begins to pat your back in a slow, steady rhythm. "I know, detka. It'll be better soon. Just sleep for now."
"Natasha, is that our sweet girl?" Wanda's voice projects from the front, sounding as if she's turned completely around in the driver’s seat.
"Yes," Natasha responds in a low register. "So drive carefully. We have precious cargo."
The steady rhythm of the patting continues against your back. Your eyes close.
The sharp sound of two more doors opening and closing pierces through the space, though the noises of the outside world are starting to fade into a distant hum.
"Natasha," Yelena’s voice cuts in from the seat beside you, her tone a tense mixture of anger and confusion. "We have a lot to talk about."
"Lena. Let's talk at their place. Let her sleep," Kate says from behind you.
A disgruntled, heavy sigh sounds through the vehicle.
"Let's go home," Natasha directs toward the front.
You press your face even closer into the curve of Natasha's neck. The heat is suffocating, but being held against her brings a completely different type of warmth. One that lets you know you're safe.
Using the last bit of your strength, your arms squeeze a bit tighter around her shoulders. Your mind drifts, slipping away from the waking world.
Right before the dark takes over, you swear you see a pair of gorgeous green lights—two slightly different shades—swirling together in the shadows around you.
They came back.
—
A/N: Lots of drama. Butttt, we were able to get R out of that house, at least for tonight. Just like how Natasha can't help but baby, I also can't help but baby you guys too. I keep adding to the ending to make it softer because I don't want you guys to finish the chapter feeling sad 😅 In exchange for the drama filled chapter, in the next chapter I promise: Wanda and R will talk, we'll learn more about why Natasha and Wanda are interested in her, maybe make it a little subby.
Thank you guys as always for reading and the comments/asks. It always makes writing the story more fun ♡
Which of your fics surprised you by how much attention it received?
Which of your fics is the funniest?
Which of your fics is the most serious?
Which of your fics is the most crack-like?
Which of your fics did you spend the most amount of time writing?
Which of your fics did you spend the least amount of time writing?
[Asker's choice: specify the fic you want to know more about.]
...and pick a letter...
a. What is something you wish more people noticed about it?
b. What is something you would do differently if you were to rewrite it?
c. What do you think makes it deserving of love?
d. What is your favorite line or excerpt from it?
e. Are there any lines or sections that you think don't belong in it?
f. Which character (POV or not) was your favorite to write?
g. Which section was most difficult to write?
h. Which section was the easiest to write?
i. Did anything substantial get cut from it?
j. Describe it badly.
Remnants of the Past. (N. R. x R.)
— Part One, 'Chimeras'. (1.402 words).
| Tags & Warning — Natasha Romanoff x Reader. no warnings.
| Author's note : hi to those who are still around here 👋 it has been a while since i last wrote something, and this short fic' is my attempt at coming back to it. it is not easy after spending that much time without writing a single sentence, but i do still enjoy it, i think, and definitely need to force myself to save time for this hobby 💔 in any case, i hope this fic' finds y'all well, and that at least some of you will appreciate it. have a great reading, and do not hesitate to leave feedbacks. love y'all x
| MAIN MASTERLIST - TO SAY SOMETHING.
previous part. - next part.
The moment her eyes fell on your silhouette, she knew.
She knew with unsettling certainty that it was… you.
There was something — maybe it was in your eyes, or in the way you carried yourself — that was unique. Something that had remained unchanged despite the years, something that even the challenges life had forced upon you had failed to erase.
It may have partially obscured it, but the veil that now darkened your gaze and slumped your shoulders, was not enough to fool her observant gaze.
She just knew.
It was a gut feeling, as if her heart knew way before her mind did. It was an invisible string drawing her to you, a sudden urge to hold you close, as if that simple gesture could be enough to erase the years that lay between you two.
Natasha thought she would always recognize the child she had once raised, the one she had claimed to love for so long that she had deceived even herself.
Except you were not a child anymore, not hers, and her eyes could barely recognize your face, which now bore little resemblance to the one that was engraved in her memories.
She had thought of that face so often that it has been etched into every fiber of her being. The one with a smile so radiant it lit up every room despite its crooked teeth, with eyes that sparkled with mischief.
How could she ever forget?
It was her light in the thickest darkness, her reason to keep going even as the scars piled up beside the bodies, the image that got her through the toughest times.
The moment when she could not be strong enough for herself, she would do it for you — you, and Yelena.
Her sisters.
The ones she swore she would never grow attached to. The ones she swore were just another mission, another task to complete, but for which she had fallen faster, and harder, than she had ever expected to.
Before she knew it, feelings she had been taught to be weaknesses blossomed within her. By the time she realized, it was already too late to get rid of it; the roots of love ran so deep that they had grown into a tree that could never be cut down.
And yet, the world knows they had tried, but none of their blows had been strong enough, none of their words sharp enough, and the feelings had survived where everything else was dying.
Because love has never been her weakness: it was her strength.
It was their fear.
A force that knew no bounds and existed beyond the control they sought to exert, one that gave her the strength to stand up to them time and again, going against everything she was taught; a force whose name was love.
Yet, at the same time, she could barely recognize you; a truth she was hesitant to admit because it tasted like failure, the proof she had fallen short at keeping the only promise that ever mattered to her; to protect you both.
She never made promises again after that.
You were older now.
Your body was barely the one of an adult, but your eyes? They held something older, bore the signs of a soul that went through so many things that it aged fast, until it was older than any human could ever be.
Natasha knew that gaze; it was the same she saw when she looked in the mirror. It was the invisible marks left by growing up in that kind of place.
But, despite everything, it was still you.
You glanced at her, briefly, and the recognition that then hit your face was not the kind Natasha had hoped; it was fear that tensed your features. She does not know why she was taken aback by your reaction.
She should not be surprised that you could not recognize her; you were just a child when you met, barely older than Yelena was in Ohio. At that time, a bit more than ten years ago, herself was around the age you were now.
You were both too young to bear the weight of that mission.
Now, she was much more older, bearing the title of hero, being nothing close to the person she used to be — does it show on her traits? The woman had tried so hard to put distance between her past and future, but nothing runs as fast as the things one wants to bury.
First, Yelena. Now, you. Ghosts of her past that used to haunt her nights and had now returned to haunt her days. Every time she thinks a page is turned, its story eventually comes back, hitting harder than it ever had, pulling her back to times she thought were forgotten.
Natasha wished she was a kid again. Before that place, before even Ohio. Then, she could close her eyes and make the whole world disappear in a split second, darkness swallowing her problems whole, leaving nothing but a soothing emptiness.
Everything was so much easier back then.
Except that she never knew that time, never got the chance to remember it; it was too far away from now. Thus, Natasha could only guess, and hold onto the hope, that her life had once been easy — because it never will again.
And this encounter? It was a reminder of that, of the mistakes she had made by the past, and that no tricks could make her forget. She swore her reasons were good, but she knew there were not, because it was not a desire to do the great that had lead her actions back then.
It was selfishness, cowardice.
Back then, she had been too scared to do what she should have to.
The price?
She was paying it now.
That mission took place a long time ago, when her life was much more different that it was now, but it could have been yesterday that it would have feel the same, because in that moment, as her eyes met yours, she realized that the marks it had left in her soul never truly healed — she had just become too good at pretending she could not feel the pain.
At that time, she bore a different name, a different face, an identity that was completely new, one that was meant to disappear as quickly as it was created; a life that never meant to be hers. It was inevitable that, sooner or later, Kara would die, joining a pile of corpses that will never be found, and so Natasha never expected to ever hear that name again.
You did not exactly said it, and as no words left your lips, the woman did not exactly heard the name, but the call echoed in her mind, remnants of past lives, memories she thought were lost. She knew that it had crossed your mind too, because she saw it, that short but obvious flicker of recognition. A spark that died immediately, replaced by something harsher, colder, distant even, as if the memories were still too far for you to hold onto them.
And so, she watched as the fragments were slipping through your fingers.
Yet, you were here. You were meant to disappear alongside everything else — "A regrettable collateral damage, sure, but necessary", they would said, and she would have nodded in agreement, because that is what she always did back then, when she still believed their words to be true — but you stayed, standing in front of her as the only proof that these years were something more than a mirage, a mere dream.
Suddenly, Natasha is hit by memories. They arrived all at once, a strong wave of emotions she used to swear were fake — only another play pretend — but that felt more real than ever, opening a breach in the walls she had spent years building.
She always says that attachment is not her thing, but crossing your path had been enough to unveil years of lies. The urge she felt at the sight has been stronger than everything else, and yet, it is barely if her fingertips twitched.
Before she could think of anything right to say — a task that was impossible — or to do — impossible too — the door closed abruptly behind your back. Bang. And, just like that, you were gone again, almost as quickly as you came.
| MAIN MASTERLIST - TO SAY SOMETHING.
previous part. - next part.
A.N.: Damn, can't stop with the hurt/comfort, huh?
The training room was loud with the sounds of bodies hitting mats, instructors barking corrections, and recruits laughing nervously whenever someone messed up a technique.
You stood among them in your black S.H.I.E.L.D. training gear, arms folded tightly across your chest.
"Today we're covering chokehold escapes," Natasha Romanoff announced from the centre of the room.
The room immediately quieted.
Natasha had a way of doing that.
She walked slowly between the pairs of recruits.
"An attacker doesn't need to be stronger than you. They just need you to panic. Your job is to stay calm and create an opening."
You swallowed.
Stay calm.
Easy for everyone else.
"Partner up."
You were paired with Ethan, another recruit who had joined a few months before you.
He was nice enough.
Never pushed people.
Never made fun of mistakes.
Natasha demonstrated the technique on one of the senior agents.
Hands on the throat.
Break the grip.
Step off-line.
Counter.
Simple.
At least on paper.
"Practice."
Around the room, everyone began working.
Ethan lifted his hands toward your neck.
Immediately, your stomach twisted.
"No—"
The word slipped out before you could stop it.
He blinked. "What?"
You forced a smile.
"Could you put your hands on my shoulders instead?"
"Oh."
He shrugged.
"Yeah, that's fine."
"Thanks."
You gave him a grateful half-smile, though your hands were already trembling.
For the next several minutes, you tried to follow the technique.
You weren't getting it.
Your timing was wrong, and so was your footwork.
Everything felt wrong.
"Again," Ethan said patiently.
You tried.
Failed.
Again.
Failed.
Then a familiar voice appeared beside you.
"You're dropping your centre of gravity too late."
Your stomach sank.
Natasha.
She stepped beside Ethan.
"Move."
Ethan immediately backed away, and Natasha took his place.
Your heartbeat accelerated.
"It's easier to understand when you can feel the correct pressure," she explained.
Before you could answer—
Her hands wrapped around your throat.
Firm.
Controlled.
Professional.
Not painful.
Not dangerous.
But—
Your lungs forgot how to work.
The room disappeared.
Suddenly you weren't in a S.H.I.E.L.D. training room anymore.
You were smaller.
You were trapped.
You were scared.
Your vision blurred.
"No."
Natasha opened her mouth to explain the technique.
"No."
The word came out broken.
Your eyes flooded instantly.
"No no no no—"
You shook your head violently.
Trying to back away.
Trying to escape.
Trying to get away from the hands around your throat.
Natasha's eyes widened.
The concern was immediate.
She released you so quickly it was as if she'd been burned.
"Hey."
"No no no—"
Your breathing shattered.
Every breath came too fast.
Too shallow.
The room spun.
"Hey."
Natasha's voice was softer now.
"What happened?"
A sob tore from your chest.
You couldn't answer.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
The other recruits had stopped training.
Everyone was staring.
The attention only made it worse.
Your knees nearly gave out.
Natasha reacted immediately.
One arm wrapped carefully around your waist.
Not restrictive.
Not trapping.
Just steady.
"Let's go."
You barely heard her.
She guided you toward the door.
Nobody said a word as she led you out.
-///-
The hallway was quieter.
Cooler.
But the panic followed you.
By the time Natasha got you to a bench against the wall, your entire body was shaking.
You sat down hard.
Your hands immediately flew to your throat, rubbing at the skin, and trying to erase the sensation.
Trying to remove hands that weren't there.
Natasha crouched in front of you, far enough away to avoid crowding you.
Yet close enough that you knew she wasn't leaving.
"Look at me."
You couldn't.
Another sob escaped.
"Hey."
Her voice remained steady.
"It’s okay."
Your chest heaved.
Nothing felt okay.
Nothing.
"I need you to breathe with me."
You shook your head.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
The certainty in her voice cut through the panic.
"In."
She demonstrated.
Slowly.
You tried and failed.
Tried again.
A little better.
"Good."
Another breath.
And another.
And another.
Minutes passed before the worst of it finally loosened its grip.
Your hands still trembled, but at least you could breathe again.
Natasha remained crouched beside you.
Waiting patiently.
When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle.
"What happened in there?"
You stared at the floor.
Silence stretched between you.
You knew she wasn't going to force an answer, which somehow made it harder.
A fresh tear slipped down your cheek.
"My dad—"
The words broke apart.
You couldn't continue, and you didn't need to, because Natasha understood immediately.
You saw it happen.
The realization.
The horror.
Then something else.
Anger.
Sharp and cold.
Not directed at you.
At him.
Whoever he was.
Whatever he'd done.
Her jaw tightened.
But when she spoke, her voice remained calm.
"I see."
A sob escaped you.
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward.
Natasha opened her arms with a slight hesitation, not really used to comforting young recruits.
You buried your face against her shoulder anyway.
For a moment, she simply held you.
One hand resting gently on the back of your head.
No questions.
No pressure.
Just safety.
After several long breaths, your shaking finally began to ease.
"You know," Natasha tried quietly, "you didn't do anything wrong."
You swallowed hard.
"It was embarrassing."
"It wasn't."
You looked down.
"The whole class saw."
"Then they saw someone have a trauma response."
Her tone was matter-of-fact.
"Nothing to be ashamed of."
You wiped your eyes.
Natasha studied you for a moment.
"If you decide to continue today—"
She gave a small smile.
"—that's incredibly brave."
Your throat tightened.
Not from fear this time.
You nodded.
"I want to."
"Good."
Natasha stood and offered her hand.
You took it.
The shaking hadn't completely stopped, your legs still felt weak, but you followed her back toward the training room.
When the class resumed, Natasha quietly excused you from the chokehold exercises.
Instead, you sat against the wall with a bottle of water while the others practiced.
Every so often, she glanced your way.
Making sure you were okay.
Making sure you were still breathing.
Still grounded.
Still here.
And for the first time since walking into training that morning, you felt like maybe you were.
When the lesson finally ended, Natasha approached you again.
The room was emptying around you.
"You stayed."
You looked down at your hands.
"Yeah."
A small smile appeared on her face.
Not the intimidating smile the infamous Black Widow gave enemies.
A real one.
Warm.
Proud.
"Good work, recruit."
You gave her a short smile, not meeting her eyes.
"You still want to learn the escape?" she asked.
You hesitated, because a part of you wanted to say no, part of you wanted to avoid it completely.
But another part—the stubborn part that had gotten you through S.H.I.E.L.D. training in the first place—wanted to prove you could do it.
You nodded. "I do."
Natasha gave a small approving nod.
"Good."
She led you out on the now empty mat.
"No neck contact."
The relief that flooded through you was immediate.
"We'll adapt it. Every technique can be modified while you're learning, y/n."
You hadn't expected that answer.
For some reason, it made your chest feel warm.
Natasha stepped in front of you.
"I'm going to place my hands on your shoulders instead."
You nodded.
Slowly, giving you plenty of warning, she rested her hands there.
Not grabbing.
Just enough pressure to simulate the positioning.
Your muscles tensed automatically.
Natasha noticed.
"Look at me."
You did.
"You okay?"
After a moment, you nodded.
"Yeah."
"Good."
She waited another second before continuing.
"Now."
She shifted slightly.
"Break the line of force."
You attempted the movement.
It was so clumsy you nearly stepped on your own foot.
Natasha caught your arm before you lost balance.
"Not bad."
You blinked.
"Really?"
"No."
The deadpan answer made you stare.
Then she smirked.
"That one was terrible."
You groaned.
Natasha actually laughed, a real laugh for once.
Not the one she put on when a recruit tried to tell her a joke to impress her.
The sound surprised you so much that you forgot to be nervous for a second.
"But," she continued, "you moved."
You straightened.
"Again."
This time you focused.
Hands on shoulders.
Pivot.
Break contact.
Step out.
You almost got it.
"Closer."
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every repetition felt a little easier.
The panic wasn't gone.
But it wasn't controlling you anymore.
Natasha adjusted your stance.
Moved your foot a few inches.
Shifted your shoulder.
"There."
You repeated the motion.
Everything clicked.
The angle.
The balance.
The timing.
You slipped out of the hold smoothly.
Natasha's eyebrows lifted.
"Well done."
Heat immediately rushed to your face.
You looked away.
"Oh."
The praise felt strangely overwhelming.
Natasha noticed the blush instantly.
"You embarrassed by compliments?"
"No."
The answer came much too fast.
Her expression turned suspicious.
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
You groaned again.
Natasha crossed her arms, a small smile lingering on her face.
"Interesting."
"Please stop talking."
"No."
You covered your face with your hands.
That only made her smile widen.
The terrifying Black Widow was apparently finding this funny.
Unfair.
Very unfair.
"Again," she said.
You dropped your hands.
Tried the technique once more.
Perfect.
Natasha nodded immediately.
"There it is."
You couldn't stop the smile that appeared.
For the first time all day, you felt proud instead of scared.
Natasha noticed that too.
"You know what I'm impressed by?"
You looked up.
"What?"
"Most recruits would have quit after what happened earlier."
The room seemed quieter suddenly.
"You didn't."
You swallowed.
Natasha's expression softened.
"You came back."
Something in her voice made your eyes sting.
Not with panic.
Just emotion.
"You kept trying." She folded her arms. "And now you're getting it."
Your face heated all over again.
"Stop."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
A faint smile appeared on her face.
"You should be more proud of yourself."
Nobody had ever said things like that to you before.
Not without expecting something in return.
Not without mocking you afterward.
So you didn't know what to do with the words.
You just stood there awkwardly, staring at the floor while your cheeks burned.
Natasha seemed to understand.
She didn't push.
She simply nodded toward the mat.
"One more time."
You took your position.
This time, when you escaped the hold, it was smooth and fast.
Confident even.
Natasha's smile was small but unmistakably proud.
"There you go."
And somehow, that simple sentence made you stand a little taller than before.
You kept practicing for what felt like both 5 minutes and an hour.
"I think it’s enough for now."
You nodded, your breathing uneven.
She handed you your water and walked out, you followed her.
You followed her down the hallway toward the locker rooms.
Your muscles ached.
Your head felt heavy.
But compared to earlier, you felt steadier.
"Good work today," Natasha said as the two of you walked.
You glanced at her.
"Even with... everything?"
"Especially with everything."
Heat crept into your cheeks again.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"So," she said casually, "someone picking you up?"
You nodded.
"Yeah."
A few more steps.
"My dad."
Natasha stopped walking.
Immediately.
You took another step before realizing she wasn't beside you anymore.
Turning, you found her staring at you.
Her expression had gone completely still.
Not cold.
Just focused.
You knew that look by now.
The one she got when something suddenly became important.
She reached out and gently caught your wrist.
Not tightly.
Just enough to stop you from continuing down the hall.
You froze.
Your breathing started speeding up before you even understood why.
Natasha noticed instantly.
"Hey."
Her thumb moved slowly against your wrist.
Back and forth.
Grounding.
Steady.
Your eyes dropped to the motion.
It helped.
A little.
Enough to keep the panic from spiralling.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.
"Do you feel safe with him?"
The question hit harder than you expected.
You looked up.
Met her eyes.
Searching for something.
Permission, maybe.
Or reassurance.
Or a reason not to answer.
Natasha didn't pressure you.
She simply waited.
You swallowed.
"I..."
The words stuck.
Her thumb continued its slow movement against your wrist.
You took a shaky breath.
"I don't know."
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Natasha nodded once.
Like she'd expected that answer.
Like she understood how difficult it had been to say.
"Okay."
The simple acceptance loosened something in your chest.
The two of you resumed walking.
More slowly this time.
By the time you reached the locker room, the conversation hadn't ended.
It had only become quieter.
More careful.
You changed into lighter clothes while Natasha sat on a nearby bench, giving you space.
"Your dad used to grab your throat?" She asked directly, no hesitation.
You stared at the floor.
"...Sometimes."
Silence.
"Only when he was angry?"
You hesitated.
"Mostly."
Natasha's jaw tightened.
You noticed.
"So not always."
"No."
You pulled your hoodie over your head.
"He never..." You swallowed. "He never left marks or anything."
Natasha didn't react the way you expected.
She didn't seem relieved.
She just listened.
"Do you feel nervous when he's around?"
You laughed softly.
A sad sound.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
You sat down beside your locker.
"Most of the time."
Your eyes met hers as another silence came over you.
"What happens when he's angry?"
You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.
"He yells."
Natasha nodded.
"And?"
Your shoulders drew inward.
"He gets really close."
The thread snapped.
You stared at it.
"...I never know what's going to happen."
The room became very quiet.
Natasha leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.
"That sounds exhausting."
Nobody had ever described it that way before.
But she was right.
It was exhausting.
Always watching.
Always guessing.
Always trying not to make a mistake.
You looked away quickly.
For some reason, your eyes burned.
"It's fine."
"No."
Her answer was immediate.
You glanced at her.
"It isn't."
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
"Does your mom know?"
You bit the inside of your cheek as you pushed your workout clothes into your bag.
"Don’t have one."
Natasha took a deep breath, cursing under her breath as you zipped your bag up and slung it over your shoulder.
Then Natasha stood.
"Come on."
The two of you headed outside.
The evening air was cool.
Cars occasionally passed the facility entrance.
You sat together on a wooden bench near the pickup area.
Waiting.
The conversation drifted to easier topics after that.
Training.
Classes.
A story about one of Natasha's former recruits accidentally handcuffing himself to a chair.
You actually laughed.
The sound surprised both of you.
Then familiar headlights appeared at the end of the drive.
Your stomach immediately dropped.
Natasha noticed.
Of course she did.
The car rolled closer.
Stopped.
The passenger door unlocked.
For several seconds, Natasha said nothing.
She simply watched your dad through the windshield.
Her expression was unreadable.
Her eyes following every movement.
The way he sat.
The way he looked toward you.
The way your shoulders instinctively tensed.
Her jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
Then she forced a polite smile.
The kind adults wore when they were trying very hard not to show what they were thinking.
She turned toward you.
"Hey."
You looked at her.
Her expression softened immediately.
"If you need anything—"
She reached into her pocket and handed you a small card.
"Here is my number."
You nodded quickly.
"Anything at all."
Her gaze held yours.
Making sure you understood.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Before you could think about it too much, you stepped forward and hugged her.
Natasha froze, and for half a second she seemed completely caught off guard.
Then one arm came around your shoulders.
Awkward at first, like she wasn't used to it.
But warm.
Steady.
Safe.
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Thank you."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"Take care of yourself, y/n."
You pulled away.
Nodded.
Then headed toward the car.
As you opened the passenger door, you glanced back once.
Natasha was still standing exactly where you'd left her.
Arms crossed.
Watching.
Not in the way instructors watched recruits.
Not in the way strangers watched strangers.
In the way someone watched when they were making a silent promise.
The kind that said:
I'm paying attention.
And you're not alone.
You climbed into the car.
The door shut.
And even as the vehicle pulled away, Natasha remained standing there, eyes fixed on the taillights until they disappeared into the evening darkness.
