sage :3

Having Natasha Romanoff as a mom-type figure has been strange; she doesn’t behave like a normal mother. She doesn’t get onto you for swearing or for stealing her good vodka when you couldn’t sleep (even if she was really pissed about the vodka); she just listens.

Most of the time you end up just sitting in silence because, honestly, you don’t even know what’s wrong half the time. You don’t understand why you still feel so much anger and sadness. You know it isn’t directed towards her anymore and Dreykov’s dead. Natasha made sure of that a month into you living with her. She, the Avengers, and a few friends took care of it.

But even with him being gone a month now, you can’t help but still feel so much. It frustrates you. Natasha has been nothing but supportive to you, and you feel like you’re letting her down. If it were Dreykov, he would slap you across the face and remind you that disobedience is to be severely punished. So why is she so kind and patient?

You groan, burying your head in your hands. After a few minutes, you sigh, looking down at your desk, shoved in the corner of Tony’s lab. Skewed across it are schematics for a new high-tech motorcycle, a gift you’re making for Natasha with the help of Tony and his lab. You figured it would help take your mind off things, but it isn’t working very well.

 Suddenly the doors slide open; Tony walks in carrying a cup of coffee and some files. “Hey kid genius, how’s the little project going?” He sets his files down on a table along with his coffee before heading over to you, grabbing some of your research from your desk, looking it over.

“It’s going okay, just having trouble with the weapons storage. See, I added a compartment for weapons under the seat with a biometric lock, but I’m having trouble programming it,” I tell him as I hand over the prototype.

He looks it over before grabbing a pen, laying it flat as he marks it up, giving you notes and explaining how to get it fixed. After about an hour of him explaining something, you editing the code, and him explaining some more, you finally get it to work.

“Thank you! That was seriously going to make me rip my own hair out.” You look up at him with a smile, still holding the small device.

He nods and adjusts his glasses. “Of course, kid, and for the record, she’s gonna love it.”

You smile and finish up, heading out of the lab and down to the ground floor to walk back to you and Natasha’s apartment. The freedom to just walk anywhere still feels overwhelming at times, but it also feels so amazing.

Once back at your apartment, you unlock the door and head inside. Natasha is sitting on the couch with some case files laid out in front of her. “Hey, doing paperwork?” You head over and sit next to her as she smiles and closes the one in her hand, setting it on the coffee table.

“Yeah, we’re working on finding the remaining Widows. Tony found a foster-child program for the girls and decided to pre-fund each girl’s schooling.” She looks over at you, tilting her head. Oh God here she goes again.

“You have that look like something’s bugging you. You wanna talk or pretend everything’s fine?” You can tell she means it; if you don’t want to talk, she never forces you. She knows what its like to feel like you can’t open up, which is what makes you feel guilty for not wanting to, because of all people, she would understand the most.

You huff, looking over at her, the annoying look on her face, the soft one where you can really see how much she cares. “I hate when you do that.”

She pauses, brows furrowing. “Do what?”

“You are too good at reading me, and it’s really annoying.” You mumble, looking down at your hands, picking at a pretend thread on your pants.

“Look, Y/N, I’m not going to force you to talk, but I want you to know that I get it; I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like when you first get out, and you’re trying to figure out who you are now. And… I get the guilt too.”

She pauses, and you look up; she smiles softly. “It took me a long time to come to terms with everything I’ve done; some days it still hurts, but it gets easier. And… talking helped.”

You shrug, leaning back on the couch, head facing her. “I don’t know what’s wrong… it just—” you pause, trying to find the right words; you’re not sure there even are any. “I feel like I’m letting you down or something. Dreykov’s dead, you saved all the girls, I’m living an actual life. So why am I still so sad all of the time?”

She doesn’t respond right away, and you can see the way she’s trying to find the right words. She sighs, sitting up as she grabs your hands, holding them in hers.  “Hey, it’s okay that you don’t feel okay. You went through shit no kid your age should have to. That doesn’t magically get healed just because Dreykov’s dead. It took me a long time to come to terms with it all, and it wasn’t easy, but I did it. And I’m here to help you do it too. You don’t have to be perfect, not with me. I just need you to try, even if it just means waking up in the morning.”

You nod, tearing up slightly, hugging her. “Thanks for everything; it means a lot.” She lays her head on top of yours, holding you tight.

“Of course, you’re technically my kid; I’m gonna look out for you.”  That makes you laugh, sniffling as you pull back from the hug; the absurdity of it all isn’t lost on you. Your existence is more than bizarre; leave it to Dreykov to recreate his favorite child weapon because he missed her.

“Hey, at least I know who my kinda parent is.” You meant it to be teasing, lighthearted, but it makes you both pause, taking in the weight of what Red Room did, the weight that you all now carry. You’re right, though; you are incredibly lucky to know your parents or to have one at all. Most girls were taken because they had no one to look out for them. You were created for a purpose.

“Hey, well, they all got out eventually, thanks to you showing up at my door with a gun pointed at me.” She smiles slightly at you, but it’s more one of recognition, recognition for all of the childhoods Dreykov stole and pity for those who never made it out.

Her words hang heavy over you, as if you can feel the weight of them pressing down on your chest, like little hands trying to claw their way inside of you.

Yet with the weight of everything you know you will be carrying for the rest of your life you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. Being here with Natasha, seeing how she became who she is, it gives you hope that you will also be okay someday, that Dreykov does not define you. You are much more than some fucked up science project, and you get to live your life and discover all the beautiful things there are, and you don’t have to do it alone because Natasha is doing it all with you.

“I’m really excited to live, thank you for giving me that.” You eventually say, smiling at her, overcome with gratitude for everything she’s done for you.

She nods, leaning down to kiss your forehead before she stands, heading to the kitchen. “Come help me make dinner; it’s time you learn how not to burn the house down.”

Red Room had almost destroyed you. Dreykov made it his personal mission to design the most perfect soldier yet—the daughter of the Black Widow herself. You were treated differently from the other girls, and not for the best.

Dreykov was extra hard on you, his cruelty unmatched. One single step out of line was met with a sharp slap across the face, a day without food, and more intense training than normal, and any other cruel punishment his twisted mind could come up with.  He was determined to make up for the loss of Natasha, and you resented her for it.

This all led to your escape; you had spent months planning it, and you were finally free of him, of his abuse. Your plan was simple: create a distraction for Dreykov and take out the guards. You hadn’t planned for Red Room’s base to be literally in the sky.

By the time you realized you were already surrounded by guards, this is what Dreykov trained you for, isn’t it? You just had to stay calm and find a way out of this.

As a guard came at you, you ducked under him, swiping his legs out as another two ran towards you. You grabbed onto both of them, propelling forward as they slammed into each other. You grabbed the gun of the one on the ground, holding it to the rest as you backed away, running towards the exit. You spotted a wall of backpacks and grabbed one, jumping out just as bullets began to fire at you.

As you fell, you struggled to get the gun into the holster of your suit but sighed in relief when you did, pulling the parachute out as you looked out at the world below. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen anything apart from the inside of Red Room facilities.

Dreykov stayed mobile, his facilities moving constantly to avoid detection. And you just so happened to land in the forests of Russia. You spent weeks making your way across Russia and throughout Europe, finding a way to smuggle yourself into the States on a cargo ship.

You eventually find yourself in New York City, backpack slung over your shoulder with nothing but a few items of clothing you stole during your travels and a book, a copy of Matilda you had secretly purchased while on a mission in London.

You tug the bag closer to your back as you walk into the Avengers Tower. The small lobby is heavily guarded and strangely corporate for the Avengers, but you head to the front desk anyway.

“Uhm, excuse me? I am looking for Natasha Romanoff.” The receptionist looks up, brows furrowed as she clears her throat.

“Uh, yes, FRIDAY, please alert Ms. Romanoff there is a girl here to see her, uhm…” She pauses, looking to you expectantly.

“Oh, uhm, Y/N.” You adjust the strap of your bag, looking around the room.

She nods, finishes her message, and gestures to a modern-looking couch a few feet away. You step toward the couch and take a seat. You lean down, elbows on your knees to keep it from bouncing; a nervous habit Dreykov tried his hardest to break. A Widow who shakes when she’s nervous is unheard of.

After a few minutes of waiting, she comes into the lobby, looking around before she spots you and walks your way. You stand up, pulling a gun from your jeans, aiming it at her.

“Natasha Romanoff, you are responsible for my life. I am a product of the Red Room, and I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t defected. I have suffered at the hands of Dreykov because of you, and I am here to make you pay.”

You had practiced this speech many times, going over it every day and every night for months; it kept you going, it kept you from breaking when all you wanted to do was accept your fate.

What you weren’t expecting was for her to just… stand there. Agents come running but she holds up a hand, stopping them.

“Relax, I can handle it alright?” She sighs, looking back to you, holding out her hand. “Just give me the gun, and we can talk, okay?”

You almost cave at the gentleness in her voice— almost— before shaking your head, grip getting tighter, releasing the safety. Yet still, she makes no effort to stop you.

“Look, kid, I know what it’s like, what he’s like. I suffered through it too. But you cannot let him define you like this. You wanna shoot me? Fine, I probably deserve it. But just know this is exactly what he’d want from you. He wants you to be a weapon, a killer. Don’t prove him right, kid.”

She takes a careful step forward, hand reaching out.

“You know nothing about me.” You say angrily, gun thrusting forward, your hand shaking no matter how much you will it to stop, but it sounds more like you’re convincing yourself than her.

“Actually…” she says, hand still reaching out, but not grabbing just yet. “I was you, angry, scared, unsure of what I was outside of what he made me. Jesus, kid, I got enough red on my ledger for 3 lifetimes. Look, speeches aren’t my thing, but let me help you, alright?”

Something about the way she speaks, so gentle, so sure, it’s such a contrast to everything that you’re used to, the pain and suffering, the loneliness. The fighting every day just to survive. Suddenly you feel just… tired.

“Even after I just tried to kill you?” The idea is bewildering; you haven’t done anything to earn her trust, her forgiveness, yet here she is, offering it anyway.

She smiles at you, a genuine smile. “You’re not what he tried to make you; you’re just a kid who was forced to be something she isn’t. I know what that’s like. So please, just hand me the gun, okay?”

Reluctantly, you hand it to her, and one agent rushes over; she hands it to him before walking over to you. “It’s going to be okay; I’ve got you now, that’s a promise.”

 —————————————————————————

That was last week, and in the past 7 days, Natasha has kept her promise. You’ve had episodes, especially after a nightmare where you forget where you are, where all you can hear is Dreykov’s voice in your head telling you what you are, who she is. Yet every time Natasha is there, making you tea and holding you till you stop thrashing against her.

She is nothing like what he told you; since living with her, you have learned that Natasha loves James Bond movies, especially Moonraker, to the point she can quote it word for word. She also isn’t good at feelings but is making an effort to try; she’s always there when you need her and hasn’t given up on you. And that is something you don’t think you could ever thank her enough for.

In the past week, she’s taken up the part of mother easily, which shocked her to her core. She never thought she would be a mother; she had accepted that she could never have kids. Red Room made sure of that when they took her reproductive organs, yet here you were, against all odds.

It felt strange to her that it came so easily yet felt impossible at the same time. She was terrified of messing up, of hurting you just like everybody else in your life, but that didn’t stop her from showing up and trying. And you were so grateful for the effort she put in, especially because you knew it wasn’t easy for her either, seeing you and knowing the only reason you’re here is that Dreykov made you, proving even when she was done, he still had some control over her life.

Natasha sighs, finishing up dinner as she thinks about everything that’s happened this past week. She turns off the stove and heads to your room, knocking on the open door. She still hasn’t been able to convince you it’s safe to close your door and that you don’t need to constantly watch for enemies.

“Hey kid, dinner’s ready if you’re feeling hungry.” She tells you as she leans against the doorframe.

“Uh yeah, just give me a second.” You reply, putting a bookmark in your current read, some book about trauma Bruce gave you after Natasha introduced you to everyone.

She nods and steps back out, heading to the kitchen to set up the plates. You two live in an apartment 2 blocks from the tower; she felt it was better to help you assimilate into normal life than living in a tower full of superheroes.

You put your book back on the nightstand and head out. “So, what’re you going to poison me with tonight?”  You ask her teasingly, a smile on your face. Natasha has a weird way of making everything feel like it’ll be okay, something that made being here, unlearning everything, feel a little easier.\

“Okay, first of all, rude; second of all, it’s pasta, pretty hard to mess up.” She tells you as she puts the pasta on the table along with a side of bread.

You smile and sit down; you’re still getting used to actual meals with your version of a family. She’s still trying to teach you that food isn’t a resource to be earned; it’s something you need to live. It’s hard, but it feels so good to finally be free. To be a normal civilian. And to think it’s all because of the woman you had spent so many years despising.

“So how is my pasta? Do I need to order Thai again?” She asks teasingly, before her face falls into a frown, seeing you’re lost in thought. “Robin?” She waves a hand in front of your face.

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out when she waved a hand in your face, you look up at her, confused. “What? Did you say something?”

“Are you okay kid? I lost you for a minute there.” There’s concern in her voice as she watches you carefully; you’ve noticed her do it a lot- study you. It’s sweet but also really uncomfortable.

“You’re studying me again,” You say simply, taking a bite of bread. “I’m fine, just thinking about what it’s like being here; it… it feels nice, to not be afraid.”

Her face softens at that, offering you a smile. “It feels nice for me too. I never thought I could have kids; just the fact that you’re alive is a miracle, but the fact that you got out too? I’m proud of you, kid. That took a lot of guts.”

That hits harder than you expected it would, and you smile at her, tears welling in your eyes. “Thanks for not letting the agents arrest me while I had a gun pointed at your head; it means a lot to me.”

She laughs, shaking her head as she finishes filling her bowl with pasta. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to shoot me. Don’t get me wrong, I know you wanted to, but I could see you were afraid of becoming exactly what he wanted, and I also saw myself in you- that anger. I felt it too for years, so I knew locking you up wouldn’t help anything.”