JP

33 | She/Her | 🏳️‍🌈 Just here writing fanfiction of a life I wish I had with gorgeous Marvel Women! Wattpad: JPmarvel90

[jpmarvel90]

MASTERLIST

I tend to write mainly for Natahsa Romanoff and Scarlett Johansson, but I will be starting to include more for Wanda, Lizzie Olsen, Yelena and Florence Pugh.

All stories are on my Wattpad too!

18+ blog, minors do not interact.

Oneshots

Natasha Romanoff

Scarlett Johansson

Mini Series

Scarlett Johansson

Don't let me down 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Natasha Romanoff

Don't Belong 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

[jpmarvel90]

Distrust

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Word Count:

Relationship: Nat x Reader

Summary: 12,452

When Natasha’s sister returns to the Avengers Compound, Y/N hopes to finally be accepted into the family she’s chosen. But lingering distrust and old fears create tension that threatens the fragile balance between love and loyalty.

As emotions rise and trust is tested, Natasha must navigate the space between sisterhood and soulmate, and decide what kind of future she’s ready to fight for.

Y/n’s POV:

The Avengers Compound always hums. Even when it’s quiet, even when the halls are empty and the sun hasn’t quite burned through the morning fog over upstate New York, there’s a low mechanical thrum beneath everything. Stark tech. Reinforced glass. Security systems layered like armor. It’s the safest place on Earth.

And sometimes it still feels like a cage. I stand in the training room with my hands raised, scarlet energy flickering between my fingers. It’s softer than Wanda’s, less refined, more volatile at the edges. It crackles when my emotions spike. It hums when I’m calm.

Right now, it’s jittery. I inhale slowly, forcing the energy to compress into a neat sphere. Control. Always control. Hydra didn’t teach me that. Hydra taught me how to survive.

I was sixteen when they strapped me down for the first time. Sixteen when they decided I was “compatible.” Sixteen when pain rewrote the shape of my mind and something ancient and dangerous bloomed inside my chest. They didn’t expect me to live through it. Sometimes I’m not sure I did.

The Avengers found me in a facility buried in the mountains. I remember metal doors being ripped open. I remember red light cutting through smoke. I remember a voice, steady, Sokovian, telling me in accented English that I was safe now.

Wanda. We didn’t speak much at first. We didn’t need to. We recognised something in each other, the weight of power that doesn’t feel chosen. The grief of being turned into a weapon before you understand what that means. She calls me сестра. Sister. And when she says it, I almost believe I deserve it.

A repulsor blast slams into the shield I throw up instinctively. “Focus, kid!” Tony’s voice echoes from across the room. I drop the shield and shoot him a look. “You said light fire.” I say raising my eyebrow at him. “That was light. You’re dramatic.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Tony Stark has been calling me “kid” since the day I got here, despite the fact that I can now out-bench Steve Rogers on a good day.

Bucky leans against the wall, arms crossed, metal fingers tapping thoughtfully. “You’re tense.” He says quietly. “I am not.” I defend. “You’re glowing.” I glance down at my hands. They are, in fact, glowing. I exhale and let the energy dissolve. “She’s coming today.” Tony grins immediately. “Ah. The infamous sister.” I resist the urge to throw something at him. “She’s not infamous.”

“She absolutely is.” He says. “Former Widow, global assassin, emotionally complicated family dynamic. That’s infamous-adjacent.” Bucky gives me a softer look. “You nervous?” I hesitate. “Yes.” Not because I think Yelena Belova will hurt me. But because Natasha loves her. And that matters.

Natasha Romanoff did not like me when we first met. At least, that’s what I thought. The first time we trained together, she barely spoke to me outside of mission parameters. “Your telekinesis needs refinement.” “Don’t overextend.” “Watch your flank.” All business. No warmth.

I remember going back to my room that night, flopping onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “She hates me,” I told Wanda. Wanda had just smiled knowingly. “Or she is afraid of something.” She smirked. “She is not afraid of me.” Wanda only hummed.

Two months later, I find out the truth. It’s late. The kitchen lights are dimmed. I’m leaning against the counter eating leftover pasta straight from the container when Natasha walks in. She freezes when she sees me. Actually freezes. It’s subtle, a tightening of her shoulders, a breath held just a second too long.

“Hi,” I say carefully. “Hi.” Silence. I wait for a mission update. A training critique. Something structured. Instead, she says, “You did well today.” I blink. “Thank you.” Another pause. She steps closer to grab a glass of water, and I feel it, the shift. The way her eyes flick toward me and away again. The way she seems… unsure.

Natasha Romanoff. Unsure. It hits me all at once. “You don’t hate me.” I say. Her head snaps toward me. “What?” She questions, shocked at my statement. “You’ve just been,” I gesture vaguely. “avoiding eye contact for three months.”

A flush creeps up her neck. It’s faint. Anyone else would miss it. “I have not.” She defends.  “You absolutely have.” She studies me for a long moment, like she’s weighing whether to lie. “I didn’t know how to…” She trails off, jaw tightening. “You are difficult to read.” She huffs. “I literally glow when I’m emotional.” I chuckle. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s something almost vulnerable in her eyes, and it steals my breath. “Nat,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Do you… like me?” The silence stretches. Her voice drops. “Yes.” Just like that. No theatrics. No deflection. A simple yes. My heart does something stupid and reckless in my chest. “Good,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Because I was going to ask you on a date.”

For the first time since I’ve known her, Natasha looks completely thrown. “You were?” She questions. “Unless you’d prefer to continue pretending you don’t stare at me during debriefings.” A small, reluctant smile curves her mouth. “I do not stare.” She tries to deflect but I see the small twitch of her lips. “You absolutely do.”

She steps closer, close enough that I feel the warmth of her through my shirt. “When?” She asks quietly. “Tomorrow,” I reply. “Seven. Somewhere that isn’t full of super soldiers and billionaires.” Her fingers brush mine. Intentional this time. “I’ll be there.”

The rest is history. Two years later, and I still feel that same rush when she walks into a room. Now, though, I know the difference between her guarded silence and her softness. I know the way her hand finds mine under tables. I know the quiet hum she makes when she’s half-asleep. I know that she trusts me with the parts of her she doesn’t show the world.

Sometimes I catch her looking at me like I’m something fragile. Sometimes I look back at her like she’s something sacred. We’re good. We’re solid. We’re happy. Which is why today matters. Because today, I meet Yelena.

Natasha hasn’t stopped smiling since she got the confirmation message. “She’s really coming home.” She’d said last night, almost disbelieving. I’d wrapped my arms around her from behind. “Of course she is.” I reassured her. “She’s stubborn.” She pointed out. “So are you.” She’d laughed softly at that.

Now I’m pacing the living room while she pretends not to notice. “She’s going to love you.” Nat says, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. “You don’t know that.” I sigh. “I do.” She shots back. “You’re biased.”

She walks over and cups my face gently. “You are impossible not to love.” She smiles at me with her beautiful green eyes locking onto mine. “That is categorically untrue. Ask Tony.” She smiles, softer now. “Yelena may test you.” She shares. “I can handle tests.”

Her thumb brushes my cheek. “She means everything to me.” She shares. “I know.” And that’s why I’m scared. Not of rejection. But of disappointing someone who holds the heart of the woman I love.

Outside, I hear the faint roar of an approaching jet. Natasha’s posture shifts instantly, alert, hopeful. My pulse kicks up. I take a breath. Let the energy settle beneath my skin. I want this to work. I want her sister to look at me and see not a weapon. Not a project. Not a risk. But someone who loves Natasha Romanoff enough to fight for her. Bleed for her. Build a future with her.

The jet engines fade. Natasha’s hand finds mine. “She’s here.” She whispers. And I hope, with everything in me, that this is the start of something good.

The jet engines wind down completely, leaving the compound in a strange, suspended silence. Natasha doesn’t let go of my hand. For a second, she just stands there, staring toward the landing pad through the floor-to-ceiling glass. I can see it in her posture, the tension coiled tight in her shoulders, the anticipation she’s trying not to show. I squeeze her fingers. “Go.” I murmur softly. She looks at me like she’s been caught. Then she nods once, sharp and decisive, and we walk out together.

The doors slide open with a quiet hiss as we step onto the platform. The Quinjet ramp lowers slowly, hydraulics groaning. My heart pounds harder with every inch. And then she appears. She’s shorter than Nat. Blonde hair pulled back. Combat boots hitting the ramp with confident, unhurried steps. There’s something familiar in the way she carries herself, the balance, the precision, but where Nat is controlled fire, this is something sharper. Less restrained.

Natasha’s hand slips from mine before I even register it. “Yelena.” There’s something in her voice I’ve never heard before. Yelena’s face breaks into a grin, wide, real, unguarded. “Natasha.” And then they’re moving. They meet halfway across the tarmac, and Natasha pulls her into a hug that is fierce and uncharacteristically open. Not polite. Not restrained. Fierce.

Yelena laughs against her shoulder. “You are crushing me.” She chuckles. “You’re alive.” Nat breathes. “Of course I am alive. It takes more than international assassins and terrible fashion choices to kill me.” I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my mouth.

They pull back just enough to look at each other. Natasha cups Yelena’s face briefly, checking for injuries without even thinking about it. “You’re home.” Nat says again, softer this time. Something in my chest tightens. This is what she’s been missing.

Yelena’s eyes flick past Natasha then, and land on me. The warmth drains almost instantly. It’s subtle. Anyone who doesn’t know how to read micro-expressions wouldn’t catch it. But I do. Her posture shifts. Shoulders straightening. Chin tilting slightly. Assessment mode.

Natasha turns, following her gaze. “Yelena,” she says, her tone brightening deliberately. “This is Y/n.” There’s a half-second pause. I step forward, offering a small, polite smile. “Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Yelena looks me up and down. Not rudely. Just clinically. “Yes,” she says flatly. “I’m sure you have.” Okay. I keep smiling.

Natasha steps closer to me, brushing her hand lightly against my lower back. Grounding. Reassuring. “She’s part of the team,” Nat adds. “She’s…” “I know who she is.” Yelena cuts in. The air feels thinner suddenly. Her eyes narrow just slightly, and I feel it, that instinctive awareness beneath my skin. The way my power stirs when someone focuses on me too intensely.

“She glows.” Yelena says. Tony would have made that sound amused. Yelena makes it sound like an accusation. I force my hands to stay relaxed at my sides. “Only when I’m emotional.” I share. “And are you emotional now?” Natasha stiffens beside me. “Yelena.” She quietly scolds. “I’m just asking.” Yelena replies, not looking at her sister.

“Hydra experimented on you, yes?” The word hits harder than I expect. “Yes.” I answer evenly. “And now you can move things with your mind.” She states more than questions. “And more.” Her head tilts. “That sounds safe.” There it is. Not curiosity. Distrust. I swallow it down. “I’m not Hydra.” I say calmly. “I know that.” She replies instantly. “Hydra is honest about being Hydra.” The sting is sharper than I anticipated.

Natasha steps forward now, subtle but protective. “Yelena.” She tries to cool the situation down. “I am only saying,” Yelena continues, finally dragging her gaze away from me and back to Nat, “that you have a history of trusting powerful people who do not always remain stable.”

The implication hangs there. Wanda. Me. Anyone like us. I feel my power flicker at the edges of my vision, just a faint shimmer. I clamp down on it immediately. “I’m stable.” I say lightly, forcing a half-smile. “Mostly.” Natasha’s jaw tightens. Yelena doesn’t smile back.

There’s a beat of silence before she shrugs. “We will see.” And just like that, she picks up her duffel bag and walks past us toward the compound entrance. I stand there for a second longer than I should. Natasha exhales slowly. “She’s protective.” She tries to defend. “That’s allowed.” I reply quickly. I’m glad Nat has a sister who looks out for her. “She didn’t mean…” “It’s fine.” I turn to her with what I hope is convincing ease. “She doesn’t know me yet.”

Nat studies my face carefully. She always does this, reads the tension in my eyes, the slight hitch in my breathing. “I can talk to her.” She offers quietly. “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t start it off like that. Let her form her own opinion.” I decline. “And if she already has?” I hesitate. Then I step closer, pressing my forehead briefly against hers. “Then I’ll change it.”

Her hands slide to my waist instinctively. “You don’t have to prove yourself.” She reminds me. “I know.” But I want to. For you. She brushes her nose lightly against mine, a quiet, private affection she never would’ve shown anyone two years ago. “Give her time.” She murmurs. I nod.

Behind us, the compound doors slide shut with a heavy finality. As we walk back inside, I catch a glimpse of Yelena ahead of us, shoulders squared, eyes scanning every corner like she’s mapping escape routes. She doesn’t look back.

And Natasha, hopeful, stubborn, loving Natasha, squeezes my hand once more like she can will this to smooth over. I tell myself it will. I ignore the way my chest feels just a little tighter than it did this morning. Time. We just need time.

__________

Yelena moved into the compound three days later. Not officially at first. Not ceremoniously. She just stayed. Her duffel bag becomes two. Then three. A weapons case appears in the corner of the living room for “maintenance.” Natasha pretends not to notice when Yelena claims the spare room down the hall permanently. It should feel natural. Instead, it feels like living under a microscope.

Week One

I try coffee. It’s stupid, I know. But Natasha once told me Yelena measures people by how they make it. Too bitter means you’re trying too hard. Too sweet means you don’t understand her.

So I stand in the kitchen at 6 a.m., carefully recreating the ratios Nat described. Yelena walks in mid-pour. She pauses. Looks at the mug. Looks at me. “You are making this for Natasha?” She asks. “For you.” I reply, offering it with a hopeful smile. She takes it slowly. Studies it like it might explode. Takes a sip. There’s a beat. “It is… acceptable.” I brighten. “That’s high praise, right?” She shrugs. “It is drinkable.” And she walks away.

I tell myself that’s progress.

Week Three

Training room. Yelena pairs with Sam. Then Clint. Then Bucky. Never me. When we finally end up in a three-person drill, I hold back. Not consciously at first. But I do. My telekinesis is precise, controlled, minimal. I let Sam take lead. I don’t lift anything heavier than necessary.

“Why are you hesitating?” Yelena asks sharply. “I’m not.” I defend. “You are.” I stiffen. “I’m adjusting.” I try to explain. “To what?” Her gaze flicks to my hands. “To being watched.” I almost say. Instead: “To teamwork.” She snorts lightly. “If you are powerful, be powerful. Half measures are dangerous.” I blink. She wants me to use it? So I do. I lift three steel targets at once, spin them mid-air, disarm Sam without touching him.

The room goes quiet. Yelena’s expression doesn’t change. “Too much.” She says flatly. My stomach drops.

Month Two

Dinner. Natasha is animated, telling a story about a mission in Prague, Yelena correcting details dramatically. The rest of the team laughs. I add something small. Harmless. Yelena doesn’t look at me when she responds. “You were not there.” It isn’t cruel. It isn’t loud. But it lands.

I go quiet. Nat squeezes my knee under the table. Later that night, she kisses me slowly, deliberately, like she’s trying to erase something. “You’re overthinking.” She murmurs against my mouth. “Am I?” I question, despite knowing I definitely am. “Yes.” I nod.

I don’t tell her that I’ve started practicing in the middle of the night again. That I stand in the dark and make the energy move through my hands in perfect symmetry because I need to know I’m not unstable. Because if Yelena sees something I don’t… No. I push that thought away.

Month Three

Wanda finds me in the common room with a physics textbook open and three small objects hovering in precise geometric formation. “You are spiralling.” She says gently. “I am refining.” I correct. “You are trying to prove something.” I glance up at her. “Do you ever wonder if they’re right?” I ask her. “Who?”

“People who look at us and see… risk.” Her expression softens. “Every day.” She admits. That’s not comforting. “She thinks I’m going to lose control.” I whisper. “Does Natasha think that?” She asks, taking a seat next to me. “No.” I respond easily. That’s one thing I’m sure of.

“Do you?” The question hits harder than it should. I stare at the floating objects. “They put things inside me,” I say quietly. “They changed the way my mind works. What if one day I wake up and it’s not me anymore?” Wanda steps closer. Her magic hums faintly, warm and familiar. “Then we will face that day together.” She says. “But you are not Hydra’s experiment. You are not a weapon waiting to malfunction.”

Yelena’s voice echoes in my memory. Half measures are dangerous. Too much. Too powerful. I let the objects drop.

Month Four

Movie night. I sit between Natasha and an empty seat that stays empty. Yelena chooses the armchair across the room instead. There’s a moment, just a flicker, where our eyes meet. I smile. She doesn’t.

Later, as the credits roll, she says casually, “You know, mind manipulation is most effective when the subject believes they are safe.” The room goes still. Wanda stiffens beside me. “I don’t manipulate minds.” I reply evenly. “I did not say you did.” She replies with a rye smirk. “But you implied…”

“I am only saying,” she interrupts lightly, “that power like yours is easy to misuse.” Natasha’s tone sharpens. “Yelena.” The room is silent as Yelena continues to speak. “It is observation.” I swallow. “I would never hurt this team.” I defend, feeling my whole body tense up. “I’m sure you believe that.” It’s the “believe” that cracks something inside me.

Month Five

I bake. I spar. I offer to help with her weapon maintenance. She declines. I ask about her time freeing the other Widows. She gives short answers. I compliment her combat style. She nods once. I show up. Every time.  And every time, I walk away feeling smaller.

Natasha starts to notice. At first, she stays optimistic. “She’s adjusting.” She says. “She’s protective.” She reminds me. “She’ll come around.” I nod. Smile. Kiss her goodnight. I don’t tell her that I’ve started flinching when my powers flare unexpectedly. I don’t tell her that when Yelena enters a room, my shoulders tense automatically. I don’t tell her that sometimes, late at night, I lie awake wondering if loving someone like me is asking too much of someone like Natasha.

Month Six

Training again. Yelena disarms me in close combat. It’s clean. Efficient. I recover quickly, sweep her legs out from under her telekinetically before she hits the mat. She lands hard but controlled. We lock eyes. “That was unnecessary.” She says coldly. “You were about to break my wrist.” I call her out. “You could have tapped out.” She smirks as if this is all a game. “I don’t tap out.”

Her eyes flicker, frustration, something deeper. “You rely too much on power.” She says, offering it up as feedback. “And you rely too much on distrust.” The words slip out before I can stop them. The room goes quiet. For a moment, I think I see something shift in her expression. Then it shutters closed. “Prove me wrong.” She says. And walks away.

That night, I sit on the edge of the bed staring at my hands. They’re steady. They don’t look dangerous. They just look like mine. Natasha steps in quietly. She always moves like that. “You okay?” She asks, sitting next to me on the bed, her hand grounding me as she rests it on the small of my back.

“Fine.” She studies me. “You’re glowing.” I hadn’t noticed. The faint red shimmer fades as I force it down. “I just need to practice more.” Nat takes my hands gently. “You don’t need to be better than you are.” She tries to reassure me. “I know.” I say unconvincingly. “Do you?”

Her thumbs brush over my knuckles. “She’ll see you.” She says softly. “Eventually.” I nod. But for the first time since this started, I see something different in her eyes. Not just hope. Frustration. The kind that builds slowly. Quietly. And I realise something else. I’m not the only one hurting anymore. And Natasha Romanoff is running out of patience.

Nat’s POV:

I have spent most of my life watching people. It’s how I survived the Red Room. It’s how I dismantled it. It’s how I learned who was lying, who was dangerous, who was worth the risk. I know micro-expressions. I know posture shifts. I know the difference between confidence and performance. And I know when the woman I love is pretending she’s fine.

Y/n thinks she hides it well. She doesn’t. She smiles when Yelena makes pointed comments. She brushes them off. She deflects with humour. She tells me not to interfere. But I see the way her hands glow faintly when she’s upset. I see her retreat into late-night training sessions. I hear the careful neutrality in her voice when Yelena questions her. I see her doubt. And that… That breaks something in me.

Y/n survived Hydra. She survived being strapped to a table and turned into something she never asked to be. She survived learning that her own mind could be weaponised. She rebuilt herself from the ground up.  She should never have to defend her existence in her own home.

And yet for six months. Six months of tension. Of small cuts disguised as observations. Of Yelena circling her like she’s waiting for proof of instability. Y/n has done nothing wrong. Nothing. Tonight is the final straw.

Training ends badly. I see the moment Y/n’s composure cracks, just slightly, when Yelena says, “Prove me wrong.” Y/n doesn’t look at me when she leaves the room. Yelena does. I wait until Y/n is gone before I speak. “Office, Now.” I say. It’s not a suggestion.

Yelena leans against my desk like she owns the place. I close the door behind me. For a second, we just look at each other. I love my sister. I fought for her. I bled for her. I would burn the world down for her. But I will not let her hurt the woman I love.

“You need to stop,” I say evenly. She tilts her head. “Stop what?” She questions dumbly. “You know exactly what.” I hiss. “I am training with your team.” She tries to brush it off. “You are undermining Y/n.” Her jaw tightens. “I am evaluating risk.” She states. “She is not a risk.” I say louder than I intend

“She is enhanced by Hydra.” The word lands heavy. “So is Wanda.” I snap. “And that has never caused problems?” Yelena shoots back. I step closer. “Careful.” I warn. “I am being careful.” She insists. “You are not.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and electric. “You don’t trust her.” I say. “No.” The bluntness stuns me more than if she’d tried to soften it. “You don’t trust me either, then.” Her eyes flash. “That is not what I said.” She deflects. “It is exactly what you said.”

Yelena pushes off the desk, pacing once like a caged animal. “I have seen what happens when powerful people lose control.” She says, voice low. “I have lived under it. I have been controlled. Used. Twisted. You expect me to look at someone who can manipulate matter with her mind and not consider the possibility?” She asks, anger lacing her words. “She does not manipulate minds.” I state. “She could.” Yelena says almost flippantly. “That is not the same thing.” I stand now, frustrated by my own sister’s words. “It is close enough.”

I feel my patience thinning, not snapping. Thinning. Like a wire pulled too tight for too long. “She has done nothing to earn your suspicion.” I state. “She has done nothing to earn my trust.” She retorts straight back. I can’t believe this is my sister right now. So devoid of empathy.

“She saved civilians in Bucharest. She shielded you from gunfire in Madripoor. She held a collapsing building together for three minutes while we evacuated children.” I point out all the cases where Y/n has in fact earned trust. “She overextended in all three situations,” Yelena counters immediately. “Her power spikes under stress.” “She is learning.” I remind her. “And what happens when learning is not enough?” The implication sits between us. What happens when she breaks?

I step forward until we are inches apart. “You do not get to treat her like she is one bad day away from becoming a villain.” I speak lowly, anger lacing my voice. “I am protecting you.” My laugh is sharp and humourless. “From what?”

“From loving someone who could outmatch you in a second.” That’s it. That’s the core of it. Not just fear of power. Fear of imbalance. “You think I am naive?” I ask quietly. “I think you are in love.” She states as if that’s a bad thing. “And that makes me weak?” I question. “It makes you vulnerable.” She slaps back. “I have always been vulnerable where it counts.”

She falters for a fraction of a second. “I cannot watch you walk blindly into something that could destroy you.” Yelena says, and there it is, not cruelty. Fear. But fear aimed like a weapon. “I am not walking blindly,” I say. “I know exactly who she is.” I argue. “You know who she is now.”

“And you think she will snap? Turn on us? On me?” I ask, annoyed this is even a conversation. “I think power changes people.” I hold her gaze steadily. “Then you have learned nothing from me.” That lands.

“She questions herself because of you,” I continue, my voice dropping. “She stands in the middle of the night practicing control because she thinks she has something to prove.” Yelena blinks. “I did not ask her to do that.” She shrugs it off as if it’s not her problem. “You did not have to.”

Silence. “She survived Hydra.” I say. “She rebuilt her identity from nothing. She chose this team. She chose me. And every day you make her feel like she is one mistake away from being disposable.” I end up shouting. “That is not…” She starts but I’m quick to shut her down. “That is exactly what you are doing.”

“She is the best thing in my life.” I say, and my throat tightens despite myself. “She is kind. She is strong. She is reckless in the way that good people are reckless, because they will always choose someone else over themselves.” Yelena’s expression shifts. Something uncertain creeping in.

“I love her.” The words settle in the room. Not dramatic. Not explosive. True. “I love her.” I repeat. “And one day, I am going to marry her.” The air stills. Yelena goes completely quiet.

“If you cannot accept her,” I continue, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands, “then you are choosing to miss out on our lives. Because I will not build a future that excludes the person I am building it with.”

She stares at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “You would choose her over me?” She asks, and for the first time tonight, she sounds younger. “This is not a competition.” I tell her. “It feels like one.” She scoffs. “It is not.”

I take a breath. “But I am done pretending this is harmless. You do not get allowances anymore. You do not get to dress mistrust up as caution. Either you treat her with respect, or you step back.” Yelena’s jaw tightens. “You are drawing a line.”

“Yes.” I confirm. “For her.” She almost scoffs again at the thought. “For us.” I correct. Silence floods the space. For a moment, I think she’s going to argue again. Instead, she just stares at me. Stunned. And I realise I’m shaking. Not from anger, but from certainty.

Because this isn’t a bluff. This is the future I’ve already chosen. “You are serious.” She says quietly. “I have never been more serious about anything.” The weight of it hangs there. Yelena looks away first.

And for the first time in six months, I don’t soften. I don’t smooth it over. I don’t offer compromise. I open the door. “Think about what you want.” I say. Because I already know what I do.

Y/n’s POV:

The mission is supposed to be straightforward. An abandoned hydroelectric plant in eastern Slovakia. Intelligence suggests a rogue cell of former Hydra scientists has regrouped there, experimenting with energy amplification tech, something capable of destabilising enhanced abilities. That alone makes my skin itch.

The team splits into two units. Sam and Steve take the perimeter. Wanda and I are on internal containment. Natasha and Yelena are assigned to neutralise the scientists and retrieve the data core. It should be clean. But it never is.

We breach through the lower level. The plant is cavernous, rusted metal walkways suspended over churning black water. Old turbines groan under residual power. Sparks spit intermittently from exposed wiring.

I can feel it. There’s something humming beneath the structure. Something unstable. “Energy readings are fluctuating.” Bruce’s voice crackles over comms from the Quinjet. “Be careful.” “Copy.” Nat replies smoothly. We move.

Gunfire erupts from the upper platforms, sharp, echoing cracks that ricochet off steel and concrete. I throw up a shield instinctively, red energy flaring outward as bullets spark against it. The impact vibrates up my arms. “Left side!” Sam calls.

Wanda’s magic streaks past me in a crimson arc, disarming two shooters at once. Nat and Yelena move like mirrors, fluid, efficient, deadly. They clear a path toward the control room. “Stay tight.” Nat orders. “Always.” Yelena replies.

But then, a secondary explosion detonates on the far platform. Metal shrieks as part of the catwalk collapses. Through the smoke, I see three armed operatives dragging a heavy case toward an emergency exit. The data core.

“Target moving east platform!” I shout. “Negative,” Nat says immediately. “We stick to formation.” Yelena is already moving. “Yelena!” Nat snaps. “They are escaping!” She shouts. “Stand down!” But of course she doesn’t.

She vaults over fallen debris and sprints across the unstable catwalk toward the fleeing operatives. My stomach drops. “Yelena, stop!” I yell, but she’s already too far ahead. The metal groans beneath her boots.

“Y/n, hold position.” Nat orders through comms, voice tight. I don’t. Because I see what Yelena doesn’t. Trip lasers. Subtle. Nearly invisible. Running across the walkway ahead of her. “Yelena, freeze!” I shout. She turns just slightly, irritated.

Too late. The charges detonate. The explosion rips the catwalk apart. Yelena drops. There’s no thought. No hesitation. I leap. Red energy surges from my hands in a violent burst as I catch her mid-fall. The force slams into my ribs like a sledgehammer, the backlash of catching two bodies in freefall.

We hang suspended over the roaring water below, debris crashing around us. “What are you doing?!” Yelena snaps, trying to wrench herself free. “I had it handled!” She argues, despite not having it handled at all. “You were about to die!” I strain, pulling us upward telekinetically toward a remaining support beam.

“I did not need…” Her words cut off as gunfire erupts again. They weren’t retreating. They were baiting. Figures emerge from hidden alcoves along the walls, rifles aimed directly at us, suspended mid-air, exposed.

“Y/n, drop!” Nat’s voice tears through my comm. I can’t. If I drop, Yelena falls. If I shield, I lose lift. I try to do both. Energy flares violently around us, chaotic, brighter than I mean it to be. The amplification device hums somewhere in the facility.

And then, pain. White-hot and blinding. A high-frequency pulse blasts through the air, invisible but devastating. It slams into my shield and ricochets inward. It feels like my skull is splitting open. My power spasms. Yelena slips from my grasp. I lunge, catching her jacket with the last of my focus, throwing her sideways onto a fragment of stable platform.

Bullets tear through the air. One hits me. I barely feel it. The second is an energy round from the amplification weapon. It strikes me in my chest. Everything inside me detonates. There’s no graceful fall. No controlled descent. My power implodes.

The backlash throws me into the remaining structure with bone-shattering force.

The world goes red. Then black. Then red again. I hit the platform hard enough that the air leaves my lungs in a violent rush. I try to breathe. I can’t. The amplification field is still active, tearing at my abilities, destabilising them from the inside.

It feels like Hydra all over again. Like being strapped down. Like something foreign clawing through my veins. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear yelling. “Y/n!” Nat. Bootsteps. Gunfire.

Yelena’s voice, furious, panicked. “Stay back!” She shouts, at me? At the enemies? I try to push myself up. Nothing responds. My vision blurs. I taste blood. The last thing I see before darkness fully swallows me is Natasha dropping beside me, her hands already red with someone’s blood.

Nat’s POV

By the time I reach her, the fight is already over. Wanda’s power rips through the remaining operatives with terrifying precision. Sam secures the perimeter. Steve disarms the amplification device with brutal efficiency.

But none of it matters. Y/n is on the ground. She’s too still. Her chest rises unevenly, shallow, wet. There’s blood spreading beneath her. Way too much blood. “Y/n,” I breathe, dropping to my knees so hard the impact jars up through my spine.

She’s on her back, twisted slightly where she hit the platform. Smoke curls faintly from the scorched metal around her. The air smells like burning circuitry and blood. Her eyes flutter open, but they don’t focus.

For one awful second, I think she doesn’t see me at all. There’s a burn wound at her sternum, the fabric of her suit fused to skin, blackened at the edges where the energy round struck. Blood seeps steadily from a bullet wound in her shoulder, pooling beneath her. I can already see the unnatural rise and fall of her chest, uneven, shallow.

Her power flickers erratically around her body, thin strands of red energy snapping and dying like faulty wiring. Uncontrolled. Unstable. “Hey,” I whisper, my voice breaking before I can stop it. I cradle the side of her face with one hand, the other pressing hard against the worst of the bleeding. “Hey, hey. Stay with me. I’m here.”

She gasps, a thin, fractured sound that barely qualifies as breath. Her fingers twitch weakly against the metal beneath her. “I…” she tries, lips barely moving. “Don’t,” I choke. “Don’t talk. Just breathe. Please, just breathe.” Her eyes try to track my voice, but they slide past me. Her pupils aren’t focusing properly. There’s blood at the corner of her mouth. No. No, no, no.

“Look at me.” I beg, my composure splintering. “Detka, look at me.” Her power flares suddenly, sharp and chaotic, and then sputters again, like it’s fighting to stay lit. “Stay with me.” I say again, and now my voice is shaking openly. “You don’t get to leave. Do you hear me? You don’t get to leave.”

Yelena drops down on the other side of her, breathing hard. “I did not see…” she starts, her voice unsteady in a way I’ve never heard before. “Back off!” I snap, not even looking at her.

Blood is soaking through my gloves. It’s warm. Too warm. “I did not know about the charges…” Yelena says, and there’s panic there now. Real panic. “I said, back. Off.” The words come out lethal. Raw. Yelena recoils like I’ve hit her. But I can’t look at her. I can’t look at anyone. All I can see is Y/n’s chest struggling to rise.

Her breathing hitches, wet, gurgling. There’s internal bleeding. I press harder against the wound, ignoring the way she flinches faintly under my hands. “I’ve got you.” I whisper, tears blurring my vision despite years of training telling me not to fall apart. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.” She isn’t. I know she isn’t.

Her head lolls slightly to the side. “Come on baby.” My voice cracks completely now. “No. No, you stay with me. You stay.” Her lashes flutter. Her lips move again, barely forming the shape of something. It takes everything in me to lean closer. “…Nat…” The sound of my name on her broken breath shatters what little control I have left.

“I’m here.” I sob, pressing my forehead briefly to hers, not caring about the blood, the smoke, the team watching. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? You fight. You always fight.” Her power sparks once more, weak, fading. And then her eyes roll back. Her body goes frighteningly limp.

“Y/n?” My voice is small now. Disbelieving. I shake her gently. “No. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay…” There’s no response. For a heartbeat, one endless, suffocating heartbeat, I think she’s gone. Something primal tears out of my chest. A sound I don’t recognise as my own. “Y/n!”

Steve is suddenly beside me. Wanda too, her magic flaring violently in response to my panic. Yelena is frozen across from me, staring at what she’s done. But I don’t see her.

I’m gripping Y/n’s face between my hands now, desperate, shaking. “Breathe.” I whisper frantically, pressing my ear near her mouth. “Please. Please.” There’s a faint, shallow inhale. Barely there. But it’s there. Relief crashes through me so violently it almost makes me dizzy. “She’s breathing,” I choke out. “She’s breathing.” My hands are covered in her blood. And for the first time in years, for the first time since the Red Room, I am completely, utterly terrified.

Steve kneels down beside me. “Nat, she needs extraction now.” I nod immediately. Without hesitation, he slides one arm carefully beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her legs. She makes a faint, pained sound as he lifts her. It shreds me.

We move fast, boots pounding against metal, wind whipping across the platform as we reach the Quinjet. Bruce is already waiting. The moment Steve sets her down, Bruce takes over, cutting away fabric, applying pressure, scanning vitals. “Internal bleeding,” Bruce mutters. “Energy trauma is destabilising her neural pathways.” He reels off. “Please fix it.” I practically beg. “I can stabilise for transport, but she needs surgery. Immediately.”

Yelena stands near the ramp, frozen. Pale. “This is my fault.” She says quietly. I don’t look at her. “If she dies…” but I don’t let her finish that sentence. “She won’t.” I cut in sharply. But Bruce doesn’t reassure me. “She’s critical.” He says grimly. “We have a narrow window.”

The jet lifts off. I sit beside her, holding her hand. Her skin is cold. Her pulse is weak beneath my fingers. Across from me, Yelena watches in silence, guilt etched into every line of her face. I don’t have space for her right now. I don’t have space for anger. Only fear.

The Quinjet lands hard. I barely register it. The moment the ramp drops, medical staff are already waiting with a gurney. Bruce is barking clipped instructions, blood still staining his hands. Steve helps transfer her carefully, like she might shatter if handled too roughly.

She looks so small. That’s the part that undoes me. Not the blood. Not the burns. Not even the machines already attached to her. It’s how small she looks.

They wheel her down the corridor toward the surgical wing. The overhead lights streak across her face as we move. Her head tilts slightly with the motion, lifeless.

“Stay with us.” I say, even though she can’t hear me. “Stay.” The doors to surgery swing open. And then they close. Just like that. I’m left staring at a red light above the door that flicks on with a soft, mechanical click. Surgery in progress.

The hallway feels too bright. Too sterile. Too clean for what just happened. I don’t sit. I can’t. I pace once. Twice. Then stop because my legs feel unsteady. Wanda steps up beside me quietly. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but her posture is steady. She’s holding herself together the way she always does, by sheer will.

“She’s strong.” Wanda says softly. I let out a hollow laugh. “She shouldn’t have had to be.” Wanda’s hand brushes mine briefly. Her magic hums faintly, not intrusive, just grounding. “I lost Pietro,” she murmurs. “And I thought… I thought I would not survive that kind of pain again.” The words hang between us.

I look at her. “I can’t lose her.” I say. And it’s not dramatic. It’s not a declaration. It’s a fact. Wanda nods once, eyes shining. “We won’t.” She says as confidently as she can. But I can see it in her eyes. She doubts it. How can you not after seeing her in the state we did.

Across the hall, Yelena stands near the wall. She hasn’t moved since we arrived. Her hands are clenched so tightly her knuckles are white. There’s dried blood on her sleeve, Y/n’s blood. She looks smaller too.

For a long time, none of us speak. The seconds drag. Every time the surgical doors swing open for a nurse, my heart leaps into my throat. Then Yelena steps forward. “I did not know.” She says quietly. I close my eyes briefly. Not now. “I did not see the trip lasers. I did not know about the amplification pulse.” She continues, voice low but steady. “If I had…”

“You didn’t trust her.” I cut in sharply. The hallway goes still. Yelena swallows. “That is not why…” She tries to defend. “You didn’t trust her.” I repeat, turning to face her fully now. The anger has been simmering since the platform. Now it burns.

“You ignored orders.” I say, my voice controlled but shaking underneath. “You ran ahead because you thought you knew better. Because you didn’t believe she could handle it. Because you thought she was the liability.”

“I thought she was overextending.” Yelena fires back, though there’s no real heat in it. “I thought she would…” But her words die out. “She went after you.” The words crack out of me. “She went after you knowing it wasn’t safe. Knowing it would put her in direct line of fire.” Yelena’s face drains further.

“She chose you.” I say, my throat tightening painfully. “You were falling and she didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. She didn’t calculate the odds. She didn’t weigh the risk. She just chose you.” I say annoyed that she still can’t see it.

“I was trying to protect you,” Yelena says, and now her voice wavers. “I was trying to make sure you did not anchor yourself to something unstable.” Something in me snaps. “Unstable?” I step toward her before I even realise I’m moving. “She held a collapsing platform together with shrapnel tearing through the air. She kept you suspended while being shot at. Do you know what that takes? The level of control? The restraint?” Yelena’s breathing falters.

“She didn’t lash out. She didn’t lose control. Even when that device started tearing through her system, she focused on getting you to solid ground.” My voice breaks despite my effort to keep it steady. “Her last conscious decision was to make sure you landed safely.” The weight of that hangs between us.

“She didn’t hesitate.” I repeat, quieter now. “And you still doubted her.” Wanda shifts slightly behind me but doesn’t interrupt. “I might lose her.” I say, and the words feel like glass in my throat. “I might lose the love of my life. My soulmate. Because you were too stubborn to see past your own fear.”

The hallway is silent except for the faint hum of hospital equipment beyond the door. Yelena looks like she’s been struck. “I never wanted this.” She whispers. “Intent doesn’t change outcome.” Her shoulders sag.

“I was afraid.” she admits. “I have seen power like that used without conscience. I have been controlled. I have been stripped of choice. I thought if I pushed her, if I questioned her, I would see cracks before they formed.” She tries to explain. “But instead, you created them.” I state. The words land heavy.

Yelena’s eyes glisten. She doesn’t wipe the tears away. “I will do anything.” She says finally. “Anything to make this right. For you. For her. I will earn her trust. I will earn yours.” I stare at her. Part of me wants to believe her. Part of me wants to break something. “You can start,” I say coldly, “by leaving.”

Wanda inhales sharply. Yelena doesn’t move. “This is not about you anymore.” I continue. “I need space. I need to focus on her. I cannot look at you right now without seeing that platform.” Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t retreat. “I understand you are angry,” she says quietly. “And you have every right to be. But I am still your sister.” The words aren’t defensive. They’re pleading.

“I will not leave you alone in this.” She continues, voice steadier now. “Even if you do not want me here, I am here. Not to argue. Not to justify. To stay.” My chest tightens painfully. “You do not get to disappear when things are hard.” She adds softly. “That is not what family does.”

The red surgical light above the door glows steadily. I feel like I’m being pulled apart from the inside. “I don’t know how to forgive you for this.” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper now. “I know,” she says. And for the first time tonight, she doesn’t argue.

We stand there, sisters on opposite sides of a fracture neither of us knows how to mend. And on the other side of that door, the woman I love fights for her life.

After what feels like days, the red light above the operating theatre finally clicks off. The sound is small. But it slices through me. The doors swing open a moment later and Bruce steps out, surgical cap still on, mask hanging loose around his neck. There’s exhaustion etched into every line of his face, and something heavier.

I’m in front of him before he even fully clears the doorway. “Bruce.” My voice is tight and controlled. Barely. He exhales slowly. “She made it through surgery.” The words hit me in stages. She made it through. “She’s alive?” I ask, because I need to hear it plainly. “She’s alive.” He confirms. The breath leaves my lungs so fast my knees nearly give out.

But Bruce doesn’t smile. “She’s still critical.” He continues carefully. “The energy discharge caused extensive internal trauma. We repaired a ruptured spleen and significant internal bleeding. There were fractures along her ribs from the impact, two were close to puncturing a lung.” My stomach twists.

“The burn at her sternum was worse than we initially thought. The amplification pulse essentially forced her power to implode inward. There’s neurological stress we can’t fully assess yet.” Wanda’s hand finds mine without me looking.

Bruce keeps going with clinical, precise. “She lost a lot of blood. We stabilised her heart rhythm, but it’s weak. We’ve placed her on assisted ventilation to reduce strain. The next twenty-four hours are crucial.” He pauses as he lets that set in. She’s alive but she’s not out of the woods yet. “We’ve done everything we can surgically.” He says more quietly. “Now we have to let her body decide the rest.” The words feel like a verdict.

“Can I see her?” I ask immediately. Bruce studies my face for a second, the blood still on my sleeves, the tremor I can’t quite suppress. “Yes.” he says gently. “But she won’t be conscious. And she won’t look like herself.” It doesn’t matter. “I need to see her.” He nods and steps aside. “Follow me.”

The ICU is too quiet. Machines hum steadily. Monitors beep in calm, indifferent rhythms. The air smells sterile, antiseptic and something faintly metallic beneath it. Bruce pushes open the door to her room. And for a second, I can’t move. She’s in the centre of the room, surrounded by machines.

Tubing runs from her arms. A ventilator line disappears past her lips. There’s a thick bandage wrapped across her chest where the burn was treated. Her shoulder is heavily dressed. Bruising has already begun to bloom across her ribs and collarbone.

She looks pale. Too pale. Small. So small. This is not the woman who held a platform together with sheer will. This is not the woman who laughs in my kitchen and steals food off my plate. This is not the woman who told me she wanted a future.

My vision blurs instantly. My breath stutters. And then my knees buckle. Wanda is there before I hit the floor, her arm sliding firmly around my waist. “Nat,” she whispers, holding me upright. I didn’t realise I was crying until I taste salt.

“I should have been faster,” I choke out. “I should have…” I break. “You cannot rewrite what happened.” Wanda says softly, steady despite the tears in her own eyes. “She is still here.”

I force myself forward. Each step feels heavier than the last. When I finally reach the bedside, I take her hand carefully. It’s cold. I lift it gently between both of mine, careful of the IV lines. “I’m here.” I whisper, my voice breaking completely now that there’s no battlefield adrenaline left to hold me together. “I’m right here.” The steady beep of the heart monitor answers me.

Behind us, I’m aware of Yelena standing near the back wall. She hasn’t spoken. She hasn’t moved closer. She looks wrecked. But she keeps her distance, like she understands this space isn’t hers right now.

Wanda helps me ease into the chair beside the bed. She takes the other side, her fingers brushing lightly over Y/n’s uninjured arm. I press my forehead gently against the back of Y/n’s hand. “You don’t get to leave me.” I whisper again, softer now. “Not like this.”

The machines continue their steady rhythm. And for the first time since the platform collapsed, there’s nothing to fight. Only waiting.

__________

It’s been four days. Four days of machines breathing for her. Four days of watching monitors like they personally owe me something. Four days of not sleeping properly, just drifting in and out in the chair beside her bed, my fingers always wrapped around hers like if I let go she might disappear.

I haven’t left. Wanda has forced me to eat twice a day. She doesn’t ask, she just appears with food and that look that says she will physically move me if she has to. “Nat,” she says gently now, setting a container down on the small table beside me. “You need strength.” She tries to convince me. “I’m fine.” I defend. “You are not.” She replies, but there’s no judgment in it. Only care.

She’s been my anchor these past few days. When the nightmares creep in, flashes of the platform collapsing, Y/n’s body going limp, Wanda’s hand finds mine. When my breathing gets too shallow, her magic hums softly in the air, steady and grounding.

Across the room, Yelena stands near the window. She’s been here every day. Never intruding. Never pushing. Just… present. She doesn’t sit. Doesn’t try to touch anything. She keeps to the back like she doesn’t believe she deserves to be closer. I haven’t acknowledged her much. I can’t. Not yet.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep. I’m staring at the rise and fall of Y/n’s chest when something changes. It’s subtle. A shift in her fingers against mine.

At first I think I imagined it. Then her brow furrows slightly. I freeze. “Wanda.” I whisper, barely breathing. Wanda is at the bedside instantly. Y/n’s lashes flutter. Slowly. Painfully.

Her eyes open. They’re unfocused at first, hazy, confused. But they’re open. “Hey,” I breathe, my chair scraping harshly against the floor as I lean forward. “Hey, hey… detka.”

Her gaze shifts sluggishly toward my voice. It takes a second. Then another. And then she sees me. There’s confusion there. Disorientation. And then recognition. Her fingers twitch weakly in mine. “Nat…” It’s barely a sound, just air over dry lips. I laugh and cry at the same time. “I’m here.” I say quickly, brushing my free hand gently over her hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Wanda’s breath catches beside me. I glance at her just long enough to see tears slipping down her cheeks, relief, pure and overwhelming. “I’ll get Bruce.” She says softly, already backing toward the door.

Behind her, Yelena has gone completely still. She looks like she’s afraid to move. Bruce arrives within seconds, stepping into the room with controlled urgency. “Well,” he says gently as he moves to the monitors, “that’s a sight I like to see.”

He begins running checks, light in her eyes, careful palpation around her ribs, scanning devices humming quietly. “How are you feeling?” He asks her. Y/n tries to speak again but winces instead. “Don’t push it.” Bruce says. “Your body’s been through significant trauma.”

He glances at me briefly before continuing. “You sustained multiple internal injuries. We repaired what we could surgically. There was neurological strain from the energy feedback, we’re monitoring for any long-term effects.” My grip tightens around her hand instinctively.

“But,” Bruce adds, looking back at her with something close to awe, “considering the scale of the trauma… you’re showing remarkably positive signs. Your vitals are stabilising faster than anticipated.” A miracle. He doesn’t say it. But we all hear it.

“You’re not out of the woods.” He continues carefully. “Recovery will be long. Physical therapy. Power regulation assessments. You’ll need to rebuild strength slowly.” Y/n gives the faintest nod. Bruce offers a small smile. “That stubborn streak might finally work in your favour.”

When he finishes, he steps back. “She needs rest.” He says quietly to me. “But this is… very good.” Wanda squeezes my shoulder gently. “We’ll give you space.” I look up at her. She nods once, steady, supportive. Yelena hesitates for a fraction of a second before following Wanda out. As she passes me, she doesn’t speak. But her eyes flick briefly to Y/n, raw, almost reverent.

Then the door closes softly behind them. And it’s just us. The room feels different now. Lighter. I exhale slowly and lean forward, pressing my forehead carefully against the edge of the mattress near her hand.

“You scared me.” I admit, my voice rough. “I thought…” My throat closes. I swallow hard. “I thought I lost you.” Her fingers curl faintly around mine. “You didn’t.” She whispers. “I’ve never been that afraid.” I admit honestly. “Not even in the Red Room. Not even when…” I stop myself.

She watches me carefully, even through the haze of medication and exhaustion. “I can’t…” I shake my head slightly. “I can’t do this without you.” Her lips twitch into the faintest, tired smile. “You’d manage.” She murmurs. “Don’t,” I say immediately, my voice sharp with emotion. “Don’t joke about that.”

She studies me for a moment, something soft passing through her eyes. “I didn’t want you to lose your sister again.” She says quietly. The words catch me off guard. My brows draw together. “What?” I question. “When she fell,” Y/n continues weakly, each word costing her something. “I saw your face. I knew… if anything happened to her…”

My chest tightens painfully. “You thought about that?” I ask. She nods faintly. “I couldn’t let you go through that twice.” I let out a shaky breath that almost turns into a scoff. “You almost died,” I say, brushing my thumb gently over her knuckles. “And you were worried about me.” She doesn’t answer. Because that’s exactly what she did.

I shake my head slightly, overwhelmed and wrecked and grateful all at once. “You are impossible.” I whisper, but there’s no anger in it. Only love. She blinks slowly, fighting exhaustion. “I’m not going anywhere.” I murmur, leaning closer so she can hear me clearly. “Long recovery or not. I’m right here.”

Her eyes close again, not unconscious this time. Just resting. She’s still here. And for the first time in four days, when I squeeze her hand, I feel her squeeze back. __________

The days after she wakes are different. Not easy. But different. She’s more alert now. The haze of anaesthesia fades gradually, replaced by pain management and careful monitoring. She can sit up with assistance by day six. By day seven, Bruce reduces the ventilatory support completely. Every movement costs her. Every breath is measured. But she’s here. And that changes everything.

The team rotates through in quiet waves. Steve stands awkwardly at the foot of the bed, clearly unsure what to do with his hands. Sam cracks jokes that aren’t very funny but are delivered with enough charm that she smiles anyway. Tony pretends he’s there to check the medical tech and absolutely does not wipe at his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking.

Wanda is there almost as much as I am. Sometimes she sits cross-legged on the windowsill, magic bouncing around her fingers to distract her. Sometimes she reads quietly while Y/n sleeps. Sometimes she just watches her breathe.

Yelena comes too. But she never crosses the halfway point of the room. She stands near the wall or by the door, silent. Observing. Waiting. She hasn’t tried to speak to Y/n since she woke up and I haven’t invited her closer.

It’s late afternoon when Y/n finally asks. She’s propped up against a slight incline in the hospital bed, pale but sharper now, eyes clearer, voice steadier despite the strain. I’m adjusting her blanket when she studies me with that look. The one that means she’s about to ask something inconveniently perceptive.

“Where’s Yelena?” She asks quietly. My hands pause for a fraction of a second. “She’s around.” Y/n tilts her head slightly. “That’s not what I asked.” I sigh, moving back into the chair beside her bed. “She’s been here. Every day.” I admit. “And?” I meet her eyes. “She won’t be a problem anymore.” There’s a weight behind my words.

Y/n’s brows knit together faintly. “Nat.” She draws out my name. “She understands where she stands.” I continue evenly. “We’ve made that clear.” I share. “That’s not what I meant.” Silence settles between us. She shifts slightly, wincing as the movement pulls at healing ribs. “Careful.” I say automatically, leaning forward.

“I’m fine.” She tries to wave me off. “You’re not.” She gives me a small look that almost resembles amusement. “I will be.” There’s that stubborn certainty.

She studies me again. “You’re still angry.” It’s not a question. Just an observation. “Yes.” She exhales slowly. “Nat…” She gives me that look which she knows I will fold to. “She ignored orders.” I say almost with an annoyed tone. “She ran ahead because she thought she knew better. Because she didn’t trust you.”

“And?” She questions. “And even if she didn’t trust you,” I continue, my voice tightening despite myself, “she should have trusted me.” The words hang there. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just say, ‘It’s fine. I forgive you for causing my soulmate to almost die.’” My jaw tightens. “That’s not how this works.” Her expression softens at the word soulmate, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I watched you bleed out on that platform.” I say quietly. “I listened to Bruce tell me you might not survive surgery. I sat here for four days not knowing if you were going to wake up.” My voice falters despite every instinct telling me to keep it steady. “You don’t get over that in a week.”

She watches me carefully, no judgment in her gaze. Only understanding. “I’m alive.” She says gently. “I know.” I say, reaching for her hand. “I’m going to recover.” She points out. “I know.” I respond again. “Then what are you holding onto?” The question lands harder than I expect.

I look down at our joined hands. “I was terrified.” I admit. “And when I’m terrified, I get angry.” Her thumb brushes weakly over my knuckles. “She didn’t mean for it to happen.” She shares the obvious. I know that Yelena didn’t mean for Y/n to get hurt. But still here we are. “She’s been through things too.” She points out and that line hits. “I know.”

“You and her have already lost too much time.” That one sinks in slowly. Y/n’s voice is quiet but firm now. “She’s your sister. You fought so hard to get her back. Don’t let this be the thing that drives you apart.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “She almost drove you into the ground.” I argue. “And I would do it again.” My head snaps up. “Don’t.” She holds my gaze steadily despite the exhaustion lining her features.

“If it meant you didn’t have to lose her again? I’d make the same choice.” My throat tightens painfully. “You are not expendable.” I say sharply. “I know that.” She replies softly. “But I also know what it’s like to lose family.” That hits differently. Wanda. Hydra. Everything before this.

“She’s scared.” Y/n continues. “Of power. Of losing you. Of things spiralling out of control.” She says softly. “She doesn’t get to project that onto you.” I snap back a little, no malice in my tone. “No. She doesn’t.” She pauses. “But she also doesn’t deserve to lose you over it.”

I lean back in the chair, running a hand over my face. “It’s not that simple.” I huff. “I didn’t say it was.” Silence settles again. “I’m not asking you to forget what happened.” She says after a moment. “I’m asking you to think about whether holding onto it is worth what it will cost.”

I stare at the steady beep of the monitor for a long time. “I don’t know how to just forgive her.” I admit. “I’m not asking you to ‘just’ forgive her.” Her voice is softer now, almost tired. “Just… think about it.” Her fingers squeeze mine again, weak, but intentional. “For me.” That’s unfair. She knows it. I know it. But she’s looking at me with those stubborn, unwavering eyes.

And even after everything, she still believes in people. I exhale slowly. “I’ll think about it.” I say quietly. It’s not a promise. But it’s something. And she smiles like that’s enough.

___________

It’s three days later when Yelena finally steps fully into the room. Not just hovering near the doorway. Not just standing at the back like a ghost. She actually crosses the threshold.

Y/n is sitting up more comfortably now, a pillow braced carefully behind her back. The bruising along her collarbone has darkened but is beginning to fade at the edges. The monitors are fewer now. The room feels less like a battlefield triage and more like recovery.

I’m adjusting her medication schedule on the tablet when I sense it, that subtle shift in the air. I look up. Yelena stands just inside the door, hands clasped loosely in front of her like she’s unsure what to do with them.

“Can we talk?” She asks quietly. My spine straightens immediately. “She needs rest.” I say before Y/n can respond. Yelena’s jaw tightens slightly, but she doesn’t snap back. “I will not be long.” I’m already rising from the chair. Y/n’s hand catches my wrist. “Babe.” It’s gentle. But firm. I look down at her. “It’s okay.” She says softly. I hesitate. Yelena watches the exchange carefully. “You sure?” I murmur. “Yes.” There’s something steady in her gaze, not reckless, not overly forgiving. Just certain.

I sit back down, but I don’t relax. Not even slightly. Yelena steps further into the room, stopping a respectful distance from the bed. “You look terrible.” She says bluntly. Y/n lets out a soft huff of laughter. “I was shot.” She states matter of factly, but a smile rests on her lips. “Yes. Very inconvenient.” I shoot Yelena a look. She notices.

She glances between us and then, to my irritation, a faint smirk touches her mouth. “It is amusing,” she says lightly, “how quickly you obey her.” I glare at her. The look is sharp enough that it used to make grown men reconsider life choices. Yelena clears her throat immediately. “Right. Not the time.” She shifts her weight, the humour draining from her expression.

The silence stretches. Then she steps closer. “I owe you an apology.” She says, looking directly at Y/n now. Y/n doesn’t interrupt. “I was wrong.” Yelena continues. “I let my fear cloud my judgment. I did not trust you. I questioned your control. Your intentions.” Her voice lowers slightly. “And because of that, I made a reckless decision on the mission.” She swallows. “You nearly died saving me.” The words are heavier when she says them. “I am sorry.” she finishes. “Truly.”

The room is quiet. I study Y/n’s face carefully, ready to intervene if I need to. But she doesn’t look angry. She looks… relieved. “All I ever wanted,” Y/n says gently, “was to get along with you.” Yelena blinks. “I know how much you mean to Nat.” Y/n continues, glancing at me briefly before looking back at her. “You’re her family. I wasn’t trying to replace that. I just wanted to be part of it.” Something shifts in Yelena’s expression, subtle but undeniable.

“I did not think you were trying to replace me.” She says quietly. “I thought… if I trusted too easily, I would lose her.” Y/n tilts her head slightly. “You won’t.” She says softly. “I let my fear dictate my trust.” Yelena admits. “That will not happen again.”

She turns to me then. “And I owe you an apology as well.” I don’t respond immediately. “You trusted her.” Yelena says. “And I did not trust your judgment. That was unfair.” She apologises. “Yes.” I say evenly. “It was.” There’s no hostility in my tone. Just truth. Yelena nods once, accepting it. “I cannot undo what happened.” She says. “But I will spend as long as it takes proving that I learned from it.”

Silence lingers again. Then I stand. Not aggressive. But deliberate. I step closer to her, lowering my voice so only the three of us can hear. “If you ever,” I say quietly, “ignore an order like that again, if you ever put her in that position again, I won’t hesitate.” It’s not a threat shouted in anger. It’s a promise spoken in steel.

Yelena holds my gaze. “I understand.” She nods. “And?” I question. “And you will not need to repeat yourself.” For a second, we just look at each other. Years of shared history. Pain. Loyalty. Blood. Then Yelena nods once more. Accepted.

Behind me, Y/n exhales softly, like she’s been holding her breath. When I turn back to her, she’s watching us with something that looks dangerously close to hope. And for the first time since the platform collapse, the room feels lighter.

Y/n’s POV:

Recovery is not cinematic. It’s not heroic music and triumphant comebacks. It’s learning how to sit up without feeling like your ribs are splintering from the inside. It’s gripping the edge of the bed while your body trembles from the effort of standing. It’s Bruce gently but firmly reminding you that healing is not a race.

And Natasha is there for all of it. Every appointment. Every physio session. Every frustrating moment where my power flickers unevenly and I have to breathe through the fear that maybe it won’t ever feel the same again. She memorises my medication schedule better than I do. She adjusts pillows with surgical precision. She pretends not to hover, but she absolutely hovers.

“Nat.” I sigh one afternoon as she watches me take three careful steps across the training mat, Wanda spotting on one side and a medic on the other. “Yes?” She smiles up at me. “You’re glaring at the floor like it personally offended you.” I call her out. “It did,” she replies flatly. “It’s making this harder than necessary.” Wanda snorts softly. “I am fairly certain the floor is neutral in this situation.” She says. Nat doesn’t smile.

But when I wobble slightly, she’s there in an instant, steady hands at my waist, careful of my ribs. “I’ve got you.” She murmurs. “I know.” And I do.

___________

Wanda is almost as constant.

She helps me regulate my energy in short, measured exercises. We sit in the quiet training room, red magic dancing between us like twin heartbeats. “Slow.” She reminds gently. “Do not force it.” Sometimes it works smoothly. Sometimes it sputters and dies. On those days, I feel the frustration creeping in.

“What if it’s weaker?” I ask her once, staring at the faint glow in my palms. “Then it is weaker.” She says simply. “And you are still you.” It shouldn’t be that simple. But somehow, when she says it, it is.

__________

And then there’s Yelena. No one expects her to show up to my first physical therapy session. Least of all me. She stands awkwardly near the doorway, arms crossed, watching as I attempt assisted balance exercises. “Your posture is terrible.” She says after a moment. I blink at her. “Again, do I need to remind you I was shot.” I huff. “Yes. And now you are slouching.” Nat glares at her automatically. Yelena raises both hands. “Constructive criticism.” To my surprise, I laugh.

From that day on, she’s there more often. Not intrusive. Not overbearing. Present. She adjusts the resistance on therapy bands. She times my breathing exercises. She walks slow laps beside me in the compound garden, deliberately matching my reduced pace without making it obvious.

When my energy spikes unpredictably one evening, flaring bright and unstable, it’s Yelena who calmly steps forward and says, “Breathe. You are in control. I trust you.” The words hit harder than I expect. I steady. And when I glance up, she doesn’t look afraid. She looks certain.

She makes sure Natasha eats. That might be the most impressive change of all. One evening I wake from a nap to find them arguing quietly in the corner of my room. “You have not slept properly in days.” Yelena is saying. “I’m fine.” Nat snaps. “You are not fine. You are running on fumes and stubbornness.” Yelena calls her out. “I can handle it.” Nat argues right back. “And I can handle you.” Yelena shoots back. “Sit down.” Nat actually hesitates then actually sits. I pretend to still be asleep so I can hide my smile.

___________

Weeks pass. I walk without assistance. My ribs ache less. My power stabilises, not exactly the same, but steadier. Controlled. The four of us fall into something new. Movie nights in the common room with Wanda’s feet tucked under her, Yelena complaining about the plot, Nat’s arm wrapped carefully around my shoulders.

Morning coffee where Yelena critiques Nat’s technique and I defend her honour dramatically. Training sessions that are cautious but hopeful. It’s messy. Loud. Protective. It’s family.

Yelena and I grow close in a way neither of us expected. She tells me stories about her missions freeing the Widows. I tell her about the first time my power manifested in Hydra’s lab, not the pain, but the moment I realised I had survived it.

We spar gently once I’m cleared. She still wins. But she grins when I manage to disarm her telekinetically. “Acceptable.” She states. High praise. Nat watches us sometimes like she’s afraid the moment will disappear if she blinks. It doesn’t.

__________

I find out about the ring by accident. Well. Not entirely by accident. I’m in the kitchen late one evening, moving slowly but confidently now, when I hear hushed voices in the adjacent lounge. “…she will say yes.” Yelena is whispering. “I know she will.” Nat replies, voice tight with nerves. “That’s not the point.” I freeze.

Yelena sighs dramatically. “You have faced alien invasions and assassins. Why are you afraid of one small question?” She asks as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “Because this matters.” Nat says quietly. Silence follows. Then Yelena’s tone softens. “You already chose her. Long ago.” There’s a pause. “And she chose you.” Yelena continues. “Do not overthink it. Keep it simple. Intimate. She does not need spectacle.” I slip away before I hear more. My heart is pounding.

The proposal happens two weeks later. No grand gestures. No assembled team. Just the compound garden at sunset. The leaves are beginning to turn gold. The air is crisp but not cold. I’m walking without assistance now, slower than before, but steady. Nat leads me to the small bench overlooking the lake. “You’re very serious.” I observe. “I am always serious.” She smirks. “That’s a lie.” She huffs softly.

For a moment, we just sit. The water reflects the fading light in soft ripples. “I thought I was going to lose you.” She says quietly. I don’t interrupt. “And it made something very clear.” She turns toward me fully now. “You are my future.” She says. “Not just the next mission. Not just the next year.”

Her hand slips into her pocket. “I don’t want to survive things without you. I want to build with you.” She pulls out a small ring, simple, elegant. Perfect. “Will you Marry me?” There’s no speech or theatrics. Just certainty.

My eyes burn instantly. “Yes.” I breathe, giving her the easiest answer I’ve ever given. She exhales like she’s been holding that breath for months. My eyes well up as she slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.

From the porch behind us, there’s a muffled cheer. I glance up to see Wanda grinning openly, hands clasped to her chest, and Yelena pretending she absolutely was not watching, though she’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen. Nat rolls her eyes lightly but doesn’t look annoyed. She looks happy. Whole. And I have never been happier in my life. Knowing that I get to marry Nat and spend the rest of my life with her.

Later that night, the four of us sit together in the living room. Wanda tucked into the corner of the sofa. Yelena arguing about wedding logistics already. Nat’s hand laced with mine. I look around at them. At where we were months ago. Suspicion. Fear. Blood on metal floors.

And where we are now. Trust rebuilt. Laughter restored. A future planned. We’re not perfect. We’re stubborn. Overprotective. Occasionally reckless. But we show up. For each other.

And as Yelena throws a cushion at Wanda and Nat leans in to press a soft kiss to my temple, I realise something simple and certain. This is what family feels like. Not born. A chosen family. And finally, it’s complete.

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 10 (Final Part)

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Word Count: 8962

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: Nine months after choosing independence, Y/N has finally built a life that feels like her own. As a new opportunity changes everything, she’s forced to face just how far she’s come, not just as an agent, but as a daughter, a partner, and a woman no longer defined by her past.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

9 months later

Morning in my SHIELD accommodation is quiet in a way that feels earned. Not empty. Not lonely. Just... calm. Soft light filters through the tall windows, spilling across the polished floor in long pale bands. The city below hums faintly, traffic moving in steady streams, the distant thrum of life carrying upward like a constant reminder that the world keeps turning whether you're ready for it or not.

I sit on the edge of my bed, pulling on my boots, the motion easy and automatic now. No hesitation. No careful bracing. No moment where I have to check whether my body will cooperate. I stand without thinking. And that alone still feels like a quiet miracle.

There was a time, not so long ago, when standing had been an effort that stole my breath. When every step had required calculation. When moving freely had felt like something I might never take for granted again.

Now I cross the room easily, grabbing my jacket from the chair by the door, checking my watch, mentally running through the day ahead the way I used to before everything went wrong.

Training at nine. Briefing at eleven. Reports to review after lunch. It's all normal. Completely, beautifully normal.

I pause for a moment at the window before leaving, resting my hand lightly against the cool glass, looking out over the city. This space still feels new in some ways, even after months. It's mine in a way nothing ever quite was before. Not borrowed. Not temporary. Not something I had to earn permission to exist in. Mine because I chose it.

The thought still settles warm and steady in my chest every time it surfaces. Nine months ago, choosing to move back here had felt complicated. Heavy. Like a decision balanced between two versions of myself: the daughter who had finally begun rebuilding something fragile with her family, and the agent who needed space to grow into her own life. Now, it just feels like the natural shape of things. Because moving out didn't break anything. If anything, it proved that what we were rebuilding could survive distance.

The day I left the Tower still plays back in small, vivid flashes sometimes. The twins had taken it the hardest, even though they tried very hard not to show it. Billy had hovered near the doorway of my room while I packed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his mouth pressed into a stubborn line. "You're still coming on Sundays, right?" He'd asked, trying to sound casual and failing completely. "Every Sunday" I'd promised, crouching down so we were eye level. "That's non-negotiable."

Tommy had rolled his eyes, but his voice had wobbled when he added, "And you'll still help us with LEGO stuff? Because Mom keeps messing up the instructions." He complained. "Hey," Mom had protested from the hallway, feigning offense. I'd laughed, reaching out to pull both of them into a quick hug. "I'm not disappearing." I'd told them quietly. "I'm just living somewhere else. That's all." They'd nodded, accepting it in the way children do when they don't fully like something but understand it anyway.

Mama and Mom had helped me move in silence that day. Not heavy silence. Not strained. Just quiet. Mama had carried the heavier boxes like it was nothing, setting them down with careful precision. Mom had fussed gently over where everything should go, adjusting things by small inches until the room felt balanced.

Neither of them had said how hard it was for them to watch me leave. They didn't need to. I'd seen it in the way Mama lingered near the doorway before she left. In the way Mom's hand had squeezed mine just a second longer than usual. But they'd smiled anyway. Because they understood what it meant.

And in the months since then, they haven't disappeared. Not even once. If anything, they've become more present in my life than they've ever been before. Sunday dinners at the Tower have become something sacred without anyone ever formally declaring them that way. No matter how busy schedules get, no matter what missions or briefings or emergencies come up, we always find our way back to that table at least once a week.

The twins usually talk the loudest, filling the space with endless stories about school, friends, whatever new obsession they've picked up lately. Mom listens with patient warmth, asking questions, guiding conversations gently. Mama pretends not to hover but still notices every detail, every shift in mood, every quiet moment where someone might need support.

And me? I just sit there sometimes, watching them, letting the sound of their voices settle around me like something steady and real. Like something that isn't going anywhere.

They show up in other ways too. Small ones. Quiet ones. The kind that don't demand attention but matter deeply. Mama often crosses paths with me during training now. Sometimes she joins me for sparring sessions, sometimes she just observes from the sidelines, offering short, precise feedback that reminds me exactly why she was once the best instructor I ever had.

We've done a few smaller missions together over the past months. Nothing high-risk, nothing dramatic. Just routine operations, the kind that require coordination and trust more than heroics. Working beside her has felt... different. Not like a child trying to prove herself to a mentor. Like an equal. And every time she defers to my judgment in the field, every time she trusts my instincts without hesitation, something inside me settles a little more.

Mom checks in differently. She'll send messages in the middle of the day just to ask if I've eaten. She'll appear unexpectedly near my office with coffee when she senses I've been pushing too hard. She doesn't hover. She doesn't press. She just stays present.

Before missions, they always show up to see me off if they can. Not dramatically. Not with speeches or heavy emotions. Just a brief hug. A quiet "be careful." A look that says more than words ever could. And when I return, they're often there again. Waiting. Not because they think I can't handle myself. But because they want me to know I don't have to come back to silence anymore.

Over time, something inside me has shifted. The resentment that once sat sharp and constant in my chest has softened. Not erased, not forgotten, but transformed into something less heavy. Less defining.

Because they didn't just apologize. They changed. They showed up. They kept showing up. And eventually, that consistency did what promises alone never could. It built trust again.

Now when I think about them, it isn't with the constant ache of what I lost. It's with the quiet understanding that they're part of my life again in a way that feels real. Healthy and steady. I don't feel like I'm fighting to hold onto them anymore. I just want them there.

And for the first time in a very long time, I trust that they're not going anywhere. I grab my keys from the counter, heading toward the door, the rhythm of the day ahead already settling into place.

The hallway outside my accommodation smells faintly of coffee and disinfectant, the usual SHIELD combination that somehow always manages to feel both sterile and lived-in at the same time.

I lock the door behind me and head down the corridor, falling easily into the steady flow of agents moving toward their own assignments. Boots against polished floors. Quiet conversations. The distant hum of elevators opening and closing.

It feels familiar in a way that no longer carries weight. It's just part of my life. And part of that life, lately, has become very predictable in one specific way. Because when I turn the corner toward the main lift bank, she's already there. Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, one ankle hooked loosely over the other like she's been waiting for hours instead of maybe two minutes.

Kate looks up the second she spots me, her face lighting in that open, unguarded way that still does something warm and immediate inside my chest every single time. "There you are." She says, straightening. "I was about to send a search party." I snort softly as I approach. "You've been here for what, sixty seconds?" I retort. "Seventy-five." She corrects with mock seriousness. "Which is basically abandonment." I roll my eyes, but there's no heat in it, just affection. "You're ridiculous." I chuckle. "Yeah." She agrees easily, falling into step beside me. "But I'm your ridiculous."

Her hand finds mine automatically as we walk, fingers threading together without hesitation, without checking whether anyone is watching. Nine months ago, that would have made me hyper-aware. Now, it just feels normal, steady and right.

Our relationship has grown in quiet, steady ways over the past months. Not dramatic. Not rushed. But it's grown deeper. There was no single moment where everything shifted. It happened through hundreds of small ones instead.

Late nights studying mission files side by side. Early mornings grabbing coffee before training. Silent support during difficult briefings. The easy comfort of existing together without needing to fill every second with conversation.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, we crossed into something that felt permanent. I still remember exactly when she said it. It had been late. One of those nights when neither of us could sleep after a long mission.

We'd ended up sitting on the floor of her room, backs against the bed, takeout containers scattered between us, exhaustion settling into our bones in that deep, quiet way that comes after adrenaline finally fades.

Kate had been unusually quiet. She wasn't tense but I could see that she was lost in thought. I'd noticed it, of course. "What's going on in that head?" I'd asked, nudging her lightly with my shoulder.

She'd hesitated for a moment, then looked at me in that direct, steady way she has when she decides to stop holding something back. "You know," she'd said slowly, "I used to think falling for someone in this line of work would always feel... complicated." I'd frowned slightly. "Because it is complicated." She'd smiled a little at that. "Yeah. But this doesn't feel like that."

I remember my heart starting to beat faster, even before she said the words. Because there was something in her expression. Something certain. Something soft and fearless at the same time. She'd reached for my hand, her thumb brushing gently across my knuckles. "I love you." She'd said. Just like that with no hesitation or drama. Just truth.

For a second, I hadn't been able to breathe. Not because it scared me. Because it felt so right that it almost hurt. "I love you too." I'd whispered back easily, the words slipping out before I could overthink them. And the look on her face in that moment, relief, joy, something bright and steady all at once, is something I don't think I'll ever forget.

Since then, it's become something we say easily. Not casually. But naturally. Like it belongs there. Like we do.

We've also worked together more in the field over the past months, smaller missions at first, then gradually more complex operations. And we've learned how to move together in ways that go beyond just tactics. We anticipate each other now. Trust each other instinctively. Communicate in small, subtle signals that don't need words.

But we've also been careful about keeping balance. Not letting work swallow everything else. Some nights, we stay in, cooking badly together while arguing over music. Other nights, we grab takeout and collapse on one of our beds, watching terrible movies and making commentary that gets progressively more ridiculous as the night goes on.

Living in the same accommodation complex has made it easy to slip into each other's routines. Easy to knock on each other's doors at odd hours. Easy to exist side by side in ways that feel both independent and deeply connected at the same time.

"Hey," Kate says now, squeezing my hand lightly as we step into the elevator together. "You're doing that thinking face." I glance at her. "What thinking face?" I question. "The one where you look like you're about to solve world peace or dismantle a global conspiracy." She says. "Or both." I huff out a small laugh. "I was just thinking."

"Dangerous," she teases. "About us," I add. That gets her attention immediately. Her expression softens. "Good thinking or overthinking?" She asks with a hesitation to her voice. "Good." I say quietly. "Just about how far we've come." Her gaze holds mine for a moment, warm and steady. "Yeah." She murmurs. "We have."

Then, because she's still Kate, she tilts her head slightly and adds, "Also, I've come to the conclusion that you're the better sparring partner." I raise an eyebrow. "You only say that because you keep losing." I call her out. "Hey," she protests, mock-offended. "I strategically allow you to win for morale." She tries to defend. "Of course." I deadpan. "Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated."

She grins, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine as the elevator doors slide open. "Seriously though." She says, her voice softer now as we step out. "Everything's... good, right?"

I look at her, at the easy warmth in her eyes, the quiet certainty in the way she stands beside me. At the life we've built over the past nine months. And I nod. "Yeah." I say simply. Because it's true. Everything, for once, really does feel like it's falling into place. And for the first time in a very long time...it feels safe to believe it might actually last.

__________

A year. The thought doesn't come with the sharp sting it once did. It doesn't hit like a punch to the lungs or drag me back into memories that still feel too raw to touch. Instead, it settles somewhere quieter inside me. Heavy, but steady. Like a marker. A reminder of how far everything has shifted since that day.

I don't actually realise the date until Kate and I step into the elevator after morning training and she glances at her watch, her expression flickering with recognition. "Wow. I can't believe it's been a year." She says quietly. I follow her gaze automatically, then feel the understanding settle in.

One year since the mission that almost killed me. One year since everything fractured open. One year since the life I knew before ended, and something new, painful and complicated and ultimately stronger, began in its place.

But the thought doesn't stop there. Because another realisation follows right behind it. It's also been a year since Kate walked into my life. Since the first time she showed up in the hospital wing with that stubborn determination and that bright, impossible energy that seemed to cut straight through every wall I'd built around myself. Since she sat beside my hospital bed and refused to let me disappear into silence. Since she chose me, loudly, unapologetically, and over and over again.

I let out a slow breath, something warm and steady settling in my chest. "Yeah," I murmur softly. "A year." Kate's hand finds mine instinctively, her fingers lacing through mine in that now-familiar, grounding way. She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't need to. Because we both know. We both remember. And we both know we're not standing in the same place we were back then. Not even close.

The elevator doors slide open onto the executive level before either of us can say more. And the moment shifts immediately when we see who's waiting outside. Maria stands near the hallway entrance, tablet in hand, her posture crisp and professional as always.

"Agents." She greets, nodding once. "Director Fury wants to see you." Kate and I exchange a quick glance. That alone is enough to put us on alert. Fury doesn't call people in casually. Not for small talk. Not for routine matters.

Something inside my chest tightens slightly as we follow Hill down the corridor toward his office. Not fear exactly. Just awareness. Because meetings with Fury always mean something important is about to shift.

Fury's office hasn't changed. It never does. Muted lighting. Stark, functional furniture. A wide desk positioned like a strategic command point rather than something decorative.

He's standing when we enter, one hand resting on the edge of the desk, the other holding a file he sets down without ceremony the moment we step inside. His single eye fixes on us immediately, sharp and assessing in that way that always makes you feel like he's reading ten layers deeper than whatever you're actually showing on the surface.

"Romanoff." He says, nodding toward me. "Bishop." Kate straightens slightly beside me. "Sir." I do the same. "Director." He gestures toward the chairs across from his desk. "Sit." We do. Neither of us speaks first. You don't interrupt Fury when he's about to deliver something important.

He studies us for a moment in silence. And there's something different in his expression. It's not softer. But it's measured. Evaluative. Like he's weighing something he already knows the answer to.

"In the time that you have both been serving as full Shield agents, the both of you have completed advanced recovery conditioning, tactical requalification, and multiple successful field operations." His gaze shifts between us. "Your performance reviews are consistent." He pauses just long enough for the next words to carry weight. "Exceptional."

Kate's posture goes very still beside me. I feel my own spine straighten slightly. Because coming from Fury, that isn't praise given lightly. He doesn't do empty compliments. If he says it, he means it.

"So," he continues, "you've both been selected for an assignment." I blink. Kate speaks first. "With SHIELD?" She asks carefully. Fury's mouth twitches slightly at the corner. "No." He says. Then he adds, "With the Avengers."

The words sit there for a second, almost unreal. Kate's head tilts slightly, her brows pulling together. "...Sir," she says slowly, "are you sure that's..." "...appropriate?" Fury finishes dryly. "Because that's a different operational standard."

I find myself nodding slightly in agreement before I even realise I'm doing it. Not because we don't want it. Because the Avengers are a different level entirely. Global-scale operations. High-risk scenarios. Situations where mistakes don't just cost missions. They cost lives.

"I know what you're both thinking." Fury says flatly. "That you're not ready." His gaze sharpens. "You are." The certainty in his voice leaves no room for argument. Still, Kate shifts slightly in her chair. "Sir with respect," she says, choosing her words carefully, "we've only just moved into mid-tier operational assignments. The Avengers are..." "...a team," Fury cuts in once again. "Not a pedestal." He leans back slightly, folding his arms. "And despite what Stark likes to believe," he adds dryly, "he doesn't get to decide who's ready to stand on that field."

Kate's mouth twitches faintly at that. Fury continues, his tone steady. "I wouldn't approve this if you weren't capable." He says simply. His eye fixes on me. "And I don't send agents into environments where they're likely to fail." There's no softness in the statement. But there is something else beneath it. Trust. Professional, hard-earned trust.

"And to be clear," he adds, his voice lowering slightly, "this isn't charity." My shoulders square instinctively. "It's recognition." The words hit deeper than I expect. Because a year ago, I was fighting just to stand again. Just to breathe without pain. Just to prove I still belonged in this world. Now... Now I'm being asked to step into one of the highest operational teams on the planet. Not because of who my parents are. Not because of sympathy. Because I earned it.

I feel Kate's hand brush lightly against mine under the edge of the desk. Grounding and steady. Fury slides a file across the desk toward us. "Mission briefing is at the Tower in two hours." He says. "You'll report directly to Rogers."

He pauses, his gaze settling on both of us one last time. "Don't make me regret this." Kate huffs a quiet breath. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir." I nod once. "We won't." He gives a short, almost approving grunt. "Dismissed."

We don't speak until we're back out in the hallway. And the second the office door closes behind us, Kate turns toward me, eyes wide, a grin breaking across her face like she physically can't contain it anymore. "Okay," she whispers, half laughing, "that just happened." I feel my own smile pulling free, bright and disbelieving. "Yeah." I murmur.

Her hand catches mine fully now. "They want us to work with the Avengers." She says again, like she's testing the reality of the word. I squeeze her fingers gently. "Looks like we're ready." I reply.

The Tower feels different when you walk into it as part of the briefing roster. Not as someone visiting. Not as someone recovering. But as someone assigned.

Kate and I step out of the elevator into the familiar expanse of the Avengers floor, the glass walls stretching high and wide, sunlight pouring in over polished surfaces and city skyline views. It's the same space I grew up around. The same rooms I once hovered at the edges of, unsure whether I belonged there as a daughter, let alone as an agent. Now, when the doors slide shut behind us, I don't hesitate. I walk forward.

The briefing room doors are already open. Voices drift out, familiar ones. Steve stands at the front near the central holo-display. Sam leans back in one of the chairs, boots propped casually on the edge of the table until Bucky nudges them down with mild irritation. Mom sits to Steve's right, hands folded loosely, posture relaxed but attentive. Mama stands slightly behind her chair, arms crossed, expression neutral but watchful.

Tony is at the far end of the table, tapping something into a Stark tablet with exaggerated impatience. The moment we step inside, several heads turn. Sam's grin appears first. "Well, look who it is." Kate mutters under her breath, "That's never ominous."

Steve's expression softens immediately when he sees us. Not dramatic. Not obvious. It's just pride. The kind that doesn't need announcing. "Glad you could join us." He says, voice steady and warm.

Tony glances up next, eyes scanning us quickly, assessing, calculating, then he leans back in his chair. "So," he says, drawing the word out, "these are the new recruits Rogers specifically requested." He smirks. "Agents." Maria corrects calmly from the side. Tony waves a hand. "Semantics." But there's something in his tone. Not dismissive. Curious. Impressed, even though he'd rather choke than admit it outright.

Mama's eyes meet mine briefly. She doesn't smile. But her chin lifts slightly. A silent: You earned this. Mom's gaze is softer. Warmer. She gives me the smallest nod, like she's grounding me without making it obvious to anyone else.

Kate and I take seats near the middle of the table. No one shifts awkwardly. No one questions it. There's space for us. And that, more than anything, settles something deep inside me.

Steve taps the holo-display, and a three-dimensional projection of a coastal industrial facility flickers into life above the centre of the table. "Target is a HYDRA offshoot operating under a shell corporation." He begins, voice calm and measured. "Intel suggests they've been developing enhanced weapons prototypes, energy-based, portable, high-yield." He explains. Tony makes a small sound. "Oh good. Because the world definitely needed more of those." Steve ignores him smoothly.

"Primary objective is retrieval of research data and containment of the lead engineer. Secondary objective is neutralization of the weapons cache before distribution." The projection zooms in, highlighting structural layouts, guard rotations, entry points.

"The facility is heavily secured but not fortified for full-scale assault." Steve continues. "We're aiming for precision." His gaze sweeps across the table. "Wilson and Barnes take aerial entry on the east loading dock. Wanda and Natasha will handle interior suppression and crowd control."

He gestures toward Kate and me. "Kate and Y/n will infiltrate from the south access corridor. Low visibility. Secure the data server room and extract the engineer." Kate's posture shifts almost imperceptibly, straightening, focus sharpening.

I reach automatically for the digital notepad built into the table and begin jotting down entry timing, corridor markers, contingency signals. Tony notices immediately. He leans sideways in his chair, peering at my screen. "Oh, that's adorable," he says lightly. "She takes notes." I glance up without missing a beat. "You don't?" He scoffs. "Please. I have a brain the size of Manhattan." He deflects. "Explains the traffic." Sam mutters. There's a faint ripple of amusement around the table.

Tony points a finger at my screen. "You know that's exactly what Natasha does, right? The obsessive note-taking." I shrug slightly. "If I'm half the agent my mama is, I'll consider that a success." The words come out steady. Not defensive. Not heavy. Just honest.

There's a quiet beat. Mama doesn't look at me immediately. But I feel it. The shift in her. Then she speaks, voice dry but unmistakably proud. "You've already surpassed half." Tony leans back, raising both hands. "Okay, wow. Sentiment. I feel feelings happening." He announces. "Careful." Bucky says mildly. "You might sprain something."

Steve clears his throat gently, but there's the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. "Focus." He says. The holo-display shifts to interior schematics. "Security is automated in sections," Steve continues. "Kate, your precision shooting will be key for disabling remote turrets without triggering full lockdown." Kate nods once. "Understood."

"Y/n," he adds, looking directly at me, "you'll handle server extraction and on-site analysis if the transfer stalls." I nod back. "I'll run parallel backups." Tony tilts his head. "Oh, she plans ahead. I like her." He says, making me smile a little. "You like anyone who thinks in code." Kate says lightly. "Correct." Tony replies. "It's my love language." There's another easy wave of quiet amusement.

But beneath it, something else settles in. Natural rhythm. Kate and I don't feel like additions to this room. We feel like components. Like pieces fitting into a system already in motion.

When Steve opens the floor for final questions, I raise one. "Contingency if extraction point is compromised?" Steve doesn't hesitate. "Secondary rendezvous two klicks south at shoreline grid delta. Quinjet on standby." I nod once, satisfied. No one looks surprised that I asked. No one looks sceptical.

Tony leans back again, folding his arms. "Alright," he says, surveying the room. "I'm officially interested." Kate glances at me sideways. "You think that's approval?" She asks quietly. "I think that's as close as we're getting." I murmur back. Sam smirks. "You two fit in disturbingly well." Bucky nods once. "Yeah. It's unsettling."

Mom's smile is soft but knowing. Mama's gaze lingers on me just a second longer than necessary. Not hovering or protective. Just proud. And as the briefing wraps, as chairs scrape lightly against the floor and the holo-display fades, I realize something steady and undeniable: We don't look out of place here. We don't feel like guests. We're part of the team.

The energy shifts after the briefing. It always does. Briefings are structured. Controlled. Theoretical. Preparation is real.

The team disperses naturally, some heading toward the hangar, others toward the armoury. The low hum of the Tower shifts into something sharper, more focused. Controlled urgency.

Kate bumps her shoulder lightly into mine as we step into the corridor. "Avengers-level infiltration," she murmurs. "No pressure." I glance at her. "You love pressure." She grins. "I do. But I also love not dying. So let's aim for both." She smiles. "Solid strategy." I reply. We split briefly to gear up, agreeing to meet near the Quinjet in twenty minutes.

The armoury feels familiar in a way that settles me immediately. Metal cases, weapon racks, the faint scent of oil and polished steel. I move through the motions automatically, checking holsters, loading magazines, securing comms, adjusting the strap across my shoulder.

My reflection in the glass cabinet catches my eye for a second. Black tactical suit. Hair pulled back. Shoulders squared. Not the girl who nearly bled out on a concrete floor. An agent.

The door slides open quietly behind me. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. Mama's presence has a distinct weight to it, not heavy, but precise. Measured. "You're early." She says casually. I secure the final strap on my forearm guard. "You taught me that." A faint exhale that might almost be a laugh.

I turn to face her. She's already geared up, suit fitted perfectly, posture relaxed but alert. To anyone else, she looks exactly as she always does before a mission. But I know her. And I see it. The slight tightness in her jaw. The way her arms are crossed just a little too firmly. She's holding something back.

"I'm not going to give you a speech." She says, like she's decided that before walking in. I smile faintly. "Good." There's a beat. She steps closer, reaching out to adjust the strap on my shoulder, not because it needs adjusting, but because it gives her something to do with her hands.

"You're ready." She says quietly. There's no hesitation in it. No doubt. Just fact. "I know you are." The words land steady and grounding. But beneath them, I hear the part she isn't saying. I meet her eyes. "But?" I prompt gently. Her gaze flickers just slightly. "But that doesn't stop the part of me that remembers how close we came to losing you." There it is. It's not dramatic or overwhelming. It's just honest.

For a second, the room feels smaller. More intimate. "I'm not going to hover." She adds quickly, almost like she's correcting herself. "You don't need that." I step closer, closing the small gap between us. "I don't." I agree softly. She studies me for a long moment. "I'm proud of you." She says finally. It isn't loud. It isn't theatrical. But it carries more weight than any briefing ever could.

"You didn't just recover," she continues. "You rebuilt. And you didn't let what happened define you." My throat tightens slightly. "Mama..." She shakes her head once, stopping me. "You're not stepping into this because you're my daughter," she says firmly. "You're stepping into it because you earned it." I don't realise how much that matters to hear from her. More than she probably realises.

I reach forward, squeezing her hand briefly. "I'll be careful." I say. Her mouth tilts faintly. "You'd better." Then, quieter, "And I'll try not to mother you mid-operation." I smirk. "Try being the key word?" She exhales softly through her nose. "I'm working on it."

When I step out of the armoury, Mom is waiting near the hallway. She's not fully suited up yet, her jacket is draped over her arm, her fingers absently brushing over the fabric as she watches me approach. Her eyes soften immediately. "You look steady." She observes. "I feel steady."

She studies me like she's measuring the truth of that, then nods once. "I trust you." She says simply. There's no hesitation or shadow of doubt. And that steadiness from her feels different from Mama's. Less edged with fear. More rooted in belief.

"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for." She adds gently. I huff a small breath. "Funny. That's not what I thought a year ago." Her expression shifts slightly, something regretful flickering through it, but she doesn't let it take over. "A year ago," she says softly, "you were surviving." She steps closer. "Now you're thriving."

The words wrap around me in a way that feels grounding instead of heavy. "You don't have to prove anything to us anymore." She continues. "We already know who you are." I swallow. "That doesn't mean we won't worry." She adds, a faint smile touching her lips. "But that's our burden. Not yours." I let out a small laugh. "That sounds suspiciously healthy." She smiles fully at that. "We're learning."

A beat passes between us. Then she reaches out, cupping my face briefly, her thumb brushing lightly over my cheek in a way that feels both motherly and grounding. "Come back to us." She says quietly. It isn't a demand. It's hope. "I will." I promise.

When we reach the hangar, the Quinjet is already prepped, engines humming low. Kate is leaning against the ramp, helmet tucked under her arm. She straightens when she sees me, eyes flicking briefly toward Mama and Mom behind me. Everything unspoken passes between the four of us in that moment. Support. Trust. Fear. Pride.

Kate steps closer, lowering her voice slightly. "You good?" She asks. "Yeah." I respond honestly. She studies my face for a second, then nods. "Good." She replies. "Because I plan on showing off a little." I smirk. "Please don't." I joke. "Too late." She says brightly. Mama rolls her eyes lightly but doesn't interrupt. Mom just watches on quiet and steady.

We join the others on the Quinjet feeling like we belong there. But now we have a job to do and we have to prove the we deserve to stay.

The Quinjet hums low and steady as it cuts across the coastline, clouds thinning beneath us as the target facility comes into view. From the air, it looks unremarkable. Concrete and steel. Industrial lighting. Cargo containers stacked in neat rows like this is just another shipping hub. But the energy signatures Tony flagged pulse faintly beneath the structure, hidden and dangerous.

Steve stands near the cockpit entrance, reviewing final entry timing. Sam and Bucky run through comms checks. Mom sits across from Mama, eyes closed briefly, centring, feeling for anything unnatural waiting below. Kate stands beside me near the ramp, adjusting the tension on her bowstring. "You ready to ruin someone's afternoon?" She murmurs. I smirk faintly. "Always."

The Quinjet banks. "Team," Steve says calmly over comms, "we're wheels down in thirty seconds. Move on my mark." The ramp lowers. Wind hits us first, sharp, salty air whipping past. Then we're moving.

Sam and Bucky take aerial entry exactly as planned, one cutting power to the east dock security cameras mid-flight, the other landing clean and fast on the loading platform.

Mama and Mom move like shadows inside the north corridor, mom's powers disrupting internal sensors just long enough for Mama to slip past and disable the first patrol.

Kate and I break south. Low visibility. Minimal noise. The corridor is dimly lit, emergency strips running along the floor. Two guards at the far end. Kate doesn't even look at me, she doesn't need to. One arrow. Silent. Clean.

I step forward before the second guard can react, striking pressure point and disarming him in one smooth movement. He drops before he fully understands what happened. "Server room is ahead." I whisper over comms. "Copy." Steve replies. "We've got resistance building on the east side."

I push the door open carefully. Inside, banks of servers hum steadily, blue light flickering across metal racks. It's too quiet. My gaze sweeps the ceiling. "Turret." I signal quietly to Kate. She tracks my line of sight instantly. A concealed automated unit shifts slightly, adjusting. "On it." She whispers. Her arrow splits the sensor before the barrel can fully deploy. We move in. I slide into the main terminal, fingers flying across the interface. Encryption isn't complicated, just layered. "Thirty seconds." I say calmly.

A crash echoes through comms, Sam grunting. "East side is heating up." He reports. "Extraction point compromised." Bucky adds. Steve's voice cuts in, controlled as ever. "Secondary rendezvous. Delta shoreline."

I finish the data transfer. "Package secured." I confirm. "Engineer moving." Mama says over comms, voice tight but steady. "Heading toward south exit." She shares through the comms. "Intercepting." I reply automatically.

Kate and I move. We hit the corridor just as the engineer rounds the corner, flanked by two armed guards. He raises his weapon first. Wrong choice. I step forward, disarm, pivot, redirect. Kate's arrow takes the second guard before he can aim. The engineer stumbles back, hands raised. "You are very bad at escape planning." Kate tells him conversationally.

We clear the last stretch of corridor fast, boots striking concrete in controlled rhythm, before breaking through the double doors into the main loading bay. Steve is already there. Shield up. Controlled. Efficient.

Three hostiles circle him in tight formation, moving in staggered strikes designed to overwhelm. He handles it like he always does with fluid, precise and measured attacks. A deflection to the left. A pivot. An elbow strike that sends one man staggering back into a stack of crates.

But he's committed forward. And that's when I see it. A fourth hostile stepping out from behind a steel support beam fifteen meters back. Rifle raised. Breath steady. Sight locked directly on Steve's spine. Time doesn't slow. It sharpens. "Steve, duck." My voice cuts clean across the space.

I don't wait to see if he processes it. I've already adjusted my stance, already accounted for angle and distance and the half-second delay of trigger compression. He drops instinctively, full trust, no hesitation. I fire. The shot lands centre mass just as the hostile squeezes his own trigger. His body jerks backward, rifle discharging harmlessly into the ceiling as he collapses.

Steve rolls through the motion, shield slamming into the nearest attacker before he even looks back. The remaining hostiles go down in seconds. Silence drops heavy in the space. He straightens slowly, scanning once more before turning his head toward me. There's no surprise in his expression. No doubt. Just acknowledgment.

"Thanks." He says evenly. Not praise. Just recognition. I lower my weapon slightly, offering him the smallest smirk. "Clear your six next time, Captain." The corner of his mouth tilts almost imperceptibly before he nods once and moves forward again.

Behind me, Kate lets out a quiet breath. "That," she mutters under her breath as we fall back into formation, "was extremely cool." I don't look at her, but I can't quite hide the faint lift at the edge of my smile. "Stay focused." I reply. But my pulse is steady. Calm. Because I didn't hesitate.

Mama steps into the corridor a moment later, having neutralized another cluster down the hall. Her eyes flick over the scene, the positioning, the fallen guards, the secured engineer. She doesn't say anything. But her approval is there.

Mom's power flares briefly at the far end, redirecting incoming fire away from Sam as he lands hard near the loading bay. "Extraction in sixty." Steve calls. Kate nudges my shoulder lightly as we move. "You just saved Captain America." She points out once again. I shrug faintly. "He was busy." I deflect. "Still counts."

The alarm begins to wail. We move as one unit now, no hesitation, no confusion. Every call made is acknowledged. Every shift in formation is instinctive. At one point, a side door bursts open near the shoreline exit. Before anyone else reacts, I clock the movement, adjust my stance, and fire. The hostile drops. "Nice anticipation." Bucky mutters as we pass.

The Quinjet roars overhead. Ramp lowering. We board fast. Kate pulls the engineer inside first, I cover rear until Sam leaps up beside me. Mama is the last to step onto the ramp, but she doesn't look worried. She looks... impressed.

The doors seal. Silence. Just breathing. Then Tony's voice crackles through comms from the Tower. "Please tell me that was as clean as it looked from satellite." Steve glances at me briefly before answering. "Cleaner."

Inside the jet, the adrenaline settles into something quieter. Controlled and professional. Kate leans lightly into my shoulder for a second, barely noticeable to anyone else. "You were scary calm back there." She murmurs. "I learned from the best," I reply without thinking. Mama hears it. I see the corner of her mouth tilt faintly. Mom watches me from across the cabin, eyes soft but steady. Not fearful. Not hovering. Just proud.

At nineteen, I'm the youngest one on this jet. And yet no one second-guessed a call I made. No one hesitated when I adjusted the plan. No one shielded me from the hard parts. They trusted me. And I delivered.

As the coastline disappears beneath us and the mission logs begin compiling automatically on the screen, I sit back in my seat and allow one quiet, steady realization to settle in. I don't feel like the girl who survived something anymore. I feel like the agent who earned her place. And everyone on this jet knows it.

__________

Three days after the mission, Kate and I are called back to the Tower. There is no briefing code. No urgent tone. Just a simple message from Steve, "Swing by this afternoon. Full team present." That alone is strange. Full team present usually means one of two things, something has gone very wrong... or something has gone very right.

When the elevator doors open onto the Avengers floor, I immediately know it's the second. They're all there. Steve stands near the centre of the room, arms folded but posture relaxed. Sam is leaning against the back of a chair like he's trying, and failing, to look casual. Bucky is off to the side, expression unreadable but suspiciously softer than usual. Mom and Mama stand near the windows.

And Tony, well Tony is pacing. Actually pacing. The moment he sees us, he claps his hands once. "Ah! The prodigies arrive." Kate slows slightly beside me. "Why do I feel like we're about to be ambushed?" She asks cautiously. "Because they're all smiling." I murmur under my breath. And they are. Every single one of them. Suspiciously cheerful Avengers.

We step further into the room. "Okay." Kate says cautiously, glancing around. "Why does this feel like an intervention but... positive?" Tony throws his hands up dramatically. "Oh my God, can someone please just say it before I explode?" He turns sharply toward Mama. "Natasha, for the love of everything efficient, tell them already." Mama arches one brow slowly. "You are physically incapable of subtlety." She huffs a laugh. "I tried subtlety once," Tony says. "It was terrible. Never again." Steve sighs faintly but doesn't interfere.

Mama steps forward slightly, her expression composed, but I see it. The pride. The warmth she's trying very hard not to let spill over. "After reviewing the mission performance," she says evenly, "the team has made a decision." My pulse ticks up slightly. Kate's fingers brush mine. "You both operated beyond expectation." Mama continues. "Adaptable under pressure. Clean execution. Strong communication." Tony groans dramatically. "This is so slow." She ignores him. "Because of this, y have both been formally invited to join the Avengers." Silence.

For half a second, the words don't fully land. Kate blinks first. "...Wait." I stare at her. Then back at Mama. "Formally invited?" I repeat. Sam grins widely. "That's code for 'you're in.'" Bucky gives a small nod. "Took you long enough."

Kate looks at me like she's trying to confirm this is real. "Are they serious?" She whispers. Tony steps forward, unable to contain himself any longer. "Yes. We're serious. We are aggressively serious." I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding.

"You're not joking," I say quietly. Steve shakes his head, his expression steady and proud. "No," he says simply. "We're not." Kate's grin breaks first, bright and unfiltered. "You're kidding me." She breathes. Tony points at her. "Nope. That was your one disbelief allowance. It's official."

I look around the room. At the faces that once felt like legends. Now just teammates. Family. "You're sure?" I ask, because part of me still needs to hear it one more time. Sam laughs lightly. "You literally saved Cap's life and secured the objective." Bucky tilts his head. "Twice."

"Details," Tony waves off. "The point is, you didn't flinch." Mom steps closer, her smile soft but certain. "You fit with us." That hits harder than the invitation itself. Kate looks back at me. We don't even need a full conversation. Just one look. And we're already on the same page.

"Yes." She says first, almost breathless. I nod immediately. "Yes." The word feels huge. Earned. Right. The room breaks into movement instantly, congratulations, claps on shoulders, Sam pulling Kate into a half-hug while Bucky gives me a firm nod that feels almost ceremonial.

Tony claps loudly again. "Excellent! Love decisive youth." Kate pulls back slightly and looks toward Mama. "Did Fury approve this?" There's a beat. Tony jumps in before anyone else can answer. "I run this team," he declares proudly. "And that's all that matters." Kate and I share a look. The exact same one. I can't quite suppress the smirk.

"Pretty sure Fury disagrees." I murmur. Steve clears his throat lightly. "Director Fury was consulted." He brings some sense to the conversation. "Consulted." Tony repeats dismissively. "But I approved." Sam snorts. "That's not how that went." Tony points at him. "You weren't there." He complains. "I was absolutely there." Bucky mutters under his breath, "He sulked for ten minutes." Tony spins around. "I do not sulk." The room dissolves into easy laughter, the kind that only comes when everyone is relaxed, when nothing is hanging in the balance anymore.

Tony waits for it to die down, then claps once more, sharp and decisive. "Alright, children. Now that we've established that I'm the mature one in the room, let's discuss benefits." Kate leans slightly toward me. "Benefits?" I raise an eyebrow. "Should we be concerned?" I question. "Always." she whispers back.

Tony points dramatically between us. "Perk number one of joining the Avengers, complimentary housing upgrade." I blink. "Housing upgrade?" I ask. "Yes," he says, like this is obvious. "You get an apartment here. In the Tower. Fully fitted. Customisable. Stark-approved tech integration. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It's very aesthetic." Kate's eyes widen slightly. "Wait. Like... live here live here?" Tony nods proudly. "Exactly like that."

For a second, I don't speak. Because I know what that means. It means moving again. It means another shift. But this one feels different. This one isn't about distance. It's about stepping into something bigger. "Would you like one?" Tony asks, surprisingly direct. Kate looks at me immediately. And I look at her. There's so much in that glance, excitement, nerves, possibility.

Before either of us can respond, Tony continues, because of course he does. "And before you overthink it," he says quickly, waving a hand, "you are absolutely welcome to live together in one apartment if that's your preference. Saves me construction costs. Also adorable." Kate makes a strangled noise. "Tony..."

"What?" He says innocently. "I support efficient cohabitation." Sam mutters, "He means he supports gossip opportunities." Tony ignores him entirely. My pulse picks up slightly. Because this isn't theoretical anymore. Kate's expression softens as she looks at me again. "Do you... want to?" She asks quietly.

I consider it. Nine months ago, I moved out to build independence. To define myself. Now this feels like something else entirely. Not running. Not escaping. But building forward with her. "I think," I say slowly, "if we're doing this... we should do it properly." Kate's mouth curves into that familiar, bright smile. "Properly as in...?"

"As in," I reply, unable to stop the small grin forming, "we live together." There's a beat. Then her entire face lights up. "Yeah?" She asks, just to be sure.

"Yeah. I mean we basically do anyway." She laughs softly, breathless in that way she gets when she's genuinely overwhelmed in a good way. "Okay." She says firmly. "Yeah. Let's do that."

Tony pumps a fist in the air. "Excellent. I love commitment." Steve sighs, but there's no real disapproval in it. Mom smiles softly, something warm and knowing in her expression. Mama's gaze lingers on me for just a second longer than necessary, not worried. Just... aware. Of what this means. Of how far we've come.

Kate turns back toward Tony. "One apartment," she says confidently. "Together." Tony claps his hands once more. "Done. I'll have the design team draw up options. You can move in within a couple of weeks." He says, already grabbing his tablet to plan.

"A couple of weeks?" I echo, stunned. "Please," Tony scoffs. "I built half this building in a weekend once." He waves me off. "Illegally," Bucky mutters. Tony points at him. "Allegedly."

Kate nudges me lightly with her shoulder. "So," she murmurs, "roommate." I smile at her. "Roommate," I agree. But it feels like more than that. It feels like another step. Another choice I'm making for myself. Not out of fear. Not out of obligation. But because I want this life. With this team, but most importantly with her.

Tony spreads his arms wide dramatically. "Look at this. Growth. Youth. The future of Earth's Mightiest Heroes." Sam rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable." He groans. "And yet," Tony replies smugly, "I'm right."

The room hums with energy again, not chaotic, just alive. And standing there, in the middle of it all, with Kate's hand in mine and my family watching from a few steps away, I realise something steady and undeniable. This isn't a temporary chapter. This is the life we're building.

The room slowly settles back into smaller conversations, Sam already arguing with Tony about "aesthetic choices," Bucky pretending not to listen while absolutely listening, Steve discussing logistics with Maria. Kate gets pulled into a debate about archery range modifications.

And that's when I feel it. Mama's hand brushing lightly against my elbow. Mom's fingers curling gently around my wrist. "Come here." Mama says softly. It's not an order. Just an invitation. They guide me a few steps toward the windows, away from the noise, away from the celebration. Just the three of us.

For a second, none of us speak. The city stretches out below the glass, late afternoon sunlight spilling across buildings, casting everything in gold. I remember standing here once before. Feeling small. Uncertain. Like I was hovering at the edge of something I didn't fully belong to. Now I stand differently. Grounded. Present. Earned.

There's something in mama's expression that's different from the proud instructor. Different from the Avenger. This is just her. Just my mama. "When you were in that hospital bed," she says carefully, "I wasn't sure what your future would look like." Her voice doesn't break, but it lowers. "And I was terrified that I'd already failed you too many times to be part of it." That hits harder than anything else today.

"Mama..." She shakes her head gently. "Let me finish." Mom's hand slides into hers, grounding her. "You rebuilt your life." Mama continues. "You rebuilt us. And you did it without losing yourself." Mom nods, eyes bright.

"You chose independence." She says softly. "You chose forgiveness when you didn't have to. And now you're choosing this." She gestures lightly toward the room, the team, the Tower, the future unfolding around us. "We don't feel like we're losing you," she adds. "We feel like we're watching you step into exactly who you're meant to be."

The weight I've carried for years, the fear that moving forward would mean leaving them behind, finally loosens. "I was so scared." I admit quietly. "That if I built my own life, it would break what we fixed." Mama steps closer. "It didn't and it could never." She says simply. Mom squeezes my hand. "It strengthened it."

There's a quiet certainty in that. Not hopeful. Not fragile. But certain. And I realise something then. I didn't have to choose between being their daughter and being my own person. I just had to grow into both.

Behind us, Tony loudly announces he's already sketching "modern combat-chic with emotional depth" for our apartment. Sam tells him that's not a real design category. Bucky mutters that it absolutely is in Stark's world. The noise is warm. Alive. Chaotic in the best way.

Mama glances over my shoulder at Kate. "She's good for you." She says softly. I smile without looking away from them. "I know." Mom leans in slightly. "And you're good for her." That means just as much. Because this isn't about clinging anymore. It's about building.

Mama pulls me into another hug. "I am proud of the agent you've become." She says quietly against my hair. Then, softer, "And I am even prouder of the woman you are." Mom wraps her arms around us both. "You were never an afterthought." she whispers. "Not to us. Not in this family."

A year ago, that sentence would have hurt. Today, it heals. We pull apart slowly.

I look between them, really look. Not searching for cracks. Not waiting for something to disappear. Just seeing them. They showed up. Over and over again. And somewhere along the way, the fear stopped being louder than the trust.

"I don't resent you anymore." I say quietly. They both still slightly at that, not offended. Just aware of how big that is. "I just... want you in my life." I continue. "Because I want you there. Not because I'm scared to lose you."

Mama's jaw tightens briefly. Mom's eyes fill. "We're not going anywhere." She says. "And neither are you." Mama adds. And for the first time, it doesn't feel like a promise built on hope. It feels like a fact.

Across the room, Kate holds out her hand to me. I take it. Mama watches us for a second, not with hesitation, not with worry. Just pride. "You built this." She says quietly. I shake my head. "We built it." And this time, that feels true.

The Tower hums around us, team laughter, Stark's dramatic commentary, Steve's steady presence. This isn't the lonely version of my life anymore. I have my own space. My own career. My own name in Shield. I earned my place here.

But I also have something I once thought I'd never have again. Family. Not perfect. Not spotless. But present. Choosing me. And being chosen in return. It's a long way from the hospital bed. From the fear. From the nights I lay awake wondering if I mattered.

Now I stand here as an Avenger, a SHIELD agent, a daughter, a partner. Not fractured. Not waiting to be forgotten. Just steady and whole. For the first time in my life, I'm not bracing for loss. I'm stepping forward into something solid. And this time... I'm not alone. __________ 

A/N: And there we have the end of the story. Sorry it took me 2 years to complete! Opps! 

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @jusnough @fxckmiup @nessheartnat @bstvst @waiqui @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @yelldontwhisper @franfineashell @luckilygrimconduit

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 9

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Word Count: 10,725

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: As life slowly begins to feel normal again, Y/n finds herself surrounded by warmth, support, and belonging, until a single night threatens to unravel the fragile trust she’s been building.

Just a heads up, there is only one more chapter after this!

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV

The first thing I notice, now that I'm spending more time outside the apartment again, is how loud the Tower actually is. Not in a chaotic way. Not alarms or shouting or anything dramatic like that. Just life. Footsteps in the hall. Someone laughing two floors down. The low hum of tech running somewhere in the background. The constant sense that people are moving, working, existing around each other. It feels alive.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm watching it from the outside. I feel like I'm part of it. I've started spending more time in the communal areas over the past few weeks, easing back into spaces that used to feel so familiar but had become strangely distant after everything that happened. At first it was just short visits. Sitting for a little while before getting tired. Leaving early. Still very aware of myself, of the way people looked at me.

But that part has faded. No one hovers anymore. No one treats me like I might shatter if they speak too loudly. They don't "handle" me. They just include me. And that means more than I know how to explain.

Today, the kitchen is warm with late afternoon light spilling through the tall windows, glinting off the stainless steel counters. The smell of toasted bread and something vaguely burnt hangs in the air, which is almost definitely Peter's fault.

"Okay, but hypothetically," Peter says, leaning halfway across the island with a spatula still in his hand, "if someone accessed a SHIELD database without triggering a digital trace but still left a behavioural pattern anomaly, would that show up in post-mission analytics, or would it only be flagged if someone manually reviewed the logs?" I blink at him.

Kate doesn't even look up from where she's slicing tomatoes. "Pete," she says dryly, "you can't just say 'hypothetically' and then describe an extremely specific hacking scenario." She states. "It's not hacking," Peter protests immediately. "It's theoretical system vulnerability analysis." He explains. "That's hacking." Kate and I say in unison.

He looks between us, deeply offended. "Wow. Okay. I thought we were all on the same team here." I snort, leaning back against the counter. "We are. The team of not getting fired by SHIELD." Peter points the spatula at me. "Hey, you can't fire me. I'm not technically employed." He defends. "That doesn't make you immune." I reply. "It just makes you very easy to disavow."

Kate laughs, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine as she passes me a plate. "Don't worry, Parker. If you ever get arrested, we'll bring snacks." She jokes. "Wow." He says, shaking his head. "Some friends you two are." But he's smiling.

We fall back into easy conversation after that, moving around each other in the kitchen like we've done it a hundred times. Kate hands me things without asking. I reach for spices automatically when she gestures toward them. Peter hovers near the stove, narrating everything he's doing like he's hosting a cooking show.

"And now," he announces dramatically, flipping a grilled sandwich with unnecessary flair, "we achieve optimal crispness." He says to his imaginary audience. "You're making cheese toasties," Kate says flatly. "Precision matters," Peter insists.

The whole thing feels so normal it almost startles me. A few months ago, I couldn't even imagine standing here without pain threading through every movement. Couldn't imagine laughing this easily. Couldn't imagine feeling like I belonged in a space without constantly monitoring myself, without bracing for something to shift. Now, I'm just here.

The kitchen door slides open with a soft hiss behind us. "Smells like someone's committing a crime against bread," Sam's voice announces. I glance over to see Sam leaning casually against the doorframe, Bucky just behind him with his arms folded, and Steve stepping in last, already smiling like he knows exactly what he's walking into.

Peter straightens instantly. "Excuse you, sir, this is a highly advanced culinary operation." Sam eyes the slightly charred sandwich in Peter's hand. "That thing looks like it lost a fight." Bucky snorts under his breath.

Steve steps closer, his gaze flicking to me automatically, doing that quick, subtle scan he always does. It isn't intrusive. It never is. It's just habit. Care disguised as casual observation. When he meets my eyes, his expression softens into quiet pride. It warms something deep in my chest.

"Mind if we join?" Steve asks, nodding toward the food spread across the counter. "Please." Kate says immediately. "We made way too much." She shares. "That's because Parker cooks like he's feeding an army." Sam mutters. "I'm calorie-efficient," Peter shoots back. "Sit down, kid." Bucky says, already pulling out a chair. "Before you hurt yourself with that spatula." Peter gasps. "I would never..." "Sit," Steve repeats gently, amused.

We all gather around the table, plates being passed back and forth, chairs scraping lightly against the floor. It's chaotic in the best way, overlapping conversations, teasing, the easy rhythm of people who know each other well.

Kate drops into the chair beside me, her knee brushing mine under the table without hesitation. Her hand finds my wrist for a second, a small grounding touch that feels instinctive now.

Sam notices immediately, of course. He leans back in his chair, looking between us with exaggerated suspicion. "So," he says slowly, "this is official official now, huh?" Kate doesn't even blink. "Very official." Sam raises an eyebrow. "You know what that means, right?" He asks. "That I have excellent taste?" She replies sweetly, making my cheeks flush red.

Bucky lets out a quiet laugh. "It means," Sam continues, ignoring her, "you've got Black Widow approval. That's a lot of pressure." Kate leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. "I can handle pressure." She shrugs. "Oh, I bet you can." Sam says. "But can you handle Romanoff?" He asks with a smirk. "I'm dating her daughter." Kate says cheerfully. "I think that already answers that question."

I choke on my drink. Peter nearly drops his sandwich laughing. Bucky shakes his head, but there's a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Sam presses a hand dramatically to his chest. "Bold. Very bold." Kate grins. "Also, you're single, so I don't think you're in a position to critique anyone's life choices."

The table erupts in laughter. "Wow," Sam says, pointing at her. "You see this, Rogers? This is what happens when you let the young ones get too confident." Steve just smiles, watching the whole exchange with quiet amusement. And when his eyes flick back to me, there's something else there too. Pride. Not the careful, worried kind I saw when I first came home. Not the protective concern. Just simple, steady pride.

The conversation drifts after that, training updates, ridiculous stories from Sam about missions gone wrong, Peter asking increasingly detailed questions about tactical analysis until Bucky finally tells him to stop turning lunch into a lecture.

I find myself leaning back in my chair, listening more than talking for a moment, watching the easy way everyone interacts. The way no one is watching me too closely. The way no one is worried about whether I'm okay every second. The way I don't feel like I need to prove I deserve to be here.

It hits me quietly, somewhere in the middle of Sam and Kate arguing about whether archery counts as a "cool combat specialty." This is the first time in years that I've sat in a room like this and felt like I belonged without trying.

I don't realize I'm smiling until Kate nudges my shoulder lightly. "What?" She asks softly. I shake my head, still looking around the table. "Nothing." I brush it off. But the warmth in my chest says everything.

Because this, the laughter, the teasing, the feeling of being surrounded by people who choose me, this is what normal looks like. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like something I get to keep.

__________

Today is the big day. I find out whether I'm cleared to return to training or whether I'm subjected to further rehab and healing. It feels different heading down to the medical wing of the Tower this time. I have a glimmer of hope that things might be going back to normal, but that doesn't stop the doubt in my mind.

Kate walks beside me as we make our way down the corridor, her hand wrapped securely in mine. It isn't tight or possessive, just steady, warm, and certain. Her thumb moves in slow, absent circles over my knuckles every few steps, a quiet, automatic reassurance she seems to give without even thinking now. I

t helps more than I want to admit. Because I am nervous. I have this kind of anxiety that sits deep in my chest and whispers what if I'm not ready? what if something's still wrong? what if I'm stuck here longer than I think?

This appointment is the last hurdle. The final check. The difference between "recovering" and "recovered." And I don't know which side of that line I'm about to land on.

Kate pushes open the door to Cho's office, and we step inside. The room is bright with natural light pouring in from the wide windows, equipment neatly arranged along one wall, a tablet sitting ready on the desk. Cho isn't here yet. Which somehow makes the waiting worse.

I sink into the chair across from the desk, hands automatically clasping together in my lap. Kate takes the seat beside me instead of across, turning slightly so she's facing me rather than the door. She's watching me. Of course she is. "You're doing that thing." She says softly. I blink. "What thing?" I ask. "Where you pretend you're calm but your shoulders are basically touching your ears."

I huff out a small, reluctant laugh. "I am calm." Kate raises an eyebrow. "...Mostly calm." I amend. She nudges her knee lightly against mine. "You want to talk about it?" I stare down at my hands for a moment before answering. "I just don't want to be stuck in limbo anymore." I admit quietly. "Not really recovering, but not fully cleared either. I don't want to keep feeling like everything's on pause."

Kate's expression softens instantly. "Hey," she says gently, reaching over to hook her pinky around mine. "No matter what she says, you're not stuck. You've already come so far." She points out. "I know." I murmur. "But it still feels like everything depends on this." She shifts closer, her shoulder brushing mine. "Then whatever happens," she says, her voice steady and sure, "we deal with it together. Okay?" I nod. Her presence anchors me more than anything else could.

The door opens a moment later, and Dr. Cho steps inside, tablet in hand, her expression calm and professional. "Good afternoon." She greats warmly. "Sorry to keep you waiting." She apologises. "No problem." I reply automatically, though my pulse immediately kicks up. Kate squeezes my hand once, quick and reassuring, before letting go so Cho can sit.

Cho takes her place behind the desk and begins scrolling through the results. She speaks as she reads, her tone clear and methodical. "Your healing progress has been excellent." She says. "Internal tissue recovery is complete. There's no sign of infection or long-term complications. Mobility tests show full functional range." Each sentence feels like a step toward something I can't quite see yet.

I sit very still, forcing myself to breathe evenly, mentally preparing for the other half of the conversation. The but. There's always a but. Residual weakness. Extended monitoring. Delayed clearance. My mind starts bracing automatically for disappointment, for another waiting period, another stretch of uncertainty.

Kate must see it happening. Because before I even realise what she's doing, her hand slides quietly into mine under the edge of the desk. Her fingers lace through mine, warm and grounding. It's subtle. Cho doesn't comment. But it pulls me back instantly, anchoring me in the present instead of the spiral building in my head.

I focus on that touch as Cho continues. "Your cardiovascular markers have returned to baseline." She continues. "Neurological response is normal. Pain management is no longer medically necessary beyond occasional anti-inflammatories."

She pauses then, finally looking up from the tablet. And for a split second, the world feels suspended. My chest tightens. Kate's thumb brushes lightly across my knuckles.

Cho smiles. "Agent," she says, "you are medically cleared." The words hit like a wave. Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy. My lungs expand on a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding. Cleared. Not recovering. Not monitored. Cleared.

Kate's hand tightens around mine, and when I turn toward her, her face is already lit up with pure, unfiltered happiness. "I knew it." She whispers, grinning. I laugh, a shaky, disbelieving sound that turns into something warmer as it settles in.

Cho continues outlining a few final recommendations, gradual reconditioning, continued strength training, standard follow-up in a few months, but it all feels lighter now. Manageable. Possible.

When she finally leaves the room, the door closing softly behind her, the silence that follows is completely different from the one that came before. This one feels... open. Like standing at the edge of something new.

Kate turns fully toward me, still holding my hand. "So," she says softly, searching my face, "how does it feel?" I exhale slowly. "Like I can finally breathe." She smiles, leaning forward just enough to press a gentle kiss to my temple. "You deserve this." I let myself lean into her for a moment, letting the relief settle fully into my bones.

Then she hesitates slightly. There's a shift in her expression, not worried, exactly, but thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?" she says. I nod. She tilts her head. "Now that you're cleared... have you thought about whether you're going to move back to your SHIELD accommodation? I know we've talked about it before, but that as before all of this." She asks.

The question lands softly, but it echoes deep inside me. I haven't thought about it since we last spoke. In all honestly, I think I've avoided thinking about it as it's a decision, I don't have an answer to yet.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the floor for a moment as I try to untangle the knot of feelings sitting in my chest. "I always thought I would." I admit quietly. "Before... everything. I wanted my space. My independence. I wanted a space to define myself away from my parents after everything."

Kate listens without interrupting, her fingers still loosely linked with mine. "But now," I continue slowly, "it's not that simple." I glance up at her. "I don't want to run from them anymore," I say. "That's what it used to feel like. Like I needed distance just to protect myself." I swallow. "Now it feels more like... I'm trying to figure out how to stay connected without losing myself."

The words surprise me a little as I say them. But they're true. For the first time, the choice in front of me isn't escape versus safety. It's autonomy versus belonging. Independence versus closeness. Building my own life without cutting the threads that tie me to the people I love.

Kate's expression softens even more. "That makes sense." She says gently. "You don't have to figure it out all at once." She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. "And wherever you end up living, it doesn't change what you have with them. Or with me."

I look at her, warmth spreading through my chest. For so long, home felt like something I had to fight for. Now it feels like something I'm allowed to choose. And for the first time, that choice doesn't scare me. It just makes me think.

________

Dinner that evening feels different before anything even happens. Not in a loud, obvious way. Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet shift in the air, the kind that comes when something important has changed, even if no one is talking about it directly.

The table is full. Plates half-cleared, the twins arguing softly about whose turn it is to help with dishes, Mom leaning back in her chair with a small, content smile, Mama listening to something Steve is saying from across the room. The Tower hums with its usual evening life, distant footsteps, muted voices in the hallway, the steady sense of movement that never really stops here.

I'm halfway through explaining something about Kate's exam scoring system to Tommy, who is pretending to understand but clearly just likes the numbers, when there's a knock at the open doorframe.

It's not loud or hesitant. Just firm enough to immediately command attention. Every conversation in the room stalls for a fraction of a second before we all turn. Nick Fury stands there like he always does, hands behind his back, expression unreadable, presence filling the doorway without him needing to move an inch further.

"Director." Steve greets easily. Fury nods once in acknowledgment, then his gaze lands directly on me. And it's different than it used to be. Not softened. Not protective. Not cautious. Just sharp, assessing, and professional. Agent to agent.

"I hear you got the all-clear from Cho." He says, voice blunt as ever. The words send a quiet spark of pride through my chest. "Yes, sir." I reply automatically, posture straightening without thinking. He gives a short nod, like that confirms something he already believed. "Good." He says. "About time." There's no warmth in the words, but there doesn't need to be. Because what he's really saying is: You're back. You're one of us again. And that validation lands deeper than I expected.

He steps fully into the room then, glancing briefly at the others before returning his attention to me. "That clearance is medical." He continues. "Operational clearance is a different matter." I don't tense or feel disappointment. If anything, I feel alert, engaged in a way I haven't in months.

"Maria Hill will conduct your fitness evaluation." Fury says. "Physical readiness, response time, field endurance. Standard protocol before reinstatement to active duty." I nod immediately. "Yes, sir." He studies me for a moment longer, like he's measuring something invisible.

Then one corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close enough to count. "Get ready." he says. "Hill doesn't go easy on anyone." A small, determined spark ignites in my chest. Good. I don't want easy. "I wouldn't expect her to." I reply.

Fury gives a short approving nod, like that's exactly what he wanted to hear. Then, just like that, the conversation ends. He turns toward the door, already moving on to whatever comes next, but pauses briefly before leaving. "Romanoff." Mama looks up immediately. "Your kid handled herself like an agent out there." He says simply. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. Then he's gone.

The room exhales all at once after he leaves, conversation slowly returning, the twins immediately resuming their argument like nothing happened. But inside me, something feels steadier than it has in a long time. I'm not being protected anymore. I'm being expected. And that feels right.

I glance down at my hands for a moment, fingers tracing the edge of my glass as I think. About Maria's evaluation. About returning to the field. About SHIELD housing. About what comes next.

Then my gaze lifts toward my moms across the table. They're both watching me. Not with fear or tension. They're just waiting. Giving me space to speak first. And for once, the words come easily. "Can I ask you something?" I say. Mom immediately sets down her fork. "Of course." She replies gently. Mama's posture shifts slightly forward, attentive but relaxed.

I take a small breath. "I've been thinking about where I should stay while I'm getting cleared for duty." I say slowly. "About whether I should move back to SHIELD accommodation now that I'm medically fit." They don't interrupt and they don't react immediately. They just listen. And that alone tells me how much things have changed.

"I think..." I continue, choosing my words carefully, "I think I'd like to stay here a little longer." Their expressions don't explode with relief. They don't rush in with emotion. But I see it anyway. The tiny softening in mom's eyes. The almost imperceptible way Mama's shoulders loosen. "I want to be fully ready before I move back." I add. "Before I go back to living completely on my own." I hesitate for a second. Then finish quietly, "And... I'm not ready to leave this yet."

The honesty sits between us in the warm air of the dining room. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then mom smiles. Soft, bright and steady. "This is your home, Sweetheart." She says simply. "You never have to ask permission to stay." Mama adds quietly. Her voice is calm, even, but there's a depth of emotion beneath it that makes my chest tighten. "You can stay as long as you want." She continues. "For any reason."

Not until you're better. Not until you're ready. Just: As long as you want. The freedom in that lands differently than it would have months ago. It doesn't feel like a cage. It feels like a choice.

I nod slowly, warmth spreading through me. "Thank you." Mom reaches across the table, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist, not holding, not pulling, just touching. "We're just glad you're still here." She says softly.

Mama huffs a quiet breath beside her, something close to a smile tugging at her mouth. "And," she adds lightly, "Hill's fitness evaluation is brutal. You're going to need somewhere to recover after she's done with you." I laugh. The sound comes easily. Naturally. Like it belongs here.

And as conversation around the table resumes, the twins talking over each other, Steve chiming in, Mom asking what I want for dessert, I realize something quietly but unmistakably clear:

This isn't about being protected anymore. It isn't about being watched. It isn't about staying because I'm broken. It's about staying because I'm choosing to. And for the first time, that choice feels completely, entirely my own.

__________ The training floor smells like rubber mats and faint metal, the steady thud of impacts echoing in a rhythm that feels almost like a heartbeat. It's a sound I used to associate with pressure, expectation, performance. Now, standing here again, it feels like something else entirely. It feels like coming home to a part of myself I thought I might've lost.

Word travels fast in the Tower, especially when it's good news. Since being medically cleared, I've noticed the shift in how people interact with me. It isn't careful in the same way anymore. They don't look at me like I might break. They don't lower their voices when they talk about missions. They include me again, in conversations, in planning discussions, in casual sparring debates at the coffee machine.

Sam slaps my shoulder when he passes me in the corridor. Bucky tosses me a knife one afternoon without warning just to see if my reflexes are back. Even Tony sends a message saying something about "asset no longer requiring bubble wrap."

But the biggest change is Mama. She's there every day now, waiting on the training floor before I even arrive. Sometimes leaning against the wall with her arms folded. Sometimes already moving through warm-ups like she's just been coincidentally training at the same time.

At first, she's careful. Too careful. Her strikes are slower than I remember. She pulls her punches just a fraction too early. Leaves openings she never would have left before. And I notice immediately.

We circle each other on the mat one morning, both barefoot, hands up, eyes locked. I dodge a strike that should've landed easily, frustration sparking sharp in my chest. "Stop doing that." I say bluntly. She pauses mid-step. "Doing what?" She questions. "Treating me like I'm still injured." I lower my guard slightly, breathing steady. "You're holding back."

She doesn't deny it or deflect. Her jaw tightens instead, something complicated flickering across her face. Fear. Habit. Protectiveness. "I don't want to push you too far." She says quietly.

The words land heavier than they should. Because I know what she means. I know where that instinct comes from. But I also know what I need. "I don't need you to protect me here." I tell her gently. "I need you to train me."

For a moment, the air between us stills. Then something shifts in her expression. She exhales slowly, shoulders dropping just enough to release the tension she's been carrying. "Okay." She says simply.

And when we reset our stances, it's different. This time when she moves, she moves like herself again, fast, precise, relentless. Her strike snaps toward my ribs with the same speed I remember from my first year of training. I pivot, block, counter instinctively.

And suddenly, I'm right back there. The old training room. Younger me, sweating, frustrated, desperate to prove I belonged. Mama circling me, correcting my stance, pushing me harder than anyone else ever dared.

"You're faster than you think. Stop hesitating." The memory hits so sharply it almost steals my breath. Back then, those sessions meant everything to me. They were the times I felt most seen. Most chosen.

Realising how much they faded over the years still hurts. That quiet grief tugs at my chest even now. But it doesn't crush me the way it used to. Because she's here now. She's present, focused and showing up. And this time, I let myself appreciate that without letting the past swallow it.

We move faster, the rhythm of sparring falling into something almost instinctual. She feints left. I anticipate it. I counter before she fully commits. Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Better." She murmurs. I feel a flash of pride spark warm in my chest. We trade blows, footwork sliding smoothly across the mat. My body responds without hesitation now, strength fully back, reflexes sharp again.

At one point I sweep low, catching her off-balance just enough that she has to twist out of the fall. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. "Okay," she breathes, a hint of surprise slipping through. "That was new." I grin, breathless. "Been practicing."

We circle again. This time I press forward instead of reacting, pushing her on the defensive for several moves in a row. For the first time in years, I almost have her. She recovers at the last second, flipping the momentum and pinning my wrist before I can complete the strike. But when we break apart, she's breathing harder than she usually does after sparring with me.

And she's smiling. Not a polite smile. A proud one. "You almost had me." She says, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's... new." She chuckles. "Almost doesn't count." I tease, though my heart is racing with something bright and warm. "It does when it's you." She replies quietly. There's no ego in her voice. No competitiveness. Just pride.

Off to the side, I hear slow clapping. Yelena and Mom are leaning against the observation rail, watching the entire time. "Well," Yelena calls down lazily, "that was deeply embarrassing for you, сестра." Mama rolls her eyes but doesn't even try to hide her grin.

Mom smiles warmly, arms folded loosely. "You're going to have to accept it eventually." She says gently. "She's stronger now." Mama snorts. "I've always known she would be." She glances back at me then, her expression softening just slightly. "I just didn't expect it to happen this fast."

Yelena tilts her head, smirking. "You say that like you didn't spend time training her to beat you." Mama shrugs lightly, completely unbothered. "I did. That was the goal." Her gaze meets mine again. "And I meant it."

The words settle deep in my chest, heavier than any strike. Because they aren't about sparring. They're about something bigger. About her seeing me as capable. As equal. As someone she isn't afraid to stand beside anymore.

We reset our stances one more time, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. This time when we move, there's no hesitation between us at all. Just two agents training. Trusting one another. And for the first time in a very long time, it feels exactly the way it should.

__________

The kitchen is warm and bright, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks across the countertops. The familiar hum of the Tower surrounds me, distant voices, the low rumble of an elevator somewhere far away, the quiet domestic sounds of home.

Mama is standing at the counter, sleeves pushed up, cutting fruit with quick, efficient movements. Mom is at the stove, stirring something that smells warm and comforting. The twins sit at the table, chattering loudly, arguing over something small and inconsequential.

I step into the kitchen, leaning lightly against the island, watching them for a moment before speaking. "Mama?" I say. She doesn't look up. Not immediately. I wait a second, then try again, a little louder. "Mom?"

Mom glances over her shoulder this time, but only briefly. Her expression is distracted, like I've interrupted something more important. "What is it?" She asks. Her tone isn't unkind. Just... distant.

"I was wondering if you could help me later." I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "With training. Maria's fitness test is coming up and I want to make sure I'm ready." Mama still hasn't looked at me. Her knife moves steadily against the cutting board. "I can't today." She says flatly. "We're busy."

The words land with a dull, heavy thud inside my chest. "Oh," I reply quickly. "That's okay. Maybe tomorrow?" Mom turns back to the stove, stirring again. "We don't have time right now, Y/n." Her voice is sharper this time. Impatient.

I swallow, trying not to let it show how much that small shift already hurts. "I just need a little help." I say carefully. "Not long. I just..." "Y/n." Mom interrupts, the spoon clattering against the pot as she sets it down harder than necessary. "We're busy."

The twins are still talking. Still laughing. But suddenly it feels like the sound is coming from very far away. "Busy with what?" I ask quietly, though I already know the answer. Mom gestures toward the boys without looking at me. "With them." The words feel heavier than they should.

"They need us more." Something cold slips into my stomach. "I need you too." I say before I can stop myself. That makes Mama finally look up. And the expression on her face makes my breath catch. It isn't angry or cruel. It's worse. It's tired and dismissive. Like she doesn't understand why this conversation is even happening.

"You're an adult." She says simply. "You can handle your own training." The words slice deeper than any shouted accusation ever could. "I just wanted..." I try again but I'm soon cut off once more. "We don't have time for this." Mom cuts in sharply, turning fully toward me now. Her eyes aren't soft. They're hard. Frustrated.

"You're not the priority right now." The air seems to thin around me. I feel myself shrinking without meaning to. "But you used to..." I start. "That was before." She snaps.

The room feels colder suddenly. Smaller. My throat tightens painfully. "Is it because..." I hear myself whisper, the question spilling out before I can stop it. "Is it because I'm not really yours?" The words hang in the air like something fragile and dangerous. For a second, everything goes very still. Mama freezes. Mom's expression changes.

And then, her face hardens completely. "Y/n." She says sharply. But there's no reassurance in it. No warmth. Only irritation. "You were never my choice." She continues coldly. "You were just... there. The orphan Natasha came with when I married her." The words hit like a physical blow. My chest caves inward and I can't breathe.

"If I'd been able to choose," she adds, voice cutting and precise, "I wouldn't have picked you." Something inside me cracks wide open. I feel myself stepping back, even though I don't remember telling my body to move.

The kitchen looks different now. The light feels harsher. The warmth is gone. Mama has already looked away again. Like I've disappeared. Like I don't matter enough to keep her attention. The twins are still laughing. Still talking. And no one is looking at me anymore. No one is noticing that I'm standing there, breaking apart.

I wake up gasping. The room is dark. My chest heaves as air rushes into lungs that feel like they've been starved. Sweat clings to my skin, damp and cold, my sheets twisted around my legs like restraints.

For a few seconds, I don't know where I am. The kitchen. The words. The look on Mom's face... They're still too vivid. Too real.

It takes several long, shaky breaths before the shape of my bedroom slowly comes back into focus. The familiar outlines of furniture. The soft glow of the hallway light bleeding faintly under the door. I'm safe. I know I'm safe. But my body doesn't believe it yet.

My heart is still pounding like I've just run for my life. I press a hand against my chest, trying to steady the frantic rhythm. It was just a dream. Just my mind. But the emotional weight of it lingers like bruising under my ribs. Because it didn't feel like something random. It felt like memory twisted into fear. A nightmare built out of things that once were real.

I sit up slowly, pulling my knees toward my chest, wrapping my arms around them as the last of the adrenaline drains away. And then the thought creeps in, quiet and insidious. Why now? Things have been good. Better than they've been in years. They've been showing up. Listening and choosing me. So why does my mind suddenly drag me back to the worst version of them?

The answer settles slowly into place. Like something cold and inevitable. Because part of me still doesn't trust it. Part of me is still waiting for it to disappear. The nightmare isn't just fear. It's a defence. A safety mechanism. A warning whispered by the part of me that learned a long time ago:

Don't get too comfortable. Don't believe it will last. Don't let your guard down.

By morning, the dream has faded at the edges. But the feeling it left behind hasn't. It sits heavy in my chest as I move through the apartment, responding automatically when people speak to me, smiling when expected, participating in conversations.

But everything feels slightly distant. Muted. Like I'm watching my own life through a pane of glass. I catch myself studying Mama and Mom when they aren't looking. Watching their interactions with the twins. Listening too closely to the tone of their voices. Waiting for signs. Waiting for something to shift. Waiting for proof that the nightmare was wrong. Or confirmation that it wasn't. And even though they're acting exactly the same as they have been, warm, present, attentive, the fear lingers anyway.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering: What if this is temporary? What if it's only a phase? What if one day they stop choosing you again?

By the time the day settles into evening, I'm exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. Because it takes so much energy to act normal when your mind is quietly spiralling beneath the surface. And the worst part is, I don't know how to tell them why.

Nat's POV

I know something is wrong before she even says a word. It isn't obvious at first glance. Y/n still moves through the apartment the way she always does now, steady, quiet, self-contained. She answers when spoken to. She sits with us at breakfast. She smiles when Billy tells a story about school that spirals into something completely unrelated halfway through.

But it's not the same. There's a distance in her that wasn't there yesterday. It's in the way her eyes don't linger. In the way her posture is just slightly tighter than usual, like she's bracing for something she can't see. In the way she seems to be watching us instead of simply being with us.

Most people wouldn't notice. But I do. Because I've spent years learning to read the smallest shifts in body language. And because I know her. She was fine last night. She went to bed relaxed, shoulders loose, voice warm when she said goodnight. There was no tension. No sign that something had unsettled her. Which means whatever this is... happened overnight.

I don't ask her directly. Not yet. Pushing too soon would make her retreat further, and we've worked too hard to build trust for me to risk breaking it now. Instead, I watch. And I wait.

Wanda notices too. Of course she does. She always feels things before they're spoken. By mid-morning, we're alone in the kitchen while Y/n sits in the living room with the twins, helping them sort through a LEGO set. Or at least pretending to. Her hands move automatically through the pieces, but her eyes aren't really focused on them. They're somewhere else.

Wanda leans against the counter beside me, arms folded loosely, her gaze flicking toward the doorway where Y/n is visible through the open space. "She's quiet." Wanda murmurs softly. I nod once. "Too quiet."

Wanda exhales slowly, tension threading through the sound. "She was okay last night." She points out. "I know." Her brow furrows. "She laughed before she went to bed. She was relaxed." I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms, trying to piece together something that makes sense.

"Nightmares?" I suggest quietly. Wanda's eyes flicker toward me, worry deepening. "Maybe." Neither of us likes that possibility. Because we both know what her nightmares look like. And what they're usually about.

Wanda rubs her thumb against her palm absently, a small grounding gesture she uses when she's trying not to let her emotions spill outward. "I don't want to break her trust by going into her mind. But I hate that we don't know what's happening in her head." She whispers. I reach over without thinking, my fingers brushing against hers. "We'll figure it out."

Wanda glances at me, eyes tight with concern. "We thought things were getting better." She sighs. "They are." I say quietly. "Better doesn't mean always good." I reassure her. But even as I say it, there's a flicker of uncertainty inside my chest. Because healing isn't linear. I know that better than anyone. And sometimes the worst setbacks come when things finally start to feel safe.

I decide to try first. Later that morning, I find her sitting alone near the window, a book open in her lap that she hasn't turned a page of in at least ten minutes. I lean against the wall beside her casually. "Hey." I say lightly. "Training room's free this afternoon." Her eyes lift to mine immediately.

For a split second, something flashes there, relief, maybe, or guilt, before her expression smooths into something neutral. "I'm not really feeling it today." She says quietly. The words aren't defensive. They're tired. And that alone tells me more than anything else could.

"Okay," I reply easily, keeping my tone neutral. "We can do something else." She nods, but her gaze drops back to the book almost immediately. Conversation closed. I don't push. I don't want to make things worse.

Wanda tries next. A little later, she sits beside Y/n on the couch, her presence gentle and warm as always. "How about we get out of the Tower for a bit?" She suggests softly. "Maybe a movie. Or lunch somewhere. Just us." It's exactly the kind of thing Y/n usually agrees to now. Usually. But this time, she hesitates. Then shakes her head. "I'm okay here." She says quietly.

Wanda's fingers pause where they'd been absently tracing the seam of the couch cushion. "Are you sure?" A small nod. "I'm just... tired." It isn't a lie. But it isn't the truth either. We can both tell. Wanda doesn't push further. She just nods and offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Okay, sweetheart."

By the time Kate arrives that afternoon, the shift is even more obvious. Usually, Y/n lights up when she sees her. Today, she smiles. But it's careful and contained. Kate notices immediately. I see it in the way her posture changes the second she steps into the room, shoulders softening, movements becoming more deliberate, more attentive.

She doesn't crowd Y/n. Doesn't ask what's wrong. She simply sits beside her, close enough for their knees to brush, and starts talking about something light and mundane, a training mishap, a recruit who tripped over their own equipment. She adjusts her tone instinctively, keeping it gentle and steady, giving Y/n space while still anchoring her in the present. It's impressive. The kind of quiet emotional intelligence that can't be taught.

Wanda and I exchange a glance from across the room. We're both thinking the same thing. She knows something is wrong. And she's responding exactly the right way. Without pushing. Without overwhelming. Without making it about herself.

Wanda leans slightly closer to me, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's better at this than we are." She murmurs. There's no jealousy in her tone. Only quiet, aching honesty. I don't argue. Because she's not wrong.

Kate adapts to Y/n instinctively in a way that comes from meeting her where she is, not from years of history, guilt, and fear tangled together. Wanda's fingers curl lightly against her arm. "Do you think..." she begins, then stops. I know what she's about to ask. Do you think we're the reason she's pulling away again? The thought lands heavily in my chest.

I watch Y/n across the room, the way she leans slightly toward Kate without even realizing it, the way her shoulders loosen just a fraction in her presence. And the fear whispers quietly in the back of my mind: What if we are?

I force myself to breathe slowly. "We don't assume." I say quietly. Wanda nods, even though I can see the worry still written plainly across her face. "No." She agrees softly. "We don't assume." But the silence that follows is heavy with the same unspoken truth. Something has shifted. Something inside Y/n has closed off again. And neither of us knows why. Yet.

We wait until evening. Not because we want to avoid it, but because we want to give her time. Space. A chance to come to us on her own if she's ready. But she doesn't.

By the time the twins are in bed and the apartment settles into that quiet, late-night stillness, the distance in her hasn't lifted. It's still there, subtle but unmistakable, like she's holding something heavy inside her chest that she doesn't know how to put down. Wanda and I share a look across the living room. We both know. It's time.

She's sitting curled at one end of the couch, knees drawn slightly toward her chest, a blanket draped loosely over her legs even though the room isn't cold. The TV plays quietly in the background, something mindless she isn't really watching.

I cross the room slowly and sit beside her, not too close. Wanda takes the other side, creating a gentle, open space rather than boxing her in. For a moment, none of us speak. Then I say quietly, "Hey, detka." Her eyes shift toward me. Tired. Guarded. "Can we talk for a minute?" She hesitates. It's small, just a flicker, but I see the instinct to retreat rise in her before she pushes it down. "...Okay."

Wanda leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice soft and careful. "You've been a little... off today." She says carefully. Not accusatory. Not pressing. Just naming what's already there.

Y/n's shoulders tighten almost immediately. "I'm fine." She says automatically. It's a reflex. One we both recognize. Wanda shakes her head gently, her eyes warm but steady. "You don't have to be." The words land softly, but they hit something inside her. I see it in the way her jaw tightens, the way her gaze drops toward her hands.

Silence stretches. Heavy. Fragile. Then Wanda speaks again, quieter this time. "You can talk to us." She says. "You're our daughter. We love you. And we want to support you." The word daughter hangs in the air between us as I watch Y/n subtly react to the word. Y/n doesn't look up right away. Her fingers twist together in her lap, knuckles pale.

For a moment, I think she's going to shut down completely. Then she inhales slowly. "...I had a nightmare." She admits. Her voice is small. Controlled. Like she's forcing each word past something tight in her chest.

Wanda goes very still beside me. "What kind of nightmare?" She asks gently. Y/n swallows. Her gaze stays fixed on her hands as she speaks. "It felt... real." She whispers. "Like I was back there. Like nothing changed."

She takes another shaky breath. "I came into the kitchen. You were both there. The twins were there. Everything looked normal." Her voice trembles slightly now. "And I asked for help. Just... help training. For Maria's fitness test."

My chest tightens instantly. Because I already know where this is going. "I kept asking." She continues quietly. "And you kept telling me you were busy. That they needed you more." Her fingers curl tighter. "That I wasn't the priority." Wanda's hand flies to her mouth, horror flooding her face as she listens. Y/n's voice drops even lower. "And then I asked if it was because I wasn't really yours."

The room feels impossibly still. Like even the air has stopped moving. "And Mom said..." she stops, breath catching painfully. "...that I was never her choice. That I was just the orphan Mama came with. That if she'd been able to choose..." her voice breaks. "...she wouldn't have picked me." Wanda makes a soft, broken sound beside me. "Y/n..." But she keeps going, the words spilling out now that they've started.

"I woke up feeling like it was real." She whispers. "Like everything we have now is temporary. Like one day you're going to wake up and decide I'm too much again. That I'm not worth the effort." Her shoulders tremble slightly.

"I'm scared." She admits, voice barely audible. "That you'll forget me again." The words land like a knife. Not angry. Not accusing. Just raw, honest and terrified.

I reach for her hand without thinking, my fingers closing around hers firmly, grounding her. "Hey," I say quietly. "Look at me." She hesitates, then lifts her eyes.

They're glossed over and the fear is clear. The kind that doesn't disappear just because things get better.

"That nightmare?" I say gently. "That was your mind trying to protect you. Not showing you the truth." She doesn't respond, but her hand tightens in mine. "The only way we can prove that will never happen again," I continue softly, "is by doing exactly what we've been doing. Showing up. Every day. Consistently. Even when it's hard."

I squeeze her hand slightly. "You don't have to trust us all at once." I add. "You just have to trust us enough to let us keep proving it to you." Her eyes flicker. Uncertain. Still hurting. "I will never let you fade into the background again." I tell her quietly. "Not because I have to. But because I choose you. Every day."

Wanda has been silent beside us, tears slipping down her cheeks as she listens. Now she moves closer. Slowly and carefully. Like she's approaching something fragile. "Y/n," she says softly, voice trembling. She waits until Y/n looks at her. "I need you to hear this." She continues.

"You are the daughter I always wanted." The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. "When I married your Mama." Wanda says, her voice thick with tears, "I didn't feel like I was getting something I didn't choose. I felt like I was being given a family I never thought I'd have." She swallows hard. "You weren't an obligation." She whispers. "You were a gift."

Y/n's breath catches. Wanda continues, her voice shaking but steady. "Yes, I love the boys. Of course I do. But loving them never meant loving you less. It never will." She reaches out slowly, resting her hand lightly over Y/n's knee. "My heart doesn't divide like that."

There's a long silence. I can feel it. Y/n isn't fully convinced. Not yet. And Wanda feels it too. Her shoulders slump slightly, grief flickering across her face. "We can't take back what we did." She says quietly. "We can't erase the years we weren't there the way you needed." Her voice breaks slightly. But what we can do... is be better now. Every single day."

She looks directly at Y/n. "If you decide one day that you need to move on without us," she adds softly, "we will accept that. Even if it breaks us." The words hit hard. Because they're not manipulation. They're truth.

"We respect your right to choose your life." Wanda continues. "But our love for you will never stop. And if you give us another chance..." her voice trembles. "...we will not waste it." Tears spill freely down her cheeks now. "We came too close to losing you forever." She whispers. "I never want to feel that again."

Silence settles over the room. Things aren't magically resolved or fixed. But we have been honest and have to hope that that is enough. Y/n sits between us, her expression conflicted, overwhelmed, uncertain. I can see it clearly. She wants to believe us. But years of hurt don't disappear in one conversation. And we don't expect them to.

Because this isn't about instant forgiveness. It's about rebuilding something that broke slowly. And will only heal the same way. Slowly. One day at a time. __________

Morning comes slowly, the kind that feels more like a gradual return than a clean beginning. Pale light slips through the curtains in soft bands, stretching across the floor, creeping inch by inch toward the bed. It's quiet in the apartment, the familiar kind of quiet that usually feels safe now, the low hum of distant Tower activity, the faint clink of dishes from somewhere down the hall, life moving in gentle, ordinary rhythms.

But inside my head, everything still feels unsettled. I lie there for a long time before I move, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the conversation from the night before over and over again like a recording that won't quite stop looping. Every word. Every expression. Every pause between sentences where something heavy and unspoken hung in the air.

Mama's hand wrapped around mine, steady and warm. Mom's voice breaking when she called me her daughter, not carefully, not hesitantly, but like it was something she needed me to hear with absolute certainty. I want to believe them. That's the part that hurts the most, how much I want it to be true.

Because logically, I know they're trying. I see it every day. In the small things that would be easy to miss if I wasn't watching so closely. The way they ask before stepping into my space. The way they notice when I'm quiet and sit beside me without pushing. The way they show up over and over again, even when nothing dramatic is happening. They aren't disappearing anymore. They aren't forgetting. They aren't letting me fade quietly into the background of my own life. And still... my mind doesn't let go easily.

The fear is quieter now than it used to be, but it's still there, tucked somewhere deep and stubborn, whispering that this could still change. That people can try for a while and then slip back into old patterns when life gets complicated again. Trust isn't something that comes back all at once. It rebuilds in slow layers. Carefully. Piece by piece.

Mama said that last night, that the only way they can prove things will be different is by showing up over time. Not with promises. Not with grand gestures. Just presence. Consistent. Steady. Real. And she was right. That's the only kind of proof that actually matters.

I shift slightly, pulling the blanket higher around my shoulders, letting the quiet settle around me instead of fighting it. Because beneath the fear, beneath the doubt, there's something else now too. Something softer. Something cautious, but real. Hope.

Maybe they do deserve the chance to prove it. Maybe they deserve the time it takes for trust to grow back into something strong instead of fragile. And maybe I deserve that chance too. The chance to stop bracing for loss. The chance to have something steady. The chance to belong in a family that isn't perfect but is trying. __________

A few weeks later, I find myself standing outside Maria Hill's office, staring at the brushed metal plaque beside the door like it might somehow tell me what kind of conversation waits on the other side.

Deputy Director - M. Hill.

I've stood here countless times over the years. As a recruit being evaluated. As someone who belonged fully to this world without questioning it. This time feels different.

My hand hovers near the door for a second longer than it should. Not because I'm scared exactly, but because this moment carries weight. It's not just about clearance anymore. It's about what comes next. About whether I truly get to step back into the life that was almost taken from me. I take a slow breath, steadying myself. Then I knock.

"Come in." Maria's voice is as crisp and controlled as ever. When I step inside, she's seated behind her desk, tablet in hand, posture straight, expression calm and unreadable in the way she's perfected over years of command.

But when her eyes lift to meet mine, something softer flickers there too. "Agent." She greets simply, gesturing toward the chair across from her. "Sit." I do, smoothing my hands over my knees to keep from fidgeting. I didn't think I was nervous until now, until I'm actually here, waiting for her to speak.

Maria studies me for a moment, not clinically like Cho would, but evaluatively, like she's measuring something less tangible. "You've completed all required physical benchmarks." She says, tapping the tablet lightly. "Endurance, mobility, strength recovery, tactical response simulations."

Each word feels like another step toward something I've been reaching for since the day I woke up in that hospital bed. "You've also passed the psychological readiness evaluation." She continues, her tone steady but not cold. "Which, given the circumstances of your injury, is not insignificant."

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until it slips out slowly. She sets the tablet down, folding her hands together on the desk. "Agent Romanoff," she says, meeting my eyes directly, "you are cleared to return to field operations."

For a second, everything inside me goes very still. Then the words hit fully, like a wave breaking open. I'm cleared. No longer recovering. No longer monitored. Just cleared.

Relief and excitement surge together so fast it almost feels dizzying. My fingers curl slightly against my knees as I try to keep my composure, but I can't stop the small smile that pulls at my mouth.

"Yes, ma'am." I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. Maria's lips twitch faintly, not quite a smile, but close enough that I notice. "You won't be thrown straight into high-risk assignments." She adds. "You'll be considered for mission rotations moving forward. Gradual reintegration. Standard protocol after extended medical leave."

There's no condescension in her tone. Just practicality. Respect. Which means more than she probably realizes. "I understand." I reply. She leans back slightly in her chair then, her gaze shifting from purely professional to something more reflective.

"I've watched you grow up in this organisation." She says quietly. "From a recruit who refused to back down in training drills to an agent who maintained operational clarity while seriously wounded." My chest tightens a little at that. "That kind of resilience isn't something we teach." She continues. "It's something you either have or you don't. And you have it." It's not praise she offers lightly. I know that.

"Thank you." I say softly. Maria nods once, then taps the edge of her desk almost absentmindedly. "There's one more practical matter." She says. "Your SHIELD accommodation." My stomach flips slightly. I hadn't expected that to come up here.

"Your previous room is still assigned under your name." She continues. "If you want it back, it's yours. If you'd prefer to relocate or make alternate arrangements, that's also an option." Her gaze sharpens just slightly. "You don't need to decide today." She adds, her tone gentler now. "Take the time you need."

For a moment, I don't answer. Because the question touches something deeper than just logistics. It isn't just about where I sleep. It's about independence. Identity. Where I belong now. "I'll think about it." I say finally. Maria nods once, satisfied. "Good." She says simply. Then, after a brief pause, she adds in a quieter voice, "For what it's worth... your mothers are very proud of you." The words catch me off guard. She doesn't elaborate. Doesn't need to. But something warm settles in my chest anyway.

"And," she continues, the faintest hint of dry humour touching her voice now, "they have both made it very clear that if anyone sends you into a situation you're not ready for, they'll be having a conversation with me." A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "That sounds about right." I admit.

Maria's expression softens just a fraction. "Take your time stepping back into the field." She says, her voice steady again. "You don't need to prove anything. You've already done that."

For a moment, I just sit there, letting the words settle. Because that's the part I'm still learning. That coming back isn't about proving I deserve to be here. It's about trusting that I already do. "Yes, ma'am." I say quietly.

The hallway outside Maria's office feels quieter than usual as I walk away, her words still echoing in my mind. Cleared. Considered for missions. Your accommodation is still yours.

Each step toward the elevator feels heavier than it should, not because I'm unsure about returning to the field, that part feels clear, solid, almost instinctive. It's the other question that keeps circling in my head. Where do I belong now?

The elevator doors slide shut with a soft hum, and I lean back against the cool metal wall, staring at my reflection in the brushed steel. I look different than I did a few months ago. Not physically, the scars are mostly hidden, the healing complete, but there's something quieter in my expression now. Less guarded. Less braced.

And yet, this decision knots something deep in my chest. Because staying with Mama and Mom has been... good. Better than I ever thought it could be again. Safe in a way that doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

But it also isn't entirely mine. I'm an adult. An agent. Someone who's supposed to be building her own life, not orbiting entirely around her parents, even if those parents are finally learning how to hold space for me properly.

I close my eyes briefly. It isn't about leaving them. I remind myself. It's about not losing myself. By the time I get back to the tower and make my way toward the apartment, the decision has settled quietly but firmly inside me. It's time.

The apartment door opens to the familiar warmth of evening. The twins are in the living room, sprawled on the floor with a half-built LEGO structure, arguing loudly about who can place the next bit. Mom is at the kitchen counter, slicing vegetables, and Mama is sitting at the table with a tablet, though she looks up immediately when I walk in.They always do now.

"How did it go?" Mama asks, already searching my face for the answer before I speak. I don't make them wait. "I'm cleared." I say. The reaction is immediate and overwhelming. Mom's hands fly to her mouth, eyes shining instantly, and Mama pushes back from the table so quickly her chair scrapes against the floor. "Cleared?" She repeats, like she needs to hear it again to believe it. I nod, smiling. "Fully."

Mom crosses the kitchen in two steps and pulls me into a tight hug before I can brace for it, arms wrapping around me carefully but firmly, her relief almost palpable. "Oh, sweetheart." She murmurs into my hair. "I'm so proud of you."

Mama joins us a second later, one hand coming to rest warm and steady on my back, her expression softer than I've seen it in a long time. "You did it." She says quietly. For a moment, I let myself lean into them, into the warmth and the pride and the sense of being fully seen. But I know what comes next.

"Boys," Mom says gently after a moment, glancing toward the living room. "Can you take your LEGO into your room for a bit? We need to talk to your sister." They look up immediately, curious but compliant. "Okay," Tommy says, already gathering pieces. "We're not in trouble, right?" Mama huffs a quiet laugh. "No. Not this time." They disappear down the hallway a moment later, door clicking shut behind them.

The apartment grows quieter. And suddenly, my heart starts pounding. Mama notices immediately. "What is it?" She asks softly, her tone shifting from celebration to concern in an instant. I take a slow breath. "There's something else." I say. Both of them still. I can see the flicker of worry in their eyes before I even continue.

"I've been thinking," I say carefully, choosing each word. "About what comes next. About... where I should be." Their expressions change almost imperceptibly, not fear exactly, but tension. Readiness for whatever I'm about to say.

"I think," I continue, forcing myself not to back down, "it's probably best if I move back into my SHIELD accommodation." The words hang in the air. For a split second, neither of them moves. And then I see it. The way Mama's shoulders drop slightly, like something inside her just sank. The way Mom's mouth parts, her eyes flickering with hurt before she can mask it. It isn't anger. It isn't rejection. It's sadness. And guilt. That almost makes me falter.

"This isn't about getting away from you." I add quickly, stepping forward a little. "It's not because things are bad. It's actually the opposite." They both look at me again then, really look. "I just..." I swallow, steadying myself. "I need my own space. To build my life as an agent. To figure out who I am outside of being here all the time." The words feel fragile but true.

Mama exhales slowly, her gaze softening. Before Mom can speak, she steps forward and places a hand lightly on my shoulder. "We support you completely." She says immediately. There's no hesitation in it. No conditions. Just certainty. Which makes my chest tightens.

"We always knew," she continues quietly, "that you wouldn't stay here forever. You weren't supposed to." Mom nods, though her eyes are still bright with emotion. "It makes sense." She says softly. "You're not running away. You're growing." She reaches out and takes my hand. "And just because you live somewhere else," she adds, her voice steady despite the tears gathering in her eyes, "doesn't mean our love stops. Or that we stop showing up."

Mama's hand moves from my shoulder to cover both of ours. "We'll still see each other at work." She points out. "We'll still have dinners. Movie nights. Whatever you want." She gives a small, almost self-deprecating smile. "We'll miss having you here all the time," she admits quietly. "Of course we will. But that's... that's our feeling to manage. Not yours."

Mom nods, her voice softer now. "We lost a lot of time these last few years." She speaks sadly. "We know that. And part of loving you properly now means not holding you back from building the life you deserve." The words settle deep in my chest. Because they aren't clinging. They aren't trying to persuade me to stay. They're letting me go. And choosing to love me anyway. A lump rises in my throat. "Thank you." I whisper.

For a moment, none of us moves. Then Mom pulls me into another hug, gentle but tight, and Mama's arms wrap around both of us a second later. It feels different from the hugs earlier. Heavier and bittersweet. Full of pride and sadness and something steady underneath both.

When they finally pull back, Mama brushes her thumb lightly over my cheek. "We're still your home." She says quietly. "Wherever you live." I nod, blinking against the sudden sting in my eyes. "I know." And for the first time, choosing my own path doesn't feel like losing them. It feels like carrying them with me.

Part 10

Taglist: @jusnough thanks for the ideas! @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @fxckmiup @nessheartnat @bstvst @waiqui @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989@ yelldontwhisper @franfineashell @luckilygrimconduit

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 8

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word Count: 7789

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: As Y/N’s recovery accelerates, she finds herself longing for something she hasn’t had in a long time, normality. With Kate finishing her exams and their relationship deepening, hope begins to take shape… until a call from Fury threatens to pull her back into the shadows of the mission that nearly destroyed everything.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

A few weeks pass in a way that feels almost unreal. Not fast exactly, but softer than before, like time has stopped scraping against my nerves and started flowing around me instead. Days no longer blur into pain and exhaustion. They have shape now. Morning light through the curtains. The quiet hum of the apartment waking up. The steady rhythm of routine that no longer feels fragile.

I'm walking more. Not far, not fast, but enough that the distance between my bed and the living room no longer feels like crossing a battlefield. The first time I made it there without needing to stop halfway, Mama didn't say anything, she just slid a glass of water onto the table within reach and pretended she hadn't been watching every step.

Mom noticed too, of course. She always does. She just smiled a little wider when she handed me my meds that morning, her fingers brushing mine like she couldn't quite help herself.

The pain is still there, but it isn't sharp and all-consuming anymore. It's something quieter now. Manageable. A background ache instead of a constant alarm. The strict monitoring from the hospital has eased too. No more regular checks. No more charts pinned to the wall. Now it's routines.

Mama makes coffee at the same time every morning, even when she knows I'll only drink half of it. Mom waters the plants by the window, humming softly under her breath. Sometimes I sit at the kitchen table while they move around me, listening to their quiet conversation, and it feels... normal in a way that used to feel impossible.

They don't hover anymore. They ask. "Can I help you with that?", "Do you want company?" or "Is this okay?" The difference is small on the surface, but it changes everything. They don't assume what I need. They don't step in without permission. They give me space, even when I can tell it costs them something.

And they're consistent. That's the part that still surprises me the most. They don't just show up when something goes wrong. They show up when nothing is happening at all. When it's quiet. When it would be easy to slip back into old patterns and forget to look for me.

Slowly, almost without me noticing, the fear that they'll disappear again has started to loosen its grip. It's still there. A quiet voice in the back of my mind that whispers don't get used to this, don't trust it too much. But it's quieter than it used to be. Easier to ignore.

I'm less guarded now. Not completely relaxed. I don't think I know how to be that yet. But I don't feel like I'm bracing myself all the time either. With them, the relationship is rebuilding in small, steady ways.

We cook together sometimes. Mom guiding me through simple recipes like she used to, her hands warm and sure as she passes me ingredients. Mama sitting across from me at the table in the evenings, talking through mission reports or training updates, not because she expects anything from me, but because she knows I like feeling connected to that world.

There are comfortable silences now too. Mom reading on the couch while I sit beside her with my feet tucked under a blanket. Mama working on her tablet at the kitchen counter while I watch something mindless on the TV. No pressure to talk. No tension in the quiet. Just presence.

And it isn't just them. The twins have adapted in a way that catches me off guard sometimes. At first, they were cautious around me in that honest, childlike way that isn't filtered or hidden. They asked blunt questions about my injuries. About why I moved slower. About whether things still hurt. But they never avoided me. They adjusted.

Now they just include me. Even when I can't do things the way I used to. We've spent entire afternoons on the floor of the living room working through ridiculously complicated LEGO sets together, pieces scattered everywhere, instructions spread across the coffee table. They sit on either side of me, arguing over which step comes next, handing me pieces like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Sometimes they let me be in charge of sorting the tiny parts because they know I can do that without straining myself. Other times they lean into me when they're excited about something they built, their shoulders bumping mine without hesitation. It's simple and ordinary. But it means more than they probably realise.

Because before all of this I didn't really have time with them like this. Not consistently. Not in a way that felt easy and unpressured. Now, sitting cross-legged on the floor with plastic bricks clicking together in my hands, listening to them chatter about school and superheroes and who gets to place the next piece, I feel something I didn't know I'd been missing. I feel like their sister.

That time with them has become something I quietly treasure. Another small, steady sign that things in this family are shifting into something healthier than before.

With Kate, it's different. With her, there's no hesitation. No internal debate. No tangled history sitting between us. Being with her is easy in a way that makes my chest ache sometimes.

She's around as much as she can be, always slipping into the apartment with that bright, steady energy that seems to follow her everywhere. Sometimes she brings baked goods. Sometimes she brings training updates or half-formed stories about recruits who keep messing up the same drills. Sometimes she just brings herself.

We've fallen into a rhythm too. I go down to the training wing more often now, usually with Yelena hovering nearby under the excuse of "supervision," though she mostly spends her time heckling whoever happens to be sparring that day.

I sit at the edge of the mat, watching Kate move. Watching how much she's improved. How confident she's become. The way she carries herself now, not just fast and talented, but grounded. Controlled. Sure of her place.

She still looks at me after every drill though, like she needs to know I saw it. Like my opinion still matters most. And it does something warm and steady inside my chest every single time.

I help her study too. We sit on my bed with files spread between us, her head bent close to mine as we go over scenarios and tactical breakdowns. She asks questions, listens intently, absorbs everything like she's determined to prove she deserves to be there. She does. She always has.

But the time we get together is still... restricted. My body sets limits I can't ignore yet. There are days I'm too tired to sit up long, days where pain creeps back in if I push too hard. And those are the days I feel the frustration most sharply. Because sometimes I just want to be normal.

I want to go out with her without planning every step. I want to stay up late talking without worrying about whether I'll be able to walk the next morning. I want to exist with her in a world that isn't defined by recovery schedules and physical limits.

I know that will come. Kate never makes me feel like we're missing out. She meets me where I am, always. But there are moments when I catch myself wishing we didn't have to wait.

The day Mama and Mom found out what James said is one of the moments that stays with me the most. I hadn't planned to tell them. It slipped out during a conversation, casual and unguarded, and the reaction was immediate.

Mama went still in that dangerous way she has, her jaw tightening as something cold and furious flashed across her face. "He said what?" She asked quietly. Mom's eyes glow red too, power humming faintly under the surface in a way I hadn't seen directed at something personal in a long time.

"I can handle it." I'd said quickly. "He's already dealt with." I explained. "That doesn't mean we're not allowed to be angry." Mom had replied, her voice gentle but firm. Mama muttered something about "still being perfectly capable of kicking his ass" and Mom had added, almost lightly, "Or adjusting his attitude with a small amount of mind control."

They'd both softened immediately when they saw my reaction, turning the conversation into something almost teasing instead of heavy. But the message had been clear. They cared. Not in a distant, abstract way. In a fiercely protective, immediate way that wrapped around me before I even realised, I needed it. That moment sits warm in my memory now.

Because it's one of the clearest signs of how much things have changed. Everything is improving. Every day, a little more. With Kate, it feels natural and easy and welcome in a way that never scares me. With my moms, it's slower. More complicated. Sometimes still fragile. But it's real. And for now, that's enough.

__________

Kate's exam day starts long before the sun is fully up. I know that not because she says anything, but because I wake to the quiet, restless sound of movement in my room. The soft shuffle of papers, the faint click of a pen tapping against a hard surface, the kind of small, repetitive noise someone makes when they're trying very hard to burn off nervous energy without actually pacing.

When I blink my eyes open, she's already there. Sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed with a stack of notes spread across the blanket, hair tied back messily, one sleeve pushed up where she keeps absently rubbing her wrist. She's staring at a page without really seeing it, lips moving faintly as she rehearses something under her breath.

She looks up the second she notices I'm awake. "Hey." She says quickly, almost too quickly. "Sorry. Did I wake you?" I push myself up against the pillows, still shaking sleep from my head. "No." I murmur. "You've been here a while." She grimaces, which is basically confirmation.

"Couldn't sleep." She admits, dropping the pen into her lap. "Every time I closed my eyes, my brain just started running through scenarios. Tactical sims, worst-case outcomes, Clint yelling at me in that very disappointed dad tone he does." I can't help the soft laugh that escapes me. She huffs. "It's not funny." She complains. "It's a little funny," I counter gently.

Her mouth twitches despite herself, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. It sits there, tight and obvious, like she's holding herself together through sheer willpower. I shift back against my pillows, watching her with soft amusement. "You're nervous."

She scrubs a hand through her hair, leaving it more dishevelled than it was before. "I shouldn't be. I know this stuff. I've trained for this. Clint literally grilled me until I wanted to cry last week." She shares. "And yet," I prompt. "And yet my brain feels like it's made of static." She mutters.

The vulnerability in her voice pulls at something warm in my chest. I pat the mattress beside me. "Come here." She doesn't hesitate. She drops the notes, slides up the bed, and sits close enough that our shoulders touch. After a second, she leans forward, forehead resting lightly against my collarbone like she needs the contact to steady herself.

Her arms circle loosely around my waist, not clinging, just anchoring. "I hate this part." She admits quietly. "The waiting. The not knowing." My hand lifts automatically, settling at the back of her neck, thumb brushing slow, reassuring strokes along her skin. "You don't need to know." I tell her softly. "You already did the hard part. You showed up. You put the work in."

She exhales slowly, tension easing just a fraction under my touch. "I keep thinking," she says after a moment, "what if I freeze? What if I miss something obvious?" She shares her worries. "You won't." I say immediately. She tilts her head up to look at me. "You sound very confident about that."

"I am." I reply. Because I've watched her. Really watched her. Watched the way she moves in training, not just fast, but thoughtful. Adaptive. Watching everything at once without looking like she's trying. "You don't freeze." I continue quietly. "You react. You adjust. You think on your feet faster than most agents I've seen." Her eyes widen slightly. "That's... a very high bar." She sighs. "You clear it." I say simply.

She studies my face like she's trying to decide whether to believe me. Then something in her expression softens. "You really think I'm ready." She says. "I know you are." I answer confidently.

The certainty in my voice seems to settle something deep inside her. Her shoulders drop, breath evening out, the frantic edge fading. She leans in then, pressing a quick, warm kiss to my lips, instinctive and grounding. "Okay," she murmurs. "Okay. I can do this." She says more sure of herself now. "You already are," I whisper back.

After she leaves for the exam, the apartment feels too quiet. I try to distract myself. I really do. I sit in the living room with Mom and Mama, a book open in my lap, but the words blur together without meaning. My leg bounces restlessly under the blanket, and I keep glancing toward the door without meaning to.

Mom notices immediately. Damn her spy skills! "You're very quiet today." She says gently from the couch beside me. "I'm reading." I reply automatically. Mama glances over from the kitchen counter. "You've been on the same page for half an hour."

I look down at the book. She's not wrong. "I'm absorbing it." I insist weakly. Mama snorts. "You're absorbing anxiety." Mom laughs softly, nudging my knee with hers. "It's okay to be nervous." she says. "I'm not nervous. I'm not the one taking the exam." I say quickly.

Mama doesn't even look up from her coffee. "You checked the clock six times in the last ten minutes." I open my mouth then close it again. "...That's circumstantial." I mutter.

Mom squeezes my hand lightly. "She matters to you." She says gently. "Of course you're invested." The simple acknowledgment settles something in my chest. Because she's right. This isn't like waiting for a mission update. It isn't detached or professional. This is personal. "She's going to do well." Mom adds softly. "I know." I say. And I do. But that doesn't stop the restless tension coiled inside me while we wait.

The front door bursts open so suddenly that all three of us jump. "I PASSED!" Kate's voice rings through the apartment before she's even fully inside. She looks electric, flushed with adrenaline, eyes shining, hair slightly messy like she ran all the way back.

I'm moving before I even realize I've decided to. I push myself upright too fast, ignoring the pull in my side, crossing the room on instinct alone. I reach her and throw my arms around her. She catches me instantly, hands firm at my waist to steady me. "Whoa, hey." She laughs breathlessly. "Careful. You're going to hurt yourself." She warns me. "I don't care." I mumble into her shoulder, grinning. "You passed."

"I passed," she echoes, still sounding stunned by it. She pulls back just enough to look at my face, her hands lingering at my sides like she needs to confirm I'm real. "I told you," I say smugly. She laughs. "Yeah. You did."

Mom steps closer, smiling warmly. "Congratulations, Kate." Mama nods, pride unmistakable. "You earned it." Kate straightens slightly under their attention, suddenly looking shy in a way that makes my heart squeeze. "Thank you." She says quietly.

Mama studies her for a moment, then adds with a small, approving smile, "I'm looking forward to working with you in the field someday." Kate blinks. "Wait... seriously?" She asks in shock. "Of course" Mama replies simply. "You're good. You'll only get better." Kate flushes bright red, ducking her head. "Okay, wow. That's both terrifying and really cool."

The room feels lighter than it has in days. Warm. Easy. Full of shared pride. I lean back into her side, still smiling. "We should celebrate." Kate groans dramatically. "I would love to celebrate. But right now I mostly want a shower and to collapse into a horizontal position." I grin. "Movie night in my room?" Her answer is immediate. "Yes. Absolutely yes." Mom chuckles softly, exchanging a knowing look with Mama.

And as Kate's arm settles around my shoulders and my moms' happiness fills the room without hesitation or tension, something inside me settles in a quiet, steady way. Because she isn't just part of my life anymore. She's becoming part of my family.

__________

A few days after Kate passes her exams, the idea starts sitting in my mind in a way that won't leave. It's not sudden. It builds slowly, piece by piece, every time Kate leaves early because I need to rest, every time we cut a conversation short because I'm getting tired, every time our time together happens inside the same handful of rooms.

I'm getting stronger. Walking without thinking about every step. Sitting up for longer. Moving through the apartment without that constant edge of pain. But everything still happens inside the same walls. Inside recovery. Inside safety. Inside someone else's watchful eyes. And for the first time in weeks, I feel the restless pull of wanting something more normal. Something simple. Something that belongs just to us.

So one evening, when we're all sitting in the living room, Mama reviewing something on her tablet, Mom curled into the corner of the couch with a book, the quiet hum of the apartment settling around us, I speak up.

"Can I ask you something?" Both of them look up immediately. "Always." Mom says gently. I take a breath, steadying myself before I lose my nerve. "I want to take Kate out on a real date. A chance for us to celebrate her passing her exams and also to act like a normal couple."

The words land softly, but the shift in the room is immediate. Mama goes very still whilst Mom's book lowers slowly into her lap. "Out... where?" Mama asks carefully. "Just dinner." I say quickly. "Somewhere nearby. Nothing complicated." The silence that follows isn't angry. It's heavy and measured.

Mama sets her tablet aside, folding her hands together like she's choosing her words one by one. "You're still recovering." She says quietly. "Crowds, unfamiliar environments, fatigue, those are all risks right now." Mom nods, her expression gentle but tense. "We're not trying to stop you from living your life." She adds softly. "We're just... scared."

I feel the frustration rise in my chest before I can stop it. "I know you're scared." I say, trying to keep my voice even. "But I'm not fragile anymore." I argue. "That's not what we think." Mom replies quickly. "Then what is it?" I ask, the words sharper than I intend.

Mama exhales slowly, her jaw tightening slightly. "It's the fact that you were almost killed." She says plainly. "And that we can't pretend that didn't happen just because you're walking again."

The honesty of it hits hard. But I don't retreat. Not this time. "I know what happened. The bullet went through me." I say quietly. "I live in this body every day. I know exactly what I can and can't handle."

Mama's eyes meet mine, searching, conflicted. "You have to trust me." I continue, softer now but steady. "I know my body. I know my limits." The room falls silent again. It's not tense or brittle. It's just full.

Mom shifts closer on the couch, her voice careful when she speaks again. "It's not that we don't trust you." She says gently. "It's that we don't trust the world yet. We're still learning how to let go of the fear."

Mama nods once. "Every instinct we have tells us to protect you." She admits quietly. "And sometimes that instinct gets louder than it should." I swallow, the frustration easing into something more complicated. "I don't want to be protected from living." I say. "I just want to be supported while I do." That lands. I can see it.

Mama's shoulders drop slightly, tension loosening in a way that tells me she's really hearing me, not just reacting. Mom reaches out, her fingers brushing lightly against my arm. "You are stronger than we give you credit for sometimes." She says softly.

Mama glances at her, then back at me, and there's something like reluctant acceptance in her eyes. "She is." Mama agrees quietly. She studies me for another moment, weighing everything, my posture, my steadiness, the certainty in my voice.

Then she nods. "Okay." She agrees. The word is simple. But it feels enormous. "You can go." She continues. "With conditions." A small, relieved laugh escapes me. "Of course." I respond, listening in. "You tell us where you are." Mom adds gently. "You don't push through pain. And if you need to leave early, you leave." They set out their rules. "I can do that." I promise immediately.

Mama's gaze softens just a fraction. "We're not saying this because we doubt you." She says quietly. "We're saying it because we're still learning how to be okay letting you out of our sight again."

Something in my chest warms at that honesty. "Thank you." I say, meaning more than just permission. Mom squeezes my hand gently. "We're trying to do this right this time." She murmurs. "I know," I reply. And the thing that surprises me most isn't that we disagreed.

It's that no one raised their voice. No one shut down. No one dragged the past into the room like a weapon. We talked and listened then found a middle ground. And when the conversation ends, they're still sitting beside me. Still close. Still there.

For the first time, a disagreement doesn't feel like something that might break us apart. It feels like proof that we're learning how to stay.

__________

A few nights later, the air outside feels different. Not colder exactly, just... wider. Like stepping into a world that isn't measured by medication schedules or careful routines. I hadn't realised how much I missed that feeling until now.

Kate doesn't know where we're going at first. She keeps glancing over at me from the passenger seat of the car with a suspicious little smile tugging at her mouth. "You're being very mysterious." She says, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Which makes me nervous. Should I be nervous?" She questions. "Yes." I reply immediately, deadpan. She gasps. "Rude." I laugh, warmth bubbling easily in my chest. "Relax. It's nothing dramatic." I reassure her. "Famous last words." She mutters.

When we pull up outside the restaurant, though, she goes very still. It isn't overly fancy, just soft lighting through the windows, warm golden glow spilling onto the pavement, the quiet clink of dishes and low hum of conversation drifting out when the door opens.

But it's intentional, private and normal. Kate stares at the sign for a second before looking at me, eyes wide. "You planned this?" I shrug, trying not to smile too much. "You passed your exams. You deserved something more than takeout on my bed."

Her expression shifts instantly, something soft and overwhelmed flickering across her face. "You did this... for me?" She asks. "For us." I correct gently. She steps closer without thinking, hands coming up to frame my face before she leans in and kisses me.

It isn't rushed. It isn't playful. It's warm and lingering, her lips soft against mine, her thumbs brushing lightly along my jaw like she's memorising the moment. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine, her voice quieter. "You're amazing." She murmurs. My cheeks heat. "I try."

She laughs softly, then immediately scans my posture, her hands dropping to my arms. "You're okay to be out this long, right? Not pushing too much?" I roll my eyes affectionately. "You sound like my moms." I chuckle. "That's because they scare me." She says without hesitation. I snort. "I'm okay." I reassure her more gently. "I promise. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here." She searches my face for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. "Okay," she says. "Then, thank you."

Inside, everything feels calm and intimate. Soft music, low lighting, the quiet murmur of other diners fading into the background. We're seated at a small table near the window, close enough that our knees brush under the table without either of us pulling away.

For a while, the conversation is easy. It's light and happy. Kate talks about her exams with a kind of lingering disbelief. "I still can't believe it's over." She says, shaking her head. "I keep expecting someone to call me back and say, 'Actually, we made a mistake, please redo everything.'" I smile. "You were never going to fail." She points at me. "You're biased." She points out. "I'm accurate." I counter.

She laughs, her foot nudging mine under the table. "It's just weird." She admits more quietly. "For so long, it was just training. Proving myself. And now it's real." She shares. "You've been real for a while." I say softly. "You just finally caught up to that."

She studies me for a moment, something warm settling in her eyes. "You know what I'm excited about most?" She says. "What?" I ask. "Working with you." My stomach flips slightly at the sincerity in her voice. "I mean it." She continues. "Not just because you're... you. But because you're incredible at what you do. And I want to learn from you. Be your partner out there." The word partner lands softly but heavily between us. I don't look away. "Yeah." I say quietly. "I'd like that too."

For a while after that, the conversation drifts into lighter territory again, teasing, shared stories, small touches across the table. Her fingers brushing mine. My foot resting against hers. Little moments of affection that feel natural now instead of tentative.

Until she asks the question. "So..." she says, swirling her drink slightly, voice more careful now. "Have you thought about where you'll live when you're fully recovered?" I blink. "What do you mean?" I question. "Like," she says gently, "will you move back to SHIELD housing?"

The words hit something deeper than I expect. Because I realise immediately, I haven't thought about it. Not really. I had assumed, before everything happened, that the second I could, I'd leave the apartment. Go back to independence. Distance. Safety in being alone.

But now... Now the idea feels more complicated. "I thought I would," I admit slowly. "Before." Kate watches me carefully. "Before what?" She asks quietly. "Before things... changed," I say quietly.

I glance down at my hands. "I always told myself I'd get out as soon as I could. That being independent meant not needing them." My throat tightens slightly. "But lately..." I continue. "I've actually liked being there. Being around them. Having something that feels... stable." I shake my head softly. "I didn't expect that."

Kate reaches across the table, her fingers slipping into mine, grounding and warm. "Moving out doesn't mean losing that." She says gently. I look up at her. "If your relationship with them is real now," she continues, "it won't disappear just because you don't live under the same roof." Her voice stays steady, reassuring but honest. "And if it does," she adds quietly, "then it means they haven't actually changed. Not really."

The bluntness of it startles a small, surprised laugh out of me. "You don't sugarcoat things, do you?" She smiles softly. "Not when it matters." I squeeze her hand. "I just... don't know how to feel," I admit after a moment. "About any of it. About forgiving them. About trusting that this isn't temporary."

Kate doesn't interrupt. She doesn't offer a solution. She just listens. "That part of me is still angry." I continue quietly. "And another part of me wants to believe they really are different now." My voice drops even further. "And I don't know if forgiving them means pretending none of it hurt."

Kate's thumb brushes gently over my knuckles. "It doesn't." She says softly.

I look up meeting her soft eyes across the table. "Forgiveness isn't forgetting." She continues. "And it isn't pretending the past didn't happen. It's just deciding you don't want the pain to control you forever."

She pauses, searching my face. "You don't have to figure it out right now." She adds gently. "Or at all, if you're not ready." Her voice stays calm and steady. "I'm not here to fix it." She says. "I'm just here to be with you while you work through it." Something in my chest loosens at that. There's no pressure or expectation. Just space.

I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair, her hand still wrapped around mine. "I don't know what I'm going to decide." I admit. "That's okay." She says immediately. She smiles softly. "You don't have to know yet." I squeeze her fingers once, warmth spreading through me despite the uncertainty still sitting in my chest.

For the first time, I don't feel like I have to solve everything right now. It's enough that I'm thinking. Enough that I'm no longer alone while I do. And as the soft light of the restaurant settles around us, her hand steady in mine, I realise something quiet but undeniable. I still don't know what the future will look like. But I know for sure that Kate is going to be in it.

__________

Nat's POV

The call comes on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, the kind that still feels strange in its normalcy. I'm standing in the kitchen when my phone vibrates against the counter, the sharp sound cutting through the low hum of the apartment. Wanda is in the living room with Y/n, their heads bent together over something on the tablet, the quiet murmur of their voices drifting faintly through the open doorway. It's a soft, peaceful sound, the kind that still catches me off guard sometimes because it exists at all.

I glance at the screen and feel my stomach tighten immediately. Director Fury. He doesn't call unless something matters. I pick up the phone and step onto the balcony before answering, closing the door gently behind me so my voice won't carry back inside. The air is cool, city noise low and distant beneath the steady rush of traffic far below.

"Romanoff." His voice is exactly the same as always, blunt, gravel-edged, impossible to misinterpret. "Fury." There's no greeting. No buildup. Just the weight of purpose. "Your kid's cleared enough medically for a debrief." He says. "We need to close out the mission file."

The words land harder than they should. Not because they surprise me. I've known this moment was coming since the day she woke up in that hospital bed. Debriefs are standard. Necessary. They're how we learn, how we prevent the next disaster, how we make sense of the chaos that comes after every operation.

But knowing that doesn't stop the instinctive surge of protectiveness that flares through my chest anyway. I glance through the glass door back into the apartment. Y/n is laughing at something Wanda just said, her head tilted back slightly, shoulders relaxed, her posture easy in a way that still feels fragile and precious. She looks safe. For a moment, all I can think is: I don't want to drag her back into the worst day of her life.

"When?" I ask quietly. "Sooner is better." Fury replies. "This isn't disciplinary. It's procedural. She did her job. We need her account on record." I know that too but still, my jaw tightens. "I'll tell her." I say. There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then Fury adds, his voice just slightly softer than before, not kind, exactly, but deliberate. "Romanoff, she handled herself like an agent out there." I close my eyes briefly. "I know." I respond. "Then treat her like one in here." He finishes. The call ends.

I stand there for another moment, staring out over the city skyline, letting the words settle into the space inside me where fear and pride always seem to sit side by side when it comes to her. He's right. She isn't just my daughter. She's an agent. And she deserves to be treated like one. Even when that terrifies me.

When I step back inside, Wanda looks up immediately. Y/n had disappeared to her room and I'm grateful for a moment to process this with my wife. Wanda reads my expression before I even speak, the subtle tightening around my eyes, the way my shoulders hold tension I haven't consciously released. She always does.

"What is it?" she asks softly. I sit beside her on the couch, lowering my voice so it doesn't feel like an announcement. "Fury called." I tell her. "They want to schedule Y/n's debrief."

Wanda goes very still for a moment, the weight of that settling visibly over her before she exhales slowly. "That was always going to happen." She says gently. "I know." I rub a hand over the back of my neck. "I just... hate the idea of dragging her back into it."

Wanda's fingers find mine, warm and grounding. "She's stronger than you think." She reminds me quietly. "And this isn't punishment. It's recognition." Her gaze flicks toward the kitchen doorway where Y/n had just left, unaware of the conversation happening just out of earshot. "And Steve will be there," Wanda adds softly. "She won't be alone." That helps more than I expect. I nod once, breathing out slowly. "No," I agree. "She won't."

Telling Y/n is harder than I thought it would be. Not because she reacts badly. Because she tries not to react at all. We're in the kitchen when I bring it up, the late afternoon light spilling warm and golden across the countertops. She's leaning against the island, sipping water, posture relaxed, at least on the surface.

"Hey," I say casually. "Fury called earlier." Her head lifts immediately. "Oh?" She questions, trying to hide her curiosity. "They want to do your mission debrief." I tell her. "Just to close out the file."

For a fraction of a second, so brief most people would miss it, I see the flicker of fear cross her face. Then it disappears. Her expression smooths into calm professionalism so quickly it almost hurts to watch. "Okay." She says evenly. "That makes sense."

She doesn't ask anything else. She doesn't hesitate. Just accepts it. But I know her too well not to see what's happening beneath the surface. The way her fingers tighten around the glass she's holding. The way her shoulders draw slightly higher, tension settling in where there had been ease moments ago.

"You don't have to do it right away." I add quietly. "We can schedule it when you feel ready." She looks down for a moment. Then back at me. And what she says next makes something inside my chest crack open. "...Will you come with me?" The question is small. Careful. Like she isn't entirely sure she's allowed to ask.

The weight of it hits me all at once. Because this, this is trust. This is her letting me be there. Letting me stand beside her in a space where she once learned she had to stand alone.

For a second, I have to fight to keep my expression steady, to keep the overwhelming rush of emotion from showing on my face. "Of course." I answer immediately, keeping my tone calm and even. "I'll be there in whatever capacity you need. Inside the room, outside, silent observer, your call." She exhales softly. "Inside." She says after a moment. "Just... there." I nod once. "Then that's where I'll be."

The debrief room is exactly what it's always been. Neutral walls. Stark lighting. Long table positioned under unforgiving overhead lights that leave nowhere to hide. Fury sits at the head, tablet already open in front of him. Steve is there too, leaning back slightly in his chair, his presence calm and steady, the same reassuring anchor he always is in these situations.

Y/n sits beside me. Her back is straight. Her hands rest loosely folded on the table. Her expression is composed, professional, focused. She looks exactly like she belongs here.

Fury wastes no time. "Agent," he says bluntly. "Walk us through the operation." He orders. "Objective was a solo reconnaissance and intel retrieval." She begins. "Low-visibility entry, minimal engagement protocol." Her voice, when she answers, is steady and precise. She describes the mission clearly, insertion timing, objectives, communication protocols. No embellishment. No hesitation. Just facts delivered with the calm efficiency of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

Then her tone shifts slightly. "The environment felt wrong almost immediately. The first irregularity occurred approximately twelve minutes after entry." She continues. "Security presence was inconsistent with the intel briefing." Fury leans forward slightly. "What tipped you?" He questions. "Pattern irregularities." She replies. "Movement delays. Signal interference spikes."

She glances toward Steve. "I flagged the anomalies to Captain Rogers before the ambush." Steve nods. "She did." He confirms. "She flagged it early and without that warning, we would've assumed standard conditions from the air."

Pride swells in my chest so sharply it almost hurts. She trusted her instincts. And she was right. Fury's gaze sharpens. "And then you were hit." Her jaw tightens just slightly. "Yes, sir. Projectile entry from concealed shooter." she continues. "Non-fatal trajectory, but immediately compromising mobility." Now we know it was non-fatal but at the time I wasn't sure she would ever wake up. I watch as her hands tighten slightly on the tabletop. It's so subtle it would be invisible to anyone who doesn't know what to look for. I do.

"Why didn't you abort?" Fury asks. The question isn't accusatory. It's procedural. But still, it lands heavy. Because I know exactly how close she came to dying in that moment. Her answer is immediate. "Intel retrieval was still possible." She says calmly. "And withdrawal without it would have compromised the entire operation."

She pauses, then adds quietly, "I assessed that I could complete the objective before full physical failure." Steve steps in then, his voice steady but firm. "She didn't just complete the objective," he says. "She maintained comms, secured the intel package, and provided real-time situational updates despite the injury." He looks directly at her. "That's what allowed us to deploy extraction at the correct location instead of walking into a trap."

My throat tightens. Because what he's really saying is: She kept herself alive. She stayed clear-headed enough to think when her body was failing. She didn't panic.

Fury studies her for a long moment. "Intel confirms there was a mole inside SHIELD who tipped HYDRA off to the operation." He says. "That asset has since been neutralized." A faint, almost dry edge touches his voice. "I'm told Agent Belova had ten minutes alone with him before containment before the guards noticed."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "Medical reports indicate he saw more of a prison hospital than you did of Avengers Medical." Fury adds dryly. A small, involuntary smile touches Y/n's lips. And in that moment, I realise something. She isn't breaking under this. She isn't retreating. She's standing here, steady, composed, capable. Exactly as she should be.

Fury sets the tablet down and looks directly at Y/n. "Your decision-making under compromised conditions preserved critical intelligence." He states flatly. "Mission success is directly attributable to your actions. That's pretty impressive for your first time out." He compliments. He holds her gaze. "Debrief complete." Just like that. No blame. Only recognition.

As we leave the room, I walk beside her in silence, letting her set the pace. She exhales slowly once we reach the hallway. Not in a fragile way. Just a relieved one. And the pride in my chest rises again, strong and steady. She is going to be one of the best agents SHIELD has ever produced.

The thought settles into my chest with a steadiness that feels unfamiliar in the best possible way. For so long, pride and guilt have existed side by side when it comes to her, tangled together so tightly that one always choked the other. Every time I thought about how capable she was, how sharp, how instinctive, it would immediately be followed by the quiet, cutting reminder of all the ways I hadn't been there to see her become that person.

But now... it feels different. The guilt is still there, I don't think it will ever disappear completely, but it isn't swallowing everything else whole. It's quieter. Contained. Something I can acknowledge without letting it consume the moment.

We walk down the hallway in silence for a few seconds after leaving the debrief room, the sterile brightness of the corridor fading into the softer lighting of the main level. Y/n's pace is steady, her posture composed, though I can see the subtle exhaustion settling into her shoulders now that the tension of the debrief has passed.

I let her take a few more steps before speaking. "You did well in there." She glances at me, surprised by the softness in my tone. "It was just a debrief." She says lightly, like she's trying to downplay it. I shake my head. "No," I say quietly. "It wasn't just that."

She slows slightly, turning her attention fully toward me. "You handled yourself like a professional from start to finish." I continue. "Clear, precise, calm under pressure. You trusted your instincts. You adapted when things went wrong." My voice lowers just a fraction. "That's exactly what makes a great agent." Her expression shifts, something warm flickering across her face that she doesn't quite try to hide. "Thank you," she says softly. The words land in a place inside me that feels unexpectedly fragile.

I take a slow breath before speaking again, choosing my next words carefully. "I'm proud of you." I tell her. There's no hesitation in the statement. No qualifiers. No conditions. Just the truth. She stops walking then, looking at me with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that looks a lot like relief. And the sight of it hits me harder than I expect.

"Not just because you completed the mission." I add quietly. "But because of how you handled everything after. The recovery. The fear. Today." I hold her gaze. "You didn't shut down. You didn't run. You stayed present. That takes more strength than people realize."

Her throat moves as she swallows, and for a moment neither of us speaks. Because there's something fragile and important in the space between us right now. Something that doesn't need to be rushed. But there's something else I need to say too. Not because I expect anything from her in return. Not because I'm asking for forgiveness. But because she deserves to hear it.

"I know I wasn't there when you were building those instincts." I say quietly, my voice steady even as the familiar ache rises in my chest. "When you were learning how to think like that. How to operate alone. How to trust yourself." Her eyes soften slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.

"I can't change that." I continue. "And I'm not saying it to make you feel responsible for fixing it." I pause, making sure she hears the intent clearly. "I'm saying it because I want you to know that I see it now. And I see you." The words sit between us, honest and unadorned. "And I will never let you face something like that alone again." I finish quietly. "Not if you don't want to."

Her shoulders drop just a fraction, tension easing in a way that tells me she understands exactly what I'm offering. Then, after a beat, she tilts her head slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "So," she says, a hint of teasing creeping into her voice, "you think I'll be one of the best agents SHIELD has ever produced?"

I huff a quiet laugh. "I don't think," I correct gently. "I know." Her smile widens. "Better than you?" She asks lightly. I don't even hesitate. "Not even a question." She lets out a soft laugh at that, the sound warm and genuine, and something in my chest loosens further.

We resume walking toward the elevator, the atmosphere between us lighter now, easier. After a moment, I speak again, this time more casually. "Actually," I say, "I was thinking... maybe we should have a night in." She glances over, curious.

"Just the three of us." I continue. "You, me, Wanda." I shrug slightly. "The boys can stay with Pepper. We can order your favourite takeout, watch whatever terrible movies you want." I pause, then add with deliberate openness, "And if you want Kate there, she's welcome too."

The offer is simple, but it carries everything I'm trying to communicate: We want to spend time with you. We want to be present. We want to rebuild this family in ways that feel safe for you.

Y/n goes quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she shakes her head. My chest tightens immediately, a small, instinctive sting of disappointment I can't quite suppress. But before I can say anything, she speaks. "It would be nice," she continues, her voice gentle but steady, "for it to just be the three of us." The words hit me harder than anything else she's said today. Because this isn't rejection. It's a choice. A deliberate, conscious decision to spend time with us. To rebuild something that was broken. To let us back in.

And for a moment, I can't speak at all. I just nod once, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. "I'd like that." I manage quietly. When we get back to the apartment, she heads straight toward her room to shower, leaving the soft sound of running water echoing faintly down the hallway.

Wanda looks up from the couch the second I enter the living room, reading my expression instantly. "Well?" She asks. I sit beside her, letting out a slow breath. "She was incredible." I say simply.

And then I tell her everything. The debrief. The way Y/n spoke. The way she held herself. The moment she asked me to come with her. By the time I finish, Wanda's eyes are shining with pride. "I told you," she murmurs softly. "She's stronger than she realises." I nod before sharing my plan for the evening.

"She asked for a night with just us." I add quietly. Wanda freezes for a fraction of a second, then her expression softens into something warm and deeply emotional. "Then we should make it perfect." She says immediately, already sitting up straighter. "Her favourite takeout. Blankets. The ridiculous movies she used to love." I can't help the small smile that pulls at my lips. Together, we start planning.

And later that evening, when the three of us settle on the couch with takeout containers scattered across the coffee table and a movie playing quietly in the background, the atmosphere feels warm and steady. It's not perfect and it's not healed completely. But it's real. And for the first time in a very long time, it feels like we're moving forward together.

Part 9

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @jusnough @fxckmiup @nessheartnat @bstvst @waiqui @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @yelldontwhisper @franfineashell @luckilygrimconduit

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 7

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Word Count: 7276

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: Y/N steps back into a space she once belonged to and is forced to confront the parts of herself that learned to disappear when things turned sharp. A moment meant to be simple unravels into tension, protection, and an unexpected choice to stay instead of retreat.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Wanda's POV

The apartment has learned how to breathe differently since Y/n came home. I think we all have. Everything moves more slowly now, like the space itself is aware of how fragile things are.

We tiptoe, not in footsteps, but in intention. Words are weighed before they're spoken. Voices stay low even when there's no reason for them to be. Doors are closed carefully, never allowed to slam. Even laughter seems to hesitate, as if we're all silently asking the same question: Is this too much?

We have fallen into gentle routines, the kind that form when people are trying very hard not to hurt one another. Dinner made at the same time every evening. Medications placed within reach but never pressed into her hands. One of us always nearby, but never hovering. We ask before sitting. Ask before touching. Ask before staying.

It's exhausting, this constant awareness. This careful recalibration of everything we do. But neither Natasha nor I complain. We want to do this right. We need to. Because showing up once isn't enough. Showing up only when things are dramatic or broken isn't enough. This time, it has to be consistent. Quiet and steady. Even when no one is watching. Especially then.

My thoughts keep circling back to Natasha. To her hands wrapped in bandages. To the blood I saw when she came back from the gym. I've seen her injured more times than I can count. Bruised ribs. Split lips. Deep cuts stitched without anaesthetic. Those injuries never scared me the way this one did. Those were the cost of survival. This was something else entirely. This was punishment.

The fear that took hold of me that night hasn't fully loosened since. Because I understand why she did it. I understand the instinct that drives her toward pain when she doesn't know how else to cope. The Red Room taught her that pain is controllable. That it is clean. That it silences the noise in your head when nothing else will. I know that history lives in her bones whether she wants it to or not.

But understanding doesn't make it acceptable. And it doesn't stop the terror that bloomed in my chest when I realised she had turned that instinct inward again. That when she felt helpless, she chose harm instead of asking for help. That she believed, even for a moment, that hurting herself was the only way to atone. I don't know how to unlearn that for her. I only know how deeply it frightens me.

The only thing that frightened me more was the sound of Y/n's fall which still echoes in my head. The bang. The thud. The way my body moved before my mind caught up. That split second where I didn't know how badly she was hurt, only that she was on the floor, and the world felt like it was tipping sideways again. That fear was visceral. Immediate. The kind that steals your breath. I am grateful that it wasn't worse. That she didn't hit her head. That nothing broke. Gratitude and fear are tangled together now, inseparable. One doesn't exist without the other.

And yet there are signs of change. Small ones. Easy to miss if you aren't paying attention. Natasha asks now. Before touching. Before lifting. Before making decisions that affect Y/n's body or her space. She waits for answers instead of assuming them. It costs her something, I can see the restraint it takes, but she does it anyway.

And Y/n... she stays. She doesn't retreat into her room and shut the door the way she used to. She doesn't disappear into silence when things become overwhelming. Even when she's tired, even when she's hurting, she stays in the space with us. On the couch. At the table. Present, if guarded. Watching us, yes, but not withdrawing. That matters more than she realises.

Still, the fear hums beneath everything. If we get this wrong again, she won't come back this time. The thought slips in when the apartment is quiet. When I catch her pausing before asking for something she needs. When she flinches before remembering she doesn't have to. This doesn't feel like a second chance, it feels like the last one we will ever be given.

And yet there are moments I hold onto. The night we joked about the recruit files. The way her smile came easily, unguarded. The teasing. The warmth. For a few minutes, it felt like a family again, not broken, not repairing, just existing. Like the years between then and now had thinned enough to let something familiar through. That feeling stays with me. It is quiet and fragile. But it is there. And for now, it is enough to hope.

A couple of nights later, the apartment is wrapped in the kind of quiet that only comes after midnight. The lights are off. The city hum outside the windows is distant and low. Natasha is asleep beside me, breathing slow and even, one arm flung loosely across the space between us like she does when she finally lets herself rest.

The sound that wakes me cuts straight through that calm. "NO" It's sharp. Broken. Not loud, but urgent in a way that jolts me upright before my mind has time to catch up. My heart is already racing as I listen again.

"Please..." It's Y/n. I'm out of bed instantly. Natasha is right behind me, the sound having reached her half a second later, panic already written into the way she moves. We don't speak. We don't need to. We know that sound.

I push Y/n's door open gently but quickly. The bedside lamp is still off, the room lit only by the faint glow of the city through the curtains. She's tangled in the sheets, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around herself like she's trying to fold inward. Her face is tight with distress, brows knit, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "No...stop..." She murmurs, head shaking faintly against the pillow. Her hands twitch like she's bracing for something that isn't there.

My chest tightens to see her in such distress. I move to the bed and sit carefully on the edge, keeping my voice low and steady. "Y/n." I say softly. "Sweetheart. You're safe." She doesn't wake immediately. Her breathing stutters, a quiet whimper slipping out that makes my throat ache. I reach out slowly, deliberately, resting my hand on the mattress near her arm rather than touching her straight away. "Y/n." I try again, a little firmer, still gentle. "It's okay. You're home."

Natasha stands just behind me, close enough that I can feel her presence like a solid line at my back. She doesn't step in. She lets me lead. But I can feel her attention locked onto every movement, every breath Y/n takes. I slide my hand to Y/n's forearm and give a light squeeze. "Wake up sweetheart." I almost plead. "You're not there anymore."

Her eyes fly open. For a second, there's nothing but terror in them, wild and unfocused, chest heaving as she tries to orient herself. Her body jerks like she's about to bolt, a sharp gasp tearing out of her.

"Hey." I say immediately, grounding. "Hey. Look at me." She doesn't at first. Her gaze flicks around the room, breathing fast and shallow, hands clutching the sheets like they're the only thing keeping her anchored. Natasha steps closer then, just into her line of sight. "Y/n." Nat says quietly. "It's Mama. You're safe." That's what does it.

Her eyes finally find mine. Recognition flickers, shaky and uncertain, but it's there. Her shoulders slump slightly as the adrenaline drains out of her, replaced by trembling exhaustion.

"I..." she starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry." I shake my head immediately. "No." I say gently, but firmly. "No apologising." Her hands curl into the blanket, knuckles white. "I didn't mean to wake you. I...I..." My heart breaks to see her so scared and vulnerable. She looks so young in the moment.

I lean forward just enough that she can feel my presence without crowding her. "You didn't do anything wrong." I tell her softly. "Nightmares happen. You're allowed to need us." Her eyes shine in the dim light, tears gathering without spilling. She nods once, small and brittle, breath still uneven.

I glance back briefly at Natasha. She gives me a small nod, staying where she is, letting me handle this. But she reaches out, resting her hand lightly on Y/n's ankle through the blanket, an anchor, not a demand. Y/n notices and her breathing slows a fraction.

We stay like that for a few moments. No questions. No pressure. Just presence. I stroke her hair slowly, steadily, the way I used to when she was younger and bad dreams still found her easily.

When she finally speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't... I'm scared to sleep." Something in my chest softens and breaks all at once. "That's okay." I say immediately. "You don't have to."

Natasha shifts then, stepping closer. "We can take turns." She offers quietly, knowing that us both hovering will be too much. "One of us stays in here. You won't be alone." Y/n hesitates. I can see the instinct to refuse, to minimise, flicker across her face. Then she nods. Slowly. "Okay." She agrees.

The word lands heavy and bright all at once. I meet Natasha's eyes over Y/n's head. This, this acceptance, this trust, it's more than we've had in years. Natasha's expression mirrors my own mix of relief and awe.

"I'll stay first." I say, brushing my thumb gently over Y/n's temple. "Mama will take the next shift." I tell her with a soft smile on my face. Y/n relaxes back into the pillows just a little, exhaustion finally winning out over fear. Her breathing evens, still shaky, but no longer panicked.

Natasha shifts toward the door quietly, giving me a look before she goes. I nod once. She pauses in the doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame as she looks back at Y/n. "Hey," she says gently. Y/n's eyes flick toward her, still glassy with sleep and lingering fear. "I hope you get some rest." Natasha continues, her voice low and steady. "But if you don't that's okay too." She offers a small, reassuring smile. "We're not going anywhere. We'll be here as long as you need us."

Y/n swallows, then nods, a quiet acceptance settling in her shoulders. Nat holds her gaze for another heartbeat, long enough to make the promise real, then steps back, closing the door softly behind her.

I stay where I am, sitting watch at the edge of the bed, my hand still resting lightly on Y/n's arm. This is how easily things can change. How quickly safety can fracture. And this moment, this choice she's made to let us stay, is fragile and enormous all at once. I don't take it lightly.

I stay with Y/n long after the apartment has settled back into silence. The city hum outside the window is soft and distant, a low, steady reminder that the world is still moving even though this room feels suspended in time. Y/n's breathing has evened out more now, but I can still feel the tension in her body, like she's holding herself together by instinct alone.

After a while, she shifts slightly. Not away but toward me. "Mom?" She whispers, the word fragile, like she's testing how it sounds in the dark. "Yes, sweetheart." I answer immediately. "Will you... sit next to me?" The question is quiet. Like she's scared to ask it, to be vulnerable. It breaks something open in my chest that I didn't know was still holding.

"Of course." I say, without hesitation. I move onto the bed beside her, slow and deliberate, mindful of every inch of space. She makes room for me easily, without flinching, without pulling back. When she leans into me, just a little, just enough to rest her head against my shoulder, I feel the full weight of what she's offering. Trust.

I wrap my arm around her gently, giving her time to decide if this is okay. She settles further into my side, her forehead pressing into my shirt, her hand curling loosely near my waist like she's anchoring herself there. My heart aches so sharply I have to swallow against it.

Guilt rises fast and fierce, threatening to spill over. Tears sting behind my eyes, and for a moment I want nothing more than to apologise. To cry. To tell her how sorry I am in a way that asks her to comfort me in return. But I don't. I can't do that to her.

So instead, I breathe. Slow and steady. I let the feeling pass through me without letting it take over. "There's something I regret." I say quietly into the dark. She doesn't move, but I can feel her attention shift, her body listening even if her eyes stay closed.

"I know how much your Mama regrets missing your SHIELD exams." I continue. "Not being there when you pushed yourself through something that hard. Not seeing how capable you'd become with her own eyes." My voice stays low, careful. "I know that hurts her deeply." I pause, gathering myself. "But for me..." I swallow. "For me, it was the Quinjet platform." Her breath stutters, just once.

"The day you left for that mission." I say softly. "You were geared up. Focused. Trying not to let anyone see how heavy it felt." I can picture it too clearly: her posture, her eyes, the way she always carried responsibility like it was hers alone. "I wasn't there to say goodbye."

My arm tightens around her, almost imperceptibly. "I wasn't there to tell you how proud I was." I continue. "Or to tell you to be careful. Or to hide how scared I was, because I didn't want that fear to become something you carried with you into the field." I close my eyes. "I missed that moment." I share. "I missed you."

I force myself to be precise. Honest. No vague apologies. No softening the truth. "You deserved someone there." I say quietly. "Someone who showed up. Someone who looked you in the eye and made it clear that you mattered more than anything else in that moment." My voice trembles despite my effort to keep it steady. "And I wasn't."

She stays silent, listening. I can feel her breathing deepen, her chest rising and falling against my side. She isn't pulling away. She isn't shutting down. "You don't have to say anything back." I add gently. "I'm not asking you to make me feel better." I pause. "I just need you to know that I see it now. I see what I missed." My throat tightens. "I just wish I had seen it at the time."

The quiet stretches between us, heavy but not empty. Then she speaks, her voice small but steady. "I get it." She speaks quietly. "The twins needed your focus." The words are kind. Too kind. I pull back just enough to look at her face, even though the light is low. "No," I say softly but firmly. "They did. And I love them. But they shouldn't have come at the cost of you." Her eyes open then, uncertain, searching my face like she's waiting for me to take it back.

"You deserved to be seen and loved completely." I continue. "Not partially. Not later. Not when there was finally space." I shake my head slowly. "Love is not a finite resource. We treated it like it was. Like it had to be rationed." My voice breaks, just a little. "That was our failure. Not yours." Her hand tightens in my shirt. "It will always be our biggest regret." I say quietly. "That we let you fall into the background. That you learned how to survive without us when we should have been right there beside you."

She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she shifts closer, her head tucking under my chin, her hand curling into my side with more certainty than before. I rest my cheek against her hair, breathing her in, letting the moment be what it is. For now, this closeness, this honesty, this quiet understanding, is enough.

Y/N's POV

I think about that night with Mom more than I expect to. About the way she spoke. It wasn't rushed or emotional in a way that asked me to carry it for her. She didn't collapse under the weight of her regret or try to soften it into something easier to hear. She named it. Clearly and precisely. She told me what she missed, what she should have done, and, maybe most importantly, what I deserved instead. There's something unsettling about being seen that honestly. And something healing about it too.

Since then, Mama and Mom have been steady. It's not perfect and everything isn't magically fixed. But they are present in a way that feels intentional. They show up when I need them and, just as importantly, step back when I don't. They don't smother. They don't disappear. They ask. They listen. They adjust. It makes me feel welcome here. For the first time in a long time, I feel wanted and loved in a way that doesn't feel conditional on how broken or capable I am on any given day.

And yet, there's still that quiet voice at the back of my mind. The one that whispers what if this is temporary? What if this is just the recovery version of them? What if, once you're better, it fades again? I try not to listen to it. But it's there.

What I do know, and what I can't ignore, is how much I've craved this. How deeply I've needed the care, the attention, the warmth of being held without having to earn it. The idea of losing it now, of stepping away from something that finally feels like home again, that scares me more than I want to admit.

A week later, I'm sitting on the couch feeling stronger than I have in a while. Still sore. Still healing. But clearer. More myself. Which is how I find myself saying, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Mama looks up from her coffee immediately. Mom pauses whatever she's pretending not to fuss over. "Of course." Mom says with a warm smile. "I was wondering," I start carefully, "if I could go watch Kate train today." The room stills. Not dramatically but noticeably.

Mama and Mom exchange a look, the kind that carries a whole conversation in half a second. I can already see the worry forming, the instinct to protect rising up fast and fierce.

Mama is the first to speak. "You're feeling better," she says, measured. "But you're still healing." She shares her thoughts. "I know," I say quickly. "I wouldn't be doing anything. Just watching." Mom exhales slowly. "It's not that we don't trust you," she says. "It's that we're scared." She admits. I nod. "I know."

Mama sets her mug down. "We worry about the distance. The crowds. You pushing yourself because you don't want to miss out." I can understand that but I'm so desperate to get out of this apartment. Even just for an hour. "I won't." I say honestly. "And if I do, you'll hear about it immediately."

They're quiet for a moment. Not dismissing me. Not deciding for me. Just weighing it. Then Yelena's voice drifts in from the hallway. "Wow," she says lightly. "This is very serious energy for what is essentially sitting down and judging people in tactical gear."

She appears in the doorway, already grinning. "I'll take her." She adds. "I promise to supervise. And if she misbehaves, I will confiscate her privileges." I snort. "You don't have that authority." I tell her. "I absolutely do." Yelena replies. "I'm the aunt. Besides, who's going to argue with me?" She asks with a raised eyebrow.

Mama pinches the bridge of her nose, but I catch the faint smile she's trying to hide. Mom shakes her head, amused despite herself. Yelena turns to them, tone softening just a fraction. "She'll be fine. I won't let her overdo it."

Another pause. Then Mama looks at me. Really looks at me. "You'll tell us if you're in pain." She says. Not a question. "Yes." I promise. "And you won't push through just because you want to be there." Mom adds. "I promise."

They hold my gaze for another beat, then Mama nods. "Okay." Relief floods me so fast it almost knocks the breath out of me. "Thank you." I say, meaning more than just the permission. "For trusting me." Mom reaches out and squeezes my hand. "We're trying to do what's right by you." She says softly. "I know." I reply.

I don't give them time to second-guess it. Once the decision is made, I'm already moving, well, rolling. Yelena brings the wheelchair over with a dramatic flourish like she's unveiling a sports car. "Your chariot awaits." She grins. "Please keep arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times."

I roll my eyes but I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Getting into it is easier than it was a week ago, still careful, still slow, but not daunting in the same way. When I settle properly and Yelena unlocks the brakes, something in my chest lifts. It's such a small thing, sitting in a chair, but it feels like motion. Like choice.

"Comfortable?" She asks, crouching briefly in front of me, eyes sharp in that way that means she's genuinely checking, not just performing concern. "Yeah." I say honestly. "Good to go." She nods once, satisfied. "Good. Because if you lie to me, I will know." Then she straightens, already pushing me toward the door. "And I will be very annoying about it."

The ride down to the training wing feels surreal. The corridors are familiar but distant, like revisiting a place you used to live in a dream. My body hums with anticipation, with nerves, with the simple thrill of being somewhere that isn't the apartment. Yelena keeps one hand on the chair, steering easily, matching my pace instead of dragging me along.

"You okay?" She asks quietly as we approach the elevator. "Yeah." I say again. And this time there's no hesitation. "Just... happy." She glances down at me, something soft flickering across her face. "Good." she says. "You deserve that."

The doors slide open onto the training floor, and the sound hits me first. Boots on mats, the sharp crack of impact, voices calling out commands. My pulse spikes instantly. I didn't realise how much I'd missed this until it's right in front of me again.

Kate sees me before I see her. One second she's across the room, mid-conversation with another recruit, and the next she's breaking into a grin so wide it's impossible to miss. "You're here!" She says, already moving. "Careful." I start, but it's too late.

She's there in two long strides, dropping into a crouch in front of me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders anyway, mindful but enthusiastic. Before I can say another word, she kisses me, quick, warm and unapologetic. Completely unconcerned with the half-dozen recruits who suddenly pretend they aren't watching. Yelena makes a gagging noise. "Disgusting." She mutters fondly.

Kate pulls back just enough to look at my face, hands still resting on my arms. "Are you okay?" She asks immediately. "Is this too soon? I can walk you back, I swear, I don't care..." I laugh. "Wow. You sound like my moms." She blinks. Then snorts. "Okay, fair." She replies. "I promise," I say, softer now. "I'm good. I wanted to be here." I glance around the room. "I wanted to see you."

Her shoulders ease, pride slipping into her smile. "Yeah?" She says. "Well... I can give you a running commentary. Maybe even take notes. There are definitely things I can improve." I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? You asking me for pointers?" I ask with a small smirk. "Absolutely." she says without hesitation. "You're terrifyingly observant." Yelena clears her throat loudly. "If you're done flirting, Bishop, I am ready to humiliate you." Kate grins. "In your dreams Belova."

They move to the mat, and I roll a little closer, heart pounding with excitement. The recruits nearby shift subtly, whispers passing between them. I catch fragments, "that's her..." "Isn't that..." Kate straightens her shoulders just a fraction, the pressure settling in, but she doesn't look back at them. She looks at me instead.

The spar starts fast. Yelena is relentless, controlled aggression, sharp strikes, no wasted movement. Kate meets her with speed and adaptability, ducking under blows, countering with precision. It's brutal and playful all at once, the kind of fight where both opponents are smiling even as they're trying to take each other down.

I can't help it. My brain slips automatically into analysis. Kate's footwork is cleaner than last time I saw her. She's anticipating Yelena's feints better, not biting on the first distraction. Her recovery time between strikes is faster, more efficient. She's learned to absorb impact without losing momentum. She's good. Really good. Pride swells in my chest so sharp it almost hurts.

Around us, the room has gone quieter. A few recruits have stopped their own drills to watch. Kate feels it, I can see the tension in the set of her jaw, but she doesn't falter. She adapts. She pushes.

The spar ends with Kate on one knee, breathing hard but smiling, sweat darkening the collar of her training top. Yelena straightens, rolls her shoulders once, and offers a hand to pull her up like this was all just a warm-up instead of controlled chaos.

"Not bad." Yelena says lightly. "You're slower on your left recovery than last week." Kate groans. "You say that like it's constructive." She complains. "It is." Yelena replies. "Constructively humiliating." She smirks.

I laugh before I can stop myself. Kate looks over immediately, grin breaking through the focus like sunlight. She jogs over, dropping down beside me, forearms resting on her knees. "Okay," she says, mock-serious. "Feedback. Be brutal."

"You're overcommitting when you think you've got the opening." I say without hesitation. "But you correct faster now. That used to cost you." Her eyes light up. "I knew it. Clint keeps saying that but hearing it from you..." She stops herself, smiling. "Yeah. That helps."

Yelena is already at the equipment rack, unstrapping pads, giving us space without really leaving. The energy in the room hasn't quite reset yet. A few recruits linger nearby, pretending to stretch while very obviously listening.

I clock him before he speaks. James. I recognise him instantly from the files Mama got me. Bottom third of the cohort, inconsistent scores, defensive posture in every evaluation. High physical strength, low adaptability. Insecure. Angry about it. He's been circling the edge of Kate's orbit since she joined, always watching, always tight around the mouth.

He steps closer now, arms crossed, eyes flicking from Kate to me and back again. "So," he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "That explains a lot." Kate stiffens beside me. "Explains what?" She asks evenly. James smirks. "The special treatment. Guess it helps when you're screwing one of the legends." The words hit like a slap.

I feel the heat surge up my spine before Kate can even inhale. "That's not how this works." I snap, my voice sharp and clear. "Kate's earning her place. Every drill. Every assessment. If you bothered to look at the metrics instead of making excuses, you'd know that."

His gaze slides to me, cold and dismissive. "Oh, right. Because you'd know so much about earning things these days." His lip curls. "What are you gonna do? Run me down?" The word lands ugly and deliberate. "Cripple." Kate moves at the same time I do, anger flashing across her face. "That's enough..." She never finishes.

There's a blur of motion. A sharp, unmistakable crack. James drops like a stone, sprawling across the mat with a stunned grunt, hands scrambling uselessly as he tries to orient himself. The room goes dead silent.

Every head snaps toward us. My heart is hammering, adrenaline spiking so fast I feel dizzy, until I see who's standing over him. Yelena. She's calm. Almost bored. One hand flexes once, like she's shaking off the impact. She looks down at James with a cool, assessing gaze that promises this was restraint, not rage. "You never," she says quietly, "talk to my niece like that." James blinks up at her, shock giving way to fear.

"She is more of an agent," Yelena continues, voice level and lethal, "than you will ever be." She tilts her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the far end of the room where two figures stand framed in the doorway. "And if I were you, I would worry less about who people are dating and more about whether you will even graduate."

Maria Hill hasn't moved. Clint folds his arms slowly, jaw tight. "Dixon!" Clint calls sharply. "Office. Now." James scrambles to his feet, face flushed, eyes darting around the room like he's hoping someone will save him. No one does. He slinks past Clint without another word. Clint turns back to the room. "For anyone unclear," he says flatly, "that was not favouritism. That was the consequence of violating conduct. He's been on thin ice for weeks."

The tension doesn't ease right away. It just shifts. Kate's hand finds mine, fingers tight. "Are you okay?" She asks quietly, anger and concern tangled together. Kate's hand is still in mine, warm and steady, when the weight of the room finally crashes down on me.

It hits all at once. The silence. The watching. The knowledge that everyone saw something happen, even if they didn't catch every word. And underneath it all, that one word keeps echoing. Ugly. Sharp. Intentional.

I let go of Kate's hand before I really think about it. The instinct is automatic. Muscle memory. The same one that's kept me alive for years. Disappear. Don't be the problem. Don't make this harder for anyone else. "I'm..." I start, but the sound catches in my throat.

I turn the chair sharply, wheels squealing faintly as I push off harder than I should. My pulse is loud in my ears, adrenaline flooding my system like I'm about to be chased instead of watched. I don't look back. "Y/n! Wait!" Kate calls. But I don't stop.

I make it less than ten metres out the door before she's there, long legs eating up the distance with ease. She steps into my path, hands coming up instinctively to steady the chair. "Hey. Stop." Her voice isn't raised, but there's urgency threaded through it now. "Stop. You're pushing too hard." She says sternly. "I'm fine." I say automatically, fingers tightening around the rims as I try to steer past her but she doesn't let me.

Her grip firms just enough to keep the chair still. "No," she says, sharper now. "You're not. You're going to reopen your wound." That does it. The words punch straight through the last of my control.

"This was a mistake." I blurt, heat rushing up my neck and face. "I shouldn't have come." Kate's brow furrows. "Y/n..." She starts. "I shouldn't be here." I rush on, the dam fully broken now. "I shouldn't be watching, or distracting you, or standing out like this. I don't want people thinking you only get ahead because of me."

Her mouth opens, but I keep going, the fear spilling out faster than I can stop it. "I don't want to be something you have to manage. Or defend. Or explain." My voice drops, smaller now. "I don't want to be a problem."

I turn the chair again, desperate to escape the moment before it sinks its claws any deeper into my chest. Kate reacts instantly. She steps in front of me again, hands firm on the chair handles, and steers me, not roughly, but decisively, toward the nearest meeting room. "Okay," she says, low and controlled. "We're not doing this in the hallway."

She nudges the door open with her foot, wheels me inside, and shuts it behind us. The click sounds louder than it should. The room is empty. Glass walls fogged just enough to blur the training floor beyond. Quiet, contained and safe.

Kate moves around to crouch in front of me again, eyes level with mine. "Look at me." I hesitate. My gaze drops to the floor. Shame coils tight in my stomach. She waits. She doesn't push.

Finally, I look up. Her expression isn't disappointed. It isn't frustrated. It's angry. But not at me. "James doesn't get to decide anything about me." She says, voice tight with restrained fury. "He doesn't get to define my work. Or my skill. Or my place here."

"I know..." I start. "No," she interrupts gently but firmly. "You don't. Because if you did, you wouldn't be trying to vanish right now." The words land clean and precise, like she's put a name to something I've been dancing.

She exhales, reins herself in, and her voice softens without losing its edge. "What he said doesn't bother me because it's wrong." She continues. "I know what I've earned. Clint knows. Maria knows. And I know I'm better than him on my worst day."

Her hand comes to rest on my knee, grounding, warm, not trapping. "The only thing that bothers me," she adds quietly, "is seeing you look like you think you're a burden." My throat tightens. I look away again, the truth sitting heavy in my chest.

"I don't want to ruin this for you," I whisper. Kate's thumb presses gently into my leg, just enough to pull my attention back. "You're not ruining anything." She says. "You're part of my life. That's not a weakness. That's not leverage. That's just reality."

The silence stretches, thick and charged. Then she says softly, "Talk to me." My heart stutters painfully. "This isn't what I thought I was going to say." I admit, voice shaky. "But... what are we?" Kate blinks once. "Oh." Her face drops a little, not expecting the sharp turn to a new subject. Especially one we have been ignoring or a while now.

I barrel on before my courage evaporates. "Because I like you. A lot. And I know things are complicated and I'm injured and you're training and..." I gesture vaguely between us. "...and I understand if this is too much or badly timed or..." I don't get a chance to finish before I feel her lips against mine.

She kisses me like she's stopping something from slipping away. There's no hesitation, no careful pause to check if this is okay. Just Kate, closing the distance in one decisive movement, hands coming up to cradle my face like it's instinct, like it's always been meant to be this way.

Her lips meet mine warm and sure, and everything inside me goes quiet. It's not frantic, but it's not gentle either, it's anchoring. Like she's saying stay without using words. Her thumbs brush my cheeks as she deepens the kiss just enough to make my breath hitch, just enough to pull me out of my head and back into my body.

I melt into it before I can stop myself. All the noise drains away, the recruits, the room, James, the shame, the fear of being seen. There's only the feel of her: solid and real, grounding me where I am instead of letting me spiral off somewhere unsafe.

Her kiss tastes faintly of sweat and something sweet, probably whatever she grabbed between drills, and it's so her it makes my chest ache. I kiss her back without thinking, hands lifting to grip lightly at her sleeves, not pulling, just holding on like I'm afraid she might disappear if I don't. She makes a quiet sound when I respond, surprised, relieved, and it sends a warmth straight through me.

When she finally pulls back, it's slow. Reluctant. Her forehead rests against mine, noses brushing, breaths mingling. Her hands don't leave my face, like she's making sure I'm still here. Like she needs the contact as much as I do.

"I like you too." She says, breathless and bright. "Like... a lot. I want to be with you. Properly. Not whatever half-thinking, half-hoping thing we've been doing." My chest feels too full. "You do?" I question hopefully. "Yes." She laughs softly. "God, yes. I thought you were about to tell me you didn't want this." I shake my head quickly. "No. I was just... scared." Her expression softens instantly. "Okay," she says. "Then we do this scared. Together."

Something in me settles. Clicks into place. "Okay," I echo. She grins. "Okay." She leans in again, resting her forehead against mine. "So," she adds lightly, "girlfriends?" A smile breaks free, wide and unguarded. "Yeah. Girlfriends."

Kate presses a slower, gentler kiss to my lips this time. Before leaning back and locking eyes with me. "We should head back to your apartment." She says reluctantly. "Before your moms and Yelena decide to declare a manhunt." I laugh, warmth blooming through me despite everything. "They absolutely would."

She straightens, hands returning to the chair handles, careful again. "Ready?" I nod. As she pushes me back out into the world, the shame is still there. Quiet and lingering but it's no longer in control. Because I'm not disappearing anymore. And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I have to.

The apartment feels warmer when we step back inside. Not just physically, but emotionally, like the space itself has exhaled now that we're all here again. Mama is in the kitchen, hands busy with something that doesn't actually need doing, and Mom looks up from the couch the second the door clicks shut.

"There you are." Mom says, carefully casual. Her eyes sweep over me first, quick and thorough, checking posture, colour, tension. Mama follows a beat later, gaze sharp and soft all at once. "How did it go?" She asks, measured, like she's bracing herself not to let the worry show too much.

I don't hesitate. "It was really good," I say. "It was amazing, actually. Seeing Kate in her element." I glance up at Kate, and the way she lights up at that, pride mixed with disbelief, makes my chest feel too full. Mama nods slowly, relief easing the tightness in her shoulders. "I'm glad." She says. Mom smiles warmly. "I'm proud of you for going." She adds. "I know that wasn't easy."

Kate shifts beside me, fingers tightening around mine. I feel her take a breath, steadying herself. "Actually," she says, stepping forward just a little, shoulders straightening like she's bracing for impact. "There's something I wanted to say. If that's okay."

Both my moms turn fully toward her as do I as I have no clue what she's about to say. Kate glances at me first giving me a reassuring smile. "We're together." She says simply. "Officially." Then, like she's afraid the moment might slip away if she doesn't say everything at once, she continues. "And I know you don't need promises or permission or anything like that, but I want you to know how seriously I take this." Mama's expression shifts, not guarded, but intent. Listening.

"I care about Y/n deeply." Kate says, voice steady but open. Her words making my heart bloom. "And I won't make choices for her. I won't speak over her or decide what's best without her. I'll stand with her. Even when it's uncomfortable." She swallows, then adds with a crooked, self-aware smile, "Also, you're the Black Widow and the Scarlet Witch, so I'm very aware that I'd be spectacularly screwed if I hurt her."

The tension snaps like a thread pulled too tight. Mama lets out a sharp, surprised laugh. Mom's hand flies to her mouth as she tries, and fails, to hide her smile. "Well," Mom says, warmth flooding her voice, "we do appreciate honesty."

Kate relaxes a fraction, encouraged. "I just... I know she's been through a lot." She continues, quieter now. "And I don't want to be another person who adds to that. I want to be someone she feels safe with. Someone she doesn't have to shrink around."

Mama studies her for a long moment. Not intimidating. Just assessing the situation. Then she nods once. "You're not asking for control." She says slowly. "You're offering partnership." Kate nods immediately. "Yes. Exactly."

Mom steps closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Y/n doesn't need our permission." She says. "Or our blessing." She looks at me then, eyes shining. "You've never needed that." Then she turns back to Kate. "But we do appreciate you being open with us."

Mama adds, "All we want is for her to be happy." She gestures toward me. "And to feel seen. If you can do that..." She stops herself, then corrects, "No. Not if. You already are." Kate's throat works as she nods. "I'll keep doing my best." She says quietly. "We trust you with her heart." Mom says, simply and without hesitation.

Something in my chest loosens so suddenly it almost hurts. I hadn't realised how tightly I was holding myself together until that moment. Mama tilts her head, lips curving into something playful. "That said," she adds lightly, "I do know several ways to make people disappear without a trace." Kate's eyes widen. She swallows. "Understood ma'am." I groan. "Mama..."

Mom laughs outright, the sound bright and genuine. Mama shrugs, unapologetic. "Kidding," she says. Then, after a beat, "Mostly." Kate leans closer to me, murmuring under her breath, "I'm absolutely terrified." I grin. "You'll survive. Probably."

We don't mention the training room. Not the punch. Not the whispers. That conversation can wait. Right now feels too fragile and too important to fill with anything else.

Kate is the one who breaks the moment, her thumb brushing gently against my knuckles like she's checking in without words. "Hey," she says softly. "You've had a really long day." She tilts her head toward the hallway. "I think you should get into bed before your body stages a full rebellion." I huff a quiet laugh, the adrenaline finally ebbing enough for the fatigue to catch up with me. "Bossy."

"Protective." She corrects easily. Mom watches us with a small, thoughtful smile. "For what it's worth," she says, meeting Kate's eyes, "I like you already." It's simple. Unloaded. And it makes Kate blink in surprise before smiling back, something warm and a little shy. "I'm honoured." Kate replies. Mama nods once in agreement, satisfied, and that's somehow all that needs to be said.

Kate takes my hand again and guides me down the hall, unhurried, matching my pace like she's done it a thousand times. In my room, she helps me change and settle, hands gentle and sure, checking in with quiet questions she already knows the answers to. When I'm finally propped up against pillows, she hesitates only a second before slipping in beside me, careful of my side, pulling me close like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Her arm wraps around me, solid and warm. I fit against her easily, my head tucked beneath her chin, her breath steady against my hair. She presses a soft kiss to my temple. Then another to my cheek. Small, grounding touches that say I'm here over and over again.

"I want to give you a life you deserve." She murmurs, voice low and earnest. "Not fix you. Not rescue you. Just to stand with you. Always." Something settles in me at that. Deep and quiet.

Healing doesn't erase the past. I know that now. It doesn't rewrite years or soften every edge. But it does something else. It makes room. For warmth. For stability. For the possibility of a future that isn't defined by what hurt.

Kate shifts slightly, careful, and kisses me once more, slow and reassuring, before resting her forehead against mine. I close my eyes, breathing her in, letting myself believe this part. For the first time, I can see it.

Part 8

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @jusnough @nessheartnat @yelldontwhisper @franfineashell @luckilygrimconduit

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 6

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word Count: 8232

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: Y/n is home and struggling. From all the vistors and the return of the twins, it seems like Y/n can't get a moment to herself. The only brightness is her visits from Kate. But that doesn't prepare her for the conversation she overhears between her moms and the consequences of it.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

The first few days blur together in a way that makes time feel soft around the edges. I know days are passing because the light through the windows changes and because mom insists on opening the curtains every morning, even when I grumble about it. I know nights are coming because my body reminds me, aching heavier, slower, like it's running out of energy long before my mind does.

The apartment is never quiet for very long. Tony was the first to test that. He showed up with far too many takeaway bags, announcing himself before the door even fully closed behind him. "I brought food." He declared proudly. "Real food. The kind that improves morale and definitely violates at least three dietary recommendations."

"I'm on bed rest," I reminded him, eyeing the bags suspiciously. "Exactly," he said, completely unfazed. "You need fuel. Also, I brought dessert. That part is non-negotiable."

Pepper followed him in, already shaking her head fondly. She didn't say much at first. She just smiled at me, squeezed my hand gently, asked how I'm feeling in that quiet, careful way that somehow doesn't make me feel put on the spot. She straightened a pillow, fixed the blanket where it's slipped, and lingered just long enough for me to feel grounded again. She has this calm presence that fills the space without demanding anything from it. Being around her feels like exhaling.

Steve came by later. And then stayed. He always does. He pulled a chair close and settled into it like he's got nowhere else he needs to be, talking about small things. From the weather, a mission debrief that went sideways, a story from Brooklyn that somehow turns into a lesson about patience and timing. Sometimes he just sits there quietly, arms folded, watching the room like he's standing guard.

"You don't have to bounce back overnight." He told me gently one afternoon when I shift, wincing despite my best effort to hide it. "Healing takes the time it takes." I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. I believe him in a way I don't always believe myself.

Having Captain America in your family has its real perks. He always seems to know what to say at the right time. It never sounds patronising. Though I could do without the prolonged pep talks. I half expect him to turn up in is suit and act like we're preparing for a new mission.

In contrast to Steve's calm and steady nature there's Yelena who doesn't knock. She lets herself in like the apartment belongs to her, boots kicked off near the door, immediately heading for the kitchen. "Why is everything labelled?" She calls out. "Is this an American thing or are you just all very organised?" Mama groans from the hallway. "Get out of the cupboards." She orders. "No."

I watch them bicker from the bed, unable to stop the smile that tugs at my mouth. The way Yelena needles her. The way Mama snaps back, sharp and familiar. There's something comforting about it. About seeing Mama loosen just enough around her sister to let the edge soften. I hadn't realised how much I missed that until now.

Kate is here too. A lot. She always shows up with baked goods. Muffins, banana bread, cookies that are definitely still warm. She sits close but never crowds. She's careful of me, like she's learned my boundaries instinctively. She doesn't push conversation when I'm tired. Doesn't disappear when I'm quiet. I treasure the time with her more than I know how to say.

Somewhere between visitors coming and going, it hits me: for the first time in a long while, I feel properly seen. By everyone. Not just as someone who needs looking after, but as me. It's overwhelming in the best and worst way. Because I'm grateful. Deeply, painfully grateful. And also completely exhausted.

Being home is comforting. Being in a familiar space with familiar smells and routines. But it's draining too. The pain feels sharper without the strict hospital schedule. It creeps in quietly, settles deep in my muscles, makes everything take more effort than it should.

I try not to show it. I don't want to complain. And I don't want to be the reason the room goes quiet or the mood shifts. But Mama notices anyway. She doesn't call me out or make a big deal of it. She just appears at the right moments with my meds, sets them down like it's no big thing, distracts me with some dry comment about Tony's driving or Steve's inability to use modern technology.

Mom does the same. She'll adjust pillows, suggest a movie, redirecting conversations before they get too loud or too close. It's subtle and thoughtful. They know. And instead of confronting me, instead of making it something I have to defend, they work around it. That might be the biggest difference of all. They are able to read me without words or actions. They seem to know what I need before I do. It's comforting but reminds me of all the years I was without it.

The days keep moving forward, carried by laughter and quiet moments and people who refuse to let me fade into the background again. Not in the way I used to fear, but in the way I always needed. I'm tired. I'm sore. I'm still unsure about a lot of things. But for now, I'm not invisible.

But the quiet doesn't last forever. The twins come home two days later. I hear them before I see them. Feet pounding down the hallway, voices overlapping in excited chaos. Billy skids to a stop in the doorway first, eyes going wide when he sees me propped up against the pillows. "She's really here." He breathes, like he's afraid saying it too loudly might undo it. Tommy barrels in right after him. "We told you she would be!" And then they're both talking at once.

They want to know everything. How I'm feeling. If the scars hurt. If the hospital food was really as bad as everyone says. If I missed them. If I saw anything cool. If I want to see their room. If I want to see the thing they built. If I want...

"Hey." I laugh softly, holding up a hand. "One at a time." They freeze immediately, eyes flicking to each other, then back to me. "Sorry." Billy says quickly. "Really sorry." Tommy adds, nodding hard. I smile, because I am happy. I've missed them more than I let myself admit. Having them here again feels like something settling back into place, something that's been off-kilter for too long.

They hover close, careful but not quite sure how careful they're supposed to be. Billy perches on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in his lap. Tommy sits cross-legged on the floor, looking up at me like I might vanish if he blinks.

"You wanna see what Pepper got us?" Tommy asks eagerly. "It's in the living room." The questions start again. But thankfully without the overlap this time! "And our drawings." Billy adds. "We made them when you were in the hospital."

"I'd love to." I say, and I mean it. I love the enthusiasm as they show me all the pictures they drew. Many of them had me as some superhero saving the day. How wrong they are when I got injured on a simple recon mission. But seeing how much they appreciate and love me, it makes my heart warm.

The first day is good. They trail after me when I'm moved to the couch, sitting close but trying not to touch. They bring me snacks I don't ask for. They argue quietly over who gets to refill my water. They keep glancing at me like they're checking that I'm still solid, still here.

By the second day, it starts to be harder. They're louder. More energetic. They forget themselves and lean in too close, their shoulders knocking into mine, their knees pressing against my legs. Every jolt sends a sharp reminder through my body, pain flaring before I can stop it. I grit my teeth and smile anyway. They don't mean any harm. I tell myself it's fine. That they're just excited. That they're kids.

But the hours blur together, and I don't seem to get a moment to myself. There's always a question, always a voice, always someone needing something. I love being around them again, I do, but it's like they're terrified that if they're not right next to me, I'll disappear.

By the end of the day, I'm exhausted in a way that seeps into my bones. My head throbs. My body aches. I can feel the edges of my patience thinning, and that scares me more than the pain. Because I don't want to snap. I don't want to say something wrong and ruin everything. I don't want Mama to get angry, or Mom to look disappointed, or to somehow end up right back where I was, pushed to the side, easier to ignore. So I don't say anything. I try to manage it on my own.

But Mama notices anyway. She's standing in the doorway, watching us with that quiet focus she's had lately. She sees the way I shift carefully, the way my smile doesn't quite reach my eyes anymore. "Okay," she says calmly, stepping in before I can find the words. "Time out." The boys look up at her immediately.

"Y/n is still healing." Mama continues, her voice steady, not sharp. "That means her body gets tired faster than yours. If you want to help her get better, you need to give her some space right now."

Tommy frowns. "We're not being bad." He defends. "I know." Mama says gently. "This isn't about being bad. It's about being helpful." Billy glances at me, worry flashing across his face. "Did we hurt you?" He asks, a slight quiver to his lip. "No." I say quickly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Mama nods. "She just needs rest. And quiet. That's how you help." The boys nod solemnly, already taking it seriously. "We can be helpers," Tommy declares. "Yes." Billy agrees firmly. "Helpers." They back away a little, gathering their things and heading toward the living room with quiet determination.

The relief that washes through me is immediate and overwhelming. My shoulders sag as soon as they're gone, a breath leaving me that I didn't realise I'd been holding. I didn't have to explain. I didn't have to ask. I didn't have to justify myself. Mama saw it and she stepped in. That's new. And it matters more than I know how to say.

__________

Kate turns up the next afternoon with a paper bag tucked under her arm and that familiar, unapologetic grin already in place. "I brought baked goods." She announces, like it's a completely reasonable personality trait. "Because apparently showing up empty-handed is 'socially unacceptable' and also because I needed an excuse to see you."

Before I can respond, she leans in, careful of my space, and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. It's unhurried, familiar already. The kind that ignites butterflies in my stomach. "Hi," she murmurs when she pulls back. "Hi," I echo.

I don't even try to hide my smile. She sets the bag down on the coffee table carefully, pulling out a container. "Blueberry muffins." She states. "I was going to do chocolate chip, but Clint said those are a tactical disadvantage." She shares. "Because joy is dangerous?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "Exactly. Can't have recruits experiencing happiness before exams." She jokes. I laugh, the sound surprising even me, and Kate's grin softens like she's pleased she got it out of me.

She sits beside me on the couch, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her leg but not crowding. She's learned the balance of how to be near without being overwhelming. It's something she does without thinking, and it makes my chest ache in a way I don't quite have words for. Being around her feels easy. Like my body unclenches on its own.

She cracks open the container and offers me a muffin. "So," she says lightly, "how's the world's most elite agent handling forced rest?" She asks, taking a bite from her own muffin. "Poorly." I deadpan. "I've considered staging a dramatic escape." She snorts. "I'd pay to see that."

I take a bite, then gesture at her. "Alright. Your turn. Training update." She straightens a little, like she's been waiting for the prompt. "Okay. Clint's officially in stress them until they break mode." She starts. "Ah," I say knowingly. "A classic."

"Recruits are spiralling. One guy tried to bring a handwritten cheat sheet into the tactical sim." I wince. "Bold. And deeply misguided." I offer my own commentary. "Got caught immediately." She says. "Didn't even make it past the door." I shake my head. "That's what gets them every time. They forget it's not just about skill. They're watching everything."

Kate's eyes light up. "Yes! That's what I've been saying. How you walk in. Where your attention goes. How fast you react when something goes wrong." She pauses, then looks at me more seriously. "Any advice?" I lean back, thinking. "Don't overthink the first scenario. Everyone does." She groans. "Of course they do."

"It's designed to rattle you." I continue. "They want to see who panics." I continue to explain. "Great." She huffs. "And don't rush your second decision." I add. "That's where most people mess up. They feel behind and try to compensate." Kate nods slowly, committing it to memory.

"Mental prep?" She questions. "Trust your instincts." I say simply. "They'll try to shake your confidence. Don't let them." She watches me like I've just handed her a map. "You know," she says after a beat, "your highest score is still the benchmark they use." I blink. "You're kidding. I was sure someone in the next group would pass it." I reply in shock.

"Nope." she says, smiling. "They literally reference it. 'This is the standard.'" Heat creeps up my neck. "That's... ridiculous." I try to wave it off. "Legendary." She corrects. "People whisper about you." I laugh. "I'm injured on a couch." I point out. "An icon on a couch." She insists, then hesitates. "Honestly, it's a little intimidating. Following that record." I turn toward her fully. "Kate." She meets my eyes. "You're going to smash it." I say without hesitation. "You've got real field experience. You've trained under Clint. That matters." Her shoulders relax just a fraction. "You really think so?" She questions, doubt in her eyes. "I know so." She smiles, softer now, more vulnerable. "You're very convincing." She observes. "That's because I'm right."

She studies me for a moment, then smirks. "You know an awful lot about my training for someone who claims not to stalk." I raise an eyebrow. "Funny. I was about to accuse you of being a secret stalker. Quoting my stats, my scores..." She presses a hand to her chest in mock offence. "How dare you. I am a dedicated researcher." She says playfully. "Uh-huh."

She laughs, then grows quieter. "I'm nervous," she admits. "I don't want to mess it up." I reach over and brush my fingers against hers, grounding. "You won't." She squeezes back, thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You make it sound easy." She sighs. "It's not easy. It's not meant to be." I say softly. "But you're ready." She looks at me like she believes it. I know that she is going to be one of the best agents that come out of the training programme. I just hope she believes in it herself.

Natasha's POV

I don't mean to listen. That's the thing I keep telling myself afterward, like intention matters when the damage is already done. I'm halfway down the hall when I hear Kate's voice drifting from the living room. It's easy to recognise now, earnest, animated, bright in a way that still surprises me. I slow without meaning to, my steps quiet out of habit, and before I can stop myself, I catch the edges of the conversation.

"You're still the benchmark." Kate is saying. There's a smile in her voice, unmistakable even without seeing her. "They still use your scores as the standard. Highest in her cohort. Tactical, field awareness, adaptability... all of it." Something in my chest tightens sharply.

I stop completely. For a moment, all I can see is a younger version of Y/n in a training room, jaw set in concentration, eyes sharp as she listens to my instructions. I remember correcting her stance, pushing her harder, watching her absorb everything like she was starving for it. I remember wanting her to be the best, not just good, not just capable, but undeniable. I wanted that for her.

I stay where I am, pressed just out of sight, the wall cool against my shoulder. "You made it look easy." Kate continues, softer now. "But it wasn't. I can tell. You earned every part of it." I close my eyes.

My hand curls into a fist at my side. I was there at the beginning. I trained with her regularly, drilled her until her muscles shook, stayed late when others left. I told myself I was investing in her future. Protecting her. Preparing her for a world that would take advantage of any weakness.

Then the twins came. But it wasn't all at once. It wasn't a sudden dramatically let down. It was slow. One missed session. Then another. I had less time so we had shorter check-ins and I delegated training. I told myself she didn't need me as much anymore. That she was strong enough. That the boys needed me more. I never meant to disappear. And yet I did.

Hearing Kate talk about her now, about what Y/n has achieved without me, hits in a way I wasn't prepared for. Pride swells first, fierce and immediate. She didn't just survive without my help. She excelled. She became the best.

And right on its heels comes the grief. Because she did it alone. I didn't see the exams. I didn't see the pressure. I didn't see the nights she must have stayed up preparing, carrying the weight of expectation without the support I used to give so freely.

Kate knows things about her I don't. Her scores. Her reputation. The way people speak about her with awe. That knowledge should feel like comfort. Proof that Y/n was always going to be okay. Instead, it feels like standing outside a room I helped build, realising I never saw it finished. I assumed she would be fine. That assumption feels unforgivable now.

I think back to the moments I dismissed. The way she stopped asking for help, the way she downplayed her work, the quiet distance I explained away as independence. I didn't notice her slipping because I convinced myself slipping wasn't possible.

I press my palm against the wall, steadying myself, jaw tight. I'm proud of her. Achingly so. And I'm heartbroken that she became extraordinary without me standing beside her. That the person she is now was forged in spaces where I wasn't present enough to matter. There's no way to undo that. No version of this where I get to go back and choose differently. All I can do is live with the knowledge that my love didn't fail, but my presence did.

I love her. I always have. I just stopped showing it in the ways she needed, at the moment she needed it most. And that's a loss I'll carry, whether she ever forgives me or not.

I can't listen anymore. The sound of Kate's voice, warm, admiring, certain, becomes too much, pressing in on something already raw and splitting it wide open. I push off the wall abruptly, breath sharp in my chest, and turn away before I can change my mind.

I don't say anything to anyone. I don't trust myself to. The apartment feels too small all of a sudden, the walls closing in with memories and regret and the unbearable weight of knowing exactly where I went wrong and having no way to fix it. I grab my keys, and I'm gone before the door has fully clicked shut behind me.

The gym is quiet when I get there. It smells like rubber and metal and sweat. It's familiar and grounding. The heavy bag hangs in the corner like it's been waiting for me. I don't warm up. I don't stretch. I just step up to it and swing.

The first punch lands solidly, the impact reverberating up my arm. "You left her."

Another strike. Harder. "You chose wrong."

Again. "You told yourself she didn't need you."

The bag rocks violently on its chain. My breathing turns harsh, uneven, every exhale ripping out of me like it's been trapped too long. "I was supposed to protect you." I mutter under my breath, driving my fist forward again. "I was supposed to be there." The words come with the blows now, spilling out between clenched teeth.

"You trained alone." Impact.

"You carried it alone." Impact.

"You became the best and I missed it." Another impact.

The sound of skin meeting canvas is sharp, unforgiving. Pain flares across my knuckles, bright and immediate, but I barely register it. I welcome it. Lean into it. Good. Let it hurt.

My punches lose precision as I push harder, faster, my form breaking down as the emotions take over. The bag swings wildly, but I keep chasing it, hitting it again and again until my fists throb and the skin splits open.

Warmth trickles down my fingers. I glance at my hands briefly, raw, bleeding, knuckles torn open, and a hollow laugh tears out of me. "This is nothing." I whisper. It's nothing compared to what she felt. Years of being overlooked. Years of silence. Years of learning not to ask.

The sting in my hands is sharp, immediate and clean. Y/n's pain wasn't. It was slow. Accumulative. The kind that teaches you to disappear quietly so you don't get hurt again.

I hit the bag again. "I failed you."

Again. "You deserved better."

Again. "I should have seen it."

My arms start to shake, muscles screaming in protest, but I don't stop. I won't stop. I don't deserve to. "Natasha." The voice cuts through the fog like a blade. I barely register it before strong hands grab my arms, yanking me backward. I stumble, disoriented, anger flaring hot and wild as I twist instinctively.

"Enough!" Yelena snaps, physically forcing distance between me and the bag. I try to pull away, but she doesn't let go. She never does when it matters. "Look at you." She says fiercely, gripping my wrists despite the blood. "Stop."

Something in her voice breaks through whatever dam I was holding together. My knees buckle. The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving nothing but shaking limbs and a chest that feels too tight to breathe. I sag forward, and Yelena catches me without hesitation, arms wrapping around me as I finally come apart.

Yelena doesn't let go when I sag against her. She braces us both, solid and immovable, one arm locked around my shoulders, the other still gripping my wrists like she's afraid I'll bolt back toward the bag if she loosens her hold even a fraction.

My forehead presses into her shoulder and the sob that tears out of me is ugly and unchecked, the kind I haven't allowed myself in years. "Breathe." She says firmly, not unkind. "Just breathe." I try. It feels impossible. My chest burns, lungs dragging in air that doesn't feel like enough. She waits it out. She always does.

When my shaking eases just enough that I'm not folding in on myself, she pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me properly. Her eyes flick to my hands, blood smeared across my knuckles, skin split and angry. "Are you done trying to destroy yourself?" She asks flatly. I huff out something that might be a laugh if it didn't break halfway through. "Apparently not." She snorts. "Figures."

Then her expression sharpens again. "You don't get to do this." She says. "You don't get to beat yourself bloody and call it accountability." She calls me out. "I deserve it." I mutter. She tightens her grip just a little. "No. You regret it. That's different." I swallow hard.

Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Just heavy with everything we're not saying. The question has been clawing at my chest since the apartment. Since Kate's voice. Since the realisation finally settled in that I missed more than I knew. I don't trust myself to look at her when I ask it. "Do you think we've lost her?" My voice comes out hoarse, stripped bare. "For good."

Yelena doesn't answer right away. That alone feels like a knife. When she does speak, her voice is steady. Honest. "Yes." She says. "It's possible." The words land hard, knocking the air from my lungs. I nod, jaw clenched, because it's what I deserve. The truth, not comfort wrapped in lies.

"But," she continues, before I can retreat fully into myself, "it's not the only possibility." I look up then, searching her face. "I've seen her these last few days." Yelena says. "She's guarded. Hurt. But she hasn't shut you out. Not completely." She tilts her head. "If she had, you'd know. She's very good at doors." She's right there. That's what she's learnt from me. To block everyone out when things are bad. 

That shouldn't make my chest loosen, but it does. "She still talks with you." Yelena adds. "Still lets you close. That matters." I drag a shaky hand down my face. "I don't know how to fix this." I admit. "You don't." She says simply. "You stop trying to fix it."

I frown at her. "Forgiveness is not something you chase." Yelena continues. "You chase it, you turn it into pressure. Into another thing she has to manage." She pauses, then softens just a little. "You bring the love back. Quietly. Consistently. Like before."

Before. The word aches. "She remembers." Yelena says, like she can read the thought on my face. "The good years. The training. The dinners. The way you used to look at her like she was your whole world." Her gaze sharpens. "Do not insult her by thinking she forgot that." My throat tightens painfully. "I just..." I swallow. "I don't want to hurt her again." I share. "Then don't make it about easing your guilt." Yelena says. "Make it about her."

She releases my wrists at last, stepping back just far enough to give me space, but not distance. "Now," she adds, wrinkling her nose, "you need to shower. You smell like regret and poor coping mechanisms." A weak laugh escapes me despite everything.

She nudges me toward the door. "Go. Before Wanda sees your hands and starts hexing the gym equipment." I start to leave, then stop, turning back to her. The words stick in my throat, heavy with shame. "Thank you." I say quietly. "I don't... I don't deserve the kindness you keep giving me." Yelena studies me for a moment, then shrugs lightly. "Maybe not," she says. "But I want you all happy. And sometimes that means dragging you through the ugly parts first."

She gives me a small, crooked smile. "Now go. Clean up. Then show up again." I nod, chest still aching, but steadier than it was before. For the first time since I left the apartment, the path forward doesn't feel invisible. Just difficult. And maybe possible.

I don't linger after that. I wash the blood from my hands in the gym sink, watching the red swirl down the drain until my knuckles are left raw and aching, the pain dulled but still there. Yelena's words echo in my head the whole way back, show up again, like a directive I don't deserve but intend to follow anyway.

I barely make it through the apartment door before Wanda appears. "Nat?" She asks, already frowning. "Where did you..." Her eyes drop to my hands. Everything happens at once after that. "Oh my god." She breathes, panic flaring sharp and immediate. She's across the room in seconds, catching my wrists gently but firmly. "What happened? Natasha, what did you do?" I open my mouth, then close it again. There's no clean way to say this.

"My anger got the better of me." I manage. "I thought... I thought maybe if I hurt enough, it would..." I swallow hard. "Make things feel more balanced. Like punishment." Her face crumples just a fraction, the fear there unguarded. "Nat." She sighs softly.

She steers me toward the bedroom before I can protest, pressing me down onto the edge of the bed like she's afraid I might collapse if she lets go. "Stay." She orders, already turning away. "Don't move."

She's back almost immediately with the first aid kit, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands with infinite care, like they might shatter if she's not gentle enough. When she really looks at them, she exhales slowly, shakily. "These are bad." She murmurs. Not accusing. Just hurting. "I've had worse." I say reflexively. "That's not comforting," She replies quietly.

She cleans the wounds carefully, her touch reverent, methodical. The sting makes me hiss, but I don't pull away. I deserve this part too, the tending, the truth of it. "It hurts me," Wanda says softly, eyes still on my hands, "to hear that you felt like hurting yourself was the only way to cope." She looks up at me then, eyes bright. "That isn't healthy, Nat. And you know that."

"I know." I whisper. "I just... I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I failed her." The words spill out once they start. "The anger. The guilt." I admit. "Wanting pain as punishment because it feels simpler than sitting with what I did." My voice cracks. "I'm terrified it's too late. That we'll do everything right from now on and still lose her." Wanda stills. Slowly, she sets my bandaged hands in my lap and shifts closer, her forehead resting against my knee for a moment like she needs the contact as much as I do.

"I'm scared too." She admits quietly. "It's eating me alive." She looks up at me, vulnerability bare. "I keep thinking that once she's better, once she doesn't need us, she'll leave. And I won't blame her for it." The thought tightens my chest painfully. "She might." I say, forcing myself to be honest. "And that's on us." Wanda nods. "I know."

I take a breath, steadying myself. "Yelena said something earlier." I tell her. "She said we shouldn't chase forgiveness. That it turns into pressure. That we should bring the love back. Quietly. Consistently. Like before." Wanda considers that, lips pressing together. "...That might be the wisest thing she's ever said." She says softly.

A weak smile tugs at my mouth. "She said Y/n remembers." I continue. "The good years. The love. That we shouldn't insult her by thinking she forgot." Wanda reaches up, cupping my cheek gently. "We have to keep trying." She says. "Even knowing it might end in loss." She finishes sadly. "Yes," I agree. "Especially then."

She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine, and for a moment we just breathe together, two people holding the same fear, refusing to let it pull us apart. "I'm here." She whispers. "We'll do this together." I close my eyes, the ache still there but steadier now. "Together." I echo.

Outside the room, life continues. Y/n is still healing. Still watching. Still deciding. All we can do is show up, again and again, and hope that our love, this time, is loud enough.

Y/n's POV:

I wake needing the toilet in that way that won't let me drift back to sleep. For a few seconds I lie there, staring at the ceiling, weighing my options. I could call out. I could wait. I could do what I'm supposed to do and ask for help. The thought sits heavy and uncomfortable in my chest. I hate that something this basic still feels like a negotiation.

So, I decide I'll do it myself. Which I'm sure will bite me in the ass but I'm sick of being dependant on others for something so trivial.

It takes longer than it should. Getting out of bed is a careful, deliberate process, feet to the floor, pause, breathe through the sharp pull in my side. I brace myself on the edge of the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets until the room stops tilting. By the time I straighten, my heart is already racing, sweat prickling along my spine.

You can do this, I tell myself. It's just the fucking bathroom. I shuffle down the short stretch of hallway, one hand sliding along the wall for balance. Each movement sends a dull reminder through my body that I'm not healed yet, no matter how much I want to be. The bathroom door is just ahead, right next to my moms' room.

I'm almost there when I hear voices. Mom's first. "It hurts me," she's saying, quietly but firmly. "to hear that you felt like hurting yourself was the only way to cope.... it isn't healthy, Nat." I stop. My breath catches before I can help it, my hand flattening against the wall.

Mama answers just as softly, her voice rough around the edges. "I know. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I failed her. The anger. The guilt." The words settle into me slowly, heavily.

Mom speaks again, and there's something fragile underneath her steadiness. "I'm scared too. It's eating me up. I keep thinking that once she's better... once she doesn't need us... she'll leave. And I don't think I'd blame her." My chest tightens painfully. They're talking about me.

Mama exhales, long and controlled. "She might," she admits. "And if she does... that's on us." There's no defensiveness in her voice. No argument. Just acceptance. I feel unsteady, like the floor has shifted under my feet.

"We can't chase forgiveness," Mama continues. "Yelena said that. She said it turns into pressure. Another thing she has to carry." Mom is quiet for a moment, then, "...That might be the wisest thing she's ever said."

Mama lets out a breath that sounds like relief and exhaustion all tangled together. "We just have to bring the love back. Quietly. Consistently. Like before." Before. The word echoes in my head, hollow and sharp all at once.

"I just don't want to hurt her again." Mama says. There's no strength in it this time. Just fear. "We have to keep trying." Mom replies. "Even if it ends in loss." The honesty in their voices hits harder than anything else.

There are no excuses. They're not minimising what's going on and they're not pretending they didn't know. And I hate it. Not because it isn't what I wanted, but because it makes everything messier.

I hate that my first reaction is pain. That hearing them afraid doesn't bring relief, only confusion. That I can feel my heart pulling in two directions at once. I've spent years carrying the weight of being the one who didn't need as much. The one who would be fine. The one who learned not to ask.

And now I'm standing in a hallway overhearing my moms admit they're terrified of losing me. Worse, that mom is scared for mama. That it hurts her to see Mama injure herself. The image slips in without permission: bruised knuckles, blood, pain she chose because she thought she deserved it. The tightness in my chest sharpens, surprising me with its intensity. I don't want to care about that. I don't want my body to react like the thought of Mama being hurt matters this much. Especially when so much of me is still angry.

Hearing this should soothe me. It should feel like validation that they understand why I feel like I do and that, although they will try everything to make things right, they are willing to accept it not working out if it's what I chose. It should be the thing that makes everything better. Instead, it cracks something open I'm not ready to deal with. Because if they're being honest now, what does that say about before? If they're trying now, does that make the years I spent alone easier to forgive, or harder? I don't know which answer scares me more.

My head feels too full, my chest too tight. Hurt and hope and suspicion collide all at once, leaving me stranded between what I know I felt then and what I'm hearing now. I don't know how to hold both.

My hand slips slightly against the wall. Pain spikes through my side as my balance wavers, the hallway tilting just enough to make my stomach drop. And before I can reach for anything solid, the world gives way beneath me.

It isn't dramatic at first, just a subtle shift, like the floor has decided it's no longer interested in being where it should be. My hand scrabbles uselessly against the wall, fingers sliding instead of gripping, and then there's nothing solid left to hold onto.

I go down hard. The impact knocks the air clean out of my lungs, a sharp, blinding burst of pain tearing through my side as I hit the floor. My shoulder catches first, then my hip, my head narrowly missing the doorframe by sheer luck. The sound of it, the bang, the thud, is loud enough to echo down the hallway.

For a second, I can't breathe. The pain blooms hot and immediate, my vision going white at the edges as I curl in on myself instinctively, gasping, chest heaving as I try to force air back into my lungs.

"Y/N!" The shout comes almost instantly. Mama's voice, sharp with panic, fear cutting through it in a way that makes my stomach twist even as I lie there stunned. Footsteps thunder toward me. 

Mom is there first, dropping to her knees beside me so fast she nearly skids on the floor. Her hands hover uselessly for half a second, like she's afraid to touch me and make it worse. "Oh my god, sweetheart." She breathes, voice shaking. "Talk to me. Please."

Mama is right behind her, already kneeling on my other side, eyes scanning me rapidly, taking in every detail with that terrifying focus she gets when something's wrong. "What happened?" Mama asks, fast but controlled, even as her hands tremble when she finally places them lightly on my shoulders. "Where did you hit?" She asks frantically.

"I..." I suck in a shaky breath. "I'm okay. I think. I just..." My voice cracks despite my effort to keep it steady. "I tried to go to the bathroom." Mom's face tightens immediately, fear flashing hot and bright. "You what?" She asks, with a sharpness to her tone. "I fell." I finish quietly.

For a split second, I see the anger spark, not at me, exactly, but at the situation. At the risk. At the thought of what could have happened. Mom opens her mouth, clearly about to scold me for doing it on my own, for not asking, for not waiting. "Wanda." Mama cuts in sharply. She shakes her head, just once. A silent don't.

Mom closes her mouth, swallowing hard, the reprimand dying before it ever makes it out. Her hands shake as she presses them flat against the floor, breathing through it, grounding herself.

Mama's focus snaps back to me instantly. "Okay." She says, softer now. "Stay still. You're safe. We've got you." She reassures me. The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, raw and unguarded, and it does something strange to my chest. I hate that I caused it. And at the same time... I cling to it. Because it means I matter.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I didn't want to disturb you. I just wanted to..." I start before mom is quick to interrupt. "Hey," she says quickly, reaching out and gently brushing my hair back from my face. Her touch is warm, grounding. "No apologies. Just stay with us, okay?"

Mama shifts closer, carefully sliding an arm behind my shoulders to support me without moving me too much. "Deep breaths." She murmurs. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth." I follow her lead, shakily at first, then more steadily as the pain stops screaming quite so loudly. My body trembles, adrenaline still buzzing under my skin, but their presence anchors me. They're both here. Fully. Completely.

Mom's voice wavers despite her effort to keep it calm. "Does anything feel wrong?" She asks. "Your head? Your side?" I think for a moment to pin point the pain but it's no use. "It all hurts." I admit. "But I don't think I broke anything." Mama exhales slowly, relief and fear tangled together. "Okay. That's good. That's very good."

Her hand tightens just a fraction on my shoulder, like she needs the contact as much as I do. I lean into it without thinking, letting myself be held there on the floor between them, letting their worry and warmth wash over me.

"Okay, I think we should get you back into bed." Mom says, her voice still shaking. Mama swallows once, then meets my eyes. Her voice is steady, but there's an apology threaded through it before she even speaks. "I'm sorry." She says quietly. "This is going to hurt. But I've got you."

Before I can argue, or pretend I'm fine, her arms slide under me with practiced care. One bandaged hand braces my back, the other hooks beneath my knees. She lifts slowly, deliberately, giving my body time to adjust. Pain flares anyway, sharp and breath-stealing, and a sound slips out of me that I don't quite recognise as my own.

"I know." Mama murmurs immediately. "I know. Breathe. I've got you." She reassures me, placing a soft kiss to my head and holds me close. I cling to her shirt, jaw clenched, riding out the worst of it as she carries me down the hall. Mom stays close, one hand hovering near my shoulder, the other already reaching ahead to push my bedroom door open.

They move like this is instinct. Like they've rehearsed it. Mom turns down the lights, pulls the blankets back, stacks pillows with quick, efficient motions. Mama lowers me onto the bed inch by careful inch, never rushing, never letting go until I'm settled and supported on all sides. Mom adjusts my legs, slides a pillow beneath my knees, smooths the blanket over me with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.

"Okay." Mom says softly, eyes scanning my face. "Talk to us. Pain, where?" She asks going into nurse mode. "Everywhere." I admit hoarsely. "But... no worse than before." Mama nods, relief loosening her shoulders just a fraction. She stays close, one hand resting on the edge of the bed like she needs the contact to stay anchored.

For a moment, the room goes quiet. Not awkward exactly, but tight. Loaded. I can feel it in the way Mom's jaw sets, the way she presses her lips together like she's holding something back. I brace myself for the lecture. The "you should have called", the "why didn't you wait", the fear turning sharp because that's easier to handle. But it doesn't come.

Mama breaks the silence instead. Her voice is calm. Measured. "Can I ask you something?" I nod. "Why did you try to go on your own?" The question isn't accusing. It isn't angry. It's careful. Curious. Like she genuinely wants to understand.

I stare up at the ceiling for a second, blinking hard. "Because I hate this." I admit finally. My throat tightens. "I hate feeling useless. I couldn't even go to the toilet by myself." The words spill out faster once they start. "I'm scared that if I don't try, I'll lose it. My independence. And I won't get it back."

Mama exhales slowly, something heavy shifting in her expression. "Yeah." She says quietly. "I get that." I turn my head to look at her, surprised. "To go from capable to needing help." She continues, eyes steady on mine. "From choosing to being restricted. It messes with your head." Her mouth tilts wryly. "You're stubborn. Like me." The words land unexpectedly.

I remember a younger version of myself watching her train. Wanting to match her stride, her precision. Wanting to be her. That's why I joined SHIELD in the first place. Because I admired her strength. Her independence. The way she never seemed to need anyone.

"I used to want to be just like you." I admit quietly. Mama's breath catches, not visibly, but enough that I notice. She doesn't look away. "You are," she says. "In all the best ways that matter." Mom shifts closer, clearly uneasy, protective instincts written all over her. "I just don't want you getting hurt." She says softly. "Not again." I nod, "I know." I reply. And I mean it.

Mama speaks up. "Independence doesn't disappear because you accept help." She says. "But safety matters too. Especially right now." She thinks for a beat. "So, let's find a middle ground." I glance between them. "Like what?"

"We make a plan." Mama says. "Controlled independence. You don't push through pain alone, but you don't lose agency either." She gestures gently. "Bathroom trips? You call out first. One of us stands nearby. You do the moving. We're just there as backup."

Mom hesitates, worry flickering across her face. "Nat..." Mama turns to her, gentle but firm. "I know you're scared. I am too. But she needs to feel trusted." Mom studies me, then nods slowly. "Okay." She agrees. "We try it. Carefully." Relief washes through me, warm and surprising. "Thank you." I whisper. Mama's hand finds mine, squeezing once. "We'll figure this out." She says. "Together."

I sink back into the pillows, exhausted but lighter than I was moments ago. The care comes easily from them now, quiet, steady, unforced. It feels natural. Like something that's always been there and I'm only just learning how to receive it.

Once the pillows are adjusted and the pain settles back into something manageable, an agreement come to, the room finally starts to ease. Mama stays close, perched on the edge of the bed like she's not quite ready to move away yet. Mom straightens the blanket one last time, then exhales slowly, as if she's only just realising she can.

"Okay." Mama says gently after a moment. "You comfortable?" She asks. "As comfortable as I get." I reply, which earns me a small, relieved smile from both of them. Mama studies my face for another second, then softens. "Do you need anything?" She asks. "Water? Meds? One of us to sit with you?"

I consider the question, turning it over in my head. And then, because I can't help myself, I see an opening. "Actually..." I start, drawing the word out just enough to make Mama narrow her eyes. "Could I see the latest recruit reports?"

There's a beat of silence. Then Mom lets out a startled laugh. "You cannot be serious." Mama snorts, shaking her head. "You're on bed rest." She points out. "I know." I say innocently. "But reading is allowed."

Mama folds her arms, amusement flickering across her face. "You're unbelievable." I tilt my head, trying for my best wounded look. "I almost died. I think I've earned some light professional curiosity."

Mama laughs then, the sound warm and real, and it makes something loosen in my chest. "Are you trying to use emotional manipulation to get what you want?" She questions me with a smirk. I grin. "Is it working?" She sighs dramatically. "A little."

Mom is still smiling, shaking her head in disbelief. "You don't miss a thing, do you?" Mama points at me. "You just want to stalk your new girlfriend." Heat rushes straight to my face. "She's not my girlfriend." I mumble, suddenly very interested in the blanket.

Mom laughs openly now. "Oh please." Mama smirks. "Someone needs to tell Kate that, because she's following you around like a very devoted, baked-good-bearing labrador." I groan, burying my face in my hands. "I hate both of you." "You love us." Mom counters easily. And the worst part is... she's right.

Mama reaches out and squeezes my foot gently through the blanket. "Get some rest." She says, voice softer again. "We'll be nearby." Mom leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Call if you need us. Even if it's just to complain." They head for the door, still smiling, still teasing each other quietly as they go. Mama glances back once more before she leaves, eyes warm and steady.

When the door clicks shut, the room settles into a quiet that feels different. It's not heavy or lonely. It's just calm. I stare up at the ceiling, replaying the last few minutes in my head. The laughter. The teasing. The way everything flowed so easily, like this is how it's always been, like it's normal.

And that's the strange part. Because it felt natural. And at the same time, unfamiliar. Like something I've wanted for so long that now I'm not quite sure what to do with it when it's finally here.

My mind is a mess of where things stand with my moms. I don't know what Kate and I are yet, if we even are anything, or how to even start that conversation. And I don't know what comes next once I'm healed enough to make choices again. All I know is that for a brief moment tonight, I felt like part of something. Like I belonged. And I know, deep down, that I crave that more than anything. What happens now... I guess only time will tell.

Part 7

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @jusnough @nessheartnat @yelldontwhisper @franfineashell

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 5

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I know it's been a while! But I'm finally back to getting this short story finished!

Word Count: 6149

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: It's finally time for Y/n to be discharged from the hospital. This should be a good moment where she can focus on recovery. But returning home with her moms is something that Y/n isn't sure she can cope with. Thankfully, there is the presence of an archer to keep her spirits up.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

I wake slowly, dragged up from sleep in uncomfortable increments rather than all at once. The first thing I notice is the warmth. Not the good kind, not blankets and safety, but the kind that clings to my skin and makes everything feel thick and sluggish.

My body aches in that deep, bruised way it has learned since surgery, the pain dull but ever-present, like it's settled in and decided to stay a while. There's a heaviness behind my eyes too, a pressure that makes blinking feel like work. I groan quietly and shift, immediately regretting it. Yeah. Still definitely not back to normal.

It takes me a moment to realise where I am. The soft hum of machines fills in the gaps between my thoughts, steady and rhythmic. The hospital room comes into focus piece by piece, pale walls, too-bright lights, the chair by the bed that hasn't moved in days.

Then the memories start to filter back in from yesterday. My birthday. I hadn't even realised what day it was when I woke up. That alone should probably say something about where my head's been at lately. I remember Kate showing up early, grinning like she was about to reveal the world's greatest secret. The bracelet she gave me, simple and thoughtful, something she'd clearly actually thought about.

I remember the twins bursting in later, barely able to contain themselves, thrusting their handmade gifts into my hands like they'd been afraid I might disappear again if they waited too long. I look over to the bed side table and smile when I see the birthday card stating, "Best Sister Ever." That one makes my chest tighten.

And then there was the surprise. The room full of people. Full of noise and laughter. The way I'd felt so completely caught off guard that I hadn't even managed to hide it. I remember blinking back tears I hadn't expected, overwhelmed in a way I didn't quite know how to name.

But what stands out the clearest is Kate's kiss. It wasn't rushed or showy. It was just there like it belonged. Like she belonged with me. The memory alone makes that strange warmth in my chest flare again, and for a moment I can't tell if it's comforting or terrifying.

The emotional hangover hits harder than the physical one. I swallow and let my head sink back into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as the realisation settles in. Today's the day that I get discharged.

The thought lands heavy, twisting something low in my stomach. I should be happy, and part of me is. I'm tired of this room. Tired of the beeping machines and the constant checks and the feeling like my entire existence has been reduced to numbers on a screen. I want to focus on recovery without being poked and prodded every few hours. I want fresh air. I want something that doesn't smell faintly of antiseptic.

I want to get out of here but that means going home. Which is more complicated because home hasn't really felt like home for a while now. It's a place I've existed in, sure. A place I've slept and eaten and done what was expected of me. But somewhere along the line, it stopped feeling like somewhere I belonged. Walking back into it feels less like relief and more like stepping onto unstable ground that is familiar, but unreliable.

I don't doubt that my moms are trying. I've seen it. The way they've been careful these last few days, like they're afraid one wrong move will send me slipping away again. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's too soon for everything to suddenly feel normal. Or maybe I don't trust normal anymore.

The warmth in my chest flares again and I press a hand there instinctively, unsure whether I'm bracing myself or holding onto something fragile. It isn't sadness exactly. I'm just overwhelmed by it all.

There are too many feelings stacked on top of each other with nowhere to go. Relief tangled up with anxiety. Gratitude knotted tight with old hurt. Hope brushing up uncomfortably close to fear. I don't know which one will win. All I know is that today, I'm leaving this room. And whether I'm ready for what comes next or not... it's coming anyway.

I'm not alone in my thoughts for long before the door opens quietly, and somehow the room feels different the second Kate steps inside it. Lighter. Like she's brought something warm in with her that cuts through the sterile air and humming machines without even trying.

"Morning, my favourite patient." She says softly, already grinning like she knows something I don't. She's holding two takeaway cups, one raised triumphantly. "I smuggled contraband." She adds in a conspiratorial whisper. "Before you panic, it's decaf. I'm not brave enough to fight Dr Cho before noon."

I huff a quiet laugh despite myself as she crosses the room. "You say that like hospital coffee isn't already a crime." Kate pulls a face. "Please. Hospital coffee isn't coffee. It's emotional warfare." She jokes.

She sets one cup carefully on the bedside table and perches on the edge of the chair, close enough that I can feel her warmth. When she leans in, she kisses me without hesitation. It's gentle and familiar, like it's the most natural thing in the world. There are no nerves or pauses. Just... Kate.

Something in my chest loosens at the contact. We look at each other for a second too long after she pulls back, sharing one of those quiet looks that doesn't need translating. It's strange how easy this feels. How quickly we've settled into something that already feels lived-in. Like we skipped all the awkward steps and landed somewhere comfortable instead.

"You look awake." She says, tilting her head. "That's debatable." I mumble. She laughs softly. "Fair." There's an ease between us that still catches me off guard. Half-finished sentences. Little expressions that already mean something. Inside humour forming without effort. It doesn't feel like something new and fragile, like I need to tiptoe around it. It feels like something that just fits.

Kate studies my face for a moment longer than necessary, and I can tell when the shift happens. When she realises I'm not fully joking back the way I usually do.

"Hey." She says quietly. Before I can ask what, she reaches out and presses the back of her fingers to my forehead. Her touch is instinctive, gentle. She frowns slightly, then checks again, more deliberately this time. "You feel warm, superstar." She observes. I shrug as best I can, which isn't much. "I'm fine." Her eyebrow lifts questioningly. "I'm probably just tired." I add quickly. "Yesterday was a lot." I defend.

She doesn't say anything straight away. She just watches me, eyes thoughtful. Then she takes my hand, not hurried or dramatic, and keeps it, her thumb brushing slow circles against my skin.

"I'm going to get Dr Cho." She says calmly. As if she had been pondering her next move. "What? No." I tighten my grip on her hand. "Kate, don't. I don't want a fuss." She stays exactly where she is. "I don't want delays" I continue, panic creeping in. "I'm supposed to be discharged today." I remind her. "I know." She softly replies.

"If they start running tests..." I start but I stop when she firmly and reassuringly, squeezes my hand. "Y/n" She speaks my name so softly, my insides melt a little. I look at her. "I'm not asking." She says gently. There's no guilt in her voice. No lecture. No raised tone or frustration. Just certainty.

It's such a sharp contrast to what I've known before that it knocks the breath out of me a little. She isn't scolding me. She isn't overexplaining. She isn't making it about herself. She's just acting because she cares. And somehow, that lands harder than anything else.

"I'll be right back." She adds, softer now. "Okay?" I nod, even though part of me wants to argue more, because something about the way she's handling this makes me feel safe enough not to. She presses another quick kiss to my forehead before standing, her hand lingering in mine for a second longer than necessary before she lets go.

As the door closes behind her, I lie there staring at the ceiling again, but the feeling is different this time. For the first time in a long while, I don't feel like I have to manage everything on my own. I don't feel like I have to minimise myself to avoid being a burden. I feel cared for.

Kate isn't gone long when the door opens again a few minutes later, and this time she steps aside to let Dr Cho follow her in. Kate stays close, hovering near the foot of the bed rather than retreating to the background, her presence steady and grounding in a way that settles my nerves more than I want to admit.

Dr Cho smiles when she sees I'm awake. "Good morning." She greets warmly, already pulling on gloves. "I hear you're hoping to escape us today." She smiles. "That obvious?" I mumble. She chuckles softly. "Only a little."

She moves with calm efficiency, checking my vitals one by one. Blood pressure cuff tightening around my arm. Oxygen monitor clipped onto my finger. A thermometer pressed gently under my tongue. She asks how I slept, if I've felt nauseous, dizzy, more sore than usual. I answer honestly, even when I'm tempted to downplay it.

Kate watches the whole thing quietly, eyes flicking between me and the monitors, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress like she's anchoring herself there. Dr Cho hums thoughtfully as she scans my chart on the tablet, her brow creasing just slightly. She checks my temperature again, then nods to herself.

"Okay." She says at last, looking back at me. "So, the good news first, this isn't anything serious." My shoulders loosen despite myself. "You've got a mild infection." She continues calmly. "Nothing uncommon after the kind of surgery you've had. We've caught it early, which is exactly what we want." Kate exhales quietly beside me, like she's been holding her breath.

Dr Cho keeps her tone even and reassuring, no hint of urgency or alarm. "I'll prescribe a course of antibiotics. We'll start them today and continue them once you're discharged. You might feel a bit warm and run-down for a short while, but there's no long-term risk here."

"So... I'm not broken?" I ask weakly. She smiles. "Definitely not. Just healing." I glance toward Kate, who gives me a small, triumphant look, like she's resisting the urge to say told you so.

"This kind of thing happens more often than people realise." Dr Cho adds. "Your body's been through a lot. It's responding the way bodies do." I nod, absorbing the information, then hesitate.

Before I can decide whether to ask the question that's been sitting heavy in my chest since I woke up, the door opens again. I don't need to look to know who it is. Their presence shifts the air in the room in a way I'm still not used to. Its quieter and more careful. When I turn my head, my moms are standing just inside the doorway.

Mama's posture is alert but contained, hands loose at her sides like she's actively stopping herself from rushing forward. Mom stands half a step behind her, eyes already on me, not the machines, not the chart, just me.

For a split second, surprise flickers through me. I hadn't expected them to be here already. I was half expecting that they would have changed their mind and decided not to bother with me anymore. I don't know why that still catches me off guard, but it does. I'm so used to being the afterthought that part of me still braces for absence by default. "Hey." Mama says gently, her voice low, careful not to cut through the room. "Morning." I respond quietly. "Good morning sweetheart" mom echoes, softer still.

Dr Cho glances up briefly, acknowledging them with a nod, then continues as if their arrival hasn't changed anything. And somehow, that helps. They don't interrupt. They don't start firing questions or spiralling into worst-case scenarios. They just stay.

I notice that mama shifts slightly so she's in my line of sight. She makes sure that she's not looming or crowding. Mom watches my face closely, her expression open and searching, like she's trying to read what I'm feeling rather than projecting her own fears onto me.

Kate doesn't move. She stays by my side, her hand locked with mine. My parents act like she belongs in that room by my side and that matters more than I want to admit.

Dr Cho finishes typing something into the tablet before looking back at me. "As I was saying," she continues calmly, "this is a mild infection. We'll start antibiotics today and continue them once you're discharged."

There it is. Discharged. The word tightens something low in my stomach again. I clear my throat. "Does... does this affect that?" I ask, keeping my tone deliberately casual, like I'm asking about the weather instead of something that feels like it could tip my entire world sideways.

The room stills just a fraction. I don't miss the way my moms react. Mama's jaw tightens, barely noticeable unless you know her. Mom's eyes flicker, a flash of worry crossing her face before she reins it in. Not fear or control. Something worse. The fear of getting it wrong again. Of losing me the second they think they're getting me back.

I look away first, my gaze dropping to my hands. I hate that the question even matters this much. I hate that going "home" feels like stepping onto thin ice, that I don't know whether it's a chance at something better or just a delay before everything cracks again.

Dr Cho doesn't hesitate. "No," she says firmly. "You're still on track to be discharged this afternoon." Relief hits fast and sharp, followed immediately by something more complicated. "We'll monitor you for the rest of the morning." Cho continues, her tone steady and matter-of-fact. "We'll make sure your temperature responds to the antibiotics. I want you resting, drinking fluids, and not trying to be brave." Kate hums quietly beside me, like she approves of that last part.

"As long as everything stays stable," Dr Cho finishes, "you'll be good to go." She looks between all of us, clearly aware of the tension sitting just under the surface. "I'll check back in a few hours. If anything changes, we adjust. No surprises." With that, she offers a small smile and heads for the door, leaving the room quieter than it was before.

The silence that follows isn't awkward exactly, it's just heavy. Mama exhales slowly, like she's been holding it in whilst mom steps a little closer, still not touching me, still watching my face like she's trying to figure out what I need before I have to say it out loud. I'm not sure I know the answer myself.

Being discharged should feel like progress. Like winning. Instead, it feels like standing at the edge of something uncertain, wondering if I'm about to fall or finally land. Part of me is grateful they're here. That they showed up. That they stayed quiet and didn't make it about themselves.

Another part of me, the part that learned how to survive being overlooked, can't help but wonder if this is just prolonging the inevitable. If I'll go home, recover, and slowly fade back into the background once I'm no longer fragile enough to need watching.

I don't know if I'm ready to forgive them. I don't even know if forgiveness is the right word. All I know is that by the end of today, I won't be here anymore. And whatever waits for me outside this room, I'm going to have to face it, one way or another.

Natasha's POV:

The room feels different once Dr Cho leaves. It's quieter and feels weighted. It's like everyone in it is suddenly very aware of how much this moment matters. I stay where I am for a second longer than necessary, standing in Y/N's line of sight the way I'd positioned myself earlier. I don't want her to feel like I am crowding or hovering around her. I want her to see that I am present. Trying to match what she needs and wants right now.

I keep replaying Dr Cho's words in my head, turning them over and over like they might change if I look at them from the wrong angle. It's just a mild infection that's been caught early. Y/n is going to be ok.

I hadn't realised how tightly my chest had been wound until the relief hit. When we walked in and I saw Cho already there, a cold, familiar fear had clawed its way up my spine. The kind that doesn't care about logic or odds. It's the kind that just screams not again. Knowing this is something Y/N can fight, something her body is already handling, feels like being allowed to breathe again.

Still... relief doesn't cancel the nerves. If anything, it sharpens them. Because she's coming home.

Wanda shifts beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of her arm through her sleeve. We don't touch yet. We're both still watching Y/N, reading her the way we've learned to these last few days, carefully, quietly, trying not to miss anything again.

She looks small in the bed. Strong, yes. Stubborn. Of course. But she's tired. And worried in a way that twists something painful in my chest, because I know that worry. I put it there. This is our chance. Maybe our only one. And the terrifying part is that loving her has never been the problem. We've always loved her. Fiercely and completely. What we failed at was showing it when it mattered most.

Kate shifts first. She moves from the chair and perches gently on the edge of the bed, careful of wires and space, like she's done it a hundred times already. She doesn't crowd Y/N, doesn't make a show of it. Just sits there, grounded and calm.

"I can help today." She says casually, like she's offering to carry a bag rather than step into the most fragile emotional situation imaginable. "With whatever. Packing, distractions, moral support." She glances at Y/N, softening. "No pressure. I'm happy to just be around. If that's something you want." She doesn't assume she's included.

That alone tells me everything I need to know about her. Before I can overthink it, I speak. "You're always welcome." The words come out steady and certain. Kate looks up at me, surprise flickering across her face before she smiles. A real one. Y/N's head snaps up at that, eyes widening just a fraction, like she hadn't expected it either.

Wanda's hand brushes mine lightly, a silent acknowledgment, and after a beat I nod toward the door. "We'll be right outside." I say softly, giving Y/N the space to breathe without us crowding her. She gives us a more certain smile and a "see you later." That feels like progress from where we were just a couple of days ago.

The hallway outside the room is brighter than I remember, all white walls and quiet footsteps. The door clicks shut behind us, and for a moment neither of us speaks. Then it hits me. "When we walked in and saw Cho there," I admit quietly, staring at the far wall, "I thought... I thought something was seriously wrong." My voice doesn't break. But it comes close.

Wanda turns toward me fully, her expression open, warm. She doesn't interrupt. She never does when I finally let myself say things out loud. "I know," she says gently. "I felt it too."

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. "I don't think I could have handled hearing that we were back at the beginning again." I pause, swallowing. "I'm relieved. More than I can say. This is something she can fight." Wanda smiles softly, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. Not fixing. Just there. "She's strong." She states confidently. "She always has been."

There's a beat of silence before she adds, quieter, "I hate that she's worried about leaving here." The words land heavy as they had been similar to ones I had been thinking. I nod. "Me too." Then, without hesitation, I answer the fear sitting between us. "We have to prove her wrong. Quietly." No grand vows. No dramatic promises. Just intention.

Wanda's smile this time is small but fierce. She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine, and for a second the world narrows to the two of us, the way it used to before everything got complicated. "We do better." She murmurs. "We already are. I just hope we have time." I reply.  I'm distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket, breaking the moment. I pull it out and glance at the screen.

Steve: Morning. Heard she's heading home today. Want me to help get the apartment ready? Food, rearranging, whatever you need.

I show Wanda the message and she exhales a small laugh, fond. "He's always looking out for her." She says gratefully. "We'll take the help." I say, already typing back.

Another buzz comes almost immediately after.

Yelena: You screw this up and I will personally haunt you for the rest of your lives. She deserves the best version of you. Don't forget that.

I huff quietly, shaking my head. "That's love, apparently." Wanda leans into my side, slipping her arm around my waist. "She's not wrong." She points out. "No," I agree softly. "She isn't."

We stand there for a moment longer, grounded, steadying each other before we go back in. We can't take back the years we lost. We can't undo the hurt we caused. But we can show up now.

Y/N's POV:

The afternoon comes quicker than I expect. One minute I'm half-dozing, listening to Kate's quiet commentary about how unfair it is that hospital pudding doesn't count as real dessert, and the next Dr Cho is back in the room, tablet tucked under her arm, expression relaxed in a way that immediately sets something in my chest at ease.

"Well," she says, smiling at all of us, "I'm happy to report that the antibiotics are doing exactly what they should." Mama straightens just a little. Mom's shoulders lift, then drop again as if she's catching herself. "The infection is under control." Dr Cho continues calmly. "Your temperature's stable, your blood work looks good, and there's nothing here that would stop discharge." She announces.

For a split second, Mama's composure cracks. Just barely. Her lips press together, eyes brightening before she schools herself back into calm. Mom does the same thing, her relief obvious if you're looking for it, carefully contained if you're not. But I notice. And annoyingly... it makes something warm bloom in my chest. I try to ignore it.

"That means," Dr Cho finishes, "we can get you home." Kate grins immediately. "Told you. Freedom." I glance up at her. "You say that like I wasn't the one actually stuck in the bed." She shrugs unapologetically. "Emotional support is exhausting." She jokes, placing a dramatic hand to her head.

Mama lets out a quiet huff of laughter before she can stop herself. She looks almost startled by it. Dr Cho steps closer. "If you're ready, we'll start getting things disconnected and packed up." I nod. "Yeah. I'm ready." I turn to Kate. "Will you... help me pack up?" She doesn't hesitate for even a second. "Absolutely."

Mom and Mama move in too, careful not to crowd, gathering the small pile of things that have somehow accumulated around my bed. From clothes to books to the bracelet Kate gave me that Mom had insisted on keeping somewhere safe. Mama folds everything neatly. Mom double-checks pockets, making sure nothing gets left behind.

Mama glances at me. "Steve's been busy." She says softly. "He helped set your room up again. He's back at the apartment waiting for you." She shares, making me smile. He has always been the one to turn up for me and once again he hasn't failed. "And Yelena," Mom adds quickly. "She refused to go anywhere until she'd seen you." That makes me smile properly this time. I don't even try to stop it.

Dr Cho starts removing the last of the wires and tubes, explaining everything as she goes. Nothing rushed. Nothing abrupt. She helps me sit up slowly, steadying me when the room tilts just a little. "Easy." Kate murmurs, her hand instantly at my elbow. "I'm good," I insist, even as I grip her sleeve.

Dr Cho rolls the wheelchair over. "Strict bed rest to start." She reminds me firmly. "That means resting, not 'strategically lying down between activities.'" Kate snorts. "I feel attacked." I grumble.

"I will personally revoke your privileges." Dr Cho tells me dryly, then turns back to Mama and Mom, handing them a thick folder. "Everything you need is in here. Med schedule, warning signs, follow-ups. Call me if anything seems off. No waiting." Mama takes the folder like it's something precious. "Thank you. For everything." Dr Cho smiles. "Take care of her." She steps aside and gestures toward the door. "You're all clear."

Mama looks at Kate. "Would you like to push her?" She asks gently. "We'll take the bags." Kate's face lights up. "I would love to." She beams. "Oh God. Who let her be in control." I playfully complain.

She places a careful kiss to the top of my head before taking hold of the handles. "Don't worry," she says cheerfully. "I promise not to crash you into anything. Probably." She teases. "Probably?" I raise an eyebrow. "High confidence. Medium certainty."

I laugh as she starts pushing me toward the door, Mama and Mom walking just ahead with the bags. The hallway feels longer than it did before, brighter somehow. The closer we get to the lifts, the tighter my chest feels. This is it. The last time I was here, I was angry. Hurt. I'd walked away convinced I didn't belong.

The lift doors slide open, and we step inside. As it starts moving toward the living quarters, my nerves spike, memories pressing in uninvited. I don't know how this is going to go. All I know is that this feels like the start of something new. Whether it's healing or just another lesson. I guess I'm about to find out.

The apartment door opens slowly, like it's bracing itself for me. Steve is there before I even properly register the space, moving toward me with a smile that's equal parts relief and pride. He doesn't hesitate. He just steps in and wraps me up carefully, arms firm but gentle, like he's done this a hundred times before. "Hey, kiddo." He murmurs into my hair. "Welcome home." Something in my chest finally unclenches. "Missed you." I mumble, leaning into him more than I mean to.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, hands still steadying my shoulders. "You gave us all a hell of a scare. But it's great to have you home now." He says softly, then glances at Kate behind me. "Good job getting her back in one piece." Kate grins. "Mostly one piece. She's stubborn." She calls me out. "You can say that again." Mom let's slip, her hand slapping to her mouth. I can see Mama smirk and I can't lie, it makes me smile too.

Steve laughs, then steps aside. "Pepper's got the twins for the night. Thought it might be a lot otherwise." He turns to my moms to explain. Gratitude floods me so fast it almost knocks me sideways. The idea of being bombarded with excited energy right now feels overwhelming. "Thanks. I think that's good." I admit quietly.

The apartment looks the same. And somehow, not. The couch where everything exploded that night is still there. The table. The hallway. Every familiar detail carries an echo of raised voices and tears and the moment I'd decided I couldn't stay anymore. Walking back in feels strange, like stepping into a memory that hasn't decided whether it wants to hurt me or welcome me.

Mama and Mom are quiet as they follow us in, movements careful, deliberate. I can feel their nerves from here, the way they're trying so hard not to crowd me, not to push. It's obvious. And new.

Mom clears her throat gently. "You should probably get into bed. Dr Cho's orders." She says softly. Not a fuss. Just a suggestion. Before I can respond, Kate's already jumping in. "I've got her. Recovery chauffeur reporting for duty." Mama gives her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Kate turns the wheelchair around confidently and then stops. She looks down the hallway. Looks left. Looks right. "...Okay." She says slowly. "Minor issue." I snort. "You don't know where my room is, do you?" She winces. "In my defence, this place is massive and very intimidating." Steve points down the hall, biting back a laugh. "Third door on the left." Kate nods seriously. "Absolutely knew that."

Once we're in my room, something in my chest tightens again. It's clean. Fresh sheets. The curtains open just enough to let light in without being harsh. Steve's clearly been busy, everything placed carefully, like someone trying to make a space safe again.

Kate helps me up gently, steadying me as I transfer into bed. She tucks pillows where they need to be, adjusts the blanket without smothering me. "There," she says softly. "Comfort level: acceptable?" She asks me with a goofy grin on her face. "High marks." I reply. "Excellent."

She hesitates for a second. "Need anything? Water? Snacks? Entertainment? A dramatic monologue?" I shake my head at how much of a goof she is. "I'm good." She nods, satisfied, and sits on the edge of the bed anyway.

The others linger at the door for a moment. Mama and Mom exchanging a quiet look before Steve clears his throat. "We'll... give you some space." He says gently. "Yell if you need anything." Mama adds on.

They leave one by one, careful not to make it feel like abandonment. Still, once the door clicks shut, the silence presses in. Kate stays which helps. To distract myself, I glance at her. "So. How's training going?"

Her face lights up just a little. "Actually? Pretty good. Clint's been working me hard. Turns out dodging arrows is less fun when they're aimed at you." She shares making me chuckle. "Who'd have thought?!"

"I've joined the current recruit group." She continues. "They're due to graduate in a few weeks." I blink. "Wait, already?" She shrugs. "Perks of field experience. Clint pulled some strings. I still have to pass the exams though." I smirk. "Teachers pet."

"Absolutely not." She protests. "Okay, maybe a little. But I skipped months of training that means I have more to prove, not less." She explains. "And the bright side is," Kate adds lightly, leaning back in her chair, "by the time you're back on your feet, maybe we'll be working together." She punctuates it with a wink.

I hum thoughtfully. "You sure that's a good idea?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want you getting distracted." She blinks. "Distracted how?" I grin. "I've seen you. You get a little unfocused around me."

"I-uh..." She starts, then stops, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "Okay, maybe. But can you blame me?" Her gaze drifts over me, warm and unapologetic. "You look pretty incredible, even stuck in a hospital bed. I can only imagine how unfair you're going to be when you're actually healthy." Heat rushes straight to my face. I open my mouth, fully intending to fire something back, but nothing comes out.

Kate notices immediately. Her smile turns slow and victorious. "Wow," she says quietly. "Did I finally win one?" She asks with a wide grin. "Don't get used to it." I mutter, still smiling despite myself.

She's become my anchor faster than I ever expected. The steady presence. The soft humour. The way she looks at me like I'm something she's glad exists. Somewhere in the space of a few days, she's turned into comfort, and the thought of her not being here settles wrong in my chest.

Before I can overthink it, I tug gently on her hand, drawing her closer. She goes willingly, easily, like she's been waiting for it. I meet her halfway, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It's unhurried and already familiar.

Her hand comes up instinctively, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing warm and grounding against my skin. The kiss deepens just slightly, not demanding, not rushed, just enough to say I'm here. I want this. When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling. "Definitely distracted." She murmurs making me smile.

She gets comfortable on the bed next to me and continues to talk at a mile a minute and I just sit and watch her talk, animated and alive, and for a moment the nerves ease. Outside this room, my moms are trying. Inside it, I'm still scared. But right now, with Kate sitting here and the bed beneath me. I can breathe.

Our quiet moment, however, doesn't last when the bedroom door swings open without warning. "Well," Yelena drawls, leaning casually against the frame, "I see recovery is going very well." Kate startles anyway. Not badly. Just enough to be obvious. She scoots a careful inch away from me, hands lifting like she's suddenly remembered manners exist.

I snort. "Oh my god." I laugh. "Did you seriously just move?" Kate shoots me a betrayed look. "I did not." She defends. "You absolutely did." Yelena's mouth curls into a smug grin. "She always does that." She says knowingly. "Like I am going to bite."

"You might." Kate argues. "You threaten people for sport." She states matter of factly. "Only when they deserve it." Kate glances at me. "See? This is what I live with." I grin wider. "You're scared of her." I chuckle. "I am respectful of her." Kate corrects quickly. "There's a difference."

Yelena pushes off the doorframe and comes closer, her attention shifting to me. The teasing fades, replaced with something solid and sincere. "How are you feeling, detka?" She asks, her fierce demeanour changing to one only a few people get to see.

"Tired," I admit. "But okay. I'm getting there." She nods once, satisfied. "Good. I'm going to be around for a bit. Make sure you settle in properly." Her eyes flick meaningfully toward the hall. "And make sure certain people remember how to behave." The warmth in my chest surprises me.

Kate clears her throat. "On that ominous note, I should probably head out." She says lightly. "But I'll come back later to check on you." She squeezes my hand. "And you know where to find me." She tells me, her eyes, locking on to mine. God I could get lost in her eyes. "Always." I say softly.

She leans in and kisses me goodbye. It's slow and careful, like she's memorising the moment rather than rushing through it. Yelena immediately makes a gagging noise. "Ugh. Disgusting. You two are unbearable." Kate laughs as she backs toward the door. "I'll take that as approval." She claims. "Do not get cocky." Yelena warns. "I'm watching you." She lightly threatens. "I know." Kate replies cheerfully. "Terrifying."

When the door closes behind them, the room settles again. But a moment later, Mama and Mom appear in the doorway, both of them hovering just enough to show they're unsure whether to step in or stay back. "You okay?" Mama asks quietly. "Do you need anything?" Mom adds, then stops herself. "Later, I mean. Not right now. Just, whenever."

"I'm okay thanks." I say. And this time, it doesn't feel like a reflex. Mom nods gently. "I'm making paprikash for dinner." She says. "If that sounds alright." My chest tightens. Paprikash has always been my favourite. I remember standing beside her years ago, stirring when she let me, sneaking tastes when she wasn't looking. Back when things felt easier. Back when I didn't feel like I had to earn space at the table. "That sounds good." I say softly.

Dinner is quiet. It's not uncomfortable, just careful. The three of us sit together, the familiar smell of paprika and cream filling the apartment. Mama asks small, safe questions. Mom watches me, adjusting herself every time she realises she's hovering too close. They're trying. I can see it. In the way they step back instead of stepping in. In the pauses before they speak. In how they look at me like they're afraid of breaking something fragile.

But my mind keeps dragging me backward. To years of being second. To learning how not to need things. To understanding that love didn't always mean being chosen. I don't know how you move forward from that. I don't know if the future holds forgiveness or just learning how to exist together without reopening old wounds.

All I know is that for the next month, I'm here. Healing. Watching. Waiting. And only time will tell what that becomes. Part 6 Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @jusnough @nessheartnat @yelldontwhisper @franfineashell

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 4

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 6125

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: It's Y/n's birthday and everyone is making an effort to make it the best day possible. Including a suprise early visit which sees Y/n experience a happiness she's not had in a long time.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

When the morning comes around, I blink my eyes open. I don't know what woke me first, the muted knock at the door or the quiet creak as it opens. For a moment, I think it's one of my moms again, coming in to check if I've eaten or taken my meds. I'm already halfway to turning away when I hear a familiar voice. "Knock knock," Kate calls softly, her voice like a warm breeze slipping through the room.

I blink my eyes open, squinting at the brightness filtering through the window. She's standing just inside the doorway, a sheepish smile on her lips, and something tucked behind her back. She looks like she always does, messy ponytail, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it was made to, and for some reason, my chest tightens. Maybe it's the way she looks at me. Or maybe it's because, for the first time, someone came just for me.

"Kate?" I croak out, surprised. "What are you doing here?" She enters fully now, closing the door behind her. "Well, it's a special day," she sing-songs, stepping closer to my bed. "And I thought I'd drop by early to wish a very certain badass agent-in-the-making a happy birthday." She smiles.

My brows raise. "Wait... it's today?" Kate giggles. "You forgot your own birthday?" Well, I knew it was coming but it kind of snuck up on me. With everything going on, the healing, emotional trauma, being babysat by my guilt-ridden moms, it just hadn't occurred to me. "Guess I did," I mumble.

"Well, that won't do." She steps closer and pulls a small box from behind her back. "Here." I blink, looking at the wrapping. It's simple, but there's a purple ribbon, her signature colour as I've learnt. "You didn't have to..." I start before she interrupts me. "Shush. It's already here, and you're opening it."

There's something so easy about the way she talks, like we've always done this. Like this, whatever this is, has existed longer than I've allowed myself to notice. I peel back the wrapping, careful not to tear the paper, and reveal a small velvet box.

Inside is a silver bracelet, dainty and simple, with a single hawk feather charm that glints in the sunlight streaming through the window. It's understated, elegant, and... weirdly perfect. I look at it in awe. "This is..." I start but she cuts me off. 

"I saw it when Yelena and I went shopping yesterday." Kate shrugs, suddenly looking nervous. "Reminded me of you. Strong, graceful, always aiming for something even if no one's paying attention." My breath catches in my throat, and I look up at her. "Kate..." She's biting her bottom lip now, her eyes darting between me and the bracelet.

Something twists in my stomach. Not unpleasant. Just... unfamiliar. "Kate..." I say again, but there's not really anything else I can think to add. She shrugs, pretending to play it cool. "Also, feathers are cool. And you're cool. So... logic." I laugh softly, and she looks up, eyes dancing with relief at the sound. "Too much?" She questions in a small panic. "No," I say softly, feeling my heart flutter in a way it hasn't in a long time. "It's perfect." Her grin returns, more relaxed now. "Well, good. Because I was ready to fake an excuse and run out if it was weird."

I laugh, genuinely this time, and motion for her to help put it on. Her fingers are warm as they brush against my skin. She doesn't pull her hands away immediately once it's clasped. "You look good in silver," she says casually, but her eyes say something else. There's a pause, and the air feels different, charged. "You really didn't have to do this," I murmur, though I'm glad she did. "Birthdays deserve presents," she says. "And you deserve to be celebrated."

Before I can respond, there's a knock and the door swings open again. Dr. Cho enters with a clipboard and a smile. "Well, well. Look who's already popular this morning." Kate stands up straighter, pretending to be innocently casual. "Just a quick visit." Cho grins at the both of us. "Actually, I've got a bit of a birthday gift too. Since your vitals have stabilised and your infection is nearly cleared, I'm approving a short supervised walk outside." She announces.

I'm in shock and a smile slowly creeps on my face. "Wait, seriously?" I ask wondering if I heard her correctly. "I don't joke about recovery milestones," she replies, then adds, "Fifteen minutes. Wheelchair assist. Someone responsible with you. I assume you two can manage that without scaling the roof or anything." I states, now turning to Kate with a raised eyebrow.

Kate salutes. "Scout's honour." Cho narrows her eyes. "You were never a scout." She calls her out, making me chuckle. "I could've been." Kate mumbles in return. "Don't make me regret this." Cho says pointing her pen between us. "I'll be on my best behaviour." I promise, moving to sit up in the bed. "That'll be a first." Cho mumbles to herself as she heads out the room.

A few minutes later, I'm being wheeled outside, wrapped in a cozy hoodie and thick blanket that Kate insisted I bring. The sunlight feels foreign on my skin, almost startling in its warmth. I close my eyes and breathe it in. The fresh air, the gentle breeze... it all feels surreal. Like I'm not in the compound, not in recovery, not hovering between everything I want and everything I've lost.

Kate's walking beside me, hands in her pockets, glancing at me now and then like she's worried I'll fall apart in the sunshine. We find a bench near the gardens, away from the main paths. There's the soft hum of bees somewhere in the bushes, the quiet rustle of trees overhead. I sit up slowly, wincing a little as I adjust. Kate sits beside me, just close enough that our knees touch.

"It's beautiful out here," I murmur, breathing in deeply. Kate glances at me. "You okay?" She asks softly. I hesitate for a second, then nod. "I am... I think. It just still feels unreal. Everything happened so fast. One minute I was on a mission and the next..." Her hand brushes against mine, fingers grazing. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she says softly.

I stare down at the grass for a moment. "It's not just the mission," I admit. "It's everything. My moms... I thought they didn't care anymore. I still don't know if I believe this whole 'we're here now' act. Like, where were they when I needed them? I've been alone for years and now that I'm bleeding out, suddenly they remember I exist?" I huff in frustration.

Kate's quiet, but not in a way that feels dismissive. It feels like she's giving me room. "My biological parents gave me up," I continue. "Hydra turned me into something I never wanted to be. Nat found me and... for a while, she made me feel like I was worth something. But then Billy and Tommy came along, and I guess I was just... extra."

I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist, the charm glinting like it knows something I don't. "You ever feel like... no matter how hard you try, you'll never be enough?" I ask suddenly, barely above a whisper. Kate's head turns toward me. "Yeah. More than I'd like to admit."

I nod, staring straight ahead. "That's what it's been like with them. My moms. At first, I had everything. A home. A family. Then the twins came and... slowly, it was like I just faded out of frame. Babysitter, housemaid, invisible. I tried to earn it back. Be better. Be perfect. But they didn't notice. Or maybe they just didn't care." I share honestly.

"Now they're around all the time. Bringing soup and fluffing pillows. Acting like they didn't ignore me for the last few years. And I don't know how to trust that." I admit vulnerably. "You don't have to." She says gently. "Not right away. Maybe not ever. But you can still heal, with or without them." She advises.

"Hard to do that alone," I admit. "You're not alone," she says, brushing her fingers against mine. "You've got Steve. You've got friends. You've got me." I turn to her, heart in my throat. "Do I?" Kate meets my gaze without flinching. "You do. You've always had me."

I finally turn to look at her. "I don't tell people this stuff. Hell, I didn't even tell Steve half of it." I chuckle awkwardly. Kate's expression is unreadable at first, but her voice is steady when she says, "Y/n... you're not extra. Not to me anyway." I blink. She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, her hand lingering near my jaw. "Not now, not ever."

My heart skips again. I try to scoff, to deflect with sarcasm like I always do. But it dies on my lips. The world feels still. The breeze moves lazily through the trees, birds chirp somewhere in the distance, but all I can hear is my heartbeat. Louder than it should be.

I don't think. For once, I don't overanalyse or build up walls or second-guess what I deserve. I just lean in, slowly, giving her space to pull back if she wants to. She doesn't. Her breath hitches softly, and then she leans in too. The distance between us disappears with a quiet inevitability. Our lips meet, warm, hesitant, searching.

It's not rushed. It's not perfect. But it's real.

Her hand finds mine again, fingers curling between mine with a gentle squeeze as her lips linger against mine, soft and sure. I feel the way she exhales shakily into the kiss, like maybe she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

The warmth of her palm grounds me, anchoring me in this moment. This tiny, quiet miracle I didn't know I needed. We part slowly, but not fully. Her forehead brushes lightly against mine, and I open my eyes to find hers already watching me. "Wow," I murmur, my voice barely audible. Kate grins. "Yeah," she whispers back, her nose nudging mine. "That was... definitely not just a birthday present."

I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. It's light. Unburdened. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Then she adds, "But if it was, I really outdid myself." I roll my eyes with a smile, bumping her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head."

We sit there for another long moment, her hand still in mine, the kiss still tingling on my lips. For the first time in forever, I don't feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I feel seen. Wanted. Maybe even loved.

"I think I like you, Bishop," I murmur. She grins. "Well... I was hoping you'd say that." I laugh, breathless. "Smooth." Kate shrugs. "I have my moments." We sit there for a little longer, fingers brushing, letting the quiet speak for us. Today doesn't feel quite so lonely. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I thought.

She stands, offering her hand. "Come on, birthday girl. Let's get you back before Cho realises I'm terrible at following instructions." She jokes. I take her hand, letting her help me up. And for the first time in a long while, I don't feel like a background character in my own life. Maybe this birthday is going to be better than I had expected.

By the time Kate wheels me back through the medical wing's hallway, my chest feels lighter. I can't tell if it's the kiss, the sunlight, or just the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I feel like someone really sees me.

We're laughing at one of Kate's terrible impressions of Steve ("Language!" she says in a fake-deep voice, holding up an imaginary shield) when we turn the corner into my hospital room, and everything stops.

The room is... glowing. Streamers in purple and red hang loosely from the ceiling. There are balloons everywhere. Some Avengers-themed, others with "Happy Birthday!" printed in glitter. My bed is surrounded by snacks, presents, and handmade decorations. Someone even stuck a banner over the window that reads: "Y/n—Top of Her Class and Queen of Badasses."

And then.... "SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

The room erupts in cheers. I blink, startled, as people begin stepping out from where they'd been hiding. Steve's standing at the foot of my bed, grinning. Pepper and Tony are by the snack table (which, of course, is colour-coordinated). Clint's got a party hat on backwards. Even Bruce is there, waving from the corner.

But it's the next voices that break me completely. "We got you! We actually got you!" Tommy cheers. Billy is right behind him, his face lit up. "You didn't even guess!" I'm almost too stunned to speak. "Wait, you guys planned this?" I ask in shock. "Well, Uncle Steve and moms helped a little." Billy admits with a grin, "But we made the decorations. Look!" He runs over to show me a clumsily drawn poster that reads "Best Sister Ever" with stick figures of the three of us drawn beneath it.

My throat tightens. "You guys..." Tommy launches himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around my waist before he seems to remember I'm injured and pulls back. "Oops! Sorry! I didn't mean to...did I hurt you?" I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. "No. You're okay. Come here."

They both crowd me then, Billy on one side, Tommy on the other, snuggling up to me as best they can without bumping the healing wounds. I run my fingers through their hair, holding them close. "I missed you both." I whisper. "We missed you more." Billy says, looking up with wide, honest eyes. "Are you gonna come home soon?"

I look at them, at their innocence, their hope, and despite everything that's happened, I can't bring myself to say anything but, "Yeah. Soon." Tommy grins. "Good! 'Cause we need someone to settle who's better at Mario Kart." He declares. "Definitely not you," Billy shoots back, making Tommy gasp and begin a dramatic argument, and I just laugh. I haven't laughed like this in forever.

I don't notice her until I hear the soft cough behind me. "Room for one more?" I glance up and there's Yelena, standing awkwardly near the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder and that familiar half-smile she always wears when she's trying not to look too emotional. "Lena." I smile. "Get over here." She strides forward, more confidently now, and kneels beside my bed. "You know, I had a speech planned. Something dramatic about Russian strength and glorious birthdays. But now I feel like an idiot." She sighs. I chuckle. "You're my idiot."

Her smile softens, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Happy birthday, malyshka." I smile widely. Since she has been back, she's been a breath of fresh air. I sometimes go months at a time without seeing her and I realise now how much she does in my life and how much I wish she was around more.

"Thanks. For coming. For... all of it." She nods. "I would burn the world down for you. But instead, I helped decorate and resisted the urge to strangle Tony. Which is almost harder." I snort and take her hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm really glad you're here." I tell her honestly. She leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, staying close. "Just don't scare me like this again, okay?" She practically orders. "No promises," I whisper.

Kate's still nearby, arms folded, watching the exchange with an amused little smile. She doesn't say anything, but when Yelena steps back, she gives Kate a subtle nod of approval. I don't miss it, and neither does Kate, judging by the soft pink tint to her cheeks.

Eventually, everyone gathers around. Steve insists on speeches. He actually wrote one, of course he did! Tony hands out cupcakes and calls it "nutrition for emotionally stunted heroes." Clint juggles party favours for the twins. Bruce accidentally knocks over a stack of gift bags and looks mortified.

And me? I just sit there, taking it all in. The laughter. The chaos. The family. It's messy and weird and loud, but it's ours. I can't remember the last time we all just existed together. Not during a mission. Not under stress. Just as people. As a family. I lean back against the pillows, the bracelet Kate gave me catching the light, and I smile.

I've never had this many people show up for me before. The medical bay isn't exactly the most glamorous venue, but no one seems to care. It's alive with laughter, the kind of laughter that vibrates through the walls and settles somewhere deep in your bones. For a while, I just sit there, watching everyone move and talk and tease each other, absorbing the atmosphere like it might disappear if I blink.

The tray table in front of me has become a mountain of tissue paper, ribbons, and gift bags. I've unwrapped more things in the past twenty minutes than I have in the last three birthdays combined. Kate is still right beside me, comfortably close, legs crossed at the ankle, her fingers brushing mine every so often as she hands me each present. It's subtle, but grounding.

From Clint, it's a custom arrow set with glittery purple fletching and tiny inscriptions carved into each shaft. "You'll have to work on your draw, obviously," he jokes. "But when you do, you'll be better than Bishop." Kate scoffs. "Untrue. But cute."

Tony's gift is as over-the-top as expected. A sleek tactical vest designed specifically for fieldwork, complete with integrated tech and a touch of ridiculous Stark flair. "Look, it glows when you're under UV light," he says proudly. "Very nightclub assassin." Pepper rolls her eyes, but her handwritten card makes my chest tighten in a way I don't expect. It says, simply: We see you. Always have. Always will.

Bruce hands me a leather-bound journal filled with his recovery notes, complete with diagrams and some shaky sketches of me in various combat poses. I laugh when I see one labelled: "High kick of doom, 3.5 ft trajectory." There's even a small pouch attached with a hand-carved wooden pen. "You'll need to track your healing. I thought it might help to write it down." I don't say it, but I will. I will write everything down. The good, the bad, and especially the parts where I've felt like I didn't exist. Because now? It feels like I do.

I'm still smiling when the crowd begins to shift, people making room as two familiar figures step forward, each holding something in their hands. The noise in my head returns, just a little. Mom and Mama.

They've been here this whole time, quietly moving through the celebration, helping out, cleaning up plates, never taking the spotlight. I noticed it earlier, and I've been thankful for it. I needed space. I still do. But now they're here, in front of me, and it's harder to keep the barrier around my chest intact.

Nat steps up first, her hands clasped around a long rectangular case. It's black, sleek, familiar. My stomach knots in anticipation. "I, uh..." She hesitates. Natasha Romanoff hesitates. That alone is enough to jolt something inside me. "I wasn't sure what to get you. I've never been great at birthdays. But these... these kept me alive for a long time. And I think it's time they had a new owner."

She opens the case and turns it toward me. Inside is a matched set of weapons. Intimate, in a way only warriors understand. Twin shock batons, sleek and polished with matte-silver handles engraved in Russian script. A Glock 43, lightweight and efficient, with a grip she's worn smooth over the years. And the Widow's Bite cuffs, the real ones, resting on black velvet.

My breath catches. "These are..." I blink down at them, my hands hesitant to reach forward. "Yours?" Nat nods. "They were. Now they're yours. I always knew that you would be a better Agent than me. I just wish I had shown that pride more." There's emotion in her voice, but she reins it in expertly. She doesn't reach for me. Doesn't try to hug or explain too much. She just offers them, like a passing of legacy. Of trust.

I nod slowly, something like awe and confusion twisting through my chest. "Thanks. They're... badass. When I was training, I always based my tactics off you using these." I share a glimpse into what she missed. She gives a quiet smile, a flash of hurt in her eyes, but steps back without comment. I don't miss the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, as if resisting the urge to do more.

Then Wanda steps forward, her gift flatter, wrapped in dark green and tied with a silky ribbon. She holds it carefully, like it's something ancient. "No weapons in this one," she says, smiling, "unless you count Frodo's sword." She jokes. I give her a curious look and begin unwrapping the gift, careful with the ribbon. When I peel back the paper and lift the lid, my heart skips.

First editions. Hardcovers. Faded gold lettering on rich leather bindings. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The original artwork. My fingers hover over the covers, reverent. "Where did you find these?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"I didn't," Wanda says softly. "They were mine. I've kept them for years. You used to sneak into our room when you thought we were asleep, remember? You'd hide under our covers with a flashlight and whisper-read Gandalf's speeches like you were preparing for battle." I do remember. Vividly. That tiny space of time when everything felt safe and warm, when their room was my sanctuary.

I don't realize how hard I'm gripping the box until Kate gently places her hand over mine. "These are..." I swallow. "Wow." It's all I can manage to get out. Both of these gifts have been so thoughtful, and they've caught me completely off guard. Wanda's voice lowers. "I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how strong you already are. Even when you felt small."

A lump forms in my throat, but I force it down. I nod. Not because I'm ready to forgive. But because I'm not ready to push them away either. "Thanks." I say quietly. "Really." And just like that, they back away. No expectations. No more pressure. I appreciate that. It's like they're finally listening to me.

It would've been so easy for them to hijack the day and to make it about apologies or guilt. But instead, they've given me room. Let me have this one day to feel like I'm the centre of it all. And I needed that more than I ever realized.

The party picks up again, as Clint accidentally knocks over a cupcake tower and Billy yells "five-second rule!" before diving for the last chocolate one. Laughter ripples through the room like it belongs there, like we all do.

Kate squeezes my hand again and I smile at her, letting myself melt into the comfort of her presence. That's when I notice it. A movement, subtle and precise. Mama is watching. She's near the far wall now, leaning against it with her arms folded. But her eyes are locked on Kate. Not hostile. Not even judgmental. Just... focused. It's that hyper-vigilant mother-spy thing I haven't seen in years.

Kate follows my gaze and catches Nat's eyes, lifting her chin in subtle challenge. Natasha doesn't blink. Just tips her head slightly, evaluating. I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head. "She's profiling you." Kate smirks. "I should be flattered."

"You should be cautious," I whisper, nudging her with my elbow. "She has very creative ways of intimidating people." Kate leans closer, her voice low and teasing. "Good thing I'm hard to scare." I believe her. And I believe, for the first time in a long time, that someone might actually stick around. Not because they pity me. But because they want to.

The laughter has begun to soften now. People are settling into quieter conversations, cups half-finished, frosting smudges drying on napkins. The decorations still flutter gently in the airflow of the room, streamers casting coloured shadows across the walls like echoes of the joy they helped shape.

I'm still riding the high of it. The weightless kind of happiness that you don't quite trust to last, but you cling to anyway. That's when the door opens, and the atmosphere shifts. Even before I see him, I feel him.

Nick Fury doesn't enter a room. He commands it. Even here, surrounded by friends, cupcakes, and glittery party hats, he's unmistakable. The kind of presence you don't forget once it's in your life. "Don't mind me," he says, his voice a familiar gravel tone, softer than usual but still laced with authority. "Just came to see the guest of honour." He smiles.

A quiet hush falls over the room as he approaches. The tension isn't fear, it's more like reverence. Respect. The kind that makes people straighten their spines without realizing they're doing it. He walks to my bedside, pausing just beside the tray table, arms behind his back. His eye meets mine with a steadiness I've always found both comforting and intimidating.

"You gave us a scare, kid." I smile faintly, keeping his gaze. "Didn't mean to." He doesn't laugh, but something in his expression softens. "I read the full mission report," he says. "I know what went down. And I know it was my call that put you there in the first place." My chest tightens. I shake my head immediately, the instinct to defend him rushing forward. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You didn't know someone on the inside had turned. You couldn't have." I defend.

Fury's jaw flexes. "It doesn't matter." He replies after a beat. "I should've. Should've read deeper. Dug harder. Hell, I should've seen it coming. That's my job. To know before anyone else does. To protect you." His voice cracks, just barely. But it's enough. It unsettles me. Because I've never seen him like this. Vulnerable, human in a way that doesn't wear a patch or a trench coat. And it's not guilt for guilt's sake. It's care. "You've done more for me than most people ever have," I say quietly. "You gave me a chance. You trained me like I mattered. You saw me." I admit.

He lets out a breath, slow and rough. Then he nods. It's not to brush it off, but to acknowledge it. "You're one hell of an agent, Y/n. I've seen plenty come and go, but you've got something different. Grit. Instinct. Fire." She observes. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a gravel-soft whisper. "Don't let what happened change what you know about yourself." I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "I won't."

And then, in a rare moment of unspoken affection, he rests a calloused hand gently on my shoulder, just for a second, before straightening and stepping back. As he turns to leave, he casts a long look toward Nat and Wanda near the back of the room. His gaze lingers, and something in it, maybe warning, maybe reassurance, passes unspoken between them before he disappears through the door.

I exhale only once he's gone. Then, just as I start to gather my thoughts, Dr. Cho re-enters the room with a clipboard and her no-nonsense smile. "Okay, everyone," she announces, clapping her hands together once. "Quick update before you all crash from sugar and emotional whiplash." The room chuckles in response. I sit up straighter, something in my gut already stirring.

"Y/n, your scans look great. The infection's resolved, and your vitals have been strong for the past forty-eight hours. Based on today's assessment..." She pauses, flipping a page like she doesn't already have it memorized. "You're officially being discharged tomorrow morning."

The room erupts louder than it did the first time. This time it's more than celebration. It's relief. Release. Tommy jumps up like someone plugged him into an outlet. "You're coming home?! Like really home?!" He questions excitedly. Billy's already halfway into planning mode. "We have to do a welcome-back breakfast. Wait, no, brunch. Brunch is fancier. And we can use the good mugs!"

I laugh, the real kind, as they both launch themselves into my arms, hugging me with as much force as they dare. "I missed you guys," I murmur into their hair. "We missed you more," Tommy says without hesitation, grinning up at me.

Across the room, I catch sight of Nat and Wanda. They're not saying anything. Not pushing their way into the moment. But I can see it on their faces, the way Wanda's lips tremble just slightly, the way Nat's arms remain crossed tightly over her chest like she's holding herself together by sheer force of will. They're relieved. Genuinely relieved. And they're holding back. For me. It means more than I know how to say.

Still... as the twins start rattling off pancake toppings and "who gets to sit next to Y/n at the table," a familiar flutter of anxiety flickers to life in my chest. I'm going home. To the apartment I once called mine. The home that now feels half-foreign and half-frozen in time. To Nat's watchful eyes and Wanda's worry-laced hovering. I know they love me. I believe that now, at least a little. But I don't know if I'm ready to live under that roof again. To be seen that closely. To be reminded of everything that fractured before I ended up in this hospital bed.

Kate must sense the shift in my energy. Her hand closes around mine, steady and warm. "You're not doing this alone." She murmurs. Before I can answer, Yelena slides in from the other side, arms folded but her eyes fierce. "I will be checking on you. Every day." She promises. Kate smirks. "We've got it covered."

"I'm serious," Yelena adds. "If they hover, I will stare them down until they leave the room. If they make too much soup, I'll eat it out of spite." She says with a straight face. Kate leans in toward me, her voice barely a whisper. "She will. I've seen her do it." She chuckles.

"I don't need babysitters." I murmur, but there's no real heat in my voice. Yelena raises a brow. "Good. Then we're just company." She corrects. "Support." Kate adds. I glance between them, and something loosens in my chest. Maybe I can go home. Because this time, I'm not going back alone.

The room is quieter now, but it still glows with the remnants of laughter and light. Nat and Wanda remain in the background, not imposing, not forcing. They're waiting. Not for forgiveness but for me. And I think that matters most of all.

The soft hum of conversation has tapered into scattered goodbyes, quiet laughter, and the rustle of gift bags being gathered. The scent of vanilla frosting still lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile but oddly comforting smell of hospital-grade fabric softener.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, legs dangling over the side, blanket wrapped loosely around my shoulders as Kate helps me tuck away a few of the smaller gifts into a bag. Most of the guests have left. The noise has died down to a gentle murmur. It's just us now, me, Kate, Yelena, my moms, and the twins, who have passed out on a beanbag in the corner under a pile of discarded wrapping paper.

Kate shifts beside me, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Alright, Bishop Security detail clocking out," she says, offering a playful two-finger salute. I chuckle at her goofiness, and I can't hide the flutter to my heart. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Bright and early. Probably with coffee and really bad jokes."

"Looking forward to it," I reply, trying to keep my voice light, though a quiet kind of sadness starts settling in my chest. I don't want the day to end. Not yet. Not when it finally felt like everything was okay. Kate seems to sense it. She steps closer, her smile softening as her eyes search mine.

"Hey." she says, gently brushing a stray hair from my face, her fingers lingering near my cheek. "You did good today." I huff a small laugh. "I didn't do much." I sigh. "Still," she says, her voice quieter now. "You let yourself have today. That matters." She points out.

She leans in slowly, giving me time, and I meet her halfway. The kiss is brief, gentle, warm, a promise wrapped in quiet goodbye, but it anchors something deep in me. It's the kind of kiss that doesn't demand anything. It just reminds me I'm not alone.

When she pulls back, we're both smiling. But of course, nothing in my life happens without some form of chaos. "I swear to god, Bishop," Yelena calls from the doorway, arms crossed and smirking, "if you break her heart, I will personally staple your arrows together and feed them to you." Kate blinks a flash of fear in her eyes, then she grins. "Creative." She shrugs, trying to play it cool. "I'm Russian. We invent new ways to threaten people daily."

I burst into laughter, chest-shaking laughter that makes me wince slightly, but I don't care. It's worth it. Kate just shrugs like it's part of the deal, then throws me a wink before heading for the door. "Sleep, okay?" she calls back. "I will." I say, holding her gaze a second longer. "See you tomorrow."

Once she and Yelena slip out, the room falls into a softer stillness. The kind that lingers when the lights have dimmed and the buzz of the day begins to fade. Mama, Nat, steps forward first, arms crossed but eyes gentle. "She seems nice," she says, voice casual, but the comment lingers in the air.

I turn to look at her, studying her face for any sign of disapproval. But it's not there. Her expression is sincere, measured, and, if I'm reading it right, curiously fond. "She is." I reply, testing the waters.

Mom then joins us, walking up beside Nat with a little nod of agreement. "She's kind. Confident. I like her. I'm excited to see more of her around the house." I blink at her, surprised. Mom has always been the more intuitive of the two, more emotionally open, but still. The ease in her voice, the warmth, it catches me off guard.

"You're not going to interrogate her?" I ask, only half-teasing. "Only a little," Nat says dryly, but there's no edge to it. Just a trace of the protectiveness I used to crave from her, back when I didn't think I deserved it.

For a beat, none of us speak. They stay near, not hovering, not pressing in. Just... present. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel suffocating. I ease myself back onto the bed, wincing slightly at the pull in my side. The hospital room is quieter now, dimmer. The balloons have started to droop, and the party glow is beginning to flicker out.

My eyes flick to the stack of gifts beside me. Clint's arrows, Mom's books, Mama's weapons. Kate's bracelet still rests gently against my wrist, glinting faintly under the soft lamplight. Today was a good day.

But now that it's over, a gnawing restlessness settles in my chest. Tomorrow, I go home. The word tastes foreign in my mouth. Home. That apartment. That space full of memories, some good, some aching like bruises not fully healed. I can already see the way they'll watch me. The soft questions. The hovering. The awkward silences when no one knows what to say. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But I'll go. Because something inside me, faint and fragile, wants to try. And I also know it have no other choice.

The quiet stretches long now, the day finally unwinding. Wanda kisses my forehead gently before retreating to gather the twins. Nat lingers just a moment longer, eyes sweeping over me like she's committing this version of me to memory. "Sleep well dekta. I love you." She says quietly, not making a fuss or waiting for a response. She simply leans in and presses a soft kiss to my head and joins Mom with carrying a sleeping Tommy out of the room.

I'm left alone with the hum of machines, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls, and the distant warmth of Kate's goodbye on my lips. And for the first time in a long time, I let the silence hold me. Tomorrow begins something new. Maybe hard. But maybe good, too. And maybe that's enough.

Part 5

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @jusnough @nessheartnat @yelldontwhisper

[jpmarvel90]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

So I’ve dipped my toe in the AO3 world and posted the first 10 Chapters of the Elizabeth Olsen story that I’m writing! To be honest I have no idea what I’m doing on there but if you want to give it a read it’s there waiting! (I think 😂)

Chapters: 10/?

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, real person fanfiction Rating: Mature Relationships: Elizabeth Olsen x Jess Parker Characters: Elizabeth Olsen, Scarlett Johansson, Mary-Kate Olsen, Ashley Olsen, Colin Jost Additional Tags: Elizabeth Olsen - Freeform, elizabeth olsen x reader - Freeform, Marvel - Freeform, Marvel fanfiction, celebrity fanfiction - Freeform, olsen twins, gxg, Gay, Lesbian, Cheating, Love, Fluff and Angst, Female Reader, Lizzie Olsen - Freeform, celebrity, girlxgirl, marvel cast - Freeform, ScarletWitch - Freeform, Wanda Maximoff - Freeform, Wanda - Freeform Summary:

Jess Parker is a singer and half-sister of Hollywood star Scarlett Johansson. In 2014, Jess moves back to LA from San Francisco when her girlfriend's job brings her back to the city of angels. After two years away, Scarlett can't wait to reconnect with her little sister and hopefully find out why Jess has stayed away so long.

Whilst settling back into LA, Jess gets to know Scarlett's best friend, Elizabeth Olsen. Their friendship develops quickly and they're soon close friends themselves. When everything changes for Jess, will she be able to pull through and find happiness again.

This book will be set in 2014 when Age of Ultron is being filmed. I'm not going to follow much of a real life timeline as I want to focus more on the storyline rather than keeping it realistic. For example, both Rose, Colin and Robbie are going to be in the book already.

This book will be a slow burn, so bear with it. It will depict an abusive relationship and will also include angst, drama, injuries, trauma, and smut. I won't be putting trigger warnings at the start of chapters, so please read with care.

All music is not my own and I will credit the artists when I use their music.

[jpmarvel90]

Hello! So I know I've been a bit AWOL but my life got really hectic. But in all the good ways. I got engaged and have just bought a house so I've not been in the mind frame to write. But things are starting to calm down and I'm hoping to write again soon.

I currently only share my one shots here on Tumblr and have my written stories on Wattpad. Engagement on Wattpad has really dropped over the last 6 months and it's been hard to get back going after a long time out. So my question to you all is should I move across to AO3? (Don't worry any Wattpadders I'd still post there too.) I've not used it before so any advice or comments on it would be greatly appreciated!

I think my stories are too long to post here as the books are 50 plus chapters. So I'm just looking for a way to get back the engagement I had with readers when I first started writing as I miss that community!

[jpmarvel90]

Dont Belong Part 3

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Word Count: 7175

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: Y/n's infection is hitting her hard and she's still struggling with her feelings on her parents. Thankfully, Yelena is there to help cheer her up and she brings along a surprise that might just make everything feel better!

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n POV:

These last two days in the hospital have blurred together, a monotonous cycle of dull light and beeping machines. The weight of my infection drags on me, leaving me shivering one moment and sweating the next. I've spent far too much time staring at the ceiling, feeling trapped in this sterile room, yearning for the freedom of my life before the mission went sideways. The boredom is suffocating, and I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself with every passing hour.

I feel a constant gaze from my parents who rarely leave my side. It's strange to go from having them ignore you to being around all the time. Part of me feels like things were like they used to be when I was a full part of their family. The other part of me is screaming saying they don't mean it and will soon be gone again.

But today feels different, a whisper of hope fluttering in the air. I've been waiting for this moment, and when a familiar knock sounds at the door, my heart races with anticipation. "Can I come in?" Yelena's voice calls softly, and I can't suppress the grin that spreads across my face at the sound of her.

"Of course!" I call back, the eagerness spilling over in my tone. I sit up a little straighter, my heart pounding as I manage to prop myself up, using the button on the side of the bed to elevate myself.

The door swings open, and Yelena steps in, her expression a mix of relief and worry. Her golden hair catches the light, and I can see the telltale signs of sleepless nights etched under her eyes. "Y/n!" she breathes, rushing to my side, her voice trembling slightly as she takes my hand.

"Yelena! I'm so glad to see you." The words come out a little breathless, and I can't help the surge of emotion that washes over me. Just seeing her makes the room feel a little less confining, a little brighter.

"I can't believe you're awake," she says, her grip tightening around my fingers. "I was so scared. We all were. You had everyone worried sick." Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of my situation lifts just a bit. I don't think I've ever seen Yelena emotional like this before and it helps me realise how bad this whole situation is. She would never allow anyone to see her this vulnerable except for Mama.

"Hey, I'm okay. Well, sort of." I gesture weakly to the IV drip, the hospital bed, and the machines that surround me. "Just a little out of commission at the moment."

Yelena's smile is tentative but bright, yet it's overshadowed by the concern etched on her face. "I just hate seeing you hurt like this. You're my niece and I thought I would always be here to protect you." She shares honestly.

I give her hand a squeeze and share a warm smile when she finally looks up to me. "I can't be protected forever. Besides, I need you now. This recovery is going to be shit and I need you to help me when it gets too much." I reassure her and she nods. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to help you through it all. Stark has even set me up on the same floor as you. So, I'll be there whenever you need me." She explains, making my heart warm with the thought of seeing her for a while to come.

"What about the widows?" I ask, knowing how much that means to her. "I've already been able to help so many. Now I need to help you. The others can wait. Besides, Kate can do the research on where we need to go next." She replies. "Who's Kate?" I ask, surprised to hear that she is working with someone else.

"Just a stray that Clint found. She's annoying, but oddly fun to be around. I think you'd like her. I'm sure she'll be around at some point to say hi." She explains with a shrug.

As the initial shock of seeing me seems to fade, I can see the corners of Yelena's mouth twitching upward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It's as if she's flipping a switch, her demeanour transforming from worried auntie to the playful, teasing friend I know and love.

"You know," she starts, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms, "for someone who just woke up from a dramatic hospital nap, you look surprisingly like a zombie. I mean, I thought they had strict rules against bringing the undead into the hospital."

I let out a soft laugh, despite the ache in my chest. "Yeah, well, the food here isn't exactly helping my cause. I'm pretty sure I could survive off of those tasteless mushy meals for a week and still look better than this."

Yelena raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Mushy meals? I'd expect you to be on some gourmet diet, considering all the special treatments they give you. I'm starting to think you should at least get some ice cream as a post-surgery reward." She chuckles. "Now that's the kind of thinking I can get behind. Have a word with Tony yeah?" I reply, feeling my spirits lift. "Ice cream sounds amazing. But what are the odds of that happening here?"

"Zero. But I'm prepared for this. I'll break you out of this place and take you for ice cream. You just need to give me the signal, and I'll burst in through the window like a stealthy ninja." She mimics a dramatic leap and landing in mama's pose. "See, I'll even do my best poser impersonation!" She playfully teases and she now starts to pretend to scale the invisible walls of my hospital room, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated seriousness. "You can count on me, Y/n. Ice cream shall be yours!"

I chuckle, the image of Yelena performing an acrobatic escape making the heaviness of the past days lift a little more. "What flavour are we talking here? I hope it's not vanilla. I have standards, you know."

"Vanilla? Please! I was thinking more along the lines of double chocolate fudge with extra sprinkles. And maybe a side of cherry sauce because why not go big, right?" She shares her thoughts whilst taking the seat next to me again. Her hand resting over mine. "Now you're speaking my language," I respond, shaking my head in mock seriousness. "If I'm risking a hospital breakout, it better be worth it." I laugh.

Yelena sits back in her seat, her chest still rising and falling as she laughs at her own hilariousness. She then looks back up at me. "But seriously, let's plan this for when you're feeling better. I'm not above a hospital escape." Her grin is contagious, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders easing. "Deal. Just don't forget the sprinkles."

As our laughter fills the room, I realize how much I've missed this lightness, this camaraderie. It's comforting to think about having Yelena by my side as I navigate the uncertainty of recovery and family dynamics.

But beneath the playful banter, there's an unspoken understanding between us, a bond that allows me to express my fears without words. With Yelena around, I feel like I can face whatever comes next, armed with humour and the knowledge that I'm not alone in this fight.

"Just promise me one thing," I say, my voice turning more serious again. "Anything," she replies, her gaze earnest. "Don't let me give up on the ice cream party, okay? No matter what happens."

"Never! I'll be your ice cream guardian," she declares, puffing out her chest with mock pride. "We will have that party, and it will be legendary. I will personally ensure that you have the sprinkles of life!"

With that promise hanging in the air, I know I can count on her not just for ice cream but for so much more as I navigate this complicated recovery. Even amidst the challenges, I feel a renewed sense of strength.

Though the playful atmosphere soon disappears as Yelena looks at me with a hurt look. "You know," Yelena begins cautiously, glancing around the room as if making sure no one else can hear, "I've been really worried about you. Seeing you like this. It's been hard. I didn't expect to walk in and see my Y/n looking so weak."

"Yeah, well, welcome to the aftermath of a bullet wound," I respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing my tone, but her expression remains sombre. "I mean it, Y/n," she says, her voice low. "I can handle all sorts of dangerous missions, but this... this was different. You're my niece. I've seen too many people get hurt, and it scares me to think about what could have happened if things went even more wrong."

"I know. I didn't want to worry you, but... it's not like I planned to get shot," I reply, my voice softening. "I was trying to do my best, and it went sideways."

"It's not your fault," Yelena reassures me, squeezing my hand gently. "But promise me you'll be careful. Don't rush back into missions. I can't go through this again. I thought I lost you."

"I'm not going anywhere yet. You've got me for a while longer," I say with a playful lilt, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Her smile falters, but she doesn't let go of my hand. "You have to promise me you won't get hurt again. I mean it. You don't have to be the hero all the time, you know." The gravity of her words sinks in, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. "I thought I was doing well. I thought it was my chance to prove myself," I admit, my voice quieter now. "Prove yourself? You don't need to do that. You're already a part of this family," she insists, her voice firm but gentle.

But I can't shake the feeling of inadequacy, the bitter sting of doubt that lingers in the corners of my mind. "I don't feel like it," I confess, looking down at our hands intertwined. "Not after everything that's happened. My parents... I don't know. It's complicated." I begin tentatively, not sure how to express the turmoil inside me.

"They've hurt me for so long, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around why they suddenly seem to care. It feels like. I don't know, like they're trying to make up for lost time. They've been... around. Too around, if you know what I mean. They've been acting all concerned, but it feels more like an obligation."

I've felt torn about this since I've woke up. They're around all the time and trying to do everything that can to help me. But all I can think about is how much they have hurt me and if they would ever be able to make up for their past actions.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "It's okay to be conflicted. They've done wrong by you, and you have every right to be angry. But if they're genuinely trying to change, maybe there's a chance for you to heal too." She suggests, similar to how Steve has these last two days.

"I don't want to forgive them just because they're here now. It feels disingenuous," I admit, frustration seeping into my voice. "I've been raised to believe that actions speak louder than words, and I need to see real change." I state irritated. "Then hold them to that standard," she urges, her voice steady. "Don't let them slide by just because they're your parents. You deserve more than that." She iterates.

"I guess I'm just afraid of being disappointed again," I whisper, feeling a shiver of vulnerability wash over me. It hurt so much when I slowly seemed to disappear from their lives. I don't think I could experience that again. "What if they go back to ignoring me once I'm healed? What's the point of this?" I share, tears stinging my eyes.

Yelena leans closer, her brow furrowing as she studies my face. "That's not fair to you. They hurt you, and it's okay to be angry about that. But you deserve to feel loved and cared for. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for." "Stronger?" I scoff lightly, but inside I feel a flicker of hope. "I barely survived my first mission and ended up in a hospital bed. That doesn't feel strong."

"Strength isn't just about fighting, Y/n. It's about surviving, too. You survived, and you're still here. You're still fighting." Her voice softens, and I can see her eyes glistening with tears. I nod slowly, her words resonating with me. "You're right. I just don't want to get hurt like that again. I thought joining SHIELD would mean I'd finally be seen, but now... it feels like a mess."

Yelena shakes her head, frustration evident in her expression. "No. You're not a mess. You're human. They need to step up and show you that you matter, but that doesn't mean you have to accept their love without question. You get to set the boundaries. You get to decide what you want from them moving forward. But I do believe that you have to give them a chance to show you that they've changed." She shares, taking me by surprise.

"It was years Yelena. How can I move to just forgive them for everything that's happened? Just because they're here for my recovery, doesn't mean it makes up for everything that they've done." I raise my voice getting frustrated that no one seems to understand the depth of how much this has affected me.

She thinks for a moment before speaking up. "I know I can't understand the pain they caused you. When I heard about what they did to you, I was ready to kick both of their asses. But I've seen this determination in them. Especially Nat. I just don't want you to let the anger eat you alive. You deserve more than that. You deserve to heal, not just physically, but emotionally, too." Her words resonate deep within me. I can feel the weight of my resentment pressing against my chest, threatening to suffocate me. "It's just hard, Yelena. I don't know if I can trust them again. What if they just go back to how things were?"

"That's the risk, but it's also a chance for something better. Maybe this could be the start of a new chapter for you all," she replies, her voice filled with hope. "I mean, how many people get a second chance to rewrite their story? You can make it count." She tries to reason with me. "Or I could just end up disappointed again," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, no one said life was easy," she counters, leaning forward, her tone shifting to a playful challenge. "You've faced worse. You survived a bullet wound, for Christ's sake! How about you take that strength and channel it into something more positive? Like confronting your parents." She suggests. "Confront them?" I echo, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.

"Yeah! You're a badass. You fought off those Hydra agents; you can fight for your own happiness." she encourages. "Don't let anyone else dictate your worth. Not your parents, not Hydra. No one."

"I'll think about it," I concede, knowing that deep down, she's right. Maybe facing my parents isn't just about them; it's about taking control of my own narrative, my own healing. "Good," Yelena replies, her smile brightening the room once more. "And remember, no matter what you decide, I'll be right here, cheering you on. We're in this together, ice cream and all."

As I gaze into her determined eyes, I feel the flicker of hope igniting within me. Yelena is right. I can't let the past dictate my future. Perhaps I can find a way to reclaim my voice, my choices. And with her by my side, I feel like I can face whatever comes next.

__________

The soft hum of the machines is a constant companion, a backdrop to the quiet conversation happening in the room. Mama and mom sit nearby, each offering their own version of silent support. Mama, with her usual calm demeanour, sits crossed legged in the chair near the foot of my bed. Her posture is relaxed, but her sharp eyes betray her constant vigilance. She notices everything, always has, and I can feel her observing me like she's looking for something beneath the surface. Mom on the other hand, has stationed herself at my side, like aways. She's less fussy, thankfully, but still has to be close, like I'm going to disappear if she's not.

Sometimes, I find the silence unbearable compared to their constant and sometimes suffocating fussing over me. I feel on edge, like they're waiting for me to talk to them. I think back to what Yelena said about confronting them and doing it on my terms. But I want to do it in the right frame of mind, and at the moment, this infection is still kicking my ass.

Mama breaks the silence as her well trained eyes watch me for a while. "How are you feeling Y/n?" She asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me, as though she's trying to catch me out if I say the wrong thing. "A bit better." I respond with a slight nod, my words carefully measured. I don't want to give too much away. Not about how I'm feeling and especially not about the swirl of doubt that's been growing inside of me since the incident.

"Are you sure? You're sweating." She points out, sitting up. Mom goes to reach for my forehead, but quickly retreats her hand. She's been trying really hard not to be too much and I'm grateful for that. I should have known that she could see straight through me and notice the discomfort I'm in. "Just a little." I admit. "Is there anything we can do? Would you like some water? Or we could change the quilt for a blanket if that would help?" Mom suggests.

I think for a moment before giving in, knowing that I am burning up a little too quickly. "The blanket would be better if that's ok." I respond, earning a warm smile from mom as she stands and moves to grab the blanket as mama takes the quilt and folds it up. "Better?" Mom asks as the thin blanket now rests over my legs. "Yes. Thank you." I quietly respond.

"You're being strong, but you don't have to be." Mom says, her voice soft but persuasive. Her green eyes watching me too closely. "We're here for you." She states. Something I've heard more these last few days than I have in my whole like.

I offer a tight smile. "I appreciate that." I reply, but there's something hollow in my words, something they both notice. I see it in the flicker of mama's eyes, in the slight frown mom tries to hide. They want me to let them in, to trust them. But I can't. No right now.

The knock on the door interrupts the thick atmosphere. As we all look to the door, a smile grows on my face as Yelena pushes open the door, bursting in to the room with her usual energy. Her blonde hair bounces around her shoulders as she strides in, a smirk on her lips. She's a welcome distraction from the unspoken suspicions swirling in my mind.

Behind her, there's someone new. A brunette with wide eyes and a slightly awkward smile follows in her wake, holding a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. It's clear she doesn't quite know what to do with them as she shifts nervously, standing next to Yelena like she's trying to figure out how to fit in. "This is Kate." Yelena says with a grin, motioning to the brunette with a flourish. "Oh, right. The annoying stray Clint picked up." I reply with a grin, my eyes flicking between Yelena and the new girl. I feel a small flutter of nerves in my chest, but I push it aside, trying to appear casual.

Kate gasps dramatically, placing her hand over her chest as if wounded. "Annoying stray? Really? Is that how Yelena described me?" She shoots Yelena a mocking glare, then turns to me with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Don't listen to her. I'm delightful, I promise." She smirks.

There is something instantly disarming about her. Her smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning back before I can stop myself. "I'll be the judge of that." I say, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Kate's laugh is light. "Well, I guess I better make a good impression then huh. I'm Kate. Nice to finally meet you."

As if she suddenly becomes aware of the other two people in the room, Kate suddenly becomes a lot more nervous as she steps forward, holding out the flowers a little awkwardly. "I, uh, thought some flowers might brighten up the place." She says her voice light but tinged with nervousness. "If you don't like them, I can... I don't know, take them back or something."

I can't help but smile at the sudden awkwardness, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. There's something captivating about her, a clumsy sincerity that feels genuine. Like she's not trying to be anything other than who she is. If's refreshing, in contrast to the more guarded and calculated vibes in the room.

"No, no. They're nice. I love them." I say, accepting the flowers with a smile. "Thank you." I say gratefully. Mom steps in to help, taking the flowers from Kate and placing them on the beside table. She flashes Kate a smile, but I can't help but notice the way her eyes flick between me and Kate, like she's sizing up the interaction. Her protective nature is sweet, but right now it feels like an intrusion, like she's watching too closely.

Yelena of course, can't let the moment go without making it awkward. "Oh great. The two of you are already making goo-goo eyes at each other." She says with a snort, dropping herself into a chair next to mama with a dramatic sigh. "I should have seen this coming." She says to her sister. "Goo-goo eyes?" I sputter, my cheeks burning. "Yelena, we literally just met." Kate for her part, looks just as flustered, running a hand through her hair as she laughs awkwardly. "Yeah wow, not even five minutes in and I'm already being roasted. Thanks Yelena." Yelena has a mischievous grin as she gives Kate a thumbs up. "Hey, I call it like I see it." She shrugs.

I glance at Kate again, and despite the teasing, there's something about her that puts me at ease. Something feels unguarded in a way that I haven't felt around my parents lately. She seems real, no hidden motives, no unreadable layers. Just Kate, awkward and charming in her own way.

Mama raises an eyebrow at Yelena's comment but stays quiet, observing as always. Mom though let's out a soft chuckle, her eyes softening for a moment as she looks between Kate and me. "I think it's sweet." She says, but there's an undercurrent to her words. A subtle probing as if she's gauging how close I'm willing to let this new person get.

I shift uncomfortably in my bed, trying to shake off the unease. "Kate seems nice." I say, trying to keep things light. "But you don't need to start planning a wedding already." I joke, earning a loud laugh from Kate.

Yelena leans back in her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Well, you're already doing better than most people who meet Y/n. She doesn't usually warm up to strangers this fast."

"Yelena." I mutter, shooting her a look, but the playful banter is enough to make me feel a bit more like myself again. Even if the tension with my parents still lingers beneath the surface.

Mama exchanges a glance with mom, and I can feel the weight of their unspoken thoughts. They're both protective, maybe even a little suspicious of the new dynamic. I know they're trying to look out for me, but their watchful eyes feel too heavy right now and to be honest, they don't have the right to have any thoughts on this right now. They've barely been my parents for the last couple of years. They don't suddenly have a say in who I'm friends with.

"Well, at least you brought someone who isn't here to lecture me about being shot." I tease, giving Yelena a pointed look. Kate grins clearly relieved the conversation has shifted. "I'm just here for the heist planning." She smiles, her tone light. "Whatever Yelena has you roped into, I'm in." I join in the joke. Yelena perks up at that. "Oh, you have no idea what you've signed up for Bishop. This one here," she jerks her thumb at me, "has a history with getting into trouble."

Kate moves to take the seat next to me as both my parents decide to give us some space and grab some lunch. I'm grateful for them being able to read the room, but I notice the observant and narrow gaze of mama as she passes by Kate. I'm pretty sure I see Kate gulp a little which makes me laugh lightly.

"So," Kate asks, crossing her arms. "what's the plan for today? Ice cream, hospital jailbreak or maybe both?" She smiles, making the butterflies in my stomach flutter. "Oh, Yelena's already promised me ice cream, but she keeps postponing the jailbreak." I tease, glancing over at Yelena who's pretending not to listen.

Kate lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. "Typical. She makes all these grand promises, and then when it comes time to actually execute..." Kate starts teasingly before Yelena speaks up. "I'm literally right here." She complains, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. "And for the record. I would have busted you out, but your mother threatened to remove all the mac and cheese from the building if I did." She admits with a child like huff.

"Still scared of mama huh?" I smirk, earning a harsh stare from my aunt. "No!" She defends loudly. "Well, maybe when it comes down to you." She admits quietly, making Kate and I laugh. "Well, well. I've finally discovered the one thing Yelena Belova is scared of." Kate torments Yelena. "Yeah, well don't forget that you're the one scared of me." Yelena points out giving her fiercest glare. Something that makes Kate shrink back into her seat. "Yep. You're right. Sorry." She apologises goofily, making me smile even wider.

There's a beat of silence, but it's not awkward. It's easy, comfortable, and I'm surprised at how quickly I've warmed up to Kate. She's sharp, funny and there's a confidence about her that makes me feel more at ease. I can tell she's someone who doesn't take life too seriously, but there's a genuine warmth underneath the sarcasm.

Yelena is watching us again, her arms crossed, and her eyebrow arched like she's trying to figure out how this is going to play out. "You know, I might actually enjoy watching this." She says, her voice laced with amusement. "You two are way too cute. It's like watching a rom-com in real time." She smirks

"Okay, enough of that." I say quickly, feeling my face begin to flush, this time not due to my infection! I glance to Kate who is grinning like she's in on some joke that I'm not, and I can't help but laugh. "Yelena, don't you have some Widow business to attend to?" I question hopefully. "Nope." She says cheerfully, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "I'm on babysitting duty today." She smiles proudly whilst I just roll my eyes. Maybe I do want my parents back right now!

Kate leans closer to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Does she always talk like that, or is it just for us?" She questions. "Always." I whisper back, earning a glare from Yelena. "Alright, alright." Yelena says, pretending to be offended, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. "I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll give you two some space. Try not to flirt too much while I'm gone." She teases.

"And you," she stops in front of Kate, a stern look on her face. "If she so much as flinches you call the nurse. I will have your head if anything happens to her." She warns her lowly. Kate just nods, gulping at the threat. "P-promise." She stutters. "Good. Text me if you need anything. Now have fun being all awkward and flirty." She smirks as she saunters out of the room.

Suddenly, it's just the two of us, the room quieter but still filled with that easy, playful energy. I glance over at Kate, feeling a bit of awkwardness settle in. But it's the good kind that makes my heart race a little.

"So, what now?" I ask, trying to sound casual? Kate shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I don't know. I mean, we could plot that jailbreak. Or maybe..." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. "We could just hang out and get to know each other a little better." She suggests.

There's a warmth in her gaze, something that makes my heart flutter, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of excitement. Not just for the ice cream or the jokes, but the possibility of something new. Something good. And maybe, just maybe, I'm ready for it.

Nat's POV:

My sharp eyes have always picked up on the subtle shift in a person's demeanour, the tiniest details that others overlook. Right now, I'm studying Kate Bishop. She's awkward sure. A little too wide-eyed and jittery, holding onto those flowers like she's afraid they might combust. There's a clumsy sincerity to her that I can't decide if I trust yet. Y/n though... Y/n is smiling. Laughing even, and I haven't seen that kind of lightness in her face in far too long. Still, I remain cautious.

I watch as Y/n teases Kate, the easy flow of their banter rolling off Y/n's tongue without the weight that usually accompanies her words. It's almost as if she's forgotten, if only for a few minutes, about the turmoil she's been going through. And while I want that for her, there's a part of me that can't let go of my protective instincts. That part that wants to dig deeper into who Kate Bishop really is, figure out if she's worthy of my daughter's trust.

Because Y/n doesn't let people in easily. Wanda and I have made that even harder for her now. To be able to trust is a difficult thing. I don't want to see her hurt more than she currently is. Not after everything that I've caused.

Wanda's voice pulls me out of my thoughts as she steps up beside me, her arms crossed but her expression soft, watching the interaction with a gentler gaze than I have. "She looks happy." Wanda murmurs. Her voice has that quiet thoughtful tone that always means she's been observing the situation for longer than I realised.

I nod, though I don't take my eyes off of Y/n. "She does." I admit reluctantly. Wanda notices this and quickly makes up an excuse of going to get some lunch and we quickly exit the room. Probably much to Y/n's delight!

"You don't like it?" Wanda asks, her lips twitching into a small smile. She can read me too easily, knows exactly what I'm feeling even when I try to keep it to myself. We hover in the corridor outside of Y/n's room as I sigh. "I didn't say that." I glance towards my wife, raising an eyebrow.

"No, but I know you." She chuckles softly, and it's a warm, comforting sound that cuts through the tension I've been holding in my chest. "Nat, you don't trust her yet." It's not a question, and I don't answer right away. Instead, I look back through the window into Y/n's room. My eyes falling to the pair of them. Y/n has leaned a little closer to Kate, her laughter soft, her smile genuine. Kate's making some grand gesture with her hands, her enthusiasm endearing in its awkwardness. Okay, I think. Maybe she's not so bad.

But still. "I just don't know her." I say finally, my voice low. Wanda hums in understanding, her gaze never leaving Y/n. "But look at her, Nat. She's the happiest we've seen her in a long while." She points out. I know she's right. Y/n hasn't had this kind of lightness in her eyes since the incident. Even in the days leading up to it, she was closed off, burdened by the trauma we had caused her. I couldn't do anything to help her, I couldn't fix what I had broken. And now here comes this Kate Bishop, breezing in like a ray of sunshine, making Y/n smile like it's the easiest thing in the world.

I sigh, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. "Maybe." I admit after a pause, my voice quieter now, more reflective. "Maybe Kate is what Y/n needs right now." Wanda turns her head to look at me fully, a surprised look on her face, but she soon gives me a soft knowing smile. "That's not easy for you to say."

"No, it's not." I say honestly. "But I can't ignore how she's acting. It's good to see her like this." I glance to Yelena who's still grinning like a proud instigator of all this chaos. Y/n has her laughing too, which is aways a good sign. "And Kate, she's not what I expected." I share.

There's an awkward clumsiness about the girl sure. But underneath that, there's a kindness in her eyes, something genuine that makes me reconsider my initial assessment. She's not just some reckless kid, despite the reputation. She cares and that means something.

Wanda places a gentle hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. "It's ok to let your guard down a little." I chuckle under my breath at her words. "I don't think I'm wired that way, Wanda." I reply. "I know." She laughs softly. "But maybe you can try. Kate isn't here to hurt Y/n. She's just, being a friend. Maybe that's exactly what Y/n needs right now." I nod, though my instincts still bristle at the idea of lowering my walls completely. "You're right. But I'm not going to stop being protective. Not after we failed her so badly." My gaze hardens just a fraction. "I can't."

Wanda's expression softens further, understanding in her eyes. "No one's asking you to stop protecting her Nat. Just, give this a chance. What ever it might be." She pleads. I look at Y/n again. She's relaxed in a way I haven't seen her in months. The tightness in her shoulders is gone, replaced by something lighter, freer. And I realise that I'm not the only one trying to protect her. Maybe, in her own way, Kate is too.

"I'll give it a chance." I mutter quietly. "But I'll be watching." Wanda smiles knowingly. "I wouldn't expect anything less." She says as both our gazes fall to our daughter. Just then, Kate says something that makes Y/n burst out laughing, the sound so full of life that it catches me off guard. My heart clenches that it's taken this long. That Wanda and I created an environment where she felt like she no longer belonged in this family.

I know it's going to take time for her to even consider forgiving us. But I know that it's important that she has other people around her that she can talk to and have fun with. If it's just Wanda and me she'll become completely closed off. Maybe being around Kate is exactly what she needs. It doesn't mean I'll let my guard down completely. Not yet. I will always protect her. That's what mother's do. Even if I haven't proven my right to that title in a long time.

_________

As Wanda and I step back into our home, the familiar chaos of our boys welcomes us like a warm embrace. The scent of something sweet wafts through the air, mixing with the sharp, clean smell of wood polish from our recent cleaning efforts. I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and playful shouting emanating from the living room, and it brings a smile to my face despite the heaviness still clinging to my heart.

Tommy and Billy have been asking about their sister non-stop over the last few days, and every time, I see the worry deepen in their little faces. They've felt the weight of Y/n's absences as much as we have, maybe more.

"Hey, you two!" I call out, my voice breaking through the din. Almost immediately, Tommy and Billy come barrelling into the hallway, their faces lighting up like it's Christmas morning. They launch themselves at us, wrapping their arms around my waist and Wanda's legs in a tangle of limbs and giggles. It's a comforting noise, one that momentarily pulls me away from the weight of the world outside these walls.

"Mom! Mom! How's Y/n? Is she okay?" Tommy's voice rises with excitement, his wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of hope and anxiety. I exchange a glance with Wanda, who stands beside me, her own expression tinged with a protective softness. It's a moment like this that reminds me just how much the boys adore their sister.

"She's still unwell, sweetheart," I say gently, kneeling down to meet Tommy's gaze at eye level. "But she's doing better than she was. She'll be home soon." I try to sound optimistic, but the knot in my stomach betrays me. I know how much they want to see Y/n, and how hard it's been for them to understand why she isn't here with us.

"Soon? Like tomorrow?" Billy asks, bouncing on his toes, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. There's a slight hopefulness in his voice, and it makes my heart ache, knowing they're so eager for good news. Wanda steps in beside me, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. "She's going to need a few more days in the hospital, honey. She's got to rest and get better first." I watch the way Wanda's eyes soften when she speaks to the boys, how she has an innate ability to make even the hardest truths sound a little lighter.

"But her birthday is coming up!" Tommy exclaims suddenly, his expression shifting from concern to realization. "We have to make it special for her! Can we plan a perfect birthday for her in her hospital room?" His enthusiasm is infectious, and a flicker of warmth spreads in my chest at his determination. Billy nods vigorously, his face lighting up with ideas. "Yeah! We can decorate it and bring her cake! She'll love that!" The energy in the room shifts, and I can see both boys imagining the decorations they might hang, the cake they might bake, and the joy they hope to bring their sister.

"That's a great idea," I agree, feeling a swell of pride as I watch them brainstorm. "But we need to wait until she's feeling a bit better, okay? We don't want to overwhelm her." Tommy frowns slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. "When can we see her?" His voice is earnest, full of longing. I can hear the worry tucked beneath his words, and it tugs at my heart. "Yeah, we want to see Y/n!" Billy adds, his expression mirroring his brother's eagerness.

Wanda glances at me, and I can feel the weight of our responsibilities bearing down. "We'll take you to see her in the morning," I promise, seeing their faces light up with hope. "But remember, she might be tired and need to rest, so we have to be gentle with her."

"Yay!" Tommy cheers, his voice ringing through the hallway, and Billy joins in, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. Their joy is palpable, a reminder of the happiness that can still exist even amidst uncertainty and pain.

Just then, Steve steps out from the kitchen, having been quietly observing the boys from a distance. His presence brings a calmness to the chaos, and I find comfort in knowing he's here. "Hey, how are you two doing?" he asks, his eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene of our little family reunion.

"Mama and mom just told us that Y/n is coming home soon!" Tommy exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement, his hands flailing as he gestures animatedly.

"Yeah, and we're planning the best birthday for her ever!" Billy adds, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm, his cheeks flushed with energy.

"Sounds like you're all set for a celebration," Steve says with a smile, nodding approvingly. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he watches the boys with fondness. "I'll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need anything." He shoots us a knowing look, one that acknowledges the weight of what we're dealing with, before stepping back into the kitchen.

As Wanda and I stand there, our boys filled with excitable plans, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and dread. Gratitude for the moments of joy, the laughter that fills our home, and the love that binds us together. Sadness that our family isn't complete and dread for the challenges still ahead. We're still on shaky ground, still trying to piece together the remnants of our family after everything that's happened.

But for now, I push those worries aside. I take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of our home, and look around at the smiling faces of my children. "Okay, let's start planning for this birthday celebration!" I suggest, my heart lifting at the idea of planning something special for Y/n.

"We need balloons. And streamers!" Tommy states excitedly, his eyes bright with ideas. "And cake!" Billy insists, his mouth already watering at the thought. "What kind should we get her?"

As we brainstorm, I can't help but smile. We'll take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, we'll bring the boys to see Y/n, and hopefully, we'll be one step closer to bringing her home where she belongs. Hopefully, she'll see that we plan to be the best parents to her and in time she'll forgive us. I feel a flicker of hope, ignited by the boys' excitement and determination to make their sister smile, to show her that she is loved and missed.

"Let's get started," I say, my voice full of warmth as I gather them into a huddle, my heart swelling with pride. Together, we can do this. Together, we can find a way to help Y/n heal, and maybe even begin to mend the cracks that have formed in our family.

Part 4

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality

[jpmarvel90]

Don't belong Part 3 is out soon!!

Hello! I know I've been really shit and I've not posted a part 3 to Don't Belong in months! I have finally had the insipriation to continue with the story and have the next part finished. I'm just proof reading it and hope that I'll post it either later today or tomorrow!

Sorry it's taken me so long! Hopefully you'll all like it. I know some of you may not like the direction I take the story, but I hope you can still enjoy it.

Here are the links to the first two parts if you need to read up to remember the storyline!

Part 1 Part 2

[jpmarvel90]

WHEN ARE WE GETTING PART 3 OF DON’T BELONG?!

I WANNA SEE MORE!

I have a lot going on right now so it won't be for a little while. With work, writing another book for Wattpad and losing inspiration, it's not a priority for me right now. Sorry!

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong part 2

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1

Word Count: 5499

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: After Y/n's accident on her mission, her mother's are terrified that they might not get the chance to make things right with their daughter. That's assuming Y/n wants anything to do with them when she comes around.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Nat's POV:

It's been over 24 hours since Y/n came out of surgery and she's still unconscious with a machine helping her breathe. I thought she would have been awake by now and there'd be a relief that she was on the start of her long road to recovery.

Instead, Wanda and I are glued to our seats next to her bed. We've only gotten up to use the bathroom. Otherwise, we've remained by her side. Pepper kindly offered to take the boys for as long as it's needed. Though they are both very anxious to see Y/n themselves. They might be young, but they understand that she's hurt. They love their sister, and they want her to wake up just as much as we do.

I've not slept since we found out that she was hurt, and I don't plan to until she is awake. Though the longer it goes on, the more my body is fighting against that desire. I want to be there when she wakes up to show her that her moms are going to be there for her the whole way through her recovery.

Wanda and I have spoken a lot over the last day. We've shared our pain and sadness, whilst making sure we come up with a plan to help her with her recovery and to ultimately gain her forgiveness.

We both know that Y/n will not forgive us easily, if at all. But that doesn't mean that we're not going to try with everything in us. For too long we've allowed her to go about her life thinking that we don't love or care for her anymore. She has every right to feel that way after how we've treated her. But she will not ever question that again.

The both of us are sat in silence, both of us watching over our daughter. My eyes are trained on her chest, making sure that she is still breathing, gaining a lot of comfort from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. However, the silence doesn't last long until the door flies open.

Out of instinct, both Wanda and I shoot up from our seats and take a defensive stance in front of our daughter to protect her from any danger. However, we soon relax when we see Yelena's worried face. "I came as soon as I could." She tells us as she moves closer to the bed, her hand hesitant as it reaches out towards her niece.

Yelena has been away for most of the time over the last few years. She's been helping to find all the widows and has only come back for a couple of days at a time. Each time though, she has always made time for us. "How is she?" She asks, as I pull up another chair for my sister.

"It's not good. She's still in critical condition. They had to remove part of her liver, but Cho reckons that if she can get through these first few days, that she'll be on track for a full recovery." I fill her in as her eyes never leave Y/n. "Clint said that it was a double agent that set her up." She states and we nod in clarification. "I'll be paying a visit to Fury when I'm done here." She announces, an anger to her voice. "We've tried to see him, but Fury won't let us anywhere near him." Wanda warns her but Yelena just scoffs. "I'll get to him one way or another." She states and I believe her. She's incredibly protective of the people she loves, and she'll want to make sure that he pays. I actually hope that she does.

"Wait, you said you were with Clint?" I question her and she nods. "Yeah, he was with me on my last mission. He's waiting outside, he didn't want to intrude." She responds, pointing towards the window behind her where Clint is stood with a young girl next to him. "Who's with him?" I ask. "Kate Bishop. Clint's stray. He's going to see if she can join Shield." Yelena explains. "She was with us and had no where else to go so I said she could stay here for now." She adds on. If Clint thinks she's worthy of Shield, then I believe that she is. She must also be good if Yelena has been working with her. She wouldn't let anyone help who would slow her down.

"How long are you back for?" Wanda steps in with her own question, making my own ears prick up for her response. "As long as I need to be. I want to be around to help with her recovery." Yelena replies, making me smile. Y/n is going to need all the help she can get, and she adores Yelena, so I'm glad that she's not going anywhere any time soon.

After a while, we indicate for Clint and Kate to come in. We go through our introduction, and I can see how enthusiastic Kate is. She's very chatty and I'm surprise she's not pissed off Clint and Yelena yet though! "I read about Y/n in the Young Initiative files." Kate shares. "Did you know she is the only recruit to ever get a perfect score. She could have passed the exams two years ago and still topped the class." She tells us enthusiastically. "Sounds like you're a fan." Yelena teases her, making the young girl blush. "I guess when your parents are the Black Widow and the Scarlett Witch, you're going to be good." Kate chuckles.

It makes my gaze drop, something that Yelena clocks on to instantly. She's not been around so hasn't seen how we've treated Y/n. I'm actually worried for when I tell her. She's going to hate us for it and I'd be surprised if she even lets us stay around Y/n. "Y/n did it all on her own. With a little help from Steve. Her talent has come from her own ability and desire to be the best." Wanda corrects Kate, showing that we have no claim to how good Y/n is at being an agent. "Oh, that's even more impressive then. You must be really proud." She smiles at us and we both nod. "More than she'll ever know." I mutter.

__________

When Kate and Clint leave, Yelena is quick to question Wanda and I. We tell her of what's been going on and how ashamed we are and how much we want to be able to fix everything. "You don't deserve to fix it." She spits angrily at us. "It's no excuse to say that you got lost in the boys. Y/n is your daughter too and she needed you." She shouts, calling us both out on our actions. "We know Yelena. We can't take back how we've treated her. But I promise that we won't every do anything like that again!" I tell her sincerely. "No, you won't. I won't let you. If you are going to be back in her life as the parents you should have been, you have to be all in. You promised to be better than we had Natasha!" She tells me firmly with a finger jabbing into my chest.

"I know Yelena. I wish I had a valid excuse or reason for what we did. I will never forgive myself. I will always have a hatred towards myself for ever making her feel the way we did. But I'm not going to wallow and hide away from it. I want to own up to the mistake and try and fix it. I know that it's not going to be an easy fix, but I will stay here and face the brunt of the anger and pain that she's feeling because I will not give up on her. Not again." I tell her passionate. "Neither of us will. I promise you Yelena, we will do everything in our power to fix this." Wanda steps up and adds her own promise, taking my hand. At least we have each other through all of this.

Yelena doesn't speak, she just looks between the two of us, her chest heaving with anger. It's intimidating to be the one on the receiving end, but we deserve it. I'm glad that Yelena is here. She simple nods her head and that is the subject over with. For now.

That night, my body ultimately wins, and I end up getting a couple of hours sleep. Though it's full of nightmares that I can't seem to escape and then when I wake up, I'm terrified that Y/n will be awake already and I'll have missed it. But when my body wakes with a jolt, I'm met with my sleeping wife and still unconscious daughter.

I stretch out and move closer to the bed and take Y/n's bruised hand in my own. "I can't lose you. You are my daughter, blood or not and I love you so much. I know I haven't shown that to you and there is no excuse for that. I also know that you have every right to never forgive me. So, my only request, is please wake up. Please survive. I don't think I can live in a world without you in it." I plead with her. Hoping that somewhere in her subconscious she can hear me. I squeeze her hand, hoping for any response, but nothing comes.

The day goes by slower than usual. That is until Cho comes in to check on Y/n and gives us the good news that she should be able to breathe without the ventilator now. Wanda and I step outside as we watch through the window. We're holding on to each other tightly as we watch. "This is good. She's strong and this is the first step to her waking up." Wanda speaks. I can hear the hesitation in her voice, showing that she is trying to convince herself more than anything. "You're right. She is so strong. I know she's going to wake up soon." I add on, smiling at my wife.

Cho soon joins us with a smile. "She's doing well. She's now breathing easily on her own. I expect she'll wake up within a few hours. I'll be back to do a full examination then so we can assess her injuries." She informs us. I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Hopefully it won't be long until our daughter is back with us.

The next couple of hours seems to drag by. Clint, Yelena and Kate all paid another visit but left to try and sort a room out for Kate in the compound. Steve was then the next to join us, taking a seat at the end of Y/n's bed. It's a long wait until we finally see a twitch to Y/n's eye.

I'm the first to my feet, leaning over to see if I had imagined the small movement. "Y/n, honey. It's mama. Can you hear me?" I ask her, fighting off the tears threatening to fall. With a flutter, her blues eyes lock on to mine. "She squeezed my hand." Wanda says excitedly. "Baby, we're here." She tells Y/n, who's got a confused look in her eyes.

"You're in the medical wing sweetheart. You got shot on your mission." I explain to her. "S-t-Steve." She stutters out. "He's fine. He's here." I reassure her, waving for Steve to come closer. "Hey kiddo. Boy we're glad to see you awake." He tells her with a relived smile. One that she returns. "I'll got and get Dr Cho." Wanda states, quickly leaving the room. "T-the m-mission." Y/n starts but Steve is quick to stop her. "Is not to worry about right now. Just know it wasn't your fault. But we'll explain it when you're doing better." He tells her, earning a nod. She reaches out her hand to Steve and he instantly takes it. "You're not allowed to scare us like that again." He chuckles, his voice wavering.

"S-sorry." She replies, her eyes fluttering again. "It's ok sweetheart. Don't fight it if you want to sleep again." I tell her softly. She doesn't really acknowledge me, but she does seem to listen as her eyes flutter shut once again.

They don't stay closed for long though, soon woken up by Cho as she comes in with a wide smile. "There's my favourite patient." She smiles at Y/n, who grins in return. "I bet you s-say that to e-everyone." Y/n responds through a struggled chuckle. "But with you I actually mean it." Cho winks, before looking over Y/n's chart and obs.

She takes the time to explain Y/n's injuries to her and the plan for her recovery. I see her face drop when she realises she's going to be in the hospital for at least another week before being on strict bed rest when she's discharged. "I'll be around if you need anything or have any questions. So please get one of the nurses to get me if you need me. That goes for all of you." Dr Cho offers. "Thank you. For everything." I tell her sincerely. She gives me a tightly smile before turning on her heel and leaving the three of us too it.

With Cho gone, it's silent in the med bay as Wanda, Steve and I just watch over Y/n. She is struggling to keep her eyes open, but I can see a pain in them when they lock on to mine. "You should get some rest kiddo." Steve speaks up as Y/n nods in return. "W-will you s-stay?" She asks, making Steve smile widely. "Of course." He returns, moving to get another chair to sit with us. At that confirmation, Y/n seems comfortable enough to let her eyes close and for sleep to take back over.

It's almost agony to see her asleep once again. We've been waiting for so long for her to wake up, for her to be asleep so soon is tough. I almost want to start apologising and showing her that we're going to change and it's going to stick. But I don't want to overwhelm her. At the moment, her recovery is the most important thing. As much as I hate it, earning her forgiveness will have to wait.

"Now she's awake, you two should head to your apartment. See the twins, eat some proper food, and get some sleep. I can stay with her." Steve offers, but I'm quick to decline. "I don't want to leave her." I tell him, whilst gripping her hand tighter, my eyes not leaving her sleeping form. Steve lets out a sigh. "She'll be asleep for a while, and she needs you both on top form." He tells us.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Wanda smiling warmly at me. I hadn't even noticed that she had moved from the other side of the bed. "Steve's right. We've been here for days. If we want to do what's right by Y/n, then we need to look after ourselves as well." She speaks sense.

With a huff I stand from my seat and lean forward to press a kiss to Y/n's head. "We'll be back later sweetheart. I love you so much." I tell her softly then move so that Wanda can say goodbye too. With one last look to our daughter, we both reluctantly leave. Though I smile when I see Steve move closer and take Y/n's hand in his own. Although I will forever regret how we have treated Y/n, I'm glad that she has had Steve there for her.

Y/n's POV:

Well, that was not how I wanted my first mission to go. I wanted to impress everyone, not end up in the med bay with part of my liver missing! Waking up was a weird experience. Seeing my parents' faces were the last thing I expected to see. They seem genuinely worried, but that was probably all a front for everyone else. They can't be seen to not care about the daughter they've ignored for the last few years.

When I wake up next, I see Steve smile down at me. "You're still here." I say and he nods. "Of course. I wanted to make sure that you're ok." He replies, making my own smile grow. I look around and my smile drops when I see that my moms aren't here. I can't hide that it hurts a little that they didn't stick around. But I shouldn't care about that. They haven't cared about me.

"Should have guessed they would go once I woke up." I complain, wincing as I try to adjust myself in bed. "Careful Y/n/n." Steve scolds me as he shoots to his feet to help adjust my pillows. "I told them to go." He admits and I look at him with a frown. "Not like that. But they have not left your side since you were brought in. They weren't looking after themselves and if they are going to help you through your recovery, they need to be at 100%" He explains but I just scoff.

"I don't need their help with my recovery. They didn't care before I was hurt, they don't get to care now." I groan. Steve takes his seat again and looks at me with his, "I know I'm right" look. "Y/n. I know you don't believe it, but they do care for you. They were cut up when you got hurt. They were devastated that they wouldn't have the chance to be able to make things up to you." He says. I roll my eyes, but he continues. "Look, I'm not saying you have to forgive them. But you can't question how much they have cared for you over the last few days."

"Fine, but I'm not going back to their place to recover." I huff, folding my arms. "Considering you've been shot and in a medically induced coma for the last few days, it's good to see it hasn't affected your attitude." Steve teases.

We sit in silence as I think about my parents. They surely can't think that just because they've been sat beside my bed whilst I've been hurt is going to make up for everything that they have done over the years? Who's to say that they won't go back to how they were once I'm healed? I have a place at Sheild now. Somewhere that I can make a name for myself and create my own family.

"I'm sorry I messed up the mission." I break the silence, my mind now moving on to the fact I failed at my first mission. "You didn't fail anything kiddo. We were set up. If anything, I should apologise to you. They were after me, but you were the one to get hurt. You did a great job of take on as many agents as you did." He explains, taking my hand in his. "You fought, and it's because of your skill and ability that you're alive. You impressed everyone." He assures me, running his thumb over my bruised knuckles.

Our moment is broken when my moms walk back in. "You're awake!" Mom says excitedly as both her and mama move into the room quickly. Steve moves back from my side, which I frown at as mama takes my hand in hers. I'm quick to pull it away. The hurt that flashes across her face doesn't go unnoticed, but I'm not in the mood to pretend like everything is ok right now.

"How are you feeling?" Mom asks, appearing to my left. "I'm fine." I respond shortly, receiving a warning raised eyebrow from Steve. "Are you in pain? I can get the nurse to come in and get you some pain killers." Mom fusses. "I'm fine." I repeat the same words. "That's not true, you've been wincing since you've woken up." Steve rats me out. Traitor. "If a 40 calibre bullet went through you, I'm sure you'd be wincing too." I snap. "Told you. Amazing how your attitude hasn't changed." Steve chuckles.

However, both my mom's look at me with worried looks. "I'm going to get Dr Cho. You look pale." Mom worries before rushing out the room.

Mama reaches forward and places her hand on my head, which I quickly try and move away from her touch. "You're hot. I hope you're not running a fever." She states. "Like you care." I mumble, but she hears it and that look of hurt appears on her face again. "Look Y/n. I know you believe that we don't care or love you. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I want nothing more than to talk to you about it and start to make up for everything. But right now, all that matters is your recovery. You can hate us and ignore us or yell at us, but we are not going anywhere." She states firmly, her eyes locked on to mine. I just roll my eyes and turn to look at Dr Cho who has walking into the room.

She checks me over and I notice the frown on her face. "What's up?" I question. "I'm worried about your temperature. I want to run some tests, but with the inflammation to your incision, I'm worried you've got an infection. It's nothing to worry about as we've caught it early. But we'll need to keep a close eye on you." She replies. "So, no discharge yet then." I huff.

Cho chuckles and looks up from my chart. "It's funny you think you were close even without this infection." She teases. "Aren't you meant to be nice to me? I'm a patient after all." I pout. "If I'm on good behaviour, can I get out early?" I plead. "Maybe in a week. But you'll be on strict bed rest and need to be cared for. You're still technically a minor." Cho breaks the news and I know exactly what she's getting at. "But I'm 18 in like 4 days! Besides, I literally got shot on a mission for Shield. Surely that's enough?" I argue.

"Y/n, you are going to struggle to walk, let alone be able to properly look after yourself. Even after you're 18, you'll need support during your recovery. It isn't a simple road ahead for you." Dr Cho returns. "So, what are you saying?" I get straight to the point. "I'm recommending that you are discharged to your family. You'll be in the compound so if anything goes wrong, you can get the right medical attention straight away." She explains. "Really? There are no other options. Can't I stay with Steve or something?" I ask but she shakes her head.

"Y/n, come on. It's what is best for you. Your moms will be there to help. I'll be away on missions so can't give you the care you need." Steve speaks up, but soon shrinks back as I glare at him. "Really, what makes you think that I'll get the care I need at home?" I growl, my anger building. "Y/n..." Mama starts but I cut her off. "No! You can't just stand there and act like the caring parents when you have done nothing to back that claim up. I've been the forgotten daughter for years! Slowly I have been pushed out this family and now you want me to just act like everything is ok and trust that you'll look after me?!" I yell, that frustration finally finding its way out.

"Y/n, you need to calm down. Your heartrate is getting too high." Dr Cho tries to calm me down. "Kiddo. You're ok. You need to give them a chance." Steve tries to reason. "A chance like I was given? I've practically raised myself these last few years!" I snap. Why is he suddenly defending them?!

"Please sweetheart. You're going to make yourself sicker. We want to be there for you. We're not denying how badly we've treated you. But I promise that it will never happen again. You'll be safe with us. We just want to be able to care for you and help you get to full health." Mama speaks, her eyes filled with tears. I look between her, and mom and I see that she's almost inconsolable. "Do I have a choice?" I sigh, turning to Cho. "Technically, yes. But physically, you won't be able to follow through with it." She breaks the bad news. Suddenly the sounds of my heart monitor becomes noticeable so I lie back and take a couple of deep breaths. I can feel all their eyes on me, and I let out a sigh. "Fine whatever." I respond. I just need to do everything that Cho tells me so I can heal as fast as possible and move back to Shield and start my life again.

__________

The next few days are not fun. My infection hit me pretty hard, and I spent a lot of time either sweating or freezing whilst fighting the urge to throw up. I hate being stuck in this bed and I just want to be healthy again and being able to go on missions. Before it went south, I was loving it. Even if it was just a small one.

I'm also finding it hard that my mothers are suddenly around all the time. Mama is much better at not smothering me. Mom on the other hand, she is always fussing. But that's her and I used to love it when I was younger, when she actually cared about my wellbeing. "Wands, she's already said she has enough pillows." Mama sighs, her own frustrations growing. "Yes, sorry you did." Mom apologises, slowly putting the pillow down she had in her hands.

"Can I get you anything else? Some food. Though the food here is pretty horrible. When you're back home, I'll make sure to cook you something tasty with the food you're allowed to eat." She starts to ramble. I'm not going to lie, that does sound amazing, and I'd kill for a bowl of paprikash right now. I remember when mom taught me how to cook it. It was one of the last memories I have of us spending quality time together.

I don't realise I'm smiling until I see both my parents looking at me warmly. I quickly shake it off, not wanting to let them think that I'm enjoying this in the slightest. "You know what. A sandwich would be good." I say, taking them both by surprise. I've not been very talkative, but I could do with a break right now. I know I won't be able to get rid of both of them, but I can at least take a break from mom fussing.

"Of course. I'll go and make you something up and bring it down. The bread is always dry here." She speaks, grabbing a couple of things and turning to leave. "Maybe I'll check with Cho if you could have a smoothy." She mumbles, making mama chuckle as she leaves.

I let out a breath of relief. I feel slightly less suffocated. But I am still very aware of mama's eyes boring into me. I'm used to her being quiet. She always observes, making her conclusions before talking when it's necessary. But seeing her now, it feels different. I'm pretty good at reading people and I can tell that she is lost in her own thoughts. I've only seen her like it a couple of times before and it's been after particularly difficult missions. Ones that bring up bad memories for her.

I grab the TV remote and try and find something to watch. I end up with Rizzoli and Isles on. I don't really watch it, but the sound is helping to break the awkward silence. Just after they break the case in the show, I notice mama sit more upright in her seat.

"When I found you in Hydra, I knew instantly that I wanted to help you. There was something about you that melted my heart. When we found out that you had no family to return you to, it wasn't even a question, I knew I was going to adopt you. In that short space of time, I had spent with you, I grew to love you." She starts. I don't look to her, my focus on the TV.

"Even though you had been through so much, you had this happiness around you. You were grateful for everything and found the joy in the smallest thing. I just wanted to give you a life that you deserved. When I married Wanda, I was so happy that I could give you two loving parents." From the corner of my eye, I can see her smile tearily as she picks at the skin around her fingers.

"I failed you Y/n. When I adopted you, I promised that I would be the best parent to you. That you would never want for anything. What's worse, is I never even noticed what I was doing. What we were both doing. I've always prided myself on being able to read people, but I couldn't see the damage I was doing to my own daughter." She continues, pain evident in her voice.

"I wish I could go back in time to change how we acted with you. To include you fully with the twins, to support you in your work in the Shield Programme. To show that even with the boys, you were loved and an integral part of this family. All I can do is apologise and promise that we are not going to let that happen again." She finishes, finally look up to me, a couple of tears falling down her cheeks.

"It's been years. We're not just talking about a couple of months here." I speak up, still not able to lock eyes with her. "Steve became more of a parent for me than the two of you." I admit, and that seems to make mama's heart break a little more. "Is it because I'm not biologically yours and moms?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Mama is quickly to her feet and takes my hand in between both of hers. "No. Of course not Detka, and I will forever hate myself that I've allowed you to think otherwise." She tries to reassure me, a panic in her eyes. "I wish I could give you a reason for why we acted like we did. Initially, it was because we were so focused on the boys, but after that, I have no idea. I wish I could pinpoint why, maybe it would make this all easier. I know you probably don't believe it, but I love you as much as those boys. Blood doesn't matter to me. You are my daughter as much as they are my sons. I know and feel that through every fibre of my body." She expresses. The sincerity is evident in both her voice and facial expressions. "Saying sorry isn't going to fix this. You only knew what you were doing because I called you out on it. Had I not gotten shot, would you have made any effort to rectify what was wrong?" I question her, my anger growing.

"We wanted to. We were planning on taking you to breakfast to talk and work out a way that we could make things right with you. But you had gone, and we couldn't get to you. You have a lot of people at Sheild that love you." She chuckles humourlessly. That is true. Maria is like an aunt to me and her and Fury happily kept my room allocation secret, "Look, I know that we don't deserve your forgiveness, but it doesn't mean that we are going to stop trying." She states firmly.

"It's not that simple mama. I have learnt to live without you now and I've got my own place with Shield. We can both move on with you getting your perfect biological family and I get the career I want." I say, but that only makes mama cry more. "No, our family is only perfect if you are in it too!" She almost shouts, but she's quick to calm herself down. "Look, we've got to live together through your recovery, let's just see how things go after that ok." She proposes. "Fine, but I can't promise anything will change." I respond and she nods. "I know. But I'm going to try everything to earn your forgiveness." She comes back with a newfound confidence.

We fall back into a silence, one that feels more comfortable. Mama looks less stressed, but her brow is still furrowed. When mom returns, the quiet is broken again, despite mama trying to get her to calm down. I try not to smile when she tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I miss this caring side of my parents so much. But for me, it's too little, too late.

Part 3

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist

[jpmarvel90]

I have to say I started your new book in wattpad (if I’m not wrong is the Elizabeth x reader one) when you mentioned it yesterday here and I kind of want to wait for you to post it here but it’s soooo good! And I’m only in chapter two!!

I'm glad you're enjoying it! I started on Tumblr after I had already written a lot, so I decided to only move my oneshots over as adding my books would take a lot longer as there are so many chapters. I hope you continue to enjoy the book!

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong pt 1

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Word Count: 8392

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daughter Reader

Summary: Y/n is the adopted daughter of Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. However, when science enables her mother's to have twin boys who are biogloically both of their's, her relationship slowly changes. At 17 she's ready to move out and move on, is it too late for her moms to fix things?

Y/n's POV:

When I was 6, my life was saved by none other than the Black Widow. She came in like the hero she is and saved me from the hell that was Hydra. Whilst helping me to acclimatise to normal life, we grew close, and she was a mother figure I never had. I was so shocked when she told me that she wanted to adopt me.

It was everything that I could ever ask for. She was an amazing mom. Caring, loving and always there for me. She had this soft side that not many people got to see. To the world, and a lot of the team, she had this tough, steely exterior. But I never saw that. Not from the moment she found me. I always felt safe and loved around her.

A couple of years later, Wanda joined the team and soon enough, Mama fell in love. I never saw mama so happy. They had the perfect relationship and Wanda took me on without a second thought. When I was 9, she adopted me, and I had two loving parents.

We had quite a domestic life. Tony built us a separate suite at the compound so we could still be close by for when they were needed for missions. I loved having parents that were heroes. I was so proud of them. I ended up spending quite a bit of time with Pepper when they were on missions together, but when they came home, they always had a couple of days off to spend time with me to make up for being away. It was great.

Watching them make a difference in the world, was the reason I joined the SHIELD Young Initiative Programme. I wanted to be just like my moms. Steve became a huge support to me, and alongside him and mama, I was acing all my practicals and exams.

But before that, when I was 11, our family grew. With the help of Bruce and Tony, Mom got pregnant with twins, both biologically hers and mamas. Billy and Tommy made our family complete.

As soon as Mom got pregnant, Mama told Fury that she wouldn't be going on missions once mom got into her third trimester and that after the birth they both would be taking maternity leave. She also told him that they would only ever be sent on a mission together if it was to save the world. Otherwise, under no circumstances were they to go together. They wanted to be around for the twins as much as possible and didn't want them left on their own if they had to go on missions together.

For the first couple of years, everything was perfect. But when they became toddlers, they were a bit of a handful. It meant that mom's focus went to them and slowly I became less of a priority for them.

I found it hard as I was coming into my teenage years, and I felt like I needed my moms more than ever. But I understood at the start. I was old enough that I could look after myself and the twins needed more. But it got harder when every time I tried to talk to one of them, I was brushed off, or told to speak to them later. But later never came.

Once I hit 13, I was their personal babysitter whenever they needed it. Mama told me how they were trying to make sure that her and mom still had quality time together, so had a date night or day each week. Seems they forgot about quality time with their daughter. It got to the point I was expected to drop everything to be there for my brothers. Picking them up at school, taking them to soccer. It didn't matter what I had planned, I was expected to do my job for the family. I did it without complaining, because I thought if I could prove that I was a good sister, maybe they would start to acknowledge me more.

To try and prove myself worthy, I worked even harder for SHIELD. However, now I lost mama as my training partner. She was too busy with work or the twins to help me train. It hurt when she told me that but, thankfully, Steve stepped up more than he had. He became like a father to me. I could confide in him when my moms didn't have time. Though there were still things that I couldn't talk to him about.

Now I'm 17, working towards graduating the youth programme and into SHEILD as an official agent. We have our final exams coming up and I'm doing everything I can to be ready for them. The top two initiates will get fast tracked through the system and be able to go on missions sooner.

I want nothing more than getting that chance. I need to start making a name for myself and to stop being under my mothers' shadow. Once I wanted to be just like them, to make them proud. But now I know that's not possible. They have their perfect biological family. I was just the stray they took pity on.

"You know, you could take it easy today. You're more than capable of passing these exams even on a bad day. You'll be finishing top of the class and joining us for missions in no time." Steve tells me as he holds the punch bag for me. "I just want to be on top of my game." I tell him, hitting the bag as precisely as I could.

"Have you told your moms about the date for your final practical. I'm sure they'll want to be around when you get home." He asks, making me falter with my hits. "I did, but I don't think they were listening. Although they seemed to acknowledge it, Billy was showing them his Lego at the time." I share with him.

Steve knows what's been happening with my moms and the only reason he hasn't done anything is because I made him promise not to. All I need to do is graduate and then I can get moved into the SHIELD facility and start a new life without being a burden on my family.

"You know, you should talk to them. I know you've tried, but really sit them down and tell them how you're feeling." He tries once again. "It's been years now. If they really cared for me, they would notice that they barely see me anymore. I don't even remember the last time they said I love you." I respond, my hits getting harder.

"Ok, I'm calling this. You'll hurt yourself and then you won't even be able to complete your exams." Steve tells me, stepping between me and the bag. I sigh but know he's right. "Just try for me ok. Maybe after your exams. They'll be so proud of you." He pleads. "Ok, fine." I agree. "Now go shower kiddo. You stink!" He teases me before dodging a punch I try to land on his arm.

I smile as I head up to my room. As I walk into our apartment, I see the happy family sat together watching TV. "Hi moms." I call out when I enter. They don't even turn around, so I call out again, only to get the same response. I decide to go and join them but as soon as I sit down, I'm scolded by mom. "Y/n do you have to come in here like that. Go and shower will you." She tells me off. I look to mama who doesn't even glance in my direction. "Sorry, I was training for my final exam." I explain but once again, nothing. I let out a small humourless chuckle to myself as I leave the living room. Every day, I feel more and more like I don't belong here anymore.

__________

I did it! I actually passed! Not only did I pass, I topped the class. I think I even saw Fury smile. I'm so happy, nothing can burst my bubble right now. As a class, we all decide that we're going to celebrate tonight. We've been a tight group and it'll be nice to actually spend time together without having to study or practice.

I practically run back to the compound, smiling ear to ear. "Someone's happy." Steve calls out to me as I rush through the kitchen. "Someone might be your partner one day!" I call out as I keep on towards my destination of finding my parents. "Can't wait kiddo. Well done! Knew you could do it!" Steve shouts after me.

"Y/n, don't run!" Mama scolds me as I find them in the living room. "Sorry, but I have to tell you something that I know you'll want to hear." I apologise with a smile on my face. "Not now Y/n. We're about to head out. The boys just need dinner and don't let them stay up late." She tells me. That's when I notice that she's dressed up in her best jacket.

"I can't look after the twins tonight. Our class are going to celebrate." I explain, hoping she might ask why we're celebrating. But that would be wishful thinking. "Time with your friends can wait Y/n." She tells me without even looking up at me, too focused on her phone. "Can't one of the others watch them. Just for tonight. I've never asked before. But just this once. Please." I practically beg, but to no use. "Stop being selfish and just watch the boys." She snaps, making a lump form in my throat.

"Fine." I mumble, leaving the room and head out of our apartment. "Where are you going?" She calls after me. "To see Steve. Don't worry, I'll be back to watch your precious boys." I talk back whilst leaving, hearing her call after me.

I make my way to find Steve. I know he'll be excited with my results. I wipe at my eyes for the few traitorous tears that fell. "So, I hear someone will be an Avenger in no time." Tony says as I walk into the kitchen. "I think I'll stick with SHIELD." I respond. I have no desire to be a full time Avenger. I'll be around to see my moms live their perfect life without me.

"I'm proud of you kiddo." Steve smiles at me, pulling me into a hug. "Thanks, old man. I couldn't have done it without you." I tell him truthfully, squeezing him tighter. "Your mom's must be proud. Especially Nat. Now's the time for celebrating." Pepper says. "Oh, I'm babysitting the boys tonight." I respond, trying to hide my disappointment. I notice that all others share a look.

They have all noticed how my relationship has changed with my moms, but thankfully, never brought it up. "We could watch them. Let you go out with your class. I know how much you've been looking forward to it." Pepper offers kindly. "Thanks, but mama said it had to be me." I reply. "Sorry kiddo." Steve says, wrapping his arms around me. "It's ok. I better go back before I get into trouble. I just wanted to tell you all about the results." I tell them.

"Of course Y/n. We're so proud of you. I can't wait to work with you." Tony pats me on the shoulder, whilst the others all give me a hug. "We'll do something together tomorrow." Steve promises and I nod. "I'd like that." I reply, taking a deep breath before heading back home.

When I get back to the apartment, both mom and mama are waiting to go. "Good, you're back. We'll be home late." Mom tells me, turning to leave. "And we'll talk about your attitude in the morning." Mama adds on with a stern look before turning to leave. "I love you." I call out after them. No response. My head drops. I really have just become the live in nanny.

_________

The next day, I didn't have to face my moms in the morning. They had taken the boys to the park and out for breakfast. I didn't even get an invite. But thankfully, Steve is taking me for dinner tonight to celebrate the passing of my exams and my imminent graduation.

He's taken me to my favourite Italian restaurant. It's nice to have this time. Steve really has been the only parent I've had recently. I'm so grateful for him. "So your moms don't know?" Steve asks as I tell him that I've been told I can move into SHIELD accommodation in a few days. "I've tried, but as usual, I barely have a conversation with them anymore. They probably wouldn't even notice that I've gone." I admit the painful truth. "Do you think they even still love me?" I ask the question that has been haunting me for a long time now.

Steve looks at me with a sympathetic look. He reaches out and takes my hand. "Oh Y/n. I'm sure they do. They just got lost in the boys and have forgot, that even though you're a teenager, you still need them." He tries to defend them. "If you say so." I mumble, not believing him.

"Well, I have something that might cheer you up." Steve says, changing the subject. "Oh yeah, and what might that be Captain?" I ask with a smirk, making him roll his eyes. "I spoke with Fury, and he already has a mission for you. It's nothing too big, a simple in and out to get some data." Steve explains, making a smile grow on my face. "Really? Me on a mission already?" I question and he nods. "Fury would have had you on them earlier. You've been the best recruit the programme has seen. But he had to follow protocol. There is one downside though." He shares. "Oh God, don't tell me it's with my mother?" I ask making him laugh. "No, just this old man." He responds. "Really? I'm going with you?" I ask excitedly. "Yeah, you don't need me. But I wanted to see you in action on your first mission. I really am proud of you kiddo. I'm glad that I've had a front row seat to seeing you become the woman you have." He expresses honestly, taking me off guard.

The rest of dinner is lovely, and I have a really nice time. It's nice to actually have someone care about your achievements. However, that happiness soon disappears when I enter the apartment to two angry moms. "Where do you think you've been? You've not been answering your phone." Mama yells at me. I reach into my pocket and see that my phone is dead.

"Sorry, my cell died." I tell her, but that doesn't help. "So, are you going to share where you were without telling us? It's 10pm Y/n!" Mom now joins in. "I was having dinner with Steve." I share. "Until this late. Why would you be going out for dinner on a school night? Why didn't he ask us first?" Mama questions me.

"We went out to celebrate when I missed going with my class. And it's not a school night. The programme has finished now." I tell them, trying to keep my cool. "Is this about that party you couldn't go to last night?" Mom asks. "No, actually, it was having someone to celebrate with that I finished top of my class and am now officially a SHIELD agent!" I snap back, taking them both by surprise.

"You've had your final exams already?" Mom asks, stepping closer but I pull away. "Yeah, I have told you on a number of occasions. But apparently you don't listen to me anymore." I admit, feeling tears building. "You finished top?" Mama says proudly, but I just scoff. Her pride is too late. "Like you even care." I growl. "Don't talk to your mother like that." Mom tells me off.

"Like what? You haven't given me the time of day in years. Why do you suddenly care that I was out late. Was I not around to be your personal babysitter? Or were you just annoyed I wasn't there for the one time you noticed I wasn't around." I call them both out taking them by surprise.

"Y/n it was one night." Mom tries to deny more calmly. "No, it wasn't. It's always the twins this, the twins that. I have to make allowances for them in my life and stop what I'm doing to be there to babysit them. When was the last time that you spent any time with me? When did you last tell me you love me or even acknowledge me?" I shout, tears falling down my cheeks, as my parents stand staring at me in shock.

"I have worked my ass off with SHIELD so I can get in and earn my spot with them. Where I can have my own place and start a life for myself. Because I clearly haven't been a part of this family for a long time." I share how I've been feeling. I notice that both their eyes tear up. "Oh Y/n, sweetheart, that's not the case. Of course you belong." Mama tries to argue, moving closer with a shaky hand out in front of her. I don't reach out. In fact, I move away. "Well neither of your actions have shown it in the last few years." I point out, making mom cry harder. "Look it's fine. I get it. I'm not your biological child. Billy and Tommy are. I'll always be grateful for you saving me from Hydra, but you've got your family now. Don't worry, I'll be gone in a couple of days." I say sadly before heading to my room, my moms frozen in shock in their spot.

I slam the door shut behind me, locking it and falling onto my bed. I bury my head into the pillow and sob. All the emotions I've been bottling up come out. My whole body wracks with each sob as I realise, it's official. I really have lost my family now.

Nat's POV:

I feel the tears slowly falling down my cheeks as I realise that my daughter stood before me as a broken girl who thinks her moms don't love her anymore. By the time I come to my senses, Y/n is already gone, and I'm left facing my wife who is sobbing. "Have we really been putting the boys first so much she thinks that we don't want her anymore?" I say at a whisper, my voice getting caught in my throat.

"It's my fault. Things changed when I came into the picture, and we started trying for our own babies. We didn't even consider how that must have made her feel. We didn't even reassure her that we would still love her just as much, regardless of if the boys were ours biologically or not." Wanda responds.

I quickly move forward and wrap my arms around her. "It's not your fault my love. We both wanted that. Our lives are significantly better with you in them Wanda. But you're right. We should have tried harder to make sure we involved Y/n and showed her will still love her." I comfort her.

I can't believe that I've let Y/n get to this point. The day I found her in that cell, she changed my life for the better. She not only made me a mother, but she made me more human. She made me see there was more than being an Avenger. She is the reason that I who I am today. Yet I've neglected her. I got so focused on the twins that I didn't even notice how little I have seen Y/n.

"We should go and talk to her." I suggest whilst Wanda still clings to me. "She was angry. We should give her some space. Let's take her for breakfast in the morning. I'll ask Pepper to watch the boys and we can start to make this right." She counters. "But..." I start, not wanting to leave this longer than we have to. "This is our daughter we're talking about. She has your temper." Wanda tearily chuckles. "Hey!" I poorly defend. She's right though. She might not be biologically mine, but she is my mini me.

That night I don't sleep. All I can think of is every time that I blew Y/n off and decided to spend time with the twins instead. When did we stop doing things as a family? I try and think of the last time I trained with her or helped her prepare for her exams. God, how did I not even know she was taking them this week?! "Your thoughts are loud Detka." Wanda mumbles sleepily as she turns over to look at me. When she sees the distress on my face, she gives me a sympathetic smile. "She has worked so hard, and we didn't even know she was completing her final exams. She told us yet neither of us remembered or even heard her apparently. We are awful moms!" I sigh.

Wanda moves and pulls me into her embrace. "I know. I feel awful too. I'm so proud of her though. She finished top. She's just like you." She shares. "She's moving out." I realise whilst Wanda just looks at me confused. "What do you mean?" She questions. "She said she would be gone in a few days. She must have been assigned a room at SHIELD. Our little girl was ready to leave the nest and we didn't even know." I respond, another wave of sadness washing over me.

"We'll talk to her and make her see that she is still very much wanted here. If she still wants to move out that's fine, but she has to know that we love her and always have. We can't change the past but we sure as hell can make sure we change the future and how see feels." She says determined.

Neither of us really sleep. I think we regret not talking to her last night. But our tiredness soon takes over and we get some much need kip. It definitely won't do any of us favours when we talk to Y/n in the morning. She won't make it easy on us and I don't want to snap because I'm too tired.

When we eventually get up, we check on the boys and I go to ask Pepper if she would mind watching the boys. "Is Y/n not available?" Pepper asks with a humourless chuckle. "What? No, we're going to take her to breakfast." I respond, surprised at the bite to her tone. She hums in surprise. "I'll take the boys. Make sure you treat that girl. She definitely deserves it." She tells me firmly. I nod and thank her before going to get the boys.

"Everything ok?" Wanda asks me when I take Billy from her. "Whilst we've been failing to notice Y/n, I think everyone else has noticed our behaviour. It's very frosty down there." I tell her and she nods sadly. I guess we can't expect anything less.

It makes me wonder what could have happened if we didn't have everyone else around. They have clearly been supportive to her and been there when Wanda and I should have. What if she didn't have that support, would she have even still been with us?

Shaking off the thought, Wanda and I take the boys to the compound living room, where we receive a number of glares from the team that were there. Thankfully, nothing is said, but my guilt keeps on growing.

With the boys sorted, I take Wanda's hand and we head to Y/n's room. I take a deep breath and knock on the door. We wait anxiously but get no response. I try again, calling out to her this time. "Y/n, honey. Can we come in?" I ask, but once again, we're met by silence.

I look to Wanda who's got a concerned look on her face. "Sweetheart, we're going to come in now." Wanda speaks up and pushes down on the door handle. I'm surprised when it opens but that is soon replaced by shock when I see her room practically empty. There are a couple of boxes with her stuff in, but most of her clothes have gone.

I let go of Wanda's hand and quickly move into the ensuite to see if she's in there, but I'm met by more empty cabinets. Panic builds within me to know that she's gone. "Where is she?" Wanda asks as stands by the chest of draws, picking up photos that had been turned upside. She lets out a muffled sob when she sees they're our family photos. What have we done to our daughter.

"She's probably asked Fury if she could move sooner. Considering how much he loves her, I'm sure he would have done anything to get her in as soon as possible." I respond, letting out a sigh. "But she's only 17. She's still a kid." Wanda argues. "I know babe. But when she signed up, it was part of the contract that I signed as her parent. Besides, she turns 18 next week and we'd have no say anyway." I admit.

"Shit, is it already her birthday? We've done nothing to prepare for that. In fact, I'm sure we both forgot." Wanda exhales, running her hands through her hair, whilst I made sure all the photos were back upright. Though, I notice our last family photo was back when Y/n was just 15. We've got hundreds of photos with the twins, but it's been over two years since we've had a complete family photo.

Wanting to know that Y/n is ok, I grab my phone out and hit Fury's number. It rings out and I let out a sigh before trying Maria. "Romanoff." She greets me. "Hill, I was wondering if you could tell me if Y/n has moved into her room yet and if so where she's been placed. Wanda and I want to surprise her." I try my luck.

"I'm sorry, Y/n has asked that we don't disclose her room location at the moment. She has been allowed early move in, so will be in a position to share once the other agents are moving." Hill responds. "Please, Maria, I'm asking you as a friend. We really need to see Y/n." I plead, hoping she'll have sympathy on me. "And I'm telling you as a friend that how you treated your own daughter is unacceptable. Do you know why she was the best cadet to come through?" She calls me out. "No." I respond in a whisper. "Initially it was because she was trying to be just like her hero mothers. But she got even better when she was fighting to make her own name for herself to start her life over. I watched her personality change to become guarded and her walls built high. That's what you did to her Nat." She scolds me through the phone.

"I know Maria. We have fucked up more than we thought possible and we're trying to make this right. We can't do that if we can't even speak with her." I counter. "This isn't something you can just fix with a talk and a hug. This is years of you slowly neglecting her. Pushing yourself onto her is not going to help with that." Maria warns me. I know she's right. We'll end up pushing Y/n away if we're not careful. But I also know that I can't wait to fix this. I want my baby girl to know how much I love her. Despite my inability to show her these last few years.

Wanda and I spend the day trying to get any information on where Y/n might be. We get a lot of cold shoulders, and our questions often go answered. I even spend time hanging around the Shield accommodation to see if I can catch a glimpse of her. My lucks not in and I return home deflated.

When I walk through the door, a smile forms on my face as I see Wanda giving the boys dinner. "Any luck?" She asks. I just shake my head. "We'll find her." She says confidently. "When was the last time we had dinner with Y/n?" I ask, looking to Wanda who's looking at me sympathetically. "Detka, you are punishing yourself by think that." She scolds me lightly. "It's true though. She asked when we last said I love you to her. I've been trying to think, and I don't remember. How can a mother not remember when they last said I love you to their child. Have we really subconsciously disregarded her because she isn't biologically ours?" I share my thoughts, tears falling freely down my face.

Wanda quickly moves from the table, leaving the boys to carry on talking about the latest Nintendo game they're playing. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me in close. "We let ourselves get lost in the boys. They were a handful and we were blessed with a daughter who was selfless and caring. Subconsciously, we took advantage of that. But that changes now ok." She responds as I nod in the crock of her neck. We really need to fix this.

__________

It's been a few days and we've still had no luck in seeing Y/n. Wanda and I decided to go to Shield to talk to Fury today, whilst the boys were in school. I head straight to his office, knocking twice before heading in, not caring if he's busy. "Romanoff, Maximoff. What can I do for you?" He asks, moving his gaze from the laptop in front of him.

"It's been long enough now Fury. The other agents have started moving in and Y/n is still only 17, so tell us where she is staying." I demand, my tone harsh. "I can give you her room allocation, but she's not there." Fury responds, just angering me more. "Then where the hell is she?!" I shout, only calming down when I feel Wanda squeeze my hand. "She's on a mission. She'll back tomorrow." He responds nonchalantly.

"A mission? She's 17 Fury! How is she already going on a mission?!" Wanda responds before I even manage to direct my own anger into words. "She is almost 18 and finished top of her class. You knew that was a possibility when you signed her up Romanoff. She has the potential to be the best agent we've seen. She is ready." Fury retorts, but I'm still not happy. "She's just a kid, she could get hurt." I growl, worry taking over me.

"Natasha, she is far from the kid you think she is. If you still trained with her, you'd see that she can almost beat Steve in hand to hand combat and her weapons skill matches your own, if not better in some instances." He points out and I realise how little I actually know my daughter right now. "Look, I'll keep you posted when she's back." Fury concedes after a moment silence.

"Thank you. Is she on her own?" I ask but he shakes his head. "Steve went to be on comms." He replies and that puts my mind at ease a little. He loves her like his own, he'll do everything that he can to protect her. "Ok. Thank you." I say, taking Wanda's hand a heading home.

"We've missed so much Nat. Y/n used to tell us everything about her training and classes. We've created an environment where she doesn't feel like she can share with us anymore. She was probably so excited to get a chance on her first mission. But instead of us being with her and making sure she's prepared, we didn't even know she had gone." Wanda agonises.

"I'm worried that we may not be able to fix this. If her walls have gone up, they'll be near impossible to knock them down." I sigh. "You had walls once. What helped you to let them down?" Wanda asks. "Y/n." I respond, my gaze dropping to my hands. "Then we find away to be the same for her." Wanda tries to comfort me. But how can the people that caused her this pain, be the ones to pull her through.

The next morning is quiet whilst we get the boys ready for school. They asked this morning where Y/n was and that they missed her. It broke my heart. Because of our actions, not only is Y/n feeling alone, isolated, and not part of this family, but her brother might lose the chance of having their sister in their lives.

When we get home, we end up just sat waiting for any news that Y/n is on her way home so we can greet her. I want to be able to hear all about how her first mission went and actually be apart of something so special to her. I may not have shown it, but I've always been proud of her. She is talented and I loved training with her. I had always planned to join her again once the twins were old enough. But I didn't and it seems that I have missed out on so much.

Whilst I'm preparing lunch, I hear Friday's alarm go off and my ears tune in. "Emergency medical team to the landing bay. Emergency medical team to the landing bay." I don't even think before I'm dropping the knife onto the countertop. I go to call for Wanda, but she rushes in from the bedroom. "Something's wrong with Jess. I can feel it." She says worriedly. "Let's go." I say, taking her hand and rushing through the compound to get to the landing bay.

Cho is waiting, along with a nursing staff. "Is it Y/n?" I ask as we come to a halt next to her. It feels like an age before she responds. A small nod of the head breaks my heart. "H-how bad?" Wanda asks, a tremble to her voice. "Steve confirmed a gunshot wound. She's lost a lot of blood." She responds. I run my hand through my hair, my stomach in knots.

It feels like the world around me has become muffled. I don't hear the orders that Cho is giving her team. Had I been able to, maybe I would have known more about her condition. My chest feels tight at the thought of her being hurt and the chance that she might not make it.

It's not until a pair of hands cup my face, that I zone back into the environment around me. "Breathe for me baby." Wanda's shaking voice tries to calm me. But the complete fear in her own eyes doesn't do much to help. We're facing losing our daughter and she doubts the depths of our love for her.

I do my best to bring myself out of this panic attack. I can't be a broken version of myself. My wife and family need me more than ever. If I can't pull through now, I'm not worthy to be a mother. "That's it detka. Deep breathes." Wanda guides me. I take one more deep breath and stand straighter. This isn't about me.

I can see a frown on Wanda's face form as she sees me put up my own walls. I know that she hates when I do this, but it's the only way I know how to get through what's about to happen without completely breaking down.

It's not long until the QuinJet comes into sight and slowly starts to descend on to the landing pad. I feel like I'm holding my breath as we wait for the ramp to lower, and we can see how bad this is. My heart is thumping against my chest as it begins to lower, and I see Steve's face first.

Cho and her team move forward, a bed waiting, whilst Wanda and I hold back. I want to be by her side straight away, but I also know that we'll just be a hinderance to her care if we insist on being with her.

When we get a full view of Steve, I hear Wanda let out a sob beside me. He's holding our unconscious daughter in his arms. His own suit is covered in blood and my eyes instantly land on the blooded dressing on her stomach. "I tried to staunch the bleeding as best I could. But it just kept coming." Steve explains. I've never seen him so shaken up before.

He places Y/n on the hospital bed and moves out the way, before staring at his bloodied hands. Cho doesn't wait before rushing Y/n off to the medical bay, the three of us closely following behind.

"Is she going to be ok?" I ask as they start to get to work. But before she has a chance to respond, the machines start to go crazy and they move even faster to help my daughter.  "I can't answer that right now Agent Romanoff. I need to focus on Y/n, but I promise I'll keep you updated." Cho says, her polite way of telling us to leave. I'm reluctant, knowing that in this moment, Y/n is on the verge of life or death. But with a subtle tug of my hand from Wanda, I follow to watch through the window outside.

My gaze doesn't leave my daughter as I watch over as the team work to save her life. I don't notice that another person has joined us until I hear a bang from behind me. My head shoots around where I see Steve pinning Fury to the wall. "You told us it was empty! That all she needed was to get to the drive and out again." Steve growls at Fury who's holding his hand up in surrender. "I know." He responds, but Steve isn't happy when he slams him against the wall again.

"Then why the hell is she led in that hospital fighting for her life. There was a whole guard waiting for her!" Steve yells. This information makes the anger inside me grow. "You sent her into an ambush?!" I join in now, furious that he has put my daughter in danger.

"I didn't know! I'm as surprised as you are." Fury tries to explain, but Steve isn't letting up. "Talk!" Steve spits. "I had an agent scout the base for two weeks! Every report was how there was no activity. I would never have sent her had I know there was any more risk. It was supposed to be an easy mission for her first." Fury explains.

I can see the honesty in his eyes, and I know Steve does too. Fury has been like family to Y/n and I do trust he would never willingly put her in unnecessary danger. "So, either Hydra suddenly decided to man the base or..." Steve starts. "The agent tipped them off." I finish off as Fury nods. "I've detained the agent, and he broke within minutes. It was a perfect opportunity for them to fight you without back up." Fury shares as Steve lets him go. "Except I wasn't meant to go in. So, they were faced with Y/n." Steve concludes.

"I'm sorry Nat. I really am. I never would put Y/n in danger like that. I wanted her to have a successful first mission. One that would build her confidence." Fury apologises with a sincerity that he rarely shows. "I want to see him." I state firmly, to which Fury sighs. "Me too. It's because of him that our daughter is fighting for her life." Wanda steps beside me, her eyes glowing red. "Not now, not while you're both angry and worried." Fury refuses. "He could be the reason my daughter dies!" I shout at him, but he doesn't budge. "And he'll also be the reason I have to arrest you for killing him. If it's not you it'll be Wanda. I'm not letting either of you do that." Fury once again declines.

In a huff, I drop to the seat in the waiting room, my head falling into my hands. He's right. I will kill him if I get my hands on him. "Be here for Y/n. She needs you now more than ever. Leave the rest to me. I can promise that he will not get away with it." Fury orders, the formality coming back into his tone. We all reluctantly agree, and he leaves content that, for now, a homicide will not be occurring.

"What happened?" I ask Steve when the silence becomes almost unbearable. He takes the seat next to me and his gaze falls to his blooded hands. "It was meant to be a simple mission to test her hacking. I was in the QuinJet for support, and she was to go in, get to the mainframe computer and download as much data as possible." He starts and I nod along. "It was going fine, and she was doing everything by the book, clearing each room one by one. Part of me was sure she would be just like you and be impatient to get what she needed." He shares, with a small smile, making me chuckle. "Thankfully, she's a far better agent than I am." I respond, feeling Wanda's hand interlink with mine.

"It was as she got to the second floor, she said something felt off. It was warmer and it didn't smell as damp and musty. She said there were signs that this floor had been used recently. Knowing the risk that could entail, I told her to pull back and we'd get a team to help us clear the base. It wasn't something we should be doing on our own." He continues to explain, my anger towards the double agent increasing by the minute. But I also feel pride at how she was able to establish that something was wrong.

"She did as I ordered, but she was ambushed on her way out. I was already on my way in to meet her when I heard gunshots start. By the time I reached her, all the agents were down around her, but an alarm was blaring, and I knew others would be on their way. I grabbed at Y/n's arm, but she didn't move. As I moved in front of her, it was then I saw where her gaze was fixed. She's been hit. I got her out of there as quickly as I could and set the QuinJet to fly on autopilot. I tried everything that I could to stop the bleeding, but there was just so much. I-I...." Steve starts to crumble as he aggressively rubs at the blood on his hands.

I reach out and place my hands over his, stopping his actions. "I know you would have done everything you could Steve. We don't blame you. I'm so grateful that you were there to help our daughter." I try to reassure him. "I'm going to clean up. I can't sit here with...this on my hands any longer." Steve says, standing up holding his hands out in front of him.

Silence falls again when it's just Wanda and me. I want to look through the window again, but I don't think I can see them working on her. If she dies, I can't watch that. She looked so small as Steve laid her on the bed. "I had always hoped I'd be with her on her first mission." I speak up, guilt building once again. "Hmm" Wanda responds, turning to look at me. "When we used to train together, I always knew she would be one of the best the agency we would see. I couldn't wait to work along side her. My pride was overwhelming." I share as Wanda smiles softly at me.

"What happened? Why did I let myself lose sight of her. I have no excuse for treating her how I did. When I adopted her, I promised that she would always be loved and safe. Look at her now. I wouldn't blame her if she never forgives me." I lament, tears stinging my eyes. "It wasn't just you babe. We both have done wrong by Y/n and it's not forgivable. But we can work to earn her trust back and be the mothers that she deserves." She tries to comfort me.

"What if she doesn't make it and we don't have a chance to make things right? Or she does make it through, but she wants nothing to do with us?" I question in a panic. "I think she always hoped you'd eventually pull your heads out your asses." Steves voice takes us both by surprise as he rejoins us in a pair of sweats and a hoody. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Fury loves that kid. If she had asked to move out sooner, he would have allowed her too. I think part of her didn't want to go just in case you started being the loving and caring mothers you once were. Ultimately, she was still a kid and desperate to still have you in her life." He clarifies. "But she had already gone. We blew our last shot." Wanda speaks up. "Maybe you're right. But if anyone is worth fighting for. It's her." Steve points out and I couldn't agree more. I know that I'll do anything in my power to make things right and hopefully prove to my daughter that I love her more than I can express.

After hours of waiting, too scared to even glance through the window, Cho comes out of the medical room with a solemn look, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. I feel my breathing pick up once again, the thought of not being able to fix everything with Y/n becomes suffocating. It's not until Wanda grasps my hand that I find myself zoning back in.

"H-how is s-she?" I find myself asking in a quiet, unsure voice. Cho sighs and takes the seat opposite us, her hands interlocked. "Y/n suffered a gunshot wound to her abdomen. The bullet went straight through her liver. We were required to remove part of her liver, to ensure we saved her life. This was harder with the amount of blood that she lost. However, we were able to stabilise her before repairing the damage done to her liver." She explains.

"So, she's going to be, ok?" Wanda asks to clarify. "It's going to be touch and go. She's extremely weak right now and the next couple of days are going to be critical to her recovery. If she can pull through these next few days, I believe she'll make a full recovery. Though it'll take a lot of rehab to adjust to the changes to her body." Cho confirms.

I let out a small sob, knowing that she can pull through this. I have to believe that she will make it through these next few days, and we can be there to support her through her recovery. "Will she be able to return to full field duties?" Steve asks, clearly agitating Wanda. "Really Steve. That's what you're concerned about right now?" She snaps.

He turns to look at us and I know exactly why he's asking. "The SHIELD programme is everything to Y/n. To lose it after only just achieving it, that will crush her." Steve defends. "I think she would rather be alive right now." Wanda snaps back. "You just don't want to face that the honest truth is that without this programme, Y/n will feel like she has nothing, and I hate to say it, but she won't be too happy about being alive." Steve shares, an angry, yet sad look on his face.

Wanda goes to argue back, a look of hurt washing over her face. But I hold my hand up to stop her. "He's right my love." I interrupt her, making her snap her head to me. "SHIELD was the only family she thought that she had after she believed that she didn't belong in this family anymore. It will break her if she can't carry on what she worked so hard to achieve." I admit sadly.

I lock eyes with Wanda, and I see her heartbreak even further, if that's possible. "It'll take time and a lot of hard work, but I believe that Y/n would be able to return to full duties within SHIELD." Cho chips in, reminding us all that she was still in the room. "But first, she needs to get through the next few days." She reiterates, making all of us nod.

"Can we see her?" I ask, desperate to be with her and to hold her hand. "Of course. I'll be in my office, but the nursing staff will monitor her hourly." She smiles at us and leaves us to it. I take Wanda's hand and lead her towards the door and slowly push the door open. I let out a gasp when I see my little girl led in bed. She has a tube down her throat and wires attached to so many machines.

I've seen many people in this situation. But when it's your own daughter, there aren't words to describe the pain you feel. How helpless you are to make them better. All you can do is sit and watch as you wait for fate to take its course. Praying that you get your daughter back.

I instantly move to take a seat next to her bed, taking her hand in mine and holding it tightly. I notice the bruising to her knuckles, showing she fought. It brings a small smile of pride to my face.

Wanda goes to the opposite side of the bed and gently places her hand on Y/n's head. "I'm so sorry moya Lyubov." She whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "We promise we're going to make things right. We are so sorry that you ever felt like you didn't belong in this family. You'll never doubt this again!" I make promise to her now, one that I will repeat when she wakes up. Because she will wake up.

Part 2