"You can't leave her at a hotel."
"I'm not leaving her at a hotel," Natasha huffs, punching the pillow that she was previously laying against before laying down again, "It's a three star place with free breakfast. She's fine."
"She's your mother," Wanda insists, "Or at least, she's Yelena's."
"My mother," Natasha stares at the ceiling, "was murdered by Dreykov. Melina, she's just a woman that raised me for a little while. I'm not going around calling Dreykov my father after he pulled me under his wing in the Red Room because I was the best, am I?"
Wanda's quiet and Natasha intertwines her hands, setting them on her stomach.
"It's been a week," Wanda finally says, "have you and Yelena at least talked about it?"
No, Natasha wants to say. They haven't talked about it. They've barely scratched the surface about this whole Melina thing and it's half because Natasha doesn't want to and half because she knows that she and Yelena are on completely different terms with her. Natasha knows Yelena made up with her and she's more than okay with that (she thinks), but Natasha's never wanted to fully make up with Melina. She doesn't think that she'll ever forgive her and that hatchet was buried years ago.
But now she's here, in New York City, stressing out Natasha and Anya and killing her mood and she's over it.
"Are you going to talk about it?"
"Probably not," Natasha mutters, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't really want to talk about anything.
"Nat, you know I'm not going to force you into anything-"
"Then please stop talking," Natasha mumbles, immediately regretting it when she hears it back. That was harsh, she knows it, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
"I know you are," Wanda responds softly, "you need to talk about this, though."
"I don't need to do anything," Natasha retorts, "I mean, seriously, you just told me that you're not going to force me to do anything."
"And I'm not," Wanda says, huffing after a second, "but Melina's here. And it's clearly affecting you. Or something else is affecting you, but I don't know what that is because you won't talk to me."
Natasha closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to hold back any more snide comments.
It's quiet for a few minutes until finally, the other side of the bed moves and Wanda quietly tells her that she's going to run a load of laundry.
"You're going to have to talk to her at some point," Steve advised, watching as Natasha absentmindedly stirred the sauce they made. Well, Steve made it. Natasha supervised quietly.
"About what?" Natasha inquired, "Like, oh hey, witchy, nice to meet you! I'm Natasha, which you know already, along with all of my trauma."
"Isn't your whole thing being charismatic and charming?" Steve asked, dipping a clean spoon into the sauce and sampling it, "I don't think that this is what the recipe wanted."
"Does it taste like ass again?" Natasha wrinkled her nose, "I swear, you shouldn't be allowed to cook."
"You're deflecting," Steve turned off the stove, "Wanda's nice. That's all I'm saying. You just have to, you know, be a human about it."
"That's a loaded statement, super soldier," Natasha responded, climbing down from the counter she was sitting on and grabbing some chocolate out of the freezer, "Besides, how do you know I'm human? I could be a crazy alien."
"Well, crazy alien," Steve grabbed the recipe sheet, and shoved it in her face, "This called for basil, we put cilantro. No wonder it tasted so bad."
"Big whoop, no one else in this house cooks anyway," Natasha brushed off, breaking off a piece and offering it to Steve.
Steve waved the chocolate in the air as he spoke, "Wanda does. You'd know that if you talked to her."
Later that night, Wanda's sound asleep and Natasha's still awake. It's times like this that she's almost thankful for some of the training that she's had - this time particularly she finds herself thankful for when the Red Room instilled the ability for them to be still.
Natasha's good at staying still, falling asleep without having to toss and turn, whatever. It's made her better at her job, even though it was probably because she remembers how the cuffs would rub at her wrists and make them chafe if they moved too much. (It also makes her wonder where Yelena got all of her fidgety movement from, but that's a problem for another time.)
Wanda's arm is slung around her waist, holding her close and twisting the fabric of her shirt in her fist every once in a while.
She wonders how Wanda puts up with this, how she's okay with Natasha shutting down and being snippy and sometimes resentful even though they've been together for three years and she feels like she's past it.
Well, they've been together for three years without the blip and her being dead. With the blip, it's eight years, with the her being dead, it's ten. Ten years since they first kissed and started whatever this is. It hurts her brain that she was technically only alive for eight of them and Wanda for five.
She turns her head, glancing at Wanda. She's not easy to see in the dark of their room, but Natasha can still see some of the broader features of Wanda's face in the light that filters in through the curtains. Her hair - brunette roots perfectly blended with the blonde that she got it dyed, is pulled into a loose braid. She was talking the other day about how she hates waking up with insanely tangled hair and Natasha suggested braiding it. Though, she now finds herself regretting it and wanting to run her fingers through it.
She holds back.
"I don't like you."
Wanda hummed, oddly understanding of the blunt comment, "Any reason?"
Natasha sighed, burying her fists in her hoodie pocket. Her wet hair tickled her neck as she looked around the room, "You..." she looked to the floor and then at Wanda again, not enjoying how scrambled Wanda's eyes on her made her feel, "you remind me of me."
Wanda raised an eyebrow.
"Our stories are... they're different," Natasha pursed her lips, "but similar. I... I never had parents, so I don't know if anyone would count them being lost when there's nothing to remember losing. And then," her voice cracked and she immediately wanted to punch herself. She doesn't cry in front of strangers, yet here she was, tears begging to overflow and tightness all through her chest, "I got a new family and lost them all at the same time."
Natasha bit her lip, "I've lost everything before. And the way... the way you lurk and don't trust anyone and know you've fucked up with the people around you, it reminds me of when I started at SHIELD. I burned bridges that I didn't even know I had. And I don't like being reminded of that and that's not your fault or your burden, but... it makes you hard to talk to."
She let out a deep breath, "I'm willing to try, though."
Wanda nodded, "Do you want to sit in for a while?"
Natasha stiffened, "And do what?"
"Tony apparently has access to every show that exists," Wanda gestures to the TV in the corner of the room, "I'm halfway through Modern Family, if you want to watch it with me."
Natasha hummed, "I've never liked Modern Family too much."
Wanda scrunched her nose, "I'd think that you'd like it. This f... this group reminds me a lot of them."
Natasha inched closer, sitting in the chair by Wanda's desk and glancing back at the TV, "Explain it, then."
Natasha finally decides to get out of bed and walk around, unable to take the staring at the ceiling and wall any longer. She ends up grabbing her phone, completely unsure of what she's even going to do with it, but holding it in her hands nonetheless.
She finds herself toying with the arrow necklace she keeps on at all times - she'd never admit that she's so scared of losing it that it sometimes keeps her up at night, but it's true - and trying to recenter herself.
She flicks the lights on in the kitchen, slowly pacing on the tiled floor and glancing at the photos that are set on the windowsill above the sink.
The family photo is in the center, one of her, Wanda, Anya, and Yelena. It's from Wanda's birthday, which wasn't long ago at all but feels like a lifetime ago. It was only three weeks ago, really, but so much has happened since then and it hurts her brain.
She now finds herself thinking that Kate's missing from that photo. It's weird, she knows, especially because she was a firsthand witness to how fucked over Yelena was when they broke up, but somehow, over the course of them getting Anya at the end of January to now, Kate's wriggled her way back into their lives.
Now she's the person that Yelena leans on even more heavily than when Natasha came back, and while a part of her wishes Yelena leaned on her, she knows that Kate has her.
Yelena.
Natasha re-reminsces over her confession to Wanda that they were more alike than she wanted to admit, but so much has changed since then. She got her sister back. Wanda hasn't gotten Pietro back. She got her parents back - even if she doesn't want them, seriously, Alexei hasn't spoken a word to Yelena since she came out to them and she's glad she hasn't seen him because she's fully prepared to punch him across the face. Wanda doesn't get that luxury, though. Wanda doesn't get to be mad or happy or confused or sad or anything about her parents.
Instead, Natasha gets almost everything she ever asked for - someone to love, a child, her sister, freedom from fighting, and she's the one unable to sleep while her fiancée that's lost everything is grateful. Why can't she be grateful?
She finally finds herself unlocking her phone and hitting call on her sister's number, only half-regretting it when she sees 3:52 am on the top of her screen.
"What do you want?" Yelena's voice comes through after a couple of seconds.
Natasha's mouth goes dry, suddenly lost for words, she wasn't really expecting for Yelena to pick up.
"Sorry... um, you were asleep, weren't you? I... I'm sorry," Natasha swallows, "Go back to bed."
"You called for a reason," Yelena replies, "And I am up now, so... say it, sestra."
Natasha sighs, leaning against the counter, "How'd you forgive Melina?"
"This can't be just about Melina," Yelena retorts, "but... I don't know. It took a lot of time. She's kind of on a three-strike policy, though, as you Americans say. Red Room was strike one, refusing to accept me was two... hopefully there's not a third."
"But why give her the chance?" Natasha asks, "She... she brought me back to the one place I never wanted to go back to."
"She was trapped, Tasha," Yelena responds, "We all were. And I don't love her unconditionally or even... really consider her my mother much anymore, but she's the best I have. She's here now."
"How can you... after everything? You forgave her, you forgave me..."
"And it's worked out pretty okay, right?" Yelena replies before adding a sarcastic sounding, "I'd argue you were almost more heinous than she was."
"Not funny," Natasha says, "You know how sorry I am about that."
"I do," Yelena says softly, "but we're okay now. I love you. And Melina's gotten much better. What brought this on, though? You've seemed pretty deadset on keeping boundaries with her."
Natasha sighs, "No reason."
"Okay," Yelena says, but it's almost like she knows there's something more to it, "Can I go back to bed now? Peter's coming tomorrow and he and Kate are very energetic together."
"Yeah, yeah," Natasha nods, "I love you."
"Love you, too," Yelena says softly, "Get some sleep."
The line clicks and Natasha feels a load of tension release.
Maybe she just needed her sister, she thinks, slowly leaving the kitchen and flicking the light back off.
She walks back down the hall to the bedrooms, quickly checking in on Anya and feeling more calm when she sees how the teenager's curled up with her feet on the pillows and her head at the end of the bed on a folded up hoodie.
She closes the door before padding into her own room and plugging her phone back in. She slowly climbs back into bed and curls up to Wanda, who pulls her into her chest with a pleasant hum.
"You're drunk," Wanda furrowed her eyebrows, a cute frustrated look on her face, "I smell it."
"So are you!" Natasha responded, hands not leaving Wanda's waist as they clumsily made their way to Wanda's room, "wait, you're allowed to drink, aren't you?"
"I'm twenty-seven, dumbass," Wanda retorted, her hands now completely wrapped around Natasha's shoulders, "Besides, I'm European. We can drink when we're like, twelve."
"Uh huh," Natasha stopped them at Wanda's door, trying to recollect herself and all of her fuzzy thoughts so she didn't do something stupid. But Wanda was looking at her and she was looking at Wanda and they were practically one person with how close they were.
She hiccuped, "You're beautiful."
"Charmer," Wanda snorted, moving a little closer to bump noses with Natasha, "you're pretty too, I guess."
"You guess?" Natasha faked offense, "I'm very pretty. The-" - hiccup again - "prettiest."
"Well," Wanda's pupils looked almost fully dilated as she pressed their foreheads together, "I only kiss really pretty girls."
"I'm really pretty," Natasha retorted before taking the opportunity and kissing her, only pulling away to reassure Wanda, "I'm a good kisser, too."
Wanda giggled, mumbling something about having to try again and test that theory.
And they kissed again. And again.