#black widow reader

Damian Wayne had been stabbed twice, poisoned six times, almost lost a finger, and very nearly attacked by a Caspian cobra that had mysteriously appeared in his closet—though, in the end, he simply adopted the serpent and named it Caspian.

He wasn’t upset about any of it.

In fact, he was starting to consider it foreplay.

Most people wouldn’t interpret a tripwire on the staircase or a gas-emitting bookshelf as romantic gestures. But Damian was not most people.

You were, after all, an assassin—one of the most lethal in the world, a Black Widow. And also, his wife. Which meant that affection came with a few… complications.

Like needing to sniff his tea before every sip.

That morning, he sat in the garden beneath the soft canopy of climbing vines, a leather-bound Persian manuscript resting in one hand, a delicate china teacup in the other. You floated into view like a vision, carrying a fresh tray of biscuits, teapot and a suspiciously serene smile that usually meant something was about to happen.

You refilled his cup with practiced grace, the scent of jasmine rising between you. He brought it to his lips, took one measured sip, then paused. His nostrils flared slightly. He sniffed again.

“Belladonna?” he asked, not looking up from the page.

You set the tray down, gently brushing crumbs off your fingers. “Only a trace.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Too floral. It throws off the jasmine.” Another sip. “Next time, try aconite. It blends better.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Noted.”

Your attempts came and went like the seasons—some subtle, some so absurdly theatrical it was almost comical. Once, you’d rigged the library’s fireplace to release a sleeping gas if the wrong book was pulled from the shelf. You knew Damian would figure it out. And he did—of course he did—though he was a little smug about it.

He crouched by the hearth with a small, curved blade in hand, dismantling the delicate mechanism with an ease that irritated and impressed you in equal measure.

“I almost admire the mechanism,” he said dryly, flicking a piece loose and catching it mid-air. “You’re improving. The trigger delay was clever.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”

And you had.

The following week, you’d set a spring-loaded dart trap just outside the hallway near the greenhouse—timed perfectly to his morning routine, right as he turned the corner, casually eating an apple.

The dart whistled through the air.

Damian shifted to the left without so much as blinking. The dart missed him entirely—only to pierce straight through the apple and embed it into the wall with a soft thunk.

He stared at it for a moment. Then calmly walked over, plucked the dart free, and retrieved the apple.

“You’re getting lazy,” he remarked, holding the dart up to the light, examining its make. “This one’s off-balance. It veered left.”

“Maybe I just wanted to nick you,” you said breezily as you strolled past, lips twitching into a grin. “You did mention needing to work on your reflexes.”

He chuckled under his breath, biting into what remained of his apple.

“How considerate, beloved,” he muttered.

But then came that Sunday afternoon.

Damian’s brothers had come over—against his better judgment—for what they claimed would be a “simple brotherly brunch.” 

Within minutes, he regretted opening the door.

His home was louder than usual, filled with overlapping voices, the clatter of silverware, and the relentless stream of bickering that passed for affection in the Wayne family. The pancakes were drowned in ungodly amounts of syrup. Someone had opened a bottle of orange juice with their teeth. 

And worst of all? Someone—he still didn’t know who—had touched his katana display. There were smudges. Smudges. Left on the usually pristine, sparkling glass. He said nothing. But he made a mental note to run a full scan later and find out exactly which one of those imbeciles had committed the crime.

He had just excused himself to fetch something from the west wing and only made it half way across the dining room when it happened.

A soft click.

He froze mid-step. Looked down.

A pressure plate.

From his seat, Jason glanced up, a fork halfway to his mouth. “What was that?”

The ceiling above them shifted with an ominous creak.

And then—whoosh.

A pendulum blade, polished to a mirror shine, dropped from the rafters and arced through the air like something straight out of the Addam’s family. It missed Damian by less than an inch as he pivoted smoothly to the side, ducking in one seamless motion. The blade swung past with a rush of air, that ruffled his hair.

The others froze mid-bite, forks suspended in the air, expressions shifting from confusion to outright horror.

Before anyone could react, another panel hissed open—this time along the wall. A rapid click—shhhk echoed through the room as sleek, retractable knives launched from hidden compartments, hurling straight toward Damian.

He moved like water—graceful and effortless—spinning out of the way, one hand casually snatching a blade mid-air. While another knife sliced cleanly through the fabric of his sleeve, but didn’t touch skin.

He exhaled, long and put-upon. 

“Again with the ceiling blades,” he muttered.

The others, however, were not so composed.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Jason barked, nearly flipping his plate as he bolted upright.

Dick stood, wide-eyed, gaze darting to the now-settling blades embedded in the wall. “Are you okay?! What the hell just happened?!”

Tim was already pulling out a compact scanner from his pocket, frantically scanning the room. “Is the house booby-trapped?! Did someone breach the security grid?! Is there an intruder?”

Damian remained exactly where he was, unbothered, as he studied the captured blade that was held delicately between his fingers.

“No intruder,” he said annoyed at the clear overreactions. “This was my wife’s work.”

All three stared at him in horror.

Tim blinked. “Your wife just tried to impale you,” he said slowly, carefully, as if explaining a basic law of physics to someone who should’ve known better.

Damian hummed to himself, turning the blade between his fingers, letting the light catch the polished steel. “She’s improving,” he remarked. “These ones actually had decent balance.”

Jason just stared. “Why the fuck are you so calm?” he snapped. “SHE JUST TRIED TO KILL YOU.”

Damian let out a slow sigh, clearly irritated by the dramatics. “She didn’t try to kill me,” he said, as if the distinction was obvious. “If she wanted me dead, I would be.”

“Damian,” Dick said, cautiously, as if speaking to a feral animal.

“She’s just being affectionate.”

Tim blinked. “That’s not affection, that’s—”

“It’s her love language,” Damian interrupted, stepping around the still-swinging blade without a flinch. “She’s very dedicated to making sure I'm aware of her love.”

Dick looked like he was about to pass out. “You’re telling me this happens regularly?”

Damian shrugged. “You’re just upset no one’s ever loved you that much.”

Moments later, you strolled in, utterly unbothered. Silk robe tied neatly at the waist, not a single hair out of place. In one hand, a steaming cup of coffee. On your lips, a soft, pleasant smile that nearly made it hard to believe you were the architect of the carnage around the room.

“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian’s cheek before casually glancing at the embedded blades. “Did the new blade wall trigger too soon?”

Damian nodded as he tucked you to his side. “Off by two seconds. Adjust the fuse delay.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Noted.” 

Your gaze shifted to the blade still turning slowly from the ceiling. You tilted your head. “Is that one still rotating? I meant to fix the alignment—it’s drifting too far left.”

“I told you to aim for a clean ninety-degree arc,” Damian added, glancing down at you. “You’re losing power on the backswing.”

You made a soft, thoughtful noise. “I was worried about overcompensating.”

“Next time,” he said, without missing a beat, “use a counterweight.”

Jason looked at Dick. Dick looked at Tim. Tim looked like he was ready to drag you both to Arkham and check you two in under a shared room. The three of them turned back in unison, staring at the two of you standing there—utterly calm and composed, as if you were discussing home décor and not lethal traps embedded into the manor’s infrastructure.

Jason blinked. “You’re two are joking, right?”

“Of course not,” Damian replied coolly, taking the coffee cup from your hand with ease and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re a team. I only wish the best for my beloved.”

“I don’t think the feeling is mutual,” Tim muttered under his breath.

Damian rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of the coffee. He paused, considered the taste, then added matter-of-factly, “This is poisoned, isn’t it?”

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “Just a touch of cyanide.”

He took another sip, unfazed. “The coffee was already bitter. This just makes it more obvious. Try strychnine next time—it’s cleaner.”

You giggled and kissed his cheek again. “You’re so picky, darling.”

Dick stared at the two of you, eyes wide, colour slowly draining from his face. “I—I think he’s going to die.”

“No,” Damian said simply, sliding an arm around your waist as the two of you turned and began walking away—utterly unfazed by the blades, the scorched wall, or the stunned expressions behind you. “We made vows, Grayson. I promised to love her, cherish her—and survive her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is just the life of marriage.”

And for Damian Wayne, it was everything he could have ever asked for.

Part 29: what next?

🔹🔹🔹

The scent of smoke still lingers in the air, acrid, slightly sweet, and damning.

Barbara and Tim are still talking as they rush around the living room, laptops are being set up, coasters pushed off the coffee table to make space, Tim stumbles on Barbara's chair and spills soda all over the very expensive rug….. without so much as pausing to look at the mess.

cassandra is curled on an armchair with a judging expression aimed at the others, she’s holding an ice pack to her leg from some fight she got into with (name) in the backyard that bruce hadn’t even known about. there’s way too much slipping past him these days.

it's all a head rush to the shaken man.

J’onn is sitting next to him on the sofa, the same spots where he sat with (name) during an investigation And comforted the person who looked like his spouse. The same room they'd argued in over their reckless actions with his youngest.

Honestly with the context he now has? He's relieved that worse didn't happen in front of Damian.

Condensation drips onto his lap from a glass of water someone shoved into his grasp, but he doesn't react or set it down. He knows he needs to sober up, drink the damn water and clear his mind so he can deal with this properly. Be the responsible adult in this situation, (even if everyone in the room is grown) it's what he does. He takes charge because he's the one who can remove all emotion and be objective in any situation, or at least that's what he tells himself. he can be objective, he will be objective and rational and intelligent.

…He can't seem to untangle any of his thoughts to do anything but keep repeating what he saw.

(Name) Wasn't his (name), but they were at the same time. Their childhood, their family, their school life, college and the following internships and the trips to study out of the country, Their first meetings. he saw it from their perspective in his minds eye, even felt brief flickers of their emotions that they associated with the memories.

It's all still in their mind, but so is something new and very confusing. This would've been easier if they weren't still them.

there was something dangerous in their body, a cold war assassin from a different timeline. that was the only explanation for everything so different and wrong with those memories, they wore the same face, used the same name, but they were from somewhere very, very different than his world. aliens attacking the universes populations, government produced metas running rampant, public identities, unbelievable cruelties to the young, he cant get the picture out of his head of a child being given a gun and told to point it at a man.

he’s no stranger to weird timeline shenanigans, he knows about the batman who laughs timeline, the dark justice league timeline, the thomas wayne batman, the different realities where each of his children have taken up his mantle after his death.

but (name) comes from a place with no justice league, no gotham, no bruce wayne.

no version of him was in their life, that he could tell from what j’onn showed them anyways, they were a loner in all the worst meanings of the word. alone, no bonds beyond some redheaded woman, they were just existing to be violent without their own cause. just taking whatever work is pointed at their boss.

“bruce?” a voice snaps him to attention, j’onn is still staring at the zippo they brought in like some kind of fucked up evidence of this whole nightmare, the martians long emerald fingers keep rubbing over the face of the metal over and over, contemplative more than fearful, for some reason. it gives bruce pause for a moment.

he sighs deeply, lowering the water to the coffee table (in-between cords and caffeine sources) he wipes his damp hand on his pantleg a few times before he speaks. “…j’onn, what do you think of all this? i think i…”

he doesn’t finish the thought, i think i need guidance for once. he can’t look vulnerable in front of tim and barbara right now, when they’re already freaked out and jumping to conclusions about him being too emotionally compromised to deal with….whatever this is.

jonnz turns his gaze on him then, eyeing Bruce’s fingers twisting into the fabric of his clothes over his thigh, before he looks at him with that unreadable crimson stare. “you’re sweating.”

bruce almost runs a hand through his hair out of habit, but he reaches for the untouched water instead. “i wasn’t talking about my situation, you’re a detective, you saw into their head, what do you make of this?”

the silent give us something to work with. goes unsaid, but it’s very much felt. bruce can feel the others listening, barbara shifting towards them, tims clenched jaw as he hunches over a monitor, cassandra just straight up stares.

j’onn turns his head to glance at the zippo again, the burnt tarnish slowly rubbing away and revealing a heat tint in blues and purples.

“do you trust me to actually make a judgement, or do you just need to hear someone speaking calmly.”

bruce is annoyed that he hesitates for a moment, what does he actually need here? does he want j’onn to pass a a sentencing on his spouse-this case? or does he just want a distraction while he tries to figure out where he’s supposed to stand here. is he a husband? or a vigilante?

j’onn glances up before bruce can figure out what to spit out, but its not at bruce.

the martians bloody gaze stares at the doorway to the living room, and for a moment? bruce thought (name) was gonna walk in like always with that same clipped expression they wore these days, but no, instead the hall squeaks (shoes?) then damian stomps in at a quick pace.

”you!!” damian practically shouts as he locks onto tim, already pointing at him with a snarl twisting his expression into something enraged.

tim blinks in genuine confusion as he twists his torso away from his laptop. “me?-ack!”

the room collectively flinches as damian grabs a decorative candle off the fireplace shelf and lobs it at tims head.

j’onn is somehow already on his feet, but damian isn’t done yelling. “you freaking asshole! what the hell did you do!? why is (name) gone?”

bruce steps between the boys before anything else can be thrown, he tries to raise his hands and coax things to something a little calmer. (and lower volume.) “damia-”

but he gets cut off before he can hope to finish.

“no! i want to know why the channels are sending emergency alerts, and the bat chat is blowing up with some bullshit about tim catching a spy!?”

barbaras head whips around and she gives tim a flat look. “did you really take all the credit for my research leading to this?”

tim huffs, gingerly pressing a cold soda to his forehead dramatically. “feel free to reap the rewards too, there’s more candles.”

bruce tries again to mediate. “damian, stop yelling at your brother and listen to us. this is actually very serious, (name) isn’t….they’re not fully themselves right now, okay?”

he steps around the cords and wires hanging off the coffee table, and crosses the room to put a hand on his sons shoulder.

damian pauses for a moment, then, his face scrunches and he crosses his arms and turns his face away. “you smell like alcohol, you decided to get drunk over this?”

a flicker of sheepish embarrassment shoots through bruce, but he doesn’t flinch away or pull his hand back. “….that was before anything happened, and I’m very much in the right mind. now focus on the actual pressing issue for me.”

he tries to get damian to look at him, but tim speaks up behind him with a painfully sarcastic tone. “yeah, there’s a whole ass dopple-ganger slash ghostly possession wearing our parents body and running around the world right now. but let’s throw decorations at each other instead of dealing with it.”

cass shoots tim an unreadable look from her sprawled position in the armchair.

“i told you they’re not a threat, they fight like they just want to live, not to kill us.”

“they didn’t try to kill you, that’s great and all that cass. but they weren’t being super gentle and careful in the hospital when they tried to stab red robin in the neck, and are we forgetting that they brutalized that guy in the parking lot?”

damian leans around bruce to snap at tim huffily. “are you gonna hold onto that forever? you lived you dramatic dork. and that ”guy” was a crook trying to kidnap me and assault them. and he only lost a tooth! you do that every damn night with your stupid under-trained bo staff and nobody bats an eye at it! you only care about that and bring it up constantly because it fueled your vendetta.”

barbara groans into her hands loudly, the ginger slides her fingers under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose tightly. “well, we weren’t wrong to be wary of them…”

cass chimes in again. “they’re probably frightened wherever they are, they shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“i kinda agree, we should focus back on finding them so we can monitor them and figure out how to fix them-” barbaras sentence is cut off by another interruption from damian.

“don’t talk about them like a dog that ran away from home, and what do you mean fix them?”

barbara glares sharply at damian, and this time he looks a bit sheepish for his quick outbursts.

she straightens up and fixes her glasses before fixing the room with a stern look. “i’m not saying that (name) is a dog, or malfunctioning, but they are hiding something very, very dangerous about themselves. we can’t ignore that part, and we can’t pretend that wayne manor wasn’t compromised.”

damian waits a moment to make sure she’s done speaking this time, then he steps around bruce to stand closer to the group. “….you guys still haven’t explained what exactly happened.”

cass is the one who speaks up next. “martian manhunter read (name’s) mind, we saw some things from another timeline….they’ve been through a lot.”

“yeah, a lot of bodies.” tim mutters quietly as he reaches for his drink again with a small scowl still on his face.

cass doesn’t even pause before she turns her head and speaks dryly.

“so have i. Will you hunt for me?”

the mood in the room falls a little more somber, somehow. not out of shock obviously, but remembrance that this isn’t a removed issue for some of the members of the bats.

the silence stretches for just a few seconds, then damian clears his throat quietly. “can i see the….other timeline stuff?”

his gaze flicks to the martian, and suddenly everyone else remembers that the poor man has been witness to all this bickering and family drama playing out.

said alien glances at the boy, then his blood red eyes lock on bruce. “i can, but your father has something to say first.”

bruce blinks, of course he’s being put under the spotlight. damned mind readers…

he returns to the couch and sits with a grunt, trying not to think about how he always sat on the left side beside his- “i’d like to wait and just show the others all at once, if you can wait for a bit, i want the whole group up to date on this….”

bruce looks at damian.

“i want us all to talk about this on even footing, to make a plan for our next steps….and i want all the bats ready to take in (name) if they see them.”

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: been a while since I did a different POV huh? The candle part was my favorite scene for some reason so I hope y'all are okay with the Tim abuse 😔 anyways thx for reading and I manifest a good day for y'all! 💙

You didn’t seem to hear him, you kept sobbing.

Frank pulls off the covers off you, and tries again.

“Y/n, baby you’re safe. You’re home, it’s Frank.” He shakes you harder.

You awake with a scream and stumble out of the bed. You’re unaware of your surroundings. You panic and put your head in between your knees pulling at your hair.

“No no no, Y/n,” Frank gets out of bed and runs around the bed to where you were. He gently crouches down in front of you.

“Baby can you hear me?” He genuinely asks, he wasn’t able to tell over your strained cries.

You start to shake your head. “Make it stop, make it stop please!” You look up to Frank and reach out to him.

Frank gently takes your hand and kisses it. He sits down in front of you. He places some hair behind your ear and sighs.

“Are you here baby?”

You sniff and nod. “I am. I’m sorry Frankie.”

“Nah baby don’t apologize. You’re were having another nightmare.”

You nod. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’d rather be awake then have you go though this alone Y/n. Thank fuck you did.”

You try to nod, but your body wouldn’t move. You felt frozen and yet you felt like you needed to run away.

But Frank was here. He’ll keep you safe.

“C-can you hold me?” You cry out.

Frank nods silently and opens his arms. You all but collapse into his arms. Frank cocoons you in his massive arms.

He starts gently rocking back and forth. “You’re safe. You’re home. I’m here. We’re all safe.” He whispers in your ear.

You let yourself sob in his arms. Frank says nothing and holds you close to him as he could. The tears running down his bare chest bother him none.

Once the tears seemed to have stopped, you pull away and wipe your eyes. You wipe your tears off of frank with the sleeve of your sleep shirt. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t care about a couple of tears on me.”

“Well I do. You’re too pretty for them Frank.”

Frank. “Nah I ain’t pretty, that’s all you.”

You smile at his words.

Frank kisses your head and asks if you wanted to talk about your nightmare.

You didn’t know. Would it even help at this point?

You shake your head. “I don’t know…”

Frank nods understandingly. “That’s alright baby. If you need my ear you let me know.”

You belive him. “Thank you Frank. Can we maybe, get back into bed?”

Frank nods. “Can I touch ya?” You nod, wondering what he meant.

Frank gently scoops you into his arms and gently deposits you on the bed.

You grab the covers and lay it over your legs. Frank slides in next to you.

Frank leans back against the headboard, allowing you to lean on him. You curl up together. Frank intertwines your hand with his.

“One day I’ll be able to tell you everything.” You say this as you trace Frank’s healing knuckles. You kiss his shoulder. “I promise.”

Frank gently turns your face to look at his. His eyes were honest and sincere. “You ain’t gotta tell me shit you don’t want to. It’s your story, you tell it when you’re ready Y/n. And I’ll be the first to listen.”

You lip wobbles at his words. “I just feel like you deserve to know, but there’s so much…”

Frank knew very little of the Red Room. Everything he knew came from you, and that was a small amount. He didn’t mind, but he wish he could help you more with your struggles.

“It’s bad Frankie. What they did to me.” You begin.

Frank takes a breath and lends an ear.

“You know they sterilized me?” You ask nonchalantly.

Frank shakes his head no. He feels rage within him. “Y/n I’m so sorry.”

“Never wanted kids, but they still took that from me. They took everything from me.” You wipe your eyes. “I’ve done terrible things Frank, all for them. I hate myself so much for those things.”

“Y/n whatever you’ve done, I promise i’ve done ten times worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Well maybe.”

Franks smiles at your laugh. He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you for talking to me. That shit ain’t easy to carry around, let me help you carry it. You’re not alone Y/n.”

“I can’t make any promises, Frank but I’ll try. For you.”

“That’s all anyone can do, Y/n. I hope one day you can see how strong you are.”

You trace his jawline with your fingers. “Maybe with your help, I can.”

Until you open your mouth in the quinjet.

“Oh my God, honey, did you remember to pack the charger?”

Your voice is flawless.

Flat vowels. Easy cadence. Midwest-neutral, like you grew up on casseroles and college football. Not a single trace of Russia left behind.

Bucky freezes mid-weapon check.

He stares at you like you’ve just shapeshifted.

You blink at him, perfectly pleasant smile in place. “What?”

“…What the hell was that?” he asks.

You shrug, already buckling your harness. “Cover identity. Natasha drilled it into us. Accents are easy to drop when you’ve had enough electroshock therapy.”

He grimaces. “That’s—yeah. That tracks.”

But it doesn’t feel right.

The accent you usually wear fits you. It feels earned. Lived-in. This one is… unsettling. Like you’re a stranger wearing someone else’s skin.

And God help him—his pulse jumps every time you speak.

On the ground, you’re impeccable.

Your cover names are John and Emily Miller. Married five years. Suburban. Boring. You slip your hand into his without hesitation, fingers curling like they belong there. When a local contact eyes the two of you suspiciously, you lean into Bucky’s side and laugh—bright, American, warm.

“Oh, he worries too much,” you say. “My husband’s always been like that.”

My husband.

Bucky swallows.

You call him honey. Babe. Love. Each word said in that accent, soft and casual and devastating. You rest your hand on his chest like it’s second nature, thumb brushing his collarbone when you talk. He plays along—he always does—but something inside him is slipping its restraints.

At one point, a shopkeeper asks where you’re from.

“Oh, Ohio,” you answer easily. “Cleveland.”

Bucky almost chokes.

Later, in the safehouse, he finally snaps.

“You can stop now,” he mutters as he locks the door behind you. “No one’s listening.”

You turn to him, still wearing the smile. Still wearing the voice.

“Stop what?”

He rubs a hand down his face. “The accent. It’s… unsettling.”

That gets you to break.

Your shoulders shake as you laugh, the sound tipping back into Russian without effort. “Unsettling?”

“You don’t sound like you,” he says. Then, quieter, “It messes with my head.”

You study him for a second too long.

Then, deliberately, you switch again.

Slow. Controlled. Perfect American.

“Oh?” you murmur. “Does it bother you that much, James?”

His breath stutters.

You step closer, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Because I can keep it up all night if you want. Wifely duty and all.”

He lets out a low, helpless huff. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Your grin is wicked. “Maybe.”

And that’s when it hits him.

Not the attraction—he’s been carrying that like a live wire for months. It’s the realization that he doesn’t want the version of you that’s easy. Or polished. Or pretending.

He wants the real you. The sharp edges. The Russian mutters. The way your accent thickens when you’re tired or angry or honest.

He wants everything.

That night, you sit on opposite sides of the bed like you’re supposed to. Like professionals. Like people who don’t lie awake listening to each other breathe.

“You okay?” you ask softly, Russian creeping back in.

Bucky turns his head toward you in the dark. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“…Don’t use the fake accent on me anymore,” he says.

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, gently, “Why?”

“Because,” he exhales, “I don’t want to fall in love with someone who isn’t real.”

Silence stretches between you—thick, heavy, terrifying.

Then you whisper, voice unmistakably yours, “Too late.”

He laughs under his breath, something broken and relieved all at once. “Yeah. I know.”

When the mission ends, you drop the cover like it never existed. Back to yourself. Back to the voice he loves.

But sometimes—when it’s just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet—he’ll murmur, “Hey. Say it again.”

You’ll arch a brow. “Say what?”

“That American thing,” he admits. “Just once.”

You’ll lean in close, lips brushing his ear, and whisper, perfectly, devastatingly sweet—

“Oh my God, James… I think I married the love of my life.”

“I said I’m done. No more orders. No more missions.” She said. “We both know what’s going to happen to those girls when the mission is over.” She was trying to keep her voice quiet so as not to wake them. It was a school night after all.

“We know what will happen to all of us if Dreykov finds us. He will kill us.”

“Death is a blessing in going through the Red Room,” Melina said coldly. He could never fully understand, but she was trying to make him. The pain, the torture, the obedient servants-the Red Room flushed out. Two of her girls already had a few years in that place of nightmares; their claws were in their skin. “We can protect them. We’ve done it already.” Alexei sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “This is different. We..”

“Mom, Dad,” Melina turned around to see you, the oldest of Yelena and Natasha. Dreykov and the other Red River instructors saw great potential in you. Melina knew what they saw, but the Black Widow saw how big your heart was. They weren’t going to break that, not on Melina’s watch. “I heard you guys fighting. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Melina smiled, trying to ease your worries. “Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.” But you refused. Instead, you glanced at your sister’s doors and walked over to them, arms crossed, and the image of a perfect soldier.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, slipping into your native accent. “Did you hear from the Red Room? Are we in trouble?” You tried to mask your fear, but Melina heard it, saw it too. She heard your and Natalia’s nightmares. Saw you trace your wrist as if you had the handcuffs on, hiding every weakness.

“We are fine, malen’kaya ptichka (little bird),” Alexei said. “Your mother and I were just talking.” You looked between him and Melina.

“If they are in danger, I want to know.”You held the glare with Alexei. It was more than a mission to you too. From the moment you, Yelena, and Natalia were assigned to the mission, you saw them as sisters. You protected them, looked out for them, and took the blame for some of their actions. Melina wondered how your heart could be so pure, even though you’ve seen how ugly the world can be. It was still good. Melina looked at Alexei.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I don’t think we should continue the mission.” She ignored him. The super soldier stood up, muttering something in Russian that Melina missed, and paced the dining room. “I think this will be our only chance to walk away, all of us, and be a real family.” You stared at her with an expression that only Melina couldn’t place. It was as if you didn’t believe her or if she spoke a language you didn’t understand.

“They’ll hunt us down and kill us,” you said. Melina shook your head.

“I’ll keep you safe.” She was cycled through the red room three times before her girls were born. She knew how they taught and how they trained their widows. She wasn’t going to force Alexei to join them on this ridiculous, impossible idea. Besides, she didn’t need him. The Red Rooms walls were all she knew. Maybe she could find something different.

“Okay,” you said. “When are we going?”

“Stop,” Alexei said, placing his hands on the counter. “Both of you, stop. Do you even know what you’re saying? You don’t walk away from this. He will throw you in jail or kill you.” You took Alexei’s beer bottle, and Melina thought you were going to drink it. Instead, you swirled the liquid around the bottle.

“Do you know what they make us do in there?” You asked. Melina saw Alexei glance at you, but your eyes stayed trained on the bottle. When he didn’t answer, you continued, “I could kill you five different ways with this bottle. That’s even before I shattered it to use the shards.” You gently set the bottle down and locked eyes with a super-soldier. “The smallest thing in this house I could use, and the craziest part: when they find you dead, they won’t be able to trace it back to me because I’ll plant evidence to frame someone else.” You walked to stand next to him. It was rather a comical sight with how much the Red Guardian towered over you. To anyone else, they would guess Alexei had the power from his size and strength, but it was you. You held his gaze. “Tell me, Dad, is that how your little girl should be raised?” It was a tense standoff, but soon Alexei sighed, gently resting his hand on your shoulder,, then your cheek. Your body went rigid, unfamiliar with his gentle touch.

“We have to be smart about this,” he said, looking at Melina. “One slip up and we’re dead.” The older black widow nodded, offering her husband a smile.

“We will be,” she said. They were going to be free.

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“Do you know where my blue sweatshirt is?” Yelena came running from inside the house. You and Natalia were oiling the chain on your bikes. Your middle sister laughed.

“Did you leave it at school?” She questioned. “Because if you did, it’s gone.”

“No, I didn’t leave it at school.” Yelena stomped her foot. “I just had it.”

“I’m sure it’ll show up.” You said, ignoring the guilt tugging at your stomach. “For now, go grab one of mine from my closet.” You’re pretty sure the blue sweater she was referring to was yours as well. She thanked you and ran back into the house.

“Come to think of it,” Natalia said, wiping her hands on a towel. “I couldn’t find my black long sleeve.” You rolled your eyes, picking up the oil and towel.

“You guys need to take better care of your stuff.” You jogged into the garage to put everything back. “Come on, we’re meeting Sarah at the park.” You jumped on your bike and began the ride with your sister behind you.

So it was a small lie you told them when they questioned you about their missing clothes. You begged Alexei and Melina for some way to help. Finally, Melina gave you the task of packing a go-back for you, Natalia, and Yelena. Inside was everything the three of you would need to survive: a few different outfits, a first-aid kit with hygiene supplies, some money, and food. You made sure to include a few sentimental objects to remind them of their time in Ohio. Alexei gave you two pistols and ammo to add to your and Natalia’s bag. The three bags were tucked underneath your bed, under a blanket and some boxes. All you were waiting for was the sign, whenever that may be.

It was a Saturday night. Yelena finally fell asleep in your room. She begged and begged for a sleepover, and it was hard for you to say no to her. Once her breathing evened out, you snuck out of your room and ventured into Melina’s study. You knocked before entering, but they were expecting you. The couple was hunched over a table that was covered with papers. They didn’t look up, even when you closed the door and walked to stand next to Melina. “So, where are we?” You asked.

“I created fake identities for you and your sisters, birth certificates, social security numbers, even school records.” Melina gestured to the three Manila folders on her desk. “I need you to place them in the go bags.”

“Understood,” you nodded, crossing your arms. “Where are we going after Ohio?” Alexei placed a hand on his chin.

“We’ll leave the house and go to the plane like the original plan, but we’ll head north instead of Cuba,” he pointed to the locations of the map they laid out. “Your mother has a contact that will let us lay low until we’re safe to move.”

“We need you to look after your sisters during this time,” Melina said to you. “If Alexei or I aren’t around, you’re in charge.” It was going to be tough to explain that one to Natalia, but you nodded.

“Where is home going to be?” You asked. That was the point of all this-this huge risk you were all taking to find a place called home, to be safe, to be your real family. The couple looked at each other.

“That is the part of the plan we’re still working out,” Alexei said. “Russia is out of the question. We can’t come back to Ohio.”

“The states are still our best option. SHIELD can be our ally if we need to be." Alexei scoffed, throwing his hands.

“Those American idiots don’t know their right from their left. They have a Russian spy working in their facilities. They haven’t noticed." He had a point, and the idea involving other people was a huge risk. It made you feel uneasy. Melina glared at the man, and he immediately stopped talking. “Your mother was suggesting Iowa.”

“Iowa?” You questioned, looking at the older Black Widow. “Why Iowa?”

“A lot of open area, middle of nowhere. We could live off the land.” She shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to farm.” You smiled. In the Red Room, there was only one mission: serve those above you. Once you were taken, they erased the person you once were. With that, all your dreams, goals, and hopes you once had were gone. The trainers would mold and shape you as they saw fit.

“When are we leaving?”

“Where are we going?” You spun around to see Yelena. Everyone was so engrossed in the conversation that no one heard the door open. The blonde gave you a heart attack, but you recovered.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” You asked with a smile. She rubbed her eyes and held onto a stuffed bear.

“I woke up, and you weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you. Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” Alexei said. “Well, not yet. Remember that big adventure we were going to take one day?” The blonde nodded, but your stomach flipped. Every time you spoke about it, he knew he meant returning to the red room. “Your sister is helping us plan it.” Yelena started bouncing on her feet.

“Can I?”

“No,” Melina cut her off. “You should be in bed, little miss.” You chuckled at her pout.

“Come on,” you faked a yawn. “I’m getting tired myself. Night, Mama.” You kissed her cheek. “We’ll touch base again.” You whispered in her ear. Melina gave a slight nod of her head. “Night, Dad.” You walked over to your sister, who held her hands up. You rolled your eyes and picked her up. “You’re getting too big for this.” You groaned. She giggled and wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Is this adventure going to be fun?” She mumbled sleepily against your neck.

“Yeah, malen’koye solntse (little sun), it will be fun.”

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Iowa, 2005

Something wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. It had been happening a lot more frequently, and although it’s been years since you’ve been in the Red Room, trained to be a spy, those skills didn’t go away overnight, especially since Melina trained you now and again. “Hey, can we get cookies?” Yelena asked. She didn’t wait for your response and slipped the cookies into the cart. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring at the head of lettuce for like 10 minutes. I’m pretty sure Mom wanted spinach, right?” You grabbed the bag of spinach.

“Let’s get out of here.” You walked over to the register.

“But we weren’t done yet.” You rushed to the front and placed the few items onto the cart for the cashier’s conveyor belt. “We still need-”

“Haley,” You said her undercover name. “We need to go home.” She looked at you for a second, saw the concern in your eyes, the underlying meaning behind your urgency.

“Okay, let’s go home.”

You closed the car trunk and felt that feeling again. This time, when you looked behind you, a man was staring at you. He was out of place, wearing an eye patch and a trench coat. You ran to the driver’s side and began the drive home. It was silent. You knew Yelena was itching to ask what was going on. She turned on the radio and flipped through the channels. When she found the one that she liked, she adjusted the volume. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked. You squeezed the steering wheel.

“A man was following us at the store.” You glanced at the mirror and saw no one following you. “It could be nothing.”

“Or it could be something.” Yelena countered, “Mom and Dad always told us to listen to our instinct.” These instincts were hardwired into you since you were a young girl. It took you and Natasha longer to let go of the idea that everyone was a threat. Yelena was easier to adjust to our normal life. You were glad she couldn’t remember Melina getting shot, and you had to help Alexei remove the bullet. Her screams sometimes woke you up. “What do you want to do?”

Alexei was at work. Melina and Natasha were home. You sighed. “Get into the house and find Mom and Natasha.”

“You won’t do anything stupid, right?” Yelena asked hesitantly. He chuckled.

“Of course not.” You were going to do everything to protect your family.

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The park job was less than ideal as you pulled into the driveway. Melina’s chickens were startled as they ran to the backyard. “Go,” you ushered Yelena out of the car. A car started following about halfway back to the house. You saw the hesitation in her eyes, but you gave her a stern look.

“Okay,” she ran into the house, not bothering to close the door. Sighing, you watched the black car slow to a stop at the end of the driveway; it was bold or stupid. You weren’t sure what this man was. It was a stalemate to see who would get out first. Slowly, you got out and began to unload the groceries onto the porch. On your second trip, you heard a car door open and close—the same man from town.

“Can I help you, sir?” You asked. The man approached you with his hands at his sides; it was smart to keep them visible.

“Are your parents home?” He asked.

“No,” you lied. “They’re at work. I’m home alone with my sister.” The lie was purposeful. If he truly were following you, he would know the truth. The truth was Alexei worked in construction in the next town over. The commute was an hour and a half one way. It was summer, so Melina was home, not teaching seventh-grade science and part-time at the community college. Yelena was in high school, and you and Natasha were in college. Years free from the Red Room; it was not going to end today. The man glanced at the house behind you. You could hear the pigs and goats in the barn. It took time for this place to feel like home.

“Want to try that again, kid?” You frowned.

“You’re on private property, sir,” you said. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What do you want?” The man dared to smile. Well, the closest thing to a smile, the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

“I like you,” he said. “I guess that’s why he liked you too.” You tried to keep your face neutral. The first rule you’ve learned is to keep your emotions in check. You never wanted the enemy to know they got a reaction out of you.

But at the mention of him, your blood went cold, and your stomach flipped. Your name was called from the house. Melina stood there with Yelena and Natasha behind her. “Nick Fury.” Gone was an American accent. You hadn’t heard her speak with her native accent in a while, unless she was talking to her contact back in Russia. “Why are you on my farm?”

“Melina,” The man said, “It appears to be lunchtime. What’s on the menu?” Your mom looked between you and the man.

“Sandwiches,” she answered. “Come on, girls, let’s get the food inside.”

“Wait,” Natasha said. The man did not wait and walked towards the house. “Who are you?” He stopped in front of your sister, and you subconsciously clenched your hands into fists.

“Nick Fury.” He introduced himself and reached into his pocket. Natasha tensed up. The only person who wasn’t worried was Melina. It wasn’t a weapon, but a badge. “SHIELD agent.”

“SHIELD?” you said. Fury looked back at you with a smile as he won.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m starving.”

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“Did you know?” Natasha asked. She kept her voice low as you put away the little groceries you bought. Melina was sitting with Fury at the dining room table. You shook your head.

“No.” You were in the dark about your parents’ involvement with SHIELD.

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.” You snapped and opened the fridge a little too aggressively to grab the mayo. They kept you in the dark. She grabbed the mayo out of your hand.

“Welcome to the club.” You rolled your eyes. Natasha was still upset about being left in the dark on the first plan. A lot of fights happened between you and her. Now you ignored her when she brought it up. Instead, you stood next to her and made the sandwiches.

“Mom said Dad is on his way home.” Yelena opened the fridge and put the pitcher of lemonade back in.

“What are they doing?” You asked.

“Just staring at each other,” Yelena answered as she leaned against the fridge. “It’s kind of weird.” You chuckled.

“Move,” Natasha said to the blonde. “Now.” Yelena put her hands up and moved out of her way. Natasha put the lunch meat away and carried two plates to the table. The blonde frowned.

“What’s her problem?” You shrugged.

“No idea.” You handed Yelena her sandwich and grabbed the remaining two. “Don’t take it personally, malen’koye solntse (little sun). You walked to the dining room and placed the sandwich in front of Fury.

“Thank you, girls.” Melina forced a smile. “Why don’t you go through and enjoy these out back while Fury and I talk?” It was like she spoke to you in a language you did not understand, which was odd because you spoke 5.

“Excuse me?” Natasha questioned, very much in the same boat you were in.

“And leave you with a government agent,” Yelena added on. “Not happening.” Fury chuckled.

“Come on, Melina. The girls are old enough to join in on the conversation,” he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “This is good.” Melina’s jaw clenched.

“Go outside.” She said, eyes locked onto yours. She knew that if she could get you to agree, the other two would follow. They listened to you. Your sister’s gaze fell onto you. The silence was tense, and the sound of Fury chewing pissed you off even more. Everything about today was pissing you off.

“No.” You finally spoke. “We aren’t leaving you with him.” You were worried that Melina’s jaw was going to shatter for how hard she was clenching it. That would be hard to explain to Alexei when he got home. Fury was looking between you and Melina at this weird standoff.

Finally, Melina’s jaw relaxed. She sighed. The tension she had been holding since Fury appeared slowly went away. “Please,” she said. “Let me protect you for a little longer.”

That stopped you. All of your anger and resentment that was building faded away. Because that was all Melina ever wanted to do was protect you and your sisters. When she looked at you, she still saw the three little girls that the Red Room targeted. You sighed, then looked at Fury. “You hurt her; I will kill you.” The man smiled, that same awkward movement of his lips.

“Scout’s honor.” He placed three fingers to his temple. Without a word, you picked up your sandwich, and your sisters followed you outside.

You sat down on the steps more aggressively than was needed. The food on your plate didn’t look good. “No matter what happens,” Yelena broke the silence. “We are still going to be sisters, right?” You and Natasha looked up so fast to look at the blonde that you were worried about whiplash. Yelena sat on the hammock, picking at the bread.

When you looked at the blonde, you weren’t seeing the young adult that played soccer and got a full ride to college, who dreamed of becoming a vet. You were staring at the little girl who cried when she scraped her knee and ran to your room when the thunder got too loud. “Nobody is going to separate us,” Natasha said. Yelena wasn’t convinced. She looked at you.

“She’s right. “Usually am.”

You ignored her. “Because sometimes in our lives we all have pain. We all have sorrow,” Natasha rolled her eyes, but a smile began to form. “But if we are wise. We know that there’s always tomorrow.” Yelena jumped out of the hammock and squeezed her away between you and Natasha. The redhead huffed but made room for the girl.

“Lean on me,” Yelena smiled, bumping her shoulder against yours and Natasha’s. “When you’re not strong.”

“And I’ll be your friend,” Natasha joined in. “I’ll help you carry on.” You started to sing the song back in Ohio. It provided you a sense of comfort while you tried to help them. The plates were abandoned on the porch as you hugged - tightly holding onto each other. Together - now and forever.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The plates were clean while you and your sisters waited. Melina removed your access to the security cameras inside the house so you couldn’t listen in. 45 minutes passed since you were banished to the outside, Alexei’s truck pulled into the driveway. He came to check on you three before joining the conversation with Melina and Fury.

15 minutes after Alexei came home, you heard the front door open and close, and a car drive off. It was Melina who came to get you and your sisters. Natasha pushed past her, followed by Yelena. You were slower to stand as you heard Natasha demanding answers from Alexei. “She’s always been fiery,” you said. Melina kept her eyes on your sisters. “Are we in trouble?” You asked. Finally, Melina looked at you. There was a look in her eyes that you had not seen in a long time since you lived in Ohio, like she was afraid you were going to all disappear.

“No,” she said. “Come.” Melina placed a gentle hand on her back. “Your father and I will explain.”

The scene in front of you was comical. Alexei was sitting on the couch, leaning back with his hand over his eyes. Yelena was in the corner of the couch watching it all, and the star of the show was Natasha. “You’re asking me to calm down,” she said. “A man gets invited into our home after following my sisters from the store. Then we get banished outside, and you expect me to calm down?”

“Maybe not calm down,” Alexa said. “But allow your mother and me to explain.” He removed his hands and looked at the redhead. “Please.” Natasha stared at him. You saw the fight in her green eyes. She was itching to take out her anger and frustration for things she could not control. Then it left her. It was still shimmering at the surface, but the fire dimmed. It reminded you of when you stared down the man back in Ohio. You sat next to Yelena, and Natasha sat on the other side of you.

“How long have you been working with SHIELD?” You asked. Melina sat next to Alexei. The man placed his hand on her thigh. Sometimes you forgot they were pawns and all this too. Before the mission in Ohio, they barely knew each other. Alexei was Dreykov’s muscle, and Melina was another widow under his control. Then for three years they faked being in love. You wonder when it became real.

“Since we left Ohio,” your stomach dropped worse than it did outside when Fury barely mentioned Dreykov. Somehow, being lied to by the people you trusted and loved was worse because you brought up talking and working with SHIELD. Especially when Melina was shot, then again when Natasha got sick during a horrible blizzard, and every time Yelena cried for a place to call home.

All you wanted was a place to call home, and if you had to work with SHIELD to give your sisters that you would have. But every time it was ignored and you were told they were people you could not trust.

“In exchange for information,” Alexei continued. “We were allowed to live in the States, without the threat of being sent back to Russia.” They were basically CIs for Shield. You knew their contacts ran deep and far. They had power like Dreykov.

“Why was he here then?” Yelena asked. “What does he want?” Melina leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“Two years ago, I told you girls, I went to a conference in England.” You frowned. You remembered that. It was a weird time for a conference, but you had no reason to question it, especially when she brought back gifts. “I went to Budapest. It was a SHIELD mission designed to eliminate Dreykov.” You frowned.

“Budapest,” Natasha said slowly. She glanced at Melina, then back to you. She hit you gently on the arm. “Don’t you remember the news? She was stuck in the air for two weeks because of a supposed terrorist attack.” You blinked at the redhead. Then it came back to you. Classes were canceled. Teachers huddled around TVs watching the news. People died. Children, parents, brothers, and sisters, and no one knew who was responsible.

“That was you.” Melina couldn’t look you in the eye. Alexis squeezed her leg.

“You blew up a city block to try to kill Dreykov.” You flinched at the way his name rolled off Yelena’s tongue. Her memories of the red room were non-existent. She mostly remembered Ohio, which was good. There was a period of time after you left Ohio. She woke up with nightmares: a fire, men with no faces, and the sound of gunfire. Everyone believed it was the night she was taken from her biological family.

It was important to you to tell her the truth about what the rest of your family went through. She needed to know why her sisters flinched at weird noises, or why her mom went quiet after a night of guilt and nightmares, or why her dad drank until he stopped believing he failed and gave you three back to the Red Room.

“Yes,” Melina said. But if Melina said she killed Dreykov, why would an SHIELD agent then come to her home? Unless she failed. Unless they believed he survived.

“He’s alive,” you said. “The Red Room is alive.” Alexei and Melina kept tabs on the Red Room activity. As the years went by, they truly believed the Red Room dissolved when you failed to return. No widows, no men under his command, not even Dreykov himself tried to bring you back. Natasha tensed up next to you.

“Yes,” Melina repeated. “Or that is what Fury and the others believe.” You tried to swallow, but your throat went dry. Panic seized your lungs and heart. The fear of going back never truly left you. It was always in the back of your mind. But hearing it, and him who could have been behind the attack, paralyzed you with fear.

“Hey,” you heard Alexei’s voice as he knelt in front of you and Natasha. “Breathe, my malen’kaya ptichka (little bird), breathe my malen’kaya roza (little rose.” Natasha grabbed your arm, and her nails pierced your skin. The pain helped. The pain grounded you back. “He’s not taking you back, okay?” He promised. “You’re both safe.” You gasped for breath as your mind returned, then hissed in pain.

“Shit!” Natasha dropped the hold of your arm. You felt blood drip down your skin from the puncture wound. “Fuck! I am so sorry.” Melina was already heading to the kitchen for the nearest first-aid kit. Natasha moved as Melina took her spot. The redhead paced, chewing at the skin around her thumb. It was a nervous habit she never kicked. Yelena’s eyes were wide as she looked between everyone.

“I’m fine,” you smiled and barely reacted when the disinfectant hit your arm. “I’ve had worse.”

It was supposed to be a joke, a way to loosen the tension, but it had the opposite effect. A new tension surrounded your family because you had worse - broken bones, knife wounds, grazed by bullets. You were abused more times by the time you were nine years old. Alexei frowned, his hands hesitant as he placed one on your knee and squeezed it. When you first arrived in Ohio, you flinched any time he moved towards you. Now it felt wrong going a few days without a hug from him. “Right,” you cleared your throat. “Not funny.” You looked at Melina when she placed the bandage on her arm. Her touch was so gentle, so different from the hands in the red room that treated your wounds. If Fury was here to tell you that Dreykov is alive,” you started. “He must want you to finish the job.” Melina nodded. “When do you leave?"

“Not sure if I’m even leaving.” She pushed some of the hair out of your face and behind your ear. “I have to wait for SHIELD to confirm the theory that he’s back.” So it was a waiting game. Again, your family was pawns in the game of chess you refused to play.

Then Yelena broke the tension, “I say it’s business as usual until we hear back from the pirate.” Melina huffed out a laugh. The simple sound caused you and Alexei to smile. He winked at you. “I think we need to venture into the kitchen,” she said with a groan. “Because this one made a mess of the shopping, Mom.” The blonde gestured to you. You gasped in mock offense.

“Says the one sneaking sweets in the car every chance she got.” Yelena flipped you off as she walked into the kitchen. This time, Natasha finally laughed, and the air felt easier to breathe.

“Girls,” Melina said fondly, but followed the blond into the kitchen while Alexei cleaned up the used medical supplies. Then it was just you and Natasha. The redhead was staring at the commotion in the kitchen that was caused by Yelena trying, and failing, to justify each sweet treat she got. You whistled softly so she could only hear it, and the sound snapped her out of the fog, and she looked at you.

“You okay?” You asked.

“I-” Natasha let out a slow breath, her shoulders sagging at each exhale. “I do not want to go back.” It was rare for her Russian accent to slip. Usually it happened after too many drinks. You stood quickly, taking her face in your hands and forcing her to look at you. Her green eyes were glossy.

“He will not hurt you or Yelena,” you said firmly. “Never again.”

“Promise?” In that moment, you weren’t adults in college in a home you found in Iowa. You were back in Ohio, staring at a fiery blue-haired girl that you desperately wanted to protect.

“Promise.” And you meant it.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sting from the guitar strings felt safe. It was a type of pain that you welcomed each time you played. This pain reminded you that you could create and be free of the man that held claws in you. The one thing you asked for of the house in Iowa. You wanted your bedroom on the first floor, so the first-floor room designed as an office became yours. You were close to the front door, the first line of defense for your family.

You sat on the daybed Alexei built, which let you look out at the farm field across the street. A gentle knock near your open door made you turn to see Melina. “I was wondering when you were coming to find me.” After family dinner and a movie night, everyone dispersed into their own corner of the house. Your sisters were upstairs, and you had a feeling Alexei was in the garage.

“Am I interrupting?” Melina asked. She looked at the guitar.

“No,” you put it down. “Come in.” Melina took a moment to look around your room, filled with memories and knickknacks that you collected to make the space feel like yours. You hated the look on her face. “Stop that!” You said suddenly. Melina raised an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been doing that all night.” You stood up from your spot and lay on your bed, back against the headboard. “You keep looking at me and my sisters like we’re going to disappear. We aren’t.” Melina sighed and sat next to you. It was second nature for your head to drop onto her shoulder, her lips pressed against your temple.

“I am sorry for keeping our involvement with SHIELD from you.” She apologized. “It was a decision your father and I did not take lightly.” After all these years, you never got used to their apologies. You sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked.

“Because it is not your responsibility.”

“I would have helped.”

“I know, and that is why we chose not to tell you.” Again, her lips pressed against your forehead. “You did so much for us. We wanted you to be a kid. That was the biggest reason we ran from them, so you and your sisters could have normal lives.” Nothing was normal the first two years after leaving Ohio. You had to lay low and move around so much. You stepped up more as a parent than a sister to Natasha and Yelena. You reached for Elena’s hand and traced the gem on her wedding ring. Alexei proposed to her once the house in Iowa was officially yours. You had no furniture, only the clothes in your suitcase, but you were safe. He got down on one knee in the living room with takeout boxes from the local Chinese restaurant. It was the first time he saw Melina cry.

She wore another ring on her index finger, identical to the one you and your sisters wore. It was a simple gold band with a picture of the moon. The phase of the moon matched the date of the first night in Ohio. The day the four of you became a family. It was a touch ring. So the others glowed when you touched it for more than 4 seconds. You wore yours on a chain around your neck.

“Budapest,” You started. “That was the first mission you did for SHIELD. Melina hummed.

“We would only give them names, information on past contacts, and sometimes go to headquarters to make identifications.” You pulled away to look at her. You opened your mouth. “No.” You frowned.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say?”

“Yes, I do.” She gave you a pointed look. “I’ve seen that look too many times while you tried to jump in and save your sisters. It is not going to work here.” Melina sighed. “You have to trust me when it comes to this.”

“I do trust you. It’s them I don’t trust.”

“I have been cycled through the Red Room 3 times before you girls were born. I can handle SHIELD.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you whispered. “Why can’t we just be free?” Melina held out her hand, and you took it. She pulled you back towards her, and you went easily until your head rested on her chest. Her chin on top of your head.

“Freedom is never free,” she said. “SHIELD allows for me and your father to atone for all we have done.” You closed your eyes, listening to the beat of her heart.

They were victims, pawns in a game they were forced to play in. You believed them getting you out was enough atonement. “I want to go with you.”

“I know you do,” Melina whispered. “But your father and I will handle this. We need you and your sisters to be safe.”

Safe. That seemed like a silly term when the Red Room was active, and a SHIELD agent knew where you lived.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It was at 1030 p.m. You realized you left your phone in the car with the groceries and Nick Fury. It was the furthest thing from your mind. Sighing, you walked down the steps, and your bare feet hit the grass. There was a summer breeze that kept the temperature bearable. You were glad for this time off from school, but you were itching to go back.

You opened the door, opened the driver’s side door, and your eyes were drawn to a business card on the seat. You picked it up, and only a number was written on it—a strange feeling formed in your stomach. You looked around. Obviously, there was no one. Melina had security measures all over the property. You would know if someone was there.

Without a thought, you typed the number into your phone and listened to it ring. When the phone connected, there was no voice on the other side. You waited and waited, like before, until you made the first move. “Nick Fury,” the man chuckled, saying her name.

“I’ve been expecting your call.” You closed the door and walked to the back of the car.

“Have you now? And what do you want out of this call? Maybe I just called you to tell you to go fuck yourself and stay away from my family.” To your surprise, he laughed again.

“Probably want to do that too.” You sat down in the gravel driveway. “Not the enemy, kid.” You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Men in power are always the enemy. You hadn’t meant to slip into your native accent, but you did. “My family have always been pawns. I do not want them to be in your game of chess.” Fury was silent as he took in what you said.

“Then what if we help each other out?” Your back straightened.

“What do you mean? You questioned slowly.

“Join SHIELD.” You scoffed, picked up a rock, threw it, and threw it on the road.

“You just want my help to stop Dreykov.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But also protect this planet from more men who have been victimizing people like your family. Do you think Dreykov is the only villain out there?” No, you knew from your criminology classes that villains came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Your family wasn’t the first family hurt by these types of men, and you would not be the last.

Unlike the others, you got away. Fury continued when you stayed quiet, “SHIELD is not the Red Room. You have a choice in all this. You can tell me to go fuck myself and go back to school and become a lawyer or whatever.” You weren’t surprised he knew what you were going to school for. “But I think you and your family could do some good.”

Good? You wanted to laugh. You were not good or a hero. You had blood on your hands by the time you were seven, but maybe if you joined Shield, some of that blood could be removed from your ledger. “I can’t give you an answer right now.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” You smiled. “Get some sleep, kid. We’ll talk soon.” You rolled your eyes.

“Night, Nick.” “Name’s Fury.”

“Whatever.” He hung up. You set your phone down slowly and looked up at the stars. There were moments where you believed you could remember them - your biological parents. You sometimes smelt an intense smoky leather and vanilla. But your choice to stay with them was taken from you. You were forced to be in the Red Room, forced to kill and fight, and be part of the mission in Ohio. Nothing was ever your choice.

But now you had a choice. You chose to go to college and picked a major to help people. Your choice to go to prom with a girl who broke your heart the next day, your choice to play volleyball, and your choice to live free of the Red Room every single day.

Now you were allowed to do good with the awful things you were trained on and hours spent at the ballet bar and perfecting how to reload a pistol. There were hours of blood that covered your hands. Maybe you weren’t the villain they wanted you to be.

‘Send me what you have on Drake off.’ You texted Fury.

‘Already sent you everything.’ His response came right away. Smiling, you got up and walked back to the house. You were surprised to see your sisters in your bed. Unbelievable! You mumbled. Natasha woke up slowly.

“Where were you?” She asked, half asleep.

“Phone was in the car.” You placed it on the nightstand. Thank God you had a big enough bed for sleepovers. You and Natasha were always on the edge with Yelena in the middle. “You guys okay?”