The following Monday:
The sound of papers rustling and the steady scratch of a pen fill the office. Natasha sits behind her desk, meticulously grading the new recruits assignments. With each paper, her expression tightens; disappointment etched across her features. She decides it's time for a harsher approach: no more leniency. If the next assignments are anything less than flawless, the recruits will be cut from the program.
A firm knock on her office door interrupts her thoughts. Without lifting her gaze from the papers, Natasha calls out, "Come in."
The door clicks open, and a figure steps inside. Natasha's eyes lift to meet the visitor, her gaze hardening instantly. "Agent Prince," she greets, her tone distinctly unenthusiastic.
Diana steps forward, extending a folder. "Here are the reports you requested." Natasha takes the folder, her fingers avoiding Diana's. "Thank you," she mutters curtly, her attention already returning to the stack of papers on her desk.
Diana remains standing, her jaw tensing slightly, but she inhales deeply before speaking. "Agent Romanoff," she begins, her voice firm, commanding attention. Natasha looks up, her expression one of impatience.
"I want to be part of the investigation team looking into the Red Room and Hydra," Diana declares.
Natasha raises an eyebrow, her demeanor cooling further, skepticism clear in her voice. "And why is that? So you can betray us again?"
Diana's expression remains stoic, but there's a flicker of hurt in her eyes at Natasha's accusation. "I understand your concerns," she responds evenly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. "But I've changed. My loyalties are clear, and my past mistakes while terrible—are just that, the past. I've proven myself since then, Natasha."
Natasha studies Diana for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the sincerity and resolve evident in her colleague's stance. The silence stretches, noticeably, as she weighs her decision. Finally, Natasha leans back in her chair, her posture relaxing marginally as she makes her judgment.
"You have proven yourself, to an extent," Natasha concedes, her voice tinged with caution as her gaze remains cool and displeased. "But understand this the Red Room and Hydra aren't just any threats. They're personal, and they're deadly. If I even consider putting you on this team, I need absolute certainty about your motivations." Her eyes narrow slightly, the distrust clear in her expression.
Natasha leans forward, her tone sharpening. "And let me be perfectly clear, Diana. I hope you're not doing this to impress a certain someone—someone like my wife." The mention of you is deliberate, a stark reminder of the hurt Diana has caused in the past, and the protective instincts it still triggers in Natasha.
"Y/n means more to me than anyone, and I won't let her be dragged back into your mess. You're here to stop them because it's the right thing to do," Natasha continues, her voice firm and commanding. "Not to seek redemption or approval from her or anyone else. If you're doing this for any reason other than to genuinely eliminate the threats posed by the Red Room and Hydra, then you can walk out the same way you came in."
Diana holds Natasha's gaze, the gravity of her words sinking in deeply. She speaks up, her voice firm yet careful. "I won't lie to you, Natasha," she begins, causing Natasha's jaw to clench instinctively at the introduction, wary of what might follow.
"I would be lying to myself and to you if I claimed there were no lingering feelings," Diana continues, her eyes scanning Natasha's face for any shift in expression. "Truthfully there will always be feelings. There is a past between Y/n and me." At these words, Natasha rises abruptly from her chair, which rolls back with the force of her movement. Her fists clench tightly on the desk as she stands, her posture taut with barely contained frustration.
Diana presses on, undeterred by the visible tension. "But, I promise you, I've changed. I don't want to hurt her...I want to protect her." Her voice carries a sincerity meant to bridge the chasm of mistrust that her actions had created.
Natasha remains standing, her stance rigid, as she processes Diana's admission and assurance. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into Diana, searching for any hint of deceit. Natasha's expression remains unreadable, her eyes steely as she considers Diana's words. Finally, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice low but filled with unmistakable claritrty.
"I'm not one to be taken for a fool, Diana," Natasha states firmly, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. "I'm giving you this chance, but know this; there will be consequences if you step out of line." Her gaze hardens even further, the protective instincts for you flaring visibly. "If anything happens to Y/n by your hands, or even indirectly because of your actions, I will personally deal with you myself. No more chances."
Diana gives a nod in understand as she turns and reaches for the door, pausing to open it. Just as she's about to step out, she turns back, causing Natasha to pause once more from the documents she had resumed examining. Meeting Natasha's gaze again, Diana adds, "I just wanted to say, she looks really beautiful... pregnancy suits her well." There's a hint of wistfulness in Diana's voice, a fleeting shadow of what could have been, her mind briefly replaying that long ago night spent in bed discussing future dreams with you.
Natasha raises a brow at Diana's words, her expression unreadable. Her expression hardens slightly, her protective instincts surging as she hears the words. She stands, her posture rigid with a clear sense of authority and possessiveness. "While I appreciate the compliment directed at my wife," Natasha begins, her tone icy, "I must remind you to keep personal reflections to yourself. I agree she is stunning, carrying my child. But make no mistake, Diana, your past with her is just that; the past. Your role here is professional, and I expect it to stay that way."
The warning is stern and unambiguous, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Natasha's eyes lock onto Diana's, ensuring her message is received loud and clear.
Diana nods, but her features stay the same, the what ifs replay in her mind. "Understood, Agent Romanoff," she responds, her tone crestfallen. With a final glance, she turns and exits the office, closing the door behind her.
Natasha watches the door shut, and she lets out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the encounter dissipate. Leaning back in her chair, she looks up at the ceiling, the memories flooding back—all the pain that woman had inflicted on you and, indirectly, on her. She clenches her jaw, a silent vow forming in her mind; she'll be damned if anything were to take you away from her.
Regaining her composure, Natasha directs her attention back to the documents below. She moves the folder Diana had given her to the side, not ready to deal with it just yet. It's not just paperwork; it's a reminder of unresolved tensions.
As time passes, Natasha walks down the corridors with authoritative strides, her heels echoing in the quiet. She enters the training room where Wanda, Clint, Bucky, and Maria are standing with a group of agents and recruits. The room straightens instantly, every agent and recruit snapping to attention as soon as she steps in.
Natasha joins them, crossing her arms as she watches the recruits intently. Wanda steps closer, her voice a whisper, "How's my baby?"
Natasha's features soften at her words, a smile crossing her lips. "Your daughter is doing well," she playfully replies, referring to you in a way that acknowledges Wanda's affectionate concern. "Though her morning sickness seems to be the worst of it."
Wanda nods, her features etched in worry, clicking her tongue sympathetically. "My poor baby," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I did try calling her this morning but she didn't pick up."
Natasha looks down with a knowing smirk. "She was tired," she explains, implying a deeper reason for your rest. Wanda gives Natasha a raised brow, a knowing look in her eyes as she nods in understanding.
"We move into the house next week; it's almost finished," Wanda says, excitement crossing her features. Her eagerness is noticeable, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being neighbors with you and Natasha. Being able to stay close to you is her top priority.
Natasha smiles, a genuine expression of warmth. "Y/n will be excited to hear that," she says, and Wanda beams at the thought of you. She misses your face so much that she's made it a routine to FaceTime you on the hour, every hour, even though you're only a half hour away.
As Natasha observes the men and women training in front of her, her brows furrow and her head tilts slightly; a subtle indication that something has caught her sharp eye. Wanda notices the change in her demeanor and leans in closer, her voice a hushed whisper, "What is it?"
Without responding, Natasha immediately calls out, stopping everyone in their tracks. "Hold!" Her command echoes through the room, halting their movements with an authority that resonates in the sudden stillness. She powerfully strides over to a duo that was sparring just in front of her.
Reaching the pair, Natasha firmly grips the woman's wrist, her movements precise and controlled. She slides up the sleeve of the woman's training gear, revealing a tattoo that instantly sends a chill down her spine. The ink is all too familiar, a symbol that she had hoped not to see again—a mark associated with the very threat she's been trying to locate.
Natasha immediately drops the woman's wrist and draws her weapon, her instincts kicking in with lethal precision. The sudden escalation catches everyone off guard, causing a ripple of tension throughout the room. Bucky and Maria, quick to react, come running up to Natasha, positioning themselves in front of the shocked woman.
"Nat," Bucky begins, his voice calm yet firm, trying to diffuse the situation.
Natasha eyes dart to the both of them, her eyes flashing with anger and betrayal. "You knew," she states accusingly, her voice firm and filled with rage. "She's a Widow!" Her voice escalates as she confronts them with the revelation.
Maria nods, her expression serious as she places a hand gently over Natasha's wrist, guiding the gun downward. "We know," she says softly, trying to reassure her. "She's an ex Widow. She's not active, Natasha."
Natasha's jaw clenches, her eyes burning with anger and frustration. "And you failed to mention this to me, why?!" she shouts, her voice echoing off the walls of the training room, demanding an answer.
Maria keeps her hand over Natasha's, ensuring the gun remains pointed downward, as Bucky gently moves the woman out of sight. "That's something you should ask your sister," Maria says softly, her voice steady despite the tension.
"Yelena?" Natasha responds in shock, her mind racing as she tries to piece together the connection. "What does she have to do with this?" she asks in a stern voice, her suspicion evident.
Maria lets out a deep breath, her gaze unwavering as she meets Natasha's intense stare. "Just go talk to her, she's in her office," she suggests, implying that the answers Natasha seeks can only come from Yelena herself.
With a mix of confusion and urgency, Natasha holsters her gun and turns to address the room. "Resume!" she shouts authoritatively, redirecting everyone's attention away from the confrontation. The agents and recruits spring back into action, their movements a blur of motion as Natasha storms out of the room, her strides quick and purposeful as she heads to find Yelena.
Natasha bursts into Yelena's office without knocking, her presence commanding as the door slams shut behind her with a resounding thud. Yelena, in the middle of a phone call, looks up in surprise, quickly realizing the urgency of the situation. She excuses herself from the conversation with a swift, "I have to call you back," before setting the phone down.
Yelena watches her sister's furious approach, her eyebrows raising in amusement mixed with concern. She leans back against her chair, crossing her arms casually, though her eyes betray her keen alertness. "Wow, Natasha. Such drama," she teases, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. "What brings my favorite sister storming into my humble office today?"
Natasha, still fuming, does not find the humor in the situation. "Cut the crap, Yelena," she snaps, her confusion and anger making her voice sharp. "Why is there an ex widow training in my facility under my nose, and why am I learning about this from Maria instead of you?"
Yelena unfolds her arms, her features softening as she attempts to inject a lighter tone into the charged atmosphere, hoping to ease the tension before delving into the more serious conversation ahead. With a slight chuckle, she steps closer, her teasing manner still present.
"Nat, you know I would never bring drama to your doorstep without a good reason," she jests, trying to draw a smile from her sister with her characteristic humor. "Especially not the Red Room kind of drama."
Natasha's expression remains stern, the hint of a smile not quite reaching her eyes. "This isn't a joke, Yelena," she replies, her tone still edged with frustration. "I need answers."
Yelena nods, the playfulness fading completely now as she recognizes the seriousness of Natasha's concerns. "Alright, let's sit," she suggests, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk. As they both sit, Yelena leans forward, her hands clasped together, choosing her words carefully. "The ex Widow in question....her name is Marina. She's been out of the Red Room for years, much like we were. She came to me looking for a way to make amends, to do something good with the skills she has."
She pauses, gauging Natasha's reaction before continuing. "I brought her in because she's skilled, and because she wants to help. I thought under your supervision, she could really contribute. I should have told you earlier. I see that now."
Natasha, overwhelmed by a rush of fears, anger, and haunting memories, inhales deeply, unable to meet her sister's eyes. Suddenly, her hand slams down on the desk with a loud thud. The sound doesn't startle Yelena; she understands her sister's reaction all too well. "Damn it, Yelena!" Natasha exclaims, her voice raised in disbelief. "Are you insane!" she shouts, her emotions raw and unchecked.
"Nat," Yelena replies in a calm voice, attempting to soothe the escalating tension, "she wants to make amends."
Natasha cuts her off, her voice rising even higher. "How the hell do we know it's not just a simple ploy!" she shouts, leaning forward in her chair, her gestures sharp and filled with frustration.
Yelena raises her voice to match Natasha's intensity, cutting her off before she can continue. "Because I was the one to deactivate the mind control!" she shouts back, causing a sudden silence to fall over the room. After a tense moment, Yelena leans back in her chair, her tone softening slightly but still firm. "Jesus, Natasha," she says, "just calm down and let me try to explain."
Yelena takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before diving into the history she and Marina share. "Before you found me, Marina and I were close—more than just widows, we were friends, we saved each other. We got separated when the Red Room came searching for us after our escape. I looked everywhere for her, but she vanished without a trace, and then you showed up, searching for me."
Yelena's eyes meet Natasha's, her expression earnest, seeking understanding. "You believed in me, Natasha. You trusted me when so many others wouldn't. You never once accused me of being under the control of the Red Room. You gave me a chance to prove myself."
She leans forward, her tone impassioned yet clear. "That's all I'm asking for Marina. The same chance you gave me. I know her, Nat. I deactivated the mind control myself. I made sure she was free, just like you did for me. She's been fighting, hiding, surviving on her own all these years."
Yelena pauses, allowing her words to sink in, hoping they resonate with Natasha's own experiences and the principles that have guided her actions since breaking free from the Red Room's influence. "She deserves a chance to make things right, just like we did. Isn't that what we fight for? A chance at redemption for those who were never given a choice in the first place?"
Natasha looks into Yelena's eyes, searching for and finding the sincerity and desperate plea within them. With a deep sigh, she leans back in her chair, her jaw clenching slightly as she grapples with her decision. "Fine," she says in a tone that clearly conveys her displeasure, "but I don't want her anywhere near Y/n. Not until I come to trust her. Is that understood?"
Yelena nods quickly, relief washing over her features at Natasha's conditional agreement. "Understood," she replies earnestly. "Marina will stay clear of Y/n. I'll make sure of it."
Natasha's expression remains stern, her eyes still holding a hint of suspicion as she adds, "And I'll be keeping a close eye on her. Any sign of trouble, any at all, and she's out. We can't afford any risks, especially not with Y/n and the baby involved."
Yelena acknowledges this with a serious nod, understanding the gravity of the responsibility she has taken on by vouching for Marina. "I won't let you down, Nat. Thank you for trusting me on this."
After her conversation with Yelena, Natasha makes her way back to the training room where she resumes her supervision of the new recruits. Her gaze is particularly trained on Marina, watching every move with a critical eye. Although Natasha acknowledges Marina's impressive combat skills, trust is still far off. Her suspicion remains a silent sentinel, guarding against potential threats.
As the day finally winds down, Natasha returns home. Unlocking the door, she steps into the comfort of low music and the inviting aroma of dinner being prepared in the kitchen. Dropping her professional demeanor along with her keys on the side table, she kicks off her heels and heads toward the kitchen.
Finding you there, busy with dinner preparations, her arms snake around you from behind, causing you to chuckle as she nuzzles her head into your neck and lets out a deep sigh. Her body relaxes into yours, her embrace tightening around you. You put down the spoon to interlace her fingers with yours, resting them together on your bump.
"Welcome home, baby," you murmur softly, feeling her hum in satisfaction. Hearing your voice always brings her comfort, swelling her heart with love.
Natasha doesn't say anything in response, making you furrow your brow in concern. "Everything okay?" you whisper, rubbing your thumb over her interlaced fingers, searching for a hint of what might be troubling her.
"Yeah," she says softly, her breath warming your neck as she pushes some of your hair to the side, pressing her lips gently onto your skin.
"That 'yeah' didn't seem so believable," you tease her, knowing her too well to accept such a non-committal response. "Talk to me, Natty." Her body tenses slightly at your words, a silent admission that something is indeed on her mind.
Feeling her body tense, you immediately turn off the stove, moving the pot off the hot burner as you turn to face her fully within her embrace.
Her gaze softens when your eyes meet, her eyes briefly roaming down to the beautiful bump she adores. She rubs it gently, keeping her hand there as if drawing strength from the contact. "Talk to me," you murmur, wrapping your arms around her neck to encourage her openness.
Reluctantly removing her touch from your stomach, Natasha cups your cheeks, caressing them with her thumb. "You know how much I love you?" she whispers, her voice low and emotional.
You roll your eyes playfully, recognizing her attempt to skirt around the real issue. "I know, but that's not what I asked, Natty," you reply, gently steering her back to the conversation. "What's really going on?"
Natasha sighs, a mixture of resignation and affection in her eyes as she realizes diversion isn't an option with you. She takes a moment, collecting her thoughts, then finally starts to open up.
"It's just been a tough day at work," she begins, her voice tinged with frustration. "There was an incident during training—a reminder of past complications. It brought up some... old concerns."
You stop her from continuing, pressing your finger gently to her lips, scanning her eyes intensely. "What do you mean, Natty?" Panic flickers in your eyes, a reflection of the sudden fear gripping your heart.
Natasha purses her lips, kissing your finger gently before gently removing it. She then places your hand on her cheek, seeking comfort in your touch. "I don't want to stress you and the baby out," she murmurs, her voice low and filled with concern. Her gaze is sincere, filled with the struggle of wanting to protect you from any external pressures or worries.
"You're stressing me out if you don't share," you tell her, scanning her features for any hidden tension, lowering her head to bring your foreheads together. She gives a sad chuckle, shaking her head in a mix of resignation and affection.
"I'm sorry, Detka," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry that being with me comes with danger." She murmurs, her eyes clouded with a blend of guilt and concern.
You pull back slightly, really cupping her cheeks to ensure she looks at you directly. "What are you talking about?" You say, your tone laced with disbelief and a touch of urgency. "You're saying that to me, when my past has been the one that put us in danger. What are you saying?"
"I mean, I've made enemies, powerful ones, over the years," she explains slowly, her voice firm but filled with a vulnerability she rarely shows. "And even though I trust the choices I've made to keep us safe, the risk... it never fully goes away. It's always there, lingering. I worry about how it might affect you, affect our family."
"You think I don't know that?" you murmur, your hands still framing her face, grounding her. "Natalia, look at me." You watch as she keeps her eyes on the floor, then finally, her gaze meets yours and her features soften. "Why are you acting like I didn't know about your past? Of course I know the dangers you bring, and I chose that. I chose you. Risks and all, just like you chose me and stood by me through my past and its dangers."
"Your past and my past are completely different, Detka," she replies, her voice tinged with a seriousness that underscores her ongoing concern. "Mine is dangerous. Yours... well, you just had an obsessive ex—which by the way, still has feelings for you." She adds this last part in an attempt to lighten the mood, though it's clear it bothers her.
You roll your eyes playfully, trying to steer the conversation back to the serious topic at hand. "I don't care for her," you assert, wanting to keep the focus clear. "I want you to talk to me. Tell me what happened?"
Natasha takes a deep breath, the weight of the discussion pressing down upon her. "She's an ex-Widow, and one of shield's new recruits," Natasha finally admits, her voice a mixture of frustration and worry, "I didn't know about it initially. It was all Yelena."
She pauses, her gaze fixed on you, searching for any sign of your reaction. "Yelena brought her in. She thought it was the right call, that she can be trusted—similar to how we were handled. But I..." Natasha trails off, her frustration visible. "I wasn't informed until today, during training, when I saw the tattoo. It caught me off guard."
You notice Natasha's readiness to continue, but you press your finger gently against her lips, pausing her mid thought. "First off," you murmur, your gaze intently searching hers for any underlying signs of distress or weariness that she typically masks so well. "Are you okay?"
She pauses, a soft smile spreading across her face as she tilts her head, clearly touched by your concern. "You're asking me if I'm okay, after telling you about a Widow in our group..." she says, her hands gently cupping your face, her thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks. The warmth and affection in her touch convey her deep appreciation for your empathy. "I should be asking you if you're okay," she counters with a gentle seriousness.
You furrow your brow, a slight smile playing on your lips despite the gravity of the conversation. "Honey," you start, holding her gaze, "I know how much you shoulder every day, the weight of past decisions, and the safety of our future. It's okay for you to admit it's hard. And it's okay for you to lean on me, just like I lean on you."
She shakes her head with a smile, admiration in her eyes. "You truly are amazing, you know that?"
"I didn't do anything," you assure her, your intent clear. "I want you to understand that I'm behind you, a thousand percent. And that, I also trust Yelena..." you add, reinforcing your support for the decisions she and her sister make.
"I do too," she agrees, nodding slowly, a sense of relief evident in her expression. "Which is why I'm keeping the Widow in the program," Natasha informs you, confirming her decision to maintain trust in Yelena's judgment despite the complexities involved.
You nod, caressing her cheek gently, affirming her decision with a simple, "Good."
Natasha looks at you in awe, her eyes reflecting a mix of love and gratitude. "Sometimes, I wonder how I got so lucky to have you," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion.
"I'm the lucky one," you argue playfully with her, leaning in to capture her lips. "Now," you murmur after a tender kiss, "shall we eat?"
Natasha bites her lip, a playful gleam lighting up her eyes. "I would love nothing more," she whispers back, her smirk hinting at a different type of hunger.
You chuckle, kissing her cheek, before whispering teasingly in her ear, "Was this morning or last night not enough?" You step back slightly to gauge her reaction.
With a firm, "No," Natasha effortlessly sweeps you off your feet, demonstrating her strength and agility that seem undiminished, even with the extra load you carry.
You squeal, playfully shouting, "But dinner!" Your laughter fills the air between you.
"We'll get take out," Natasha declares confidently as she walks up the stairs with ease, carrying you into the bedroom. With a skillful kick of her heel, she shuts the door behind you both, sealing yourselves away from the world to enjoy a private evening just for two.