#teenreader

You’d been asking your moms for a new sibling for as long as you could remember. Always dropping hints and ribbing them about how good you’d be at all the things it took to be a big sister. You’d offered to help out as much as you could, even to babysit when they needed a night out.

You’d practically talked their heads off all the time about it. A baby would be good for the family. They wouldn’t be so alone when you left for college. 

Even still, a sibling never came. You wondered about it from time to time, but eventually you let it go. You had bigger things to worry about. Like the SAT, college applications, and your girlfriend.

It was a normal Wednesday night. You were home on the rare occasion, opting not to hang with Riley for the day. You sat on the kitchen counter, one foot kicked under you, swinging a socked foot as you rambled about Gina, Riley’s mom, possibly getting back with her dad, almost like you and Riley had been plotting on it.

“They were really good together,” you explained, looking from your phone to Natasha’s curious face. ”He’s so cool.” 

Natasha continued mixing a salad while Wanda finished up the last-minute spaghetti. Your braids swished over your shoulder as you talked animatedly. It was interesting, really, how this had become your normal, even though you still weren’t used to it. Having parents who listened and loved you. It was the greatest gift. 

“Well, I think you should hang up your matchmaking hat and just be our daughter for the rest of the night,” Natasha suggested, knowing how worked up you got about things. She found it endearing at best. 

“But it’s so fun,” You sighed. 

“What could be fun is the SAT book you could be doing right now,” Wanda reminded you. “Have you made it through the science portion yet?”

“I have not,” You replied, sticking your nose back into the invisible pages of your phone. 

“You’re going to blink, and that test will be here,” Wanda warned, pointing the wooden spoon at you before turning back to the stove.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off. “I’ll do it after dinner.”

“Thin ice, B,” Wanda shook her head. 

“Sorry, Mama.” You said sheepishly. 

Natasha snorted quietly, tossing the last of the tomatoes into the salad bowl. She didn’t look up, but she did tap your leg gently. “You’ve been saying you’re going to study for the past three days. Procrastination isn’t a good look.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I mean. I think my brain needs a break. Think about it. I’m homeschooled. I study and study. I’m at the top of my game. I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”

Wanda paused mid-stir. Natasha seemed to pause as well. 

“You don’t know if you want to go to college?” Wanda repeated slowly. She couldn’t tell if she was hearing you correctly. 

“You’re going to give your Mama a heart attack,” Natasha muttered. 

You shifted your shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean…not right away, maybe. Maybe I could explore or travel. Figure things out. Maybe stay around here for a while.”

Natasha’s brows rose. “Around here?”

“Yeah,” You said casually. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two. Make sure you’re still alive and taking your vitamins.”

Wanda laughed. “Somehow we managed before you detka.”

“But I make your life so much better,” You grinned. She stepped over to kiss your cheek before she pulled the garlic bread from the oven. 

You leaned back on your hands, swinging your foot again before the thought slipped out of your mouth. “Besides, if you guys ever give me the sibling I’ve been asking for, I would need to be here to help raise it.”

“It’s funny you mention that,” Natasha said. They shared a look. Something they always did when they had something they were keeping from you, a secret. 

You blinked between them. “What?”

Wanda turned the stove down and came to stand next to you again. 

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Wanda said, wiping her hand on a kitchen towel. She almost seemed nervous. 

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant,” you said. 

“Not quite,” She shook her head. 

“Okay, now I’m scared,” You frowned. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, nothing like that,” Natasha reached out and tapped your knee again. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Then stop doing the serious parent look,” You pointed between them. “That’s the serious-parent look.”

“We received a call the other day,” Natasha said carefully. “A brother and sister. Two years old.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. “They’re twins?”

Natsha nodded.“They’re staying with us for a little while,” Natasha added. “Their names are Mila and Luka.” 

You sat there, processing. 

“Like…staying staying?” You asked. They could see the wheels turning in your head. 

“Not permanently,” Wanda said quickly. “At least, not right now. They need somewhere safe for a while. It’s temporary.”

“Temporary,” Natasha echoed, though her voice was softer. Your eyes moved between them, trying to read the room the way you’d learned to do over the years. 

“You already said yes,” you realized. 

Natasha’s mouth twitched. “We did.” 

“And you were just going to…what?” Surprise me with two whole humans in the house?” You began. Wanda opened her mouth, but you were already talking again. Your smile widened. “I have to call Riley. We need to do something. To make them feel welcome. Can they talk? There are two, right?”

Natasha blinked. Wanda actually laughed. 

“That was not the reaction I was expecting,” Wanda admitted. 

“What reaction did you expect?” You asked, sliding off the counter. 

“More questions,”

“Oh, I have questions,” You assured them. “A lot of questions. But also,” You gestured vaguely between them. “You guys said they need somewhere safe.”

Your voice softened. 

“So, obviously, they should stay here.”

“They may be a little shy at first,” Wanda said gently. 

“That’s okay,” You shrugged. “I’m great with shy. I was shy at first, too.”

“You were sassy and snappy at first,” Natasha teased. 

“With good reason,” You reminded them. “Oh, I need a minute before dinner. We have to get something for them. When do they arrive?”

“Tomorrow evening,” Natasha informed you. She didn’t have much time to react before you were up in your bedroom. This should be fun. 

—-------------

Turned out you didn’t actually know what to get for two-year-olds. You had taken the train with Monet, opting for a store that sold toys and kids stuff. Riley was busy with school, but Monet was suspended yet again, so she had plenty of free time to hang out. 

“Should I get them something that matches?” You asked, turning over a stuffed zebra in your hands. 

Monet leaned against the shelf beside you, arms crossed loosely in her oversized black hoodie. Her hair was wrapped with a red bandana, and her fingers clinked softly when they tapped against the metal rack. She was the picture of cool, and you couldn’t believe she wanted to be your friend of all people. 

“Matching?” she repeated, squinting at you as you’d just suggested something ridiculous. “They’re two, not a married couple.”

You rolled your eyes. “They’re siblings.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Monet said. “Give them two different things so they can fight over them.”

“That’s terrible advice.”

“That’s realistic advice,” she shrugged.

You moved down the aisle, scanning the shelves of bright plastic toys. “I just want them to feel welcome.”

Monet watched you for a moment, her expression softening slightly.

“You’re a good kid, you know that?” she said.

“Please don’t call me that,” you groaned. “You’re literally three months older than me.”

“Still counts,” she said.

You picked up a small plush dinosaur and a stuffed fox.

Monet pointed. “There. Boom. Problem solved.”

“That’s not matching.”

“They’re both animals. That’s matching enough.”

You studied them for a second before nodding slowly. “Okay… maybe.”

Monet smirked. Then she added, “Also, you should get the loudest toy possible.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“So they cry all night, and your moms regret everything.”

You shoved her shoulder.

“Monet!”

She laughed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

She paused, glancing back at the toys. “…You really excited about them?” she asked.

You shrugged, but your smile gave you away.“Yeah.”

Monet nodded once. “That’s kinda cool.”

“I mean, it’s just been me,” You began walking back toward a different aisle. “I know my moms wanted a baby. Maybe before me, and that I was just temporary. But I think it will be cool.”

“Or loud,” Montet added. “Trust me, my thousand cousins show me every day while I will never procreate.”

“And still you choose to do the things that make a baby,” You snickered. 

“And you and your cute girlfriend haven't?” She questioned. 

“Well, no, but also we are two girls,” you said dryly.

Monet blinked.

“…Right.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Did you forget how biology works?”

“I was speaking spiritually,” she said quickly. “The vibes of it.”

“The vibes?”

“Yes. The vibes of reckless teenage decisions.”

You laughed, setting the plush fox back on the shelf.

“Relax. Riley and I are extremely responsible.”

Monet snorted. “You two hold hands like you’re in a period drama.” 

“That’s romantic.”

“That’s suspicious,” she corrected. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the dinosaur again.

 “Can you focus? I’m trying to pick gifts.” 

“Okay, okay,” Monet said. “But don’t act as if we didn't skate over the fact that you said you and Riley haven’t reached the next step yet.” 

You blushed. “We’re waiting.” You busied yourself with the cutest pair of kid shoes. “We promised my moms, and I think hers too, that we would slow down. We’ve come close.” That was all you were willing to share. 

Monet watched you for a second before letting out a quiet laugh. “Look at you,” she said. “All mature and stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the shoe back.

“Can we please go back to the important issue?”

“What issue?”

“The twins.”

Monet gestured at the toy aisle around you.

“You’re standing in the middle of it.”

“I think I’ll get these,” you said, grabbing a soft Minnie Mouse plush and then the matching Mickey from the shelf.

Monet leaned over your shoulder to look at them.

“You went with the couple?”

“They match,” you said simply.

“Bold move,” she murmured.

You hugged the toys lightly against your chest while you looked around the aisle one more time.

“They’re cute,” you added, mostly to yourself.

“They’re extremely cute,” Monet agreed. “Which means those kids are going to immediately ignore them and play with the box instead.”

You laughed.

“That’s not how kids work.”

“That is exactly how kids work.”

You started toward the checkout, the plush toys tucked under your arm.

Monet followed beside you, hands shoved into the pocket of her oversized hoodie.

“So when do they get here?” she asked.

You shrugged. “Sometime tonight. We don’t really get a set time. It’s usually something that just happens. I’m surprised we got so much notice.”

“And you’re really happy?” Monet held one of the stuffed animals for you. You pretended not to see her check out a Barbie doll. 

“I am,” You nodded. “It’s not even something that I have to force myself to say, either. I think it will be fun.” 

“Well, let’s go get coffee and cheers to fun,” Monet linked her arms around yours.

—----------

You were bouncing with excitement before the sun had even set.

You sat at your desk, chewing the end of a pen while pretending to study from the SAT book Wanda had been nagging you about. You were stuck on one particular math question, eventually putting a star next to it to remind your tutor to go over it later.

You were just about to close the book and give up when you heard a soft knock at your door.

“Come in,” you called.

Natasha poked her head inside, her eyes scanning your room subtly, silently judging you.

It was clean. As always.

“Twins are coming soon,” she said. “How about you come down?”

“Okay,” you nodded quickly. “Any excuse to stop this endless torture.”

You stuffed the book into your backpack and turned toward her.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about the college comment soon,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Soon,” you sighed. “But not now, please.”

She studied you for a moment.

Natasha had a way of doing that, looking at you like she could see every thought you were trying to hide. Finally, she nodded once.

“Fair.”

She stepped back into the hallway.

“Come on, my girl. Let’s go make you a big sister.” She beckoned you over. The word made something warm settle in your chest. You grabbed the plush toys from your bed before following her downstairs. She wrapped her arms around your shoulder. “You know it's really a fun job.”

“Is it?” You asked. “You’re always yelling at Auntie Yelena.”

“Have you met your Auntie?” She asked. “She’s always giving me things to yell about.” You snorted softly as you reached the bottom of the stairs. 

The house smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, and the low hum of Wanda’s voice drifted from the front porch. You could hear another voice, too. It was lighter, unfamiliar. Maybe the social worker. Or whoever had brought them. 

“They’re here already?” You asked Natasha. 

“Mhmm,” She hummed. “I wanted to come and get you. Give us time to talk with the social worker.”

Your stomach flipped.

Natasha gave your shoulder a small squeeze before asking, “You ready?”

You nodded, even though your heart was bouncing around inside your chest.

You stepped out onto the front porch after Wanda, noticing her standing beside the social worker, her hands clasped in front of her as she twisted her wedding ring—the way she did when she was nervous.

Everything looked the same.

Except for the two tiny figures wandering around the front yard, following after each other as they explored the flowers along the edge of the garden.

“I can touch the flowers, right?” the girl,Mila, asked as she trailed after her brother toward the garden bed. Her fingers stretched out toward a cluster of lilies.

Natasha moved beside her and knelt down.

“It’s best if we don’t,” she said gently.

“Why?”

The little girl looked up at Natasha with piercing blue eyes, bleach-blonde curls bouncing around her cheeks as she tilted her head.

Her brother, Luka, toddled slowly toward you instead, studying you with quiet curiosity.

Your hands tightened slightly around the toys you were holding.

“Because nature is best left alone,” Natasha explained. “The flowers are still growing. You can smell them, though. See…”

She leaned forward and breathed in the sweet scent of the lilies.Mila watched carefully before copying her, pressing her tiny nose into one of the flowers.Natasha saw it happen a split second before anyone else did.

The girl froze. Her nose scrunched. Her eyes blinked rapidly.

And then—

“Ah… choo!”

The tiniest sneeze burst out of her. Mila blinked in surprise, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand like it was completely normal.

“Bless you,” Wanda said warmly from the porch.

Natasha shook her head, amused.

“Welcome to the garden,” she muttered.

Meanwhile, Luka had reached you. He stopped right in front of you, looking up with wide, thoughtful eyes before glancing down at the toys in your hands.

You crouched slowly so you wouldn’t tower over him.

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Hi,” you said softly.

He studied you for a long moment. Then he pointed. “Mickey.”

You smiled and handed him the plush Mickey Mouse.

“Yeah,” you said. “Mickey.”

Behind you, Mila noticed immediately.

“Minnie!” she declared, marching over with sudden determination.You barely had time to react before she grabbed the other toy and hugged it to her chest.

Natasha let out a chuckle.

“Well,” she said, “they seem comfortable.”

Mila looked up at you suddenly. “What’s your name?”

“Bunny,” You answered. 

“Like a bunny rabbit,” Mila giggled. “I’m Mila, and I’m almost gonna be three.”

“Yeah?” You grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mila.”

“Are you a kid?” Mila asked. Luka seemed to be the quiet twin as he stood next to his sister, admiring his new toy. 

“I am,” You nodded. “I’m seventeen.”

“Wow,” Mila nodded seriosuly. She reached for your hand and squeezed it, already deciding you were going to be her new best friend. 

Behind you, the social worker cleared her throat gently.

It was the first time you remembered she was still standing there.

“Well,” she said warmly, glancing between you, Wanda, and Natasha. “I think this is about as smooth of a first meeting as we could hope for.”

Wanda nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

“They seem comfortable,” she said softly.

“They do,” the social worker agreed.

She knelt down near the twins.

“Hey, you two,” she said gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Mila nodded immediately, though it wasn’t clear she actually remembered anything.

Luka looked up from Mickey.

“You’re going to stay here for a while,” the woman continued, smiling at them. “With Wanda and Natasha.”

Mila squeezed your hand tighter.

“And Bunny,” she added quickly.

“And Bunny,” the social worker agreed.

She stood again, offering Wanda a small folder.

“Everything you need is in here. Emergency contacts, medical information, bedtime routines.”

Wanda took it with a quiet nod. “Thank you.” You all watched as the social worker walked away. 

Behind you, Mila tugged your hand again. “Bunny,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She held up Minnie proudly. “Mine.”

You laughed.“Yeah,” you said. “I think that one’s definitely yours.”

—-------

You didn’t realize dinner was going to be the first real challenge of the night until Luka pushed away his plate for the third time. It was simple. Chicken, potatoes, and broccoli. While Mila munched happily on a piece of broccoli, her brother was not having it. 

“Don’t want,” Luka replied. “I’m done.”

“Swetie, you only ate two bites,” Natasha said carefully. She fixed the napkin over his shirt, urging him softly to try. 

“Luke don’t like chicken,” Mila said with a mouthful of food. 

“Who doesn’t like chicken?” You asked. Luka lifted his eyes to you with the quiet seriousness he seemed to carry everywhere.

“Luka.”

You blinked.

“That’s fair,” you admitted.

Across the table, Wanda pressed her lips together like she was trying not to smile.

“Okay,” she said calmly. “If you don’t like chicken, what do you like?”

“Bananas,” He answered earnestly. 

“He can’t have bananas for every meal,” Natasha mumbled, just enough for Wanda to hear. She could see the slippery slope that could become. Wanda stood, walking over to a banana and peeling it 

“It’s only their first night,” She responded. She sliced the banana into quarters and brought over the second plate to the little boy.

 “Bananas good.” He said as he mashed a piece into his mouth. 

“They are,” Wanda agreed gently. “But our bodies need other food too.”

Luka stared down at the plate again. Then slowly pushed it another inch away.

Meanwhile, Mila happily stabbed another broccoli with her tiny fork, as if this entire situation was deeply entertaining. You picked up your own fork and took a bite of chicken.

“Pretty good chicken,” you said casually.

Luka glanced up. You took another bite.

“Actually,” you added thoughtfully, “this might be the best chicken Mama’s ever made.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”

Luka watched you chew. Then slowly looked back at his plate. He pushed it again, almost toppling it over, before Natasha caught it. The dynamics and rules would have to be established early. Granted, they were two, and you didn’t know how well either of them would follow the rules yet. 

“We don’t throw food,” Natasha said calmly. “It’s fine that you don’t want to eat it.”

Luka looked at her. Then at the chicken. Then at you.

You took another bite. “Still good,” you said, nodding thoughtfully. Luka took another bite of his bananas. Across the table, Mila pointed her fork at you.

“Bunny eating.”

“Bunny is eating,” Wanda nodded.

Luka stared a little longer. You didn’t say anything else. You just picked up a potato and ate it.

A long moment passed. Then, very slowly, Luka picked up his fork.

He poked the chicken once. Then twice.

He took the smallest bite imaginable. “I tried.” He said. 

“That’s right,” Natasha nodded. “You did. That’s all we ask.”

Mila clapped like it was the most exciting thing she’d ever seen.

“Luka eat!”

You tried not to grin too hard.

Across the table, Wanda reached over and squeezed Natasha’s hand under the table.

Natasha leaned back slightly in her chair, studying you.

“Well,” she said quietly. “Looks like big sister got all the joy.”

—-----------------

You thought dinner had proven you were good with toddlers. You did not realize that meant Mila decided you belonged to her. It was just before bath time, and you could hear the water running in the bathroom across the hall, something you had to share now. You were just finishing up writing in your journal when Mila stepped into the room, clad in only a tank top and Hello Kitty underwear. She already seemed very comfortable. 

“Is this your room?” She stepped over to your bed, peering at your writing in the journal. 

“It is,” You nodded. You closed your book and stuffed it under the pillow next to you. Mila didn’t seem particularly concerned about privacy either. You watched as Mila climbed onto the bed, her face mashed into the covers, as she hoisted herself up. 

“Oh,” She said softly once she was finally sitting. Her eyes scanned the room, taking it all in. “You have lots of stuff.”

“Two years’ worth,” You nodded in agreement. You looked from your guitar leaning against the desk, the sketchbooks on your desk, and your swinging chair in the corner. She scooted closer to you.

“Bunny?” She asked. 

“Why is your name Bunny?” She said. 

“My dad used to call me that when I was little,” You answered. 

“Oh.” Mila thought about this for a second. Then she leaned sideways until she was pressed against your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Okay.”

Across the hall, Wanda’s voice drifted out. “Mila, bath time!”

Mila did not move. You glanced down at her.

“You heard her.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No bath.”

You laughed quietly. “Well,” you said.“Good luck explaining that to Natasha.”

Right on cue, Natasha appeared in the doorway.

She took one look at the scene, Mila sprawled comfortably across your bed, and sighed. Though her face couldn’t hide the amusement. 

“…I knew it.” Natasha came to stand with Mila. “Hey sweetie, how about we go take a bath, and then after that you can come say goodnight to Bunny.”

“But hers gonna be sleeping,” Mila looked up at you. 

“I won’t,” You assured her. “My bedtime is much later.”

“And we have some bath markers you can use.” Natasha offered. Mila looked as if she wanted to protest, but instead she climbed over you and took Natasha’s hand. Natasha winked at you and led Mila out to the bathroom. 

The sound of running water grew louder a few seconds later, followed by Mila’s excited voice echoing down the hallway.

“Purple! I want purple!”

You smiled to yourself and leaned back on your bed for a second before hearing quiet footsteps in the hall.

“Bath means bubbles?” Mila asked. 

“Yeah, your brother’s already in there,” She encouraged her to climb in. Wanda was already taking her time helping bathe Luke and wash his hair. He was in desperate need of a haircut. His hair flowed softly over his eyes, and he blinked at Wanda as she spoke. 

“You talk funny,” He tilted his head. 

“I do?” Wanda asked with an amused smile. “I have an accent.” “A very strong one that she likes to hide,” Natasha joked. Mila was already covered in colorful bath marker scribbles across the side of the tub. Natasha sat on the edge of the bathtub, with her sleeves pushed up, looking like she was reconsidering several life decisions.

Wanda knelt beside her with a towel over her shoulder. 

“We gonna sleep here?” Mila asked in the midst of coloring all over the tub. 

“You are.”

“Okay, good,” Mila nodded. “Haveta; read three books before sleep, okay?”

“I think that was always the plan.” Natasha watched the siblings interact. Mila seemed more of a caregiver to her quiet brother. Their little personalities were the cutest. Mila splashed a little water over the edge of the tub. Natasha caught it with the towel before it hit the floor.

“Careful,” she said. Mila grinned.

Luka looked between the two of them, then at the scribbles on the tub. “You draw too?”

“Sure, why not?” Natasha shrugged. She could totally get with being a mom of three. 

—----

The bedtime story turned out to be in your bedroom. Mila had insisted.

She climbed into your bed and immediately tucked herself into your side as she’d always belonged there. Luka sat in Natasha’s lap at the foot of the bed, clutching Mickey while Natasha rested her chin lightly on the top of his head. You were all crowded around your bed as you read The Giving Tree to the twins.

Your voice filled the room softly. Mila traced the pictures with her finger while Luka watched the pages with serious concentration whenever you turned to show him. 

Wanda leaned her hand on Natasha’s shoulder, her eyes slightly watery as she watched you read. Natasha noticed and reached up to squeeze her hand briefly.

You turned another page.

“…and the tree was happy,” you read quietly. Mila yawned halfway through the sentence. Luka leaned back into Natasha, his eyes getting heavier. They had a long day. 

You finished the last page and closed the book gently. For a moment, nobody spoke. Wanda wiped discreetly under one eye.

Natasha noticed. “Don’t start,” she murmured.

Wanda smiled through it. “You’re the one who picked that book.”

Natasha glanced at you.

“You’re good at this,” she said simply.

You looked down at Mila, then at Luka, then back up at them. “I think they’re pretty good too.”

Wanda laughed softly. The house felt full in a way it hadn’t been before.. It felt like this was exactly how the house had always been meant to be. 

Life in the QZ was hardly luxurious, however you strived to see the positive things through rather than wallowing in the negative. Something you looked forward to was your dad playing guitar every night before supper, the strumming and melody of a song that was of his time, gave you both a sense of normalcy.

Your dad was one of the few that were allowed to leave the safety of the walls of the QZ, doing supply runs around the surrounding ruins of the city of Boston. There were few instances where the group doing the supply run were late to return and a series of unfortunate events meant that today was one of those days, the sky starting to darken as the sun sets on the horizon, the cool breeze drifting in from the north. You check the time on your watch, the simple block letters reading 5:57pm; a black and blue G-Shock watch, built to withstand the conditions you’ve put it through. It belonged to your mother, she passed when you were younger and your father handed it down to you at your mother's request, the small token the only memory you have that she ever existed. 

Standing unaccompanied outside during the day wasn’t safe, the violence seemingly increasing by the day, being a fifteen-year-old girl alone at night was dangerous. Tess walks up to you putting a hand on your shoulder,

“come on hun, let me walk you home. I'm sure he’ll be home soon.” She walked you through the streets to your apartment, her hand never leaving the small of your back. 

She gives you the gun that was on her hip, for your safety till your dad gets home, knowing what some of the men in this town were like.

It was 7:30pm when your dad came stumbling through the door, exhaustion written on his face, an unfamiliar look in his eyes had you feeling unnerved. “Dad are you okay? There’s blood on your shirt.” You frowned pointing at him and he lets out a humourless laugh, “it’s not mine sweetheart, I’m okay, made it back to you in one piece.” Your feet have a mind of their own as they step toward him, wanting nothing more to embrace him into a hug, the anxiety in your heart evaporates. He holds a hand up to stop you, “let me have a shower first,” he gestures to the blood that covers his green button up long sleeve shirt, “then I’ll play you a tune on the guitar, your favourite.” You smile and offer a weak nod as he walks past you into the bathroom shutting the door behind him. You start preparing for dinner, buttering bread and opening a canned package of pasta, years past its expiry date but well enough to declare edible. 

As you heat the pasta up you start washing some dishes to clear the kitchen, sinking into your nightly routine wanting your dad to be out here with you. Stuck in your own head and hands slippery from the soap suds on the plate you’re washing, it falls from the grasp in your hands and smashes on the ground, thousands of pieces that ended up across the house. Groaning in frustration you wipe your wet hands on your jeans, feeling the outline of the handgun Tess had given you earlier in the evening.  

Rustling came from the bathroom and the door banged against the doorframe, “dad?” Before you could think your hands gripped the handgun, turning off the safety, the feeing in your gut telling you something was wrong had your heart racing. 

The door burst open after something collided into it, that-something, being your dad, infected. Blood dripping from his wrist through his clean white sweatshirt, veins protruding from his face were dark and he growled at you, charging at you full speed he was across the room in seconds. The echo of a gunshot rang through the concrete walls of the apartment as you pulled the trigger, your dad- the body was lying with his back to the ground, blood pooling around him. 

The smell of blood, smoke from the gun and burning pasta became too much, your body fell to the ground at the weakness of your knees, screaming and pointed the handgun to your temple, you couldn’t do this without him-you couldn’t do this alone. 

How would you ever sleep again without hearing the sweet lullaby of your favourite song on the guitar, any living memory of your family now dead on the floor only feet away from you. 

You failed to notice three people storming into your apartment, Tess, Joel and Dan, Dan was someone your dad had been on a run with this evening that lived in the room across the hall from you. Tess snatched the gun that kissed your temple and pulled you into her body, “you’re okay. I got you.” Your body trembled beneath hers, Joel mumbling in the background of your ringing ears, “Fuckin’ hell. Check her for bites.” Tess sighed against you and checked your body, confirming you weren’t infected, “she’s clear.” 

Joel sighs running a hand through his hair he turned to Dan, “did you know about this?” The accusation is his tone as he pointed to the bite on the infecteds wrist, Dan only hung his head in silence. Joel stepped toward the cowering man, “you stupid son of a bitch you could’ve gotten this kid killed.” Tess snapped, “hey. Not now Joel.” Joel grit his teeth and grunted, “get the kid out of here. She doesn’t need to be ‘round this.” 

Tess picked you up and half-heartedly carried you to her room which was only down the hall, your body numb as you sat on the lounge. 

“Think you can eat?” You shook your head, knowing if you attempted to eat the contents of your stomach would paint the floor. 

“Get some sleep. I’m so sorry.” Her condolences went in one ear and out the next as you lie on your side, trembling. Tears spilling from your eyes as your brain replays the scene over and over. You try to remember your dads laugh and smile, it only made the ache in your heart worse.

When Tess finally fell asleep you broke down, sobbing quietly, your attempts to muffle the sound from the thin frail blanket proving unsuccessful to your efforts.

Joel hears you from one door down, unable to sleep into the early morning as he hears you. He can’t help but feel SORRY for you, you’re just a kid, it’s not his business, but he can relate to the guilt and loss you’re feeling, he worries he’ll find you dead next after finding you about to take your own life. It wouldn’t hurt to check on her in the morning, just to make sure, he reasons.

The next morning Joel stands hesitantly at the front of Tess’s door and tries to convince himself to walk away, to his surprise he doesn’t, he enters the apartment and sees you lying on the lounge, lifeless almost. He gently kicks the lounge, and your body doesn’t flinch, the only indicator that you’re alive is that your eyes moved to look at him. He stands with his hands in his jean pockets, “how you holdin’ up?” Fucking idiot what a stupid question, he internally scolds himself. 

You huff, “fuckin shit. Why are you here?” You sit upright and Joel takes in your features, dark circles around your eyes, puffy cheeks and messy hair. “Heard you cryin’ all night.” You shift uncomfortably, “oh, sorry.” Joel reached into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bag, full of dried fruit, nuts and beef jerky. “Thought you could eat.” You accept and as he’s walking off, he hears a quiet, “thank you Joel.” 

Something stirred inside him that made him feel guilty and he thought, wouldn’t hurt to check on her tomorrow, just to see if she’s okay, then that’s it.

However after the second morning visit, that wasn’t the end of it, he continued to visit you every morning and one day came bearing bad news, Tess had gotten infected on a supply run and she sacrificed herself to save Joel, that was three months ago and frankly you’d become attached to Joel, he was the only person you felt you had in your life. He continued to visit you every day after breaking the news to you, to make sure you’re still alive, and he can see small improvements in your healing, five months had passed after the first incident and three months since Joel told you about Tess, you’d fully moved in to Tess apartment now, your belongings invaded her apartment as hers lie stagnant. Joel refuses to accept he has any influence and regards how strong you were for holding together. 

That morning after he visited you, only for a few minutes to drop off some bottled water and food and small conversation ensued.

“You still havin’ them nightmares?” Joel already knew the answer, he had heard you nearly every night from his own room. Rushing from his own room to reassure you that you're safe, sometimes he stayed for a few hours after and sometimes he went straight back to his own room. You nod as your eyes meet his, “yeah. Sometimes I'm fine other nights It's like I'm reliving it.” joel offered a sympathetic look and his hand patted your shoulder before telling you a lie. “It’ll get better kid.” You smile at his optimism, “thanks.” he walks out of the door, your mind filling with more positive thoughts, giving you some motivation to take care of yourself.

Joel heads into a building and pushes past the long line of people waiting their turn to use the radio, with a bribe of cigarettes he’s let in and is notified no one has heard anything from Tommy in 8 weeks. He decides then and there he’s leaving, today. You cross his mind, he shoves the thought down, you’re not his problem, Tommy is, so why did he feel a sense of guilt at the thought of leaving you.

Today you had showered, brushed your hair and put on clean clothes, finally stepping outside, your body soaking up the warmth of the sun and wrapping your arms around yourself in hope of shielding your body from people’s judgemental stare. 

You see Joel rushing out of his apartment with a backpack on his shoulders, looking back and forth as he disappeared down the streets. Your curiosity spiked and you follow him, your body praising you for the movement, loosening your aching joints. 

Joel was, escaping? Tears stung your eyes and your heart felt bitter, he didn’t owe you anything so why did it hurt that he was leaving you here. 

“Joel?” He turned to face you and he sighed, that unfamiliar feeling settling in his stomach uncomfortably. “You’re safer here, kid.” He tries to reason, tears fall down your face, “that’s so far from the truth Joel and you know it. My own...” you stutter and exhale, “my own father tried to kill me in our own apartment. I’ll have no one if you leave me here. Please.” You beg and Joel’s shoulder slump, “you got 5 minutes, a second later and I’m leaving without you.” You nod and rush back to your and Tess room packing essentials and rush back to meet Joel, a burn present in your lungs from running and chest heaving, with all but 20 seconds to spare. “C’mon then, gotta get somewhere safe before dark.” 

For the first time in your life, you left the safety of the walls of the QZ and with Joel by your side you’d never felt safer. 

The weeks went by timelessly as you were covering ground quickly and only coming across a few infected which Joel took care of, few words were spoken between the two of you, but becoming more comfortable around each other, Joel was still at times distant with you, and you were as you saw yourself; a liability. You were another mouth to feed and body to protect, you couldn’t wield a weapon like Joel did, the trauma of ending your own father's life as the infected coming full grit when you came across a runner, what your father had turned into. Your body not strong enough to fight the infected off. Joel for one was grateful you did what you were told, exactly as you were told.

The next morning you were both awake at dusk, the bright colours reflected off your skin as you begin the journey across the country in search for Tommy heading north-west. You try to take your mind off the burn in your calves, you didn’t want to complain and make Joel stop, he was already doing you a favour by bringing you along so you decide to make conversation, seeing how much you can get out of him without being a pushover.

“What did you do before, everything?” Joel turns to look at you briefly before hesitating, “we were called contractors.” You nod, prying him to continue. “What’s a contractor?” Joel raises his eyebrows, “like building, houses, stores that kinda thing.” You smile, “that’s pretty cool,” Joel smiles to himself at your comment and shrugs nonchalantly, “yeah. We were cool. Everybody loves contractors.”

Joel secured a small house in the middle of the woods after 12 hours travelling and two small rests in-between, the darkening sky indication that you needed to stop for the day, there were no sign of recent tenants or infected in the house. He pulled a bookshelf over the front door and an old steel freezer over the back door, securing the house. You pull out your sleeping bag and set it up on the floor in the second story master bedroom, the mattress completely deteriorated showing exposed springs all over. Pulling out a can of baked beans, you eat them cold until you were scraping the bottom of the can to eat the remaining sauce.

Joel joins you and sets his own sleeping back up feet away from your own, lying down and starring up at the ceiling, the darkness pulling you into its haze.

“Joel?” Your quiet voice hardly reaches his ears across the room, he turns to you, “hm?”

“I gotta tell you something serious.” Joel watches you, “what?”

“Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” Joel huffs, before you can finish your joke he interrupts, “I hear the food is good, but they had no atmosphere.” You gasp, looking at him in fad-annoyance as he ruins the punchline of your joke, “you dick, you ruined my joke.” He rolls over so his back is facing you, so you don’t see the smile on his face.

A few minutes of silence pass and you stifle a laugh, trying to cover it as a quiet cough, “you know...” you start and Joel sighs, “the person who came up with the saying ‘laughter is the best medicine’ had obviously never had diarrhoea.” A silent exhale leaves Joel’s lips before he chuckles quietly, his body vibrating everything he does, you start laughing as a result and for the first time you hear him laugh. A few minutes pass and Joel readjusts his body once again, “get some sleep, try not to shit yourself while you’re at it.” You smile and shake your head, “night Joel.” He mumbles under his breath, “yeah. Night kid.”

Time seemed irrelevant when you’re travelling for 12+ hours a day on foot. The snow beneath your boots provided some relief to the burn in your heels. Alas; you didn’t complain, you felt like Joel was opening up to you and the last thing you wanted was to annoy him by complaining.

Joel knew you needed a break, he always knew. Your stubbornness and anxiety silenced you, your body sluggish and steps smaller as you struggle to step through the snow, puffs of cool air creating a cloud as you breathe through your mouth. He shortened his steps, he wanted badly to find Tommy but knew it would do him no good to have you collapse from exhaustion and him having to drag you the rest of the way, leaving you wasn’t an option. He admired your strength and resilience to continue even though you were straining your body, you had become his counterpart and he didn’t hate it. You were no equivilant of his daughter of his-by any means. The dynamic changing between you as you found yourself caring for Joel, fearing for him when he fought off an infected, wondering what you would do if you were left all alone.

“Stop thinkin’ so goddamn loud.” Joel’s voice pulls you out of your head and a wave of embarrassment comes over you, “sorry.” He huffs out of his nose and finds a small cave to set camp in, you start to gather twigs and branches and Joel takes them from you, “go and sit down, rest.” You start to protest, and Joel raises his eyebrows and you do as you’re told, setting up both yours and his sleeping bags in the empty cave, shivering as the winter air bites you through your flimsy jacket.

Joel comes back with the mountain of sticks in his arms, cradling them and starts to build a fire. With some matches he lights the fire, taking all too long to warm your freezing body.

His eyes watch you as you shiver, your sleeping bag tucked around you and your body sitting as close to the fire as possible without catching alight. He takes off his outer layer leather jacket and throws it over you, still wearing three layers and admittedly starting to sweat as the flames filled the small area of the cave. “Joel I can’t take this-,” trying to hand it back to him he holds his palm out to stop you. “I’m sweating, don’t need it. Put it on.” You comply and start eating your ration of beef jerky, swallowing a small amount of water to wash it down. “What sort of music did you listen to?” Joel lifts his head to see your body still, no longer shivering and he shifts to get comfortable, “this band called Bon Jovi, they were a rock band. Had some great hits.” Your eyes water slightly at the mention of the band that made the song your dad played for you every night , your dad always used to talk about rock and metal bands, how he grew up in the 80s and loved the music scene and style, widening his palate when he met your mum who was into pop and soul music.

You cry quietly and feel Joel’s eyes on you, “I’m sorry.” You wipe your tears away with your sleeve. “The song my dad used to play for me every night was ‘I’ll be there for you’. Bon Jovi was one of his favourites, turned out to be one of mine too-was.” Joel felt sympathetic toward you, he knew the song well and it was enough to make a suffering teenager emotional, let alone what you had to do to the man it reminded you of. “You should get some sleep, getting late.” You nod your head in agreement, your eyelids feeling heavy with each blink. The warmth that enveloped your body like a giant blanket, after a few minutes you felt yourself drifting to sleep, a gentle hum of your favourite song came from the man sitting across from you, unable to fight the melody you succumb to your exhaustion and fall asleep.

You woke up before Joel feeling refreshed, your mind replaying the hum of that song, felt like maybe you had found some kind of pathway to healing. You sat upright and packed your bag quietly, setting it to the side, picking up Joel’s gun and moving outside of the warmth of the cave, looking for any signs of danger while Joel gets some sleep.

You do a perimeter check and lean against a rock beside your campsite when you heard Joel wake shuffling noisily as he woke, his eyes turning to you in a panic to see you standing outside with his gun. “You fell asleep, so I kept watch, did a perimeter check and it’s all clear.” Joel groans as he stands, his knees clicking as he straightens his back. “You could’ve gotten hurt, give me that.” He snatches the gun off you and sighs. “I just wanted you to get some rest, I’m sorry.” Joel exhales and runs a hand over his face. “Wake me up next time, okay? Can't risk havin’ you out here.” You nod and Joel packs his things, handing you a portion of dried fruit to eat for breakfast.

White was all you could see for miles, the snow covered the ground in a thick layer, crunching underneath your boots, tree branches weighed down with snow bent crookedly. There were no infected out here, you hadn’t seen them for days. “Why haven’t we seen any infected?” You watch Joel as he walks beside you, head forward unmoving. “Too far from the city, that’s where most of them are.” You accept his answer and go back to walking in silence.

The thundering noise of horses comes barrelling towards you, half a dozen people all armed with guns, Joel grabs your arm and pulls you behind him as the people circle you, pointed their weapons at you and you turn to see you're surrounded. “Get behind me.” You do as Joel tells you and stand behind him, both raising your hands in surrender. “We're not looking for any trouble just passing through.” Joel tries to reason. The man directly in front of you wore a cowboy hat and bandeau around his face, “drop the gun.” Joel takes the strap of his gun off his shoulder and sets it on the ground, his arms back up above his head.

The man turns his attention to you, gun raised and aimed right at you head, “you.” Your heart is hammering in your chest and your breath quickens in a spike of anxiety. “Take five steps back.” Joel turns to look at you, then back to the man, “why don’t we just talk this through?” “Why don’t you shut the fuck up,” the man sneers. “Okay, easy.” Joels voice softens, trying to ease the tension.

You look at Joel and he turns his head to look at you and nods, his eyes trying to reassure you but faltering for a moment. “You’ll be okay.” You take five steps back from Joel and your eyes land on one man behind you with his rifle pointed at you.

“You been near infected?” The man you assume is the leader asks. “There aren’t no infected out here.” The man scoffs at Joel, “the hell there aint.”

He whistles and a dog starts barking, your eyes watching it as the handler brings him forward the leader speaks, “last time for a bullet, if you're infected, he will smell it and he will rip you apart.”

The dog barks aggressively and is let off the restraint of the leash, it walks up to Joel, sniffing his boots and jumps up on him with his front legs briefly holding the position before walking back to the handler. “Like I said, we can just move on.” Joel states, wanting you out of this situation he knows he can't protect you from. The man looks at you and nods his head, his gun pointing towards you, “now her.” The dog stalks towards you lowly growing, Joel looks over his shoulder to look at you, wide eyed and panicking you shake your head at him and he looks forward feeling panic course through his body, you weren't infected but didn’t like the dog's menacing behaviour. The dog approaches you slowly, Joels body tensing as he looks forward, unable to shake the terror of seeing you torn apart by this dog.

The dog nudges you and licks your hands causing you to giggle, you pet his head and Joel turns around to face you, exhaling the relief he felt as he saw you cuddling the dog. The man nods and whistles, calling his dog back away from you. You rolled your shoulders forward to relieve them from their tension.

“You just bought yourself ten more seconds, what you doin out here?” Joel replies, “just lookin for my brother, that’s all nothin’ more.” The lady from the back moves forward on her horse in front of Joel, “what's your name?” “Joel.” She looks between you and Joel and nods to the leader.

The man behind you pulled his horse forward, eyes fixated on your watch, you turned your head noticing him closing the distance between you, his gun still ready to fire. You yelped as he grabbed your wrist, inspecting the watch. “What the hell are you doing, she aint infected! Let her go.” Joel yelled. The man snapped at Joel who watched on hopelessly as the others watched on, “shut up,” he looked back to you, “where’d you get this watch?” You whimper against the grip on your wrist, “it was my mothers.” His grip on your wrist tightened and started to twist it, “tell me the fucking truth.” Tears slipped past your eyes as his fingernails dug into your flesh. “I’m telling the truth.” The woman protested, “Nick, leave it. Shes just a kid let her go.” He turned to snap at her, “this was my sisters watch and she was murdered in cold blood. She knows what happens to her.” Joels eyes looked to the group, hoping someone would help. You were just a kid; this grown man was hurting you. “I don’t know what happened, I swear, it was my mothers.” You were sobbing at the searing pain in your wrist and fear overcoming you. You looked at Joel, a silent plea, begging for his help. You were met with his conflicted eyes, hopelessness written all over his face.

You were pushed to the ground harshly, whimpering as you tried to stand, Joel takes one step towards you before the gun is pointed towards him, “dont.” Joel growls and looks between you and the gunman, the crack through the air happened so suddenly, your body falling limp, face first into the snow, blood staining your clothes and the snow beneath you. Through your ears ringing you hear multiple gunshots and Joel screaming for you, his body dropping to the ground next to you rolling you over so you're on your back. His hands covered your wound, “oh no. No, no no.” your breathing was erratic and tears fell from your eyes, Joel cradled your body in his arms, “you're okay, I got you.” He tears the bottom of your shirt and you write in pain, screaming. “I know, I know, I know it hurts.” He puts pressure on the wound, his body trembling as he watches you helplessly. He picks your body off the snow and the woman jumps off her horse and helps Joel lift you onto the now free one they had shot the gunman off. Joel straddles the horse and follows the group back to camp. Your eyes start fluttering, the weight of them proving too much to keep open, your body coming in and out of consciousness. “Look at me baby girl, keep your eyes open.” Your body falls limp as you pass out and Joel puts pressure on your wound with one hand, the other controlling the reigns of the horse. He can't let this happen again, grief overwhelming as he looks at your body and sees his failure of Sarah happening all over again.

It only took minutes to get to their camp, for Joel it felt like hours, time slowing as the fate of your life lies in his hands. Everyone got off their horses to help Joel carry you down, jumping to the ground he carried your limp body to the infirmary they had available, two people immediately ushering him to lie your body on the bed and they immediately tended to your wounds. “Joel?” He turned around to see Tommy and they met each other halfway to embrace in a hug, “Tommy.” Joels body slumped against Tommys as he led them outside the building and into the repair shop.

“What happened Joel, from the start.” Joel slumped as he sat on a stool, Tommy following and sitting beside him.

“She was attacked, her father was infected, and she had to shoot him, she had to kill her own father. I felt this guilt, that a child had to do that where she was meant to be safe, found her with the gun to her head.” Tears fell from Joel’s eyes, “I checked on her the next morning and was worried she was dead. It was only meant to be once, but she grew on me.” Joel rubbed the side of his face, “something about her felt familiar, she reminded me so much of-” Joel shook his head, not able to speak his daughters name as he chokes back a sob, “I couldn’t leave her there Tommy.” Tommy lifted his head to meet Joel’s eyes, “i have dreams every night.” “What kind of dreams?” Tommy replies. “This kid having the same fate as…Sarah, I'm failing it's all I do, it's all I've ever done. Now I can't help but feel like I should've left her, I wouldn’t have gotten her killed.”

Tommy shook his head, “this isn't on you Joel, you're fighting the world all on your own.” Joel’s voice was thick with emotion as he shook his head, “for the first time in decades I wasn’t alone, now I'm living that nightmare over again.”

The door flew open, banging on the cupboard as it flew open, Maria walked through the door watching as the two men stare at her, “she's awake.” Joel stands up that quick the stool falls to the ground and he’s out the door in seconds, ignoring the burn in his lungs as he runs to the building you were in, flinging the door open to see you bandaged up and hooked to an IV, eyes open and watching him. “Joel.”

The moment his name left your lips he was by your side, checking over your body and seeing if you were alive or if his mind was playing a cruel trick to deceive him. His hands held your hand, your free hand coming up shakily to wipe the tears that escaped his eyes, “didn't know you cared about me so much,” you say jokingly. Joels stare didn’t falter, “I do.” The seriousness in his voice giving you a comfort you didn’t know was possible from the day your dad died. “I believe you Joel.” Your eyes felt heavy as the pain medication dripped from the bag into the IV, flowing through your bloodstream, relieving your body of the pain. “Don't got enough damn blankets in here.” Joel huffs taking off his jacket and pulling it over you. “Get some sleep baby girl.” in your drug induce haze you reply, “mkay dad.” Emotion overcomes Joel as he starts to sing your favourite song;

“I'll be there for you

These five words, I swear to you

When you breathe, I want to be

The air for you

I'll be there for you

I'd live and I'd die for you

I'd steal the sun from the sky for you

Words can't say what love can do

When your mother left at the age of 3 it broke your heart. Aaron hated when you would ask ‘When is mommy coming home?’ because he didn’t know what to tell his child. He didn’t know what he was going to do as a single dad and working as a Prosecutor. When he went to the BAU it took a toll on you and him not having your dad with you to tuck you in. When he meets Hayle you see he was better, happier not alone. You felt as if you had a mom in your life taking care of you when your dad was gone. When you were told you were going to be a big sister at the age of 10 you were so happy. At 15 when Haley died, you felt alone again. 

You always wonder what your birth mother was doing, if she ever thought about you? It always hurts but always puts a smile on your face to mask the hurt. You always had the BAU family to be with you. 

Being 17 was hard already, but having past trauma show up at your door was something you didn’t think was going to happen but did. 

Sitting at the table doing homework across from Jack who was playing with the army men when the doorbell rang. Getting up you told Jack that you would be right back. Opening the door you saw a woman you didn’t know. 

“Hi, can I help you?” You asked

 “Is this where Aaron Hotchner lives?” “Yes, may I ask why?’ 

“My name is Y/m/n ray.” After she said that you knew it was your birth mother. 

“Sorry, he isn’t here.’’ You said quickly shutting the door in her face. 

You went back to the table trying to wrap your head around what had just happened. Not knowing if you should call your dad or tell your aunt. It made you start thinking about why she came back after 14 years. Deciding on calling your dad to tell him what just happened. 

Dialing his number you put your phone up to your ear waiting for him to answer.

 “Hey, sweetheart what’s up?” He asked as he answered the phone 

“Well someone came to the house who may have been my birth mother?” You told him with worry in your voice.

 “Well, the team and I are on our way home so we can talk more in about 2 hours or so okay?” he asked you

 “Ya, that should be a good jack and I are just hanging out. Maybe you could pick up some food on your way home?”

 “Sure, see you in a bit. Love you” “Love you too dad.” You told him hanging up the phone 

Looking at Jack you smiled at him “wanna go play some video games before dad comes home?” 

“Yes,” he said, rushing out of his chair running to the couch. 

You set up a game and you both played until the door opened up showing your dad with food smiling. Jack and you got up and ran to hug him asking about how he was doing. 

As you two let go he went to the table and set everything down letting you and Jack get in your chairs. Digging in you knew what was going through both yours and your dad’s head. You tried to figure out a way to start up the conversation. 

“So dad was it an easy case or was it hard?” jack asked your dad

 “Well, it was easy. We got the bad guy quickly and now here I am home with my two wonderful kids.” He responded smiling at jack 

After dinner, your dad got jack ready for bed while you tried to do some more homework. Keyword tries because all you could think about was what had happened earlier in the day. When your dad came and sat down next to you interrupting your thinking. He looked at you with worry not knowing what to say 

“So, how are you feeling right now about what has happened?” 

“I am angry, hurt, confused, and other emotions that I am not sure of at the moment because why would she come back after abandoning me. I’m not saying you're a bad dad and that you didn’t do your best and that Haley didn’t do great either, but I just wanted a mother in my life you know.”

 “Hey, it's okay let it all out.”

 “Also, why does she think she has the right to do that show-up and i-i just don’t know how I can wrap it around my brain. Like she had her chance a long time ago but she didn’t want it. So is she wanting to be my mother now.” you asked, looking at him, tears threatening to pour-over. 

Aaron hated that you had to go through this again and he didn’t know what he was going to do. He was mad at your mom for what she was doing, but he hated seeing you crying over her after getting better.

 “What about we have the team come over for dinner tomorrow as it is Saturday. And we can also go to the mall too in the afternoon.”

 “That sounds good, to be honest, we haven’t had a big family dinner in a while. Also, Jack has been talking about going to see this new movie so we could do that.” Aaron smiled

 “ya, we can do that.” He got up starting to do the dishes as you finish up your homework due on Monday.

 After that, you headed to your room getting ready for bed as it was somewhat late knowing Jack was going to want to have pancakes in the morning. 

Sleep would not come to you no matter how hard you tried to fall asleep. So you got up and walked to your dad’s room getting in his bed cuddling up to him falling asleep peacefully.

 When you woke up your dad wasn’t sleeping next to you. Getting up you walked out to the kitchen seeing your dad and jack making breakfast for you three.

 “So you two started without me I am hurt.” You said putting your hand over your heart 

“Well, sweetheart you were out cold sleeping like a bear.”

 “Well, I learned by watching you,” you respond, making your dad laugh. 

The rest of the morning went great having you guys getting ready for the day and you were ready.

 Jack and your dad were waiting for you when you came out of your room. As you guys got to the mall you all decided what was going to be the first place to go to. 

After discussing you 3 went to some different stores, then got something to eat. After eating your dad told Jack that you 3 were going to see the movie he was wanting to see so bad making him jump up and down.

 When the movie ended you guys went back home and got ready to go to Rossi’s place for dinner. You picked out a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a white button-up shirt. While Jack wore some nice pants and a t-shirt. 

You guys were the last to get to Rossi’s house. Walking in the door you were greeted by the others giving hugs and kisses. Everyone was drinking something, while you drank a pop. When Rossi was done cooking everyone sat down and ate. Everyone was laughing. 

“Did I ever tell you guys the story about y/n when she started high school?” Your dad asked the team, having them shake their heads.

 “No, please don’t tell them it's embarrassing.” You begged

 He smiled at you laughing “So there was this boy. And she had the biggest crush on him and so she wrote a letter to him. She went and put in his locker but she put it in the wrong one and when she found out she was so embarrassed,” 

You put your head back as the team laughed when the doorbell rang making Rossi get up to answer it. When he came back he got my dad to come to the door, making you quiet. 

After about 5 minutes you got to see what was going on. When you got to the door you saw who it was. “Y/m/n, leave you didn’t want anything to do with her then so keep it that way” your dad whispered to her

 “But she is my daughter-” 

That is when you interrupted her “ Ya, a daughter who doesn’t love you because you abandoned her at the age of 3.” That made your dad look at you with remorse and your birth mother looking shocked at you.

 When the team heard you they stopped eating and got up to see what was going on. 

“I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t know how to raise a kid.” She tried to sound sympathetic Making you scoff

 “Oh and it was so easy for dad to become a single dad. Making your daughter feel like it was her fault. Do you know how many nights I cried because I wanted my mother to hold me? Make me feel wanted. He picked up the pieces you shattered and he was the best father you could ever ask for.” 

You took a breath as a tear rolled down your cheek “Your words don’t mean anything to me never have and never will. So go to your other family cause I am not your daughter.” 

She then turned around walking to her car. While you fell on the floor not knowing what to do. 

You didn’t know how late it was that night. You could hear in her voice that she was tired and delirious, but neither of you moved from your spots in the hallway. Somehow, it felt like neutral ground. Somewhere you could talk about anything. There was still the fear of being surveilled, of Dreykov knowing what had just happened between you, but for some reason… you didn’t care.

You didn’t want to think about where Ken or Karen were. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Do you remember your mom?” Natasha asked suddenly, picking at the sleeves of her jeans. It was a nervous habit, a tell you knew she should probably break. You should’ve warned her, but you found it endearing. It made her feel more real. More like a girl. Maybe that was the time in Ohio. Maybe that was the part she still held onto.

You wanted to ask her more about it. About her time in the States, about her life before, but you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“No,” you said softly, lifting your chin. “Despite the stories, I don’t know who she is or what she looks like anymore.”

Natasha nodded. She didn’t either.

“Sometimes I think I do,” you went on, scrunching your nose. “It’s blurry and foggy, but it’s there. I remember her carrying me at the mall the day I was taken. I remember how quick it was.”

Natasha stayed quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t interrupt. The kind that made space.

You rested your head back against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling, the memory like a smudge you couldn’t quite wipe clean.

“There was this smell,” you murmured. “Like pretzels. And her perfume. I don’t remember her face. Just how warm her shoulder was. I had my head on it, and then ” You hesitated. “And then it wasn’t warm anymore.”

Natasha’s brow twitched. She understood. Not the exact memory, but the feeling. The way the warmth leaves, and cold becomes the only thing you know.

“I screamed,” you admitted. “And I didn’t stop for a long time. I was so loud, I think they wanted to get rid of me. The guards were pissed. One of them hit me. I guess I fell asleep after or something.”

She turned toward you at that.

“Nora was the first person I saw when I woke up. Took me to the infirmary and said I had a fever. I didn’t. I was just scared.” You gave a dry, bitter laugh. “She told me to pretend I was brave.”

“I remember pretending,” Natasha said, just as quietly.

You glanced over. Her face was tilted toward the darkened hallway like she was still seeing something there.

“They brought me in the back of a van,” she said. “I bit one of them. Got a busted lip for it. One of them told me that if I wanted to live, I had to stop fighting. So I stopped.”

The silence stretched again, heavier this time. You didn’t speak. You just nudged your foot lightly against hers, a quiet acknowledgment that you heard her. That you knew.

Natasha nudged back.

The two of you sat there, side by side, young and not. Just girls. And also weapons. You couldn’t cry anymore. You were too used to losing things to mourn them properly.

"Do you want to find her?" Natasha asked. "Them. Your parents?"

"No," You said.

You didn’t know if that was true. You just didn't want to lose anything else. Besides, what would they think of you? A child assassin with a knack for torture and a history of murder. A girl who didn’t even know her birthday.

Natasha didn’t press. She just looked at you for a second longer, then turned her eyes back down the hallway.

You didn’t know if it was comfort or just coincidence, but she didn’t pull away.

“I wouldn’t know what to say anyway,” you added after a moment. “Hi, I kill people for a living. I used to be four. Now I’m... this.”

Natasha gave a soft, hollow laugh. Not mocking. Just tired.

“Maybe they’d still want you,” she said.

You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” she agreed. “But you don’t either.”

You sat with that. Let it sting a little.

Maybe that’s what being seen felt like.

“It’s easier if I don’t want them,” you murmured. “I don't have to think about whether they want me.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. She didn’t like that logic. But she understood it too well to argue.

****

You weren’t supposed to be there alone.

But you were.

Your task for the day was simple: return Georgina’s wallet. In theory. In practice, you were to get a better read on her. Ken and Karen had approved it. A final intel sweep before you left New York, but they didn’t know why you’d volunteered.

The mission was nearly over. A few days and you'd be out of the city, off to whatever came next. But you couldn’t get her face out of your mind.

The way Georgina had looked at you.

Not just politely. Not just like a stranger trying to place a familiar face.

It was deeper than that.

Like she knew you.

Like she remembered you.

You stepped off the subway at 59th Street and melted into the late-morning crowd. The walk to the behavioral center was brisk, the kind of chilly spring air that tugged at your sleeves. You didn't mind. Being out alone felt good. Right, even.

Nobody questioned a teenager riding the subway by themselves in this part of Manhattan. You were just another kid trying to get somewhere.

You’d watched the stops go by pressing your knees together, hands in your jacket pockets, eyeing the other girls on the train. A few of them traveled in packs, loud and confident. Talking about school dances, about boys, about embarrassing moments with teachers. One of them had braces and laughed so hard she dropped the book she was holding. Another wore a denim jacket covered in glitter pins and rhinestones. They reminded you of the girls back in the Red Room.

You wondered what it would be like to sit with them. To be one of them.

To belong in a conversation about sleepovers or birthday parties.

But that wasn’t your life.

Your life was here, slipping quietly into the building where Georgina worked, clutching a wallet you could’ve easily left behind. You told yourself it was about the mission. About leverage. About checking the final box before debrief.

But even as you walked up to the reception desk, your pulse was telling a different story.

The man at the desk glanced up, glasses low on his nose.

"Hi, I'm looking for Georgina. Georgina Rousseau,"

"Sign in here," the man said, motioning toward the clipboard. "Do you have an appointment?"

You scribbled a name, careful to leave nothing distinctive. No fingerprints. No signature.

"No. She just asked me to drop something off."

"ID?" he asked, holding out a hand.

You stared. "I don't have one. But—"

He shook his head.

"Can't let you in without an ID. You'll have to wait in the lobby or make an appointment."

"But—"

"It's okay."

You spun.

Georgina stood in the hallway behind you, smiling faintly, a folder tucked under one arm.

"It's all right, John," she said. "I'll handle it."

John frowned. "But she doesn't have—"

"She's an old friend," Georgina said, and something in her voice shut him down.

The man looked less than convinced.

"I was just returning this to you." You pretended to fumble for the wallet in your bag, clutching it firmly, before passing it over to her. "You dropped it in the park. I tried to stop by your apartment, but no one was home."

"I spend most of my days here," Georgina said. "Thank you for that."

Georgina’s brow lifted slightly, her eyes scanning your face with amused curiosity.

“Something tells me you didn’t come all this way just to give me a wallet.”

You blinked. Then tilted your head. Then gave a sheepish smile that would’ve won awards in any Red Room training module.

“Well… maybe not just that.”

Georgina chuckled softly, folding her arms. “Go on.”

You gave a performative sigh and looked down at your shoes. “Okay, this is going to sound really dumb. But… I kind of need advice. My parents, well, my mom, mostly think I’m too young to date.”

You saw her posture shift, just barely. Interest. Not alarm.

“And you think…?”

“That I’m mature enough to know what I want,” you said, with just enough confidence to sound naïve. “But every time I bring it up, they act like I’m still a little kid.” You shrugged. “It’s embarrassing.”

Georgina smiled again, softer this time. “And since you saw I’m a therapist…”

You nodded, grinning like you were in on your own joke. “Figured maybe I could get a free five-minute session?”

She laughed. “Well, I don’t usually do walk-ins, but…”

A beat.

“Come on up. I’ve got time before my next appointment.”

You followed her down the hallway, careful not to smile too wide.

******

"Your office is totally chic," you said as she stepped aside to let you in. The space was colorful, but not in a childish way. It was calming and warm. Like someone had put thought into making it feel safe.

“Thanks. I’ve only had it for a few months,” Georgina replied, her grin easy. “I keep candies here if you'd like some.”

She gestured toward a glass jar filled with mini chocolate bars and Starbursts.

You reached for a Starburst, unwrapping it slowly. “Thanks.”

“So,” she said, settling against her desk. “Tell me about this boy.”

“His name is Allen. He’s fifteen,” you began, leaning into the story with practiced ease. “Only a year older than me. Not even bad. He asked me to the spring fling, but I wasn’t allowed to go with him. Though… we did dance together.”

The lie came smoothly. Part of it borrowed, overheard on the subway from a girl your age, but it felt good to try it on. Like slipping into a version of yourself that could’ve been real, in another life.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A spring fling. That sounds… sweet.”

You gave a bashful laugh, popping the candy into your mouth. “He smelled like cologne. The strong kind,” you added, wrinkling your nose. “But it wasn’t bad.”

“Mmm. Allen wears cologne,” Georgina teased, eyes warm. “Sounds serious.”

“Maybe.” You toyed with the wrapper in your hand. “I just feel like grown-ups forget what it’s like. To really like someone. Or want to be seen.”

"I do know," she said, more gently this time. Her gaze didn’t leave yours.

You shifted in your seat. "So basically, I need your help convincing them, maybe?"

Georgina blinked, caught off guard. “Your parents?”

You crossed your arms. “They think I’m going to get pregnant or something, which is ridiculous. I’ve done plenty of things on my own. I think I can handle dating.”

She smiled faintly, but didn’t speak right away.

You could see the question in her eyes.

Still, she just said, “You seem very self-possessed for someone your age.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation,” she said with a smile. “But yes. It is.”

Georgina leaned back slightly, hands folded in her lap. “So what’s Allen like? Besides cologne-forward.”

You grinned. “He’s nice. Funny, too. Not like cool, funny. More like… awkward funny.”

“I always liked that kind,” she said, thoughtfully. “Less likely to break your heart.”

You shrugged. “My heart’s fine.”

Georgina smiled. “Of course it is.”

There was a beat, light but weighted.

She tilted her head. “Do your parents talk about dating much? You mentioned they’re strict.”

You kept your face neutral. “They have… expectations.”

“Expectations,” she echoed, as if tasting the word. “That can be hard. Especially when you’re still figuring out what you want.”

Your fingers paused on the candy wrapper. “I know what I want.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Georgina said quickly. “It’s just not everyone your age talks like this. You’re careful with your words. Like someone trained you to be.”

That caught you off guard. Your gaze flicked up too fast.

She didn’t press. She just offered a gentle smile and grabbed two more Starbursts, holding one out to you. “So, are you more of a math girl or literature?”

You took the candy, heartbeat a little quicker. “Literature,” you answered. “I like stories.”

“Me too.” Georgina unwrapped hers slowly. “Because there’s always something underneath them. The good ones, at least.”

There it was.

That slight shift in her tone.

You looked at her again, just a second too long.

She met your gaze, still easily. Still warm. But her eyes? They were looking through you now.

And then she said it.

“Your story’s good,” Georgina said lightly. “But something tells me it’s not the one you came in with.”

A long pause stretched between you.

You tilted your head, matching her smile. “You read minds now?”

“No. But I read people.”

"What does that mean?” you asked, the words sharper than you intended.

Georgina’s smile didn’t falter. She moved slowly, rounding your chair with the easy grace of someone unbothered by confrontation. As she passed behind you, a subtle whiff of her perfume trailed in the air—warm, powdery, and oddly familiar.

Your fingers twitched. You knew that scent.

Not exactly. Not anymore. It was newer now. More polished. But underneath, it was the same one you’d pocketed from the locker two days ago. Not because you liked it. Because it felt… close to something.

She settled in the chair across from you, crossing one leg over the other, hands resting lightly in her lap.

“We grew up much the same way,” Georgina said softly. “Dreykov’s girls have their tells.”

Your spine stiffened.

“Who?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Georgina’s smile faltered just enough for the warmth to drop from her eyes.

“You don’t recognize me yet, do you?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t teasing anymore. “That’s okay. You were very small. But I remember you.”

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Your throat had gone dry.

“I knew when I saw you in the park,” she continued. “The posture. The calculation behind your eyes. The hesitation before you reached for your pocket, like someone still monitoring you even when they’re not there.”

You stared at her. Every word scraped something loose inside you.

“Who are you?” you asked again. Quieter this time.

Georgina leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her voice a low hum. “I was you once. The favorite. The clean one. The one Dreykov didn’t want ruined yet.”

You blinked. Everything in your body told you to run.

“I defected just over a year ago. Long enough to rebuild a life. Short enough that I still check my windows twice before bed.”

"Who are you?" You asked more tersely.

Georgina simply narrowd her eyes and stared at you. "I think you know?"

You didn't want to play a stupid guessing game with her.

"We've met a couple times in the Red Room. We've crossed paths," she answered. "Even then, it was clear he was grooming you."

Your jaw clenched. You felt it before you registered it, your body coiling, defensively, instinctively.

“I wasn’t—” you started, but the words caught somewhere between your tongue and your chest. They sounded too much like shame.

Georgina held up a hand gently. “I know. I know what that word feels like when it lands on your skin. I know how fast it burns.”

You hated this. Hated how she looked at you. Like she knew you. Like she could see everything you’d built to protect yourself and was still reaching through it.

“He doesn’t pick favorites because he likes you,” she said softly. “He picks favorites because he owns you.”

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shove the candy dish off the desk and run. But you didn’t move. You just stood there. Still. Unblinking.

“You think I’m lying,” Georgina said, almost with a smile. “But somewhere in you, a part of you knows I’m not.”

She leaned back. “I wasn’t a perfect soldier. I made mistakes. And he punished me for it. But I made it out."

You finally exhaled, the sound more like a breath escaping from a cracked dam.

“I don’t care if you defected,” you snapped, though your voice wasn’t convincing. “I don’t care if you think you know me.”

Georgina nodded, unbothered. “That’s okay. You don’t have to care. But you came all the way here, alone. That means something.”

You hated how true that felt.

Her tone softened. “Can I ask you something?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t nod. But she asked anyway.

“What would it look like if you weren’t his anymore?”

Instead, you asked her a different question.

"Are you her?" You began. "My mother? Did you know her?" You tried to get your thoughts in order. "Did you take me?"

She hesitated.

"I knew her." Georgina paused. "Yes. I did."

You weren't sure why the confirmation made you angry. Or sad. You felt like crying, but no tears came. Just a lump in your throat.

"Is she dead?"

Georgina didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached for something on the desk behind her. A card. She slid it toward you like it had been waiting there the whole time.

"The organization I work with," she began, her voice calm. Steady. “They help girls like us disappear. Make new lives. New names. If you want it.”

You stared at the card. Didn’t touch it.

“So that’s it?” you said coolly. “A little card and a pep talk and you think I’ll just walk away from everything?”

“I think you already want to,” she replied.

Your jaw clenched. “You don’t know what I want.”

She nodded like she respected the fight. “You’re right. I don’t. But I remember what it felt like to start asking.”

You hated that she wasn’t trying to convince you. She wasn’t pleading or desperate. She was sure of herself. And somehow that made you want to scream.

"That girl you were with?" Georgina said, like she was talking about the weather. “How long until he figures out she’s your Allen?”

That did it.

The stillness inside you shattered. cracked open, but you didn’t let it show. Not fully. You blinked once, slowly. Steady. You sat back in your chair like her words hadn’t just sliced you open.

You smiled. Not kindly.

“You should be careful what you say.”

Georgina raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“You should stay away from me,” you said, each word colder than the last. “From all of us. We know where you live. We know what you’ve been doing. They’re coming for you.”

Georgina only stood taller, something hard flickering in her eyes. She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t even look afraid.

“Then I guess I’ll have to get to them first,” she said lightly.

You stood, your chair scraping against the floor. The businesslike smile on your face was almost convincing. Almost.

“This conversation never happened.”

Georgina simply stood before you. “You’re right. It didn’t.”

You walked past her without another word, back straight, fists clenched so tightly your nails bit into your palms. You don't breathe until you're down the stairs, past the annoying security guard, and out on the pavement of the street.

Your lungs finally drag in air like you’ve been underwater. But it’s not relief. Not even close. Your head was spinning, your palms were sweating, and your pulse was still climbing.

You couldn't see straight, not really. You almost ran into three people crossing the sidewalk before you whip your head around, half expecting someone to grab you from behind.

And there she was.

Stupid red hair. Stupid sweatshirt. Stupid face that looked way too calm for someone who just followed you halfway across Manhattan.

“Seriously?” Your voice cracked. under the force of it. “What do you want?”

Natasha didn't flinch. She just stopped a few feet away, not moving closer.

“Why did you follow me here?” you asked again, louder this time. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t know where you were going,” Natasha said evenly. “You just left.”

“I had to,” you snapped. “I had to get out for work. Jesus, you don’t get it.”

She took a step forward.

You backpedalled. “Don’t.”

Natasha froze.

"Don't treat me like that," Natasha said quietly, the calm in her voice almost scarier than if she’d yelled.

You let out a bitter laugh. “As opposed to what? I’m supposed to treat you like my friend? Like my girlfriend?”

Your voice cracked on the last word. You hated that.

Natasha's eyes narrowed, hurt flickered there, but she didn’t rise to it. Instead, she stepped forward quickly and grabbed your wrist, tugging you into the narrow alley between buildings.

“Let go of me—”

“No. You’re freaking out and saying stuff you don’t mean.” Her voice was low, urgent. “What happened in there?”

You yanked your arm free. “Don’t touch me.”

But you didn’t leave.

You leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, breath fogging in the night air even though it wasn’t cold. Your hands went to your hair, gripping at the roots.

“She works for SHIELD,” you said finally. “That’s what the card was. Some kind of off-the-grid organization that helps girls like us disappear.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “SHIELD?"

You nodded. “Georgina defected. Over a year ago. And Dreykov wants her gone. That’s why I was sent. That’s why we were sent.”

Natasha went still. “Wait. That’s what this mission is?”

“She knew my mother,” you added, your voice flat and distant now. “She was supposed to get close to me. Gain my trust. Just like we’re trained to do.”

Natasha opened her mouth, but you steamrolled right through it.

"He knew. He fucking knew," you seethed.

You turned on her, fists clenching and unclenching, the words spilling over.

"And he sent us here to test us," You paced in circles. "He's not only testing you. He's testing me. He wants us to kill her. Ken and Karen are just here for show and..."

Before you could respond, Natasha moved forward and kissed you. You stopped in your tracks, frozen in place, but not at all fighting it.

"You do know this isn't a movie and kissing people to shut them up is weird?" You opened your eyes.

She didn't back down. "You do know I don't care?"

"You're not listening to me."

"I am listening." She paused. "But you need to calm down and stop talking."

You glared, but didn't pull away.

"Look, it's okay."

“No. It’s not,” you said again, this time with bite.

Natasha didn’t flinch. She just stood there, hands low at her sides like she knew any sudden move would make things worse.

“He’s going to find out,” you hissed. “About what she said. About what I know. About us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you snapped. “I do know that. He always knows. That’s the point.”

You stepped back, needing air. Needing space.

“He’s going to think I’m compromised.”

Natasha’s voice was low. “Then we figure it out.”

“No,” you said sharply, cutting her off. “Don’t say anything. Don’t try to fix this.”

She blinked.

“Not until I figure out what I’m going to do.”

Your voice cracked at the edges, but you didn’t let it break.

“I mean it,” you added. “Don’t follow me next time. Don’t ask me questions. Just give me space.”

Natasha didn’t like it. You could see that.

But she didn’t argue. She didn’t step closer.

The apartment was unusually quiet when Natasha woke up. Her arm was outstretched toward the headboard, subconsciously anticipating the pull and pinch of handcuffs and the cold bite of steel around her wrist. For a split second, she tensed, bracing for the tug that would signal another training day, another lesson, another punishment.

But it never came.

Just sunlight filtered through expensive curtains, and the sounds of a city that didn’t know who she was. The scent of burnt toast lingered through the penthouse from Karen’s poor attempt at breakfast.

Her fingers curled in the space beside her.

This was freedom, supposedly. Soft beds and unlocked doors. But her body hadn’t gotten the message. It was still awake, ready to fight, obey, hurt, or break. She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the knot, but her eyes kept darting back to the spot on the headboard, expecting… what?

She had spent three years in a bedroom like this one with a pretend mother, father, and little sister. Toys on the shelf. Drawings on the fridge. Warm meals and bedtime stories rehearsed to perfection. But even then, her instincts had never dulled. The illusion had never held, or so she convinced herself.

This was just another variation of the same game.

Different set. Same rules.

She peeled the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet touched the carpet instead of concrete. The nightgown she'd been provided was a bit too big for her, but it was better than the itchy nightdresses given by her handlers. She headed to the bathroom first, needing to wash her face and brush her teeth to scrub away the last lingering traces of sleep and nightmare.

It was all very routine.

The face in the mirror was the same as always: a young girl. Red hair. Pretty. Green eyes. Small. She'd been told a lot about the girl in the mirror: her name, age, and story. None of it was anything she defined on her own. She splashed water on her face and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She brushed her teeth quickly, ignoring the way her arm twitched.

There were no gunshots today.

No explosions.

Nothing.

Her stomach growled.

Breakfast.

She'd learned long ago to keep her mouth shut. To do her job. To take her orders. Still, she struggled. Being twelve had its rules, and she had to learn them all over again. She padded out into the hallway, bare feet quiet against the laminate floors. As she passed your door, she hesitated. The lights were off. No movement. Still in there.

Fine.

She moved on.

In the kitchen, the table was covered in paper and grainy photos. Karen stood leaning over a mug of coffee. Ken was already seated, pointing something out on the printout between toast bites.

Natasha lingered in the doorway. She didn’t know the protocol.

“Morning,” Karen said without looking up.

Natasha didn’t respond. Her eyes scanned the table. The woman in the photos was elegant, mid to late twenties, with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. Classic Widow. The kind that made men underestimate her.

“She defected last year,” Ken said, tapping the page like Natasha had asked. “Dreykov’s old files say she went ghost in Berlin, but she’s surfaced here. Been leaking intel to someone. We’re trying to figure out who.”

Natasha nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"You hungry?" Karen asked.

Natasha shrugged. She was, but it wasn’t her place to admit that.

Karen gestured toward the fridge. "Eggs are in the crisper. It's about all we have."

Natasha nodded. She eyed Ken, thinking about last night and how he'd been at your bedroom door when she caught him. For that very reason, she decided she didn't like him. Even as she watched him, he barely looked up from his notes, already moving on to something else. Karen sipped her coffee like this was all routine. To them, it probably was. Just another day. Another asset.

Natasha stood stiffly by the counter. She didn’t reach for the eggs. She didn’t move until Karen finally addressed her again.

“You and y/n will go to Central Park today,” she said, flipping to a different page in the file. “Around nine. Our girl usually shows up near the fountain. Light trail. No contact unless it’s necessary. She jogs.”

Natasha blinked. “Just us?”

Karen nodded like it was apparent. “She won’t think anything of kids. That’s the point.”

That’s the point.

She swallowed the bitterness on her tongue.

Karen didn’t ask if she was ready. Or if she felt safe. Or even if she understood. She just handed over the mission like passing off a grocery list.

Natasha gave a tight nod. She understood just fine.

Useful, not protected. Seen, but not seen. A tool. Not a person.

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. The yolks were fresh. Good protein. Healthy.

She was still hungry.

Karen went back to the photos. "You'll get a call at eight. That's when you head out. We'll be here. Trying to get into her apartment." Karen pulled something out of her pocket. "This is a cellular phone."

"I know what a cellular phone is," Natasha muttered.

"Right. Of course. Anyway, here." She slid the device across the counter. "You'll need it."

She stared down at the phone in her hands like it might bite.

It was heavier than it looked. Sleek. Black. Nothing like the clunky handsets they'd used in training simulations. This one wasn’t for practicing field comms or running a scripted op. This one was real.

“Just answer when it rings,” Karen added, returning to her coffee. “We’ll handle the rest.”

No more instructions. No concern. No check-in. Just the phone and the job.

Natasha’s fingers closed around the device. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say anything.

She was already expected to know what to do.

She cracked an egg into the pan and watched it sizzle, the scent rising like something familiar, something oddly domestic. But the taste never made it past her throat. Not really.

Behind her, Karen and Ken talked in low voices. They discussed strategies, surveillance angles, and aliases. They didn’t glance her way again.

She wasn’t a child to them. She was a pair of eyes and legs that could move through a crowd unnoticed. A face no one would question. The perfect shadow.

She put the phone in her pocket.

And when the egg was done, she plated it carefully. One for her. One for you.

*****

She knocked at your door gently, wondering what she could say to make you get up.

"Y/n?"

No answer.

"Your eggs are getting cold."

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting the worst. But instead, she saw you sitting atop your windowsill reading a book. She briefly read the title "Are you there, God? It's Me, Margaret." She wondered where you got that from. Books were usually vetted before being given to the widows. So she could guess you'd stolen it, but from where? You didn’t look up immediately, even though you heard the door creak open. You’d half-expected it to be Karen, maybe Ken, coming to give you another order, lecture, or something you didn’t ask for. But when you saw the flash of red hair in the window's reflection, your shoulders tensed for a different reason entirely.

Natasha.

You shifted your posture quickly, trying not to look like you’d been comfortable. Like you were enjoying the stupid book. You pressed the paperback flat against your thigh, face warming as you tried to hide the title beneath your palm. Too late. You knew she saw it.

She didn’t comment, though. She just moved toward the dresser and set down a plate with eggs and a single piece of toast so black it could’ve been used as charcoal.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” she said, voice low. Awkward, almost.

You risked a glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you and just standing there, unsure if she should stay or go. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her sweatpants, shoulders hunched.

You cleared your throat and mumbled, “Thanks.”

It came out sharper than you meant. Not grateful, but not hostile either. Just… defensive.

Natasha didn’t flinch. Didn’t press.

"We're going to Central Park today," She said.

"What?"

"They want us to tail the mark. You and me."

You blinked.

"Karen thinks the target will be less suspicious of kids."

"Right." You glanced down at your lap. "Sure. I guess."

You weren't sure if she was telling you the truth. She could've easily been sent to ensure you weren't hiding in your room. Not that you think either of those adults out there would have cared.

"Thanks," You said, expecting her to leave the bedroom.

But she didn't.

She stayed, eyes wandering the room.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked after a few seconds of silence.

You glanced up. Her gaze was trained on the bed. On the headboard. On the indentation left by a handcuff. Then down to the pile of clothes you'd had tucked into a corner. Pajamas that you switched out for the ones you were currently wearing.

"It's fine," you said quickly.

Her eyebrows furrowed.

"No one bothered you, did they? You know, while you were asleep," She explained at the raise of your brow.

You shook your head. "No?"

You didn't tell her about the nightmare, how you'd woken up alone and scared. You had never truly slept in a place alone before. She nodded slowly, but her eyes didn’t leave the mark on the bed. You could tell she recognized it. Of course, she did.

“Okay,” she said quietly, though it sounded like she didn’t believe you. Or maybe she didn’t know what else to say.

You shifted uncomfortably, the book still warm on your side. You hated how exposed you felt. Like she could see right through you. Like somehow, she knew about the nightmare, about how long you sat frozen in bed before the sun came up, about the tears you wiped away before they could fall.

She took a step closer, then stopped again. You didn’t look at her, but you felt the tension in the air shift like she wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

Instead, she asked, “What’s the book about?”

You blinked, thrown off by the question. You glanced at the cover again, embarrassed.

“It’s… weird. Some girl talking to God about periods and bras and stuff.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “That sounds… awful.”

That got the smallest laugh out of you. “It kind of is.”

She gave a half-smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it was real.

You looked down again, fingers brushing the pages. “Why’d you bring me breakfast?”

Her silence lingered a beat too long.

“Because you didn’t come out,” she finally said. “And I thought maybe you were… hungry.”

You nodded. That was fair.

You didn’t thank her again, and she didn’t ask you to. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe for a moment longer, then straightened up.

“We leave in 20,” she reminded you. “Be ready.”

You didn’t answer, but she didn’t wait. The door clicked softly shut behind her.

And for a while, you just sat there, staring at the dent in your headboard and wondering what it meant that she noticed.

*******

You were both in the park several hours later, waiting for the target. You sat beside Natasha on the bench, your knees pulled to your chest, and your arms wrapped around them. She was quiet. Focused.

Natasha was a people watcher. She didn’t do it purposefully; it was instinct by now. Her eyes went from couple to couple, stroller to jogger, pigeon to pretzel cart. She cataloged everything: the man's hand too deep in his coat pocket, the teen pretending not to watch a tourist’s purse, and the woman pacing near the fountain with a cell phone to her ear, glancing over her shoulder every three seconds.

“She’s not here yet,” she said, almost to herself.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure how she could tell.

“She’ll run past,” Natasha added. “They said she always does. Loop around the west side, head back toward 72nd.”

You stretched your legs and looked around. So many people. Dogs and laughter and honking taxis. It should have felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like noise. Overwhelming noise. You hated to admit it, but Natasha had the edge out here. She looked so natural in the disorder, almost like she belonged in the blur of noise and motion. Her sharp eyes, her steady breath, the way she didn't flinch when a bike zipped past too close to the curb. You, on the other hand, felt like a loose thread just waiting to be tugged.

You hadn’t lied back at the apartment. Dreykov had rarely let you out of his sight. When you were out, it wasn’t like this. It was rehearsed. Controlled. Monitored. The people around you weren’t strangers. They were extras. Props. Trained to play their part in the illusion. You had been on a handful of missions, clean, calculated jobs. Ones where the risk was low and the point was to prove your obedience, not your instincts. You never fumbled. Never failed. You were good. Better than most girls your age.

But you still felt like a baby sometimes. Out here, especially.

Not scared. No. That wasn’t the right word. You knew how to defend yourself. You knew how to kill if you had to. But sitting on this bench, surrounded by life that wasn’t manufactured or staged, made you feel like a shadow at the edge of something bigger. You didn’t know where to put your hands or how loud you were supposed to laugh.

There was no script here. No handler feeding lines into your earpiece. Just you. And Natasha. And the noise of a world that moved too fast and too freely. And even now, you weren’t sure if you were pretending to be a girl… or if you’d forgotten how to be one.

So yeah. This was different. But not impossible.

You glanced at Natasha again. She didn’t even seem tense. Just watchful. Ready.

You opened your book, but your eyes didn’t stay glued to the page. Every few lines, you looked up. Checked the path. Scanned the faces. It wasn’t just about being alert. It gave your hands something to do. A rhythm. Something normal.

Beside you, Natasha shifted. She crouched down momentarily, picking something up from the base of the bench. A stick. Then another. Before long, a small pile formed by her boots. She didn’t say anything; she just let her fingers work, arranging the sticks into a small square and lining them up flat. Careful. Precise.

You didn’t ask what she was doing, and she didn’t explain. But it was nice watching her build something instead of breaking it.

"Why’d you hide away in your bedroom last night?" she asked eventually, her voice quiet and not looking at you.

You froze a little, then turned a page in your book without reading it. "I didn’t want anyone coming in."

Natasha nodded, like she understood. And maybe she did.

"Ken bothers you," she said.

You shrugged, but she wasn’t really asking. Just stating facts the way she saw them. Observing. Cataloging.

“Everyone bothers me,” you said after a beat. You didn't want it to seem too serious.“I just… I didn’t want to talk.”

You felt her eyes on you, but you didn’t look up.

“He knocked,” you added. “I didn’t answer.”

“That’s good,” she said.

You blinked, surprised by the softness in her voice.

Natasha returned to her little stick house, adjusting one of the walls. “You don’t have to let anyone in. Not unless you want to.”

You didn't say anything, but that made you feel a bit better.

A minute passed. Then two.

Suddenly, Natasha nudged you and nodded toward the path. You followed her line of sight, spotting a woman jogging in a pair of black running shorts and a blue sports bra. The target. You recognized her from the files. She was exactly how Karen and Ken had described. As she whirled past you, you averted your gaze, making sure not to seem too obvious.

"Is it her?" you asked, though you were already pretty sure.

Natasha nodded.

"Where is she going?"

"West. Around the loop."

She picked up a stick and set it carefully on top of the pile.

"So we follow?"

"That's the job."

You closed the book. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure why.

You stood up and took a deep breath, then stepped behind her.

You watched Natasha as you walked along the path, and the woman continued her jog. She slowed ahead like she’d reached the halfway point of her loop. You subtly tapped Natasha’s hand, and you adjusted your pace.

“I think I’m going to ask my mom to pierce my ears,” you said suddenly, your voice pitched loud enough to carry.

“What?” Natasha blinked at you, confused but going along. “Your parents would let you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t they?”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “It’ll hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, but that’s not the point. My friend Sarah had hers pierced, and her dad took her out for ice cream. Plus, it would make me look more grown-up.”

Natasha gave a faint smile, but her eyes scanned the path ahead. “Well, if you truly think so—”

"Excuse me," a voice cut in.

You turned. The jogger had slowed to a walk and was standing a little too close now, her breath only slightly labored, her tone casual, but her eyes too sharp.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, smiling politely. “I think I’ve seen you both around. You're in my building, right?”

Natasha’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Could be."

The woman’s gaze flicked toward you next, assessing and not threatening, not precisely. Just… curious. Like she was trying to place you in a memory she didn’t fully trust.

You looked away, pretending to adjust your jacket zipper.

“The building near Columbus Circle,” she added, still smiling. Fourth floor. The one with the ugly doormat."

Something in your chest tightened. How she said it, light and teasing, made it feel like a real memory. Like she knew you.

Her voice was smooth and rich, with a faint lilt you couldn’t quite place. England, maybe. Or somewhere near it. Did she grow up there? Her skin was warm-toned and clear, even glowing a little beneath the muted city light. Her hair, long and straight, was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Too perfect for someone who’d just been jogging.

You didn’t recognize her. But something about her made your palms sweat.

There was a kindness in her gaze. Genuine, even. She looked at the two of you like she liked talking to strangers. It came easily to her.

You smiled back. Disinterested but polite. Just a kid on spring break, irritated to be stopped.

But inside, your mind ticked like a clock. You were cataloging every detail: the subtle shift of her weight onto her back foot. The curve of her smile. The faint scar just above her brow, healed but not hidden. Widow marks. Signs you’d been trained to spot since you were old enough to walk in a straight line.

And suddenly you weren’t sure what scared you more—the possibility that she was dangerous.

Or the possibility that she was familiar.

You nodded politely, your heartbeat suddenly louder in your ears. You must have been waiting too long to respond since Natasha stepped slightly in front of you.

“Nice to meet you,” she said coolly. “We’re still figuring out where everything is. Central Park’s as far as we’ve made it.”

"We're here on vacation with my parents." You joined in with much more confidence.

"Vacation." The woman smiled again, but her eyes narrowed a fraction. "Must be nice. Where are you guys originally from?"

"Ohio," Natasha answered.

"That's lovely. My mother is from Cleveland. Do you know it?"

Natasha shrugged. "I've been a couple of times. "

"Ah. I bet it's nice."

"Not bad," Natasha said, a smile playing on her lips. "Though the zoo could use a renovation. The monkeys smell awful."

You stared at her, amazed by how easily she could lie. She was completely casual, even laughing, like this was a conversation she'd had a hundred times.

"Anyway, we should be going," You said. "It was nice to meet a neighbor, though."

The woman's eyes didn't leave your face. "Right. So great to meet you. I have to run. Literally." She chuckled at her own joke before putting her headset back over her ears. You and Natasha started walking again, keeping your pace measured. You didn’t look back.

But a few steps later, something caught your eye on the ground. A small item, half-tucked into the edge of the path.

A leather cardholder. Deep brown, worn at the edges, and unmistakably expensive.

Natasha almost missed it, but you stopped, crouched, and picked it up before anyone else noticed. Your fingers ran over the monogram at the corner. G.R.

“She dropped it,” you murmured.

Natasha leaned over your shoulder. “Are you sure it’s hers?”

You opened it slowly, careful not to look too obvious. Inside: a few subway tokens, a twenty-dollar bill, a photo of a dog sitting in front of a fountain, and a business card.

Georgina Rousseau, Behavioral Specialist.

332B West Tower, Behavioral Health Center.

A phone number, an email address, a faint scent of something.

You stared at the name. Georgina. You quickly put the business card in your pocket before sliding the wallet to Natasha to inspect. If she saw you, she didn't indicate otherwise.

Your mind flickered, something shifting.

“She’s already gone,” Natasha said.

You nodded. She was. "Ken and Karen will want to know about this." Natasha nodded and pulled out the cellular phone she'd been given.

*********

Leaving an entire penthouse to two teenagers was bound to be bad news. Under normal circumstances, a party would be held. Maybe even sneaking into the liquor cabinet if the teens were daring enough.

For you, it meant another night to dive into your book.

You were stretched across the bed, fresh from the shower, hair damp and curling around your ears and shoulders. The night had gone oddly quiet without Karen’s heels clicking or Ken’s voice carrying through the study. It was unsettling how easily the silence crept in. You quite liked it.

The book wasn’t even good. Just distracting. You didn’t relate. Not really. But you liked the way it was written. Simple. Soft. The kind of soft you’d never been allowed to be.

A knock on the door made you tense for a second. But it was light. Casual.

You didn’t answer, but Natasha let herself in anyway.

She was already in pajamas. An oversized tee and shorts. Her hair was tied in two braids like she didn’t know what else to do with it. She padded in barefoot, clutching a pillow under one arm.

You blinked at her. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged and tossed the pillow onto the foot of your bed. “You said we were close enough for sleepovers.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was for the mission.”

“Right.” She walked over to the window and peeked out at the skyline. “Well, the mission's not over. And I’m bored.”

You closed the book but didn’t mark the page. “We have our own rooms.”

“And?”

You gave her a long look. “What do you want to do? Paint our nails and talk about boys?”

Natasha grinned a little. “Isn’t that what sleepovers are for?”

You rolled your eyes and shifted to sit cross-legged. “You’re weird.”

She sat down next to the bed, back against it, legs stretched out in front of her. "Normal teenagers do these things."

You studied her a bit. The girl who had been so adamant about you not being friends was initiating a sleepover.

"Did you have sleepovers before?" You asked.

"No. Not like this," She said softly. "With Yelena sometimes." She shrugged, trailing off.

You thought about that. How different it was. How odd.

"Were you allowed to be close to each other?"

Natasha hesitated, looking down at her hands. "No, but we were anyway."

"How come you are allowed to ask questions about my life, but I can't ask about yours?" Natasha said suddenly.

"Well, there's nothing to know," You said. "Nothing worth telling."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't believe that."

You shrugged and pulled a loose thread on your pillowcase.

"You always say that," Natasha said, her voice quieter now. "That there's nothing worth knowing. But I see the way Dreykov looks at you. The way the others avoid you. You’re not nothing."

You stilled.

A beat passed between you. Then two.

“I didn’t say I was nothing,” You murmured. “I said there’s nothing I want to tell.”

Natasha frowned, and for once, she didn’t push. She leaned back against the side of the bed, the two of you sitting close, but not touching.

“I’m not trying to make you tell me everything,” she said after a moment. “I just think it's best if we know more about each other."

You swallowed, eyes still trained on the thread in your hand. Slowly, you tugged it free.

"Just a few weeks ago, you were telling me to stay away from you," You began. "You thought I'd lied to you to get a leg up with Dreykov."

"You didn't," she said quietly.

"Yeah. Because I know what it's like to be under his thumb so closely."

She was quiet for a second. "But I was right. You do lie. To protect yourself. And not just for missions."

You didn’t reply. You knew you had lied, and not always because it was necessary. It wasn't even a lie, technically. Dreykov needed her to be at her best. He was going to send her on a mission. This mission. But you didn't think the test had come yet. You didn't want to tell her that part.

“I think you lie so much, you don’t even know what’s true anymore,” Natasha added, not accusing—just observing.

You closed your eyes for a second, not out of anger but because it hit too close.

“That’s the point,” you murmured.

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She leaned her head back against the edge of the bedframe, exhaling.

“We’re not normal,” she said finally. “We’re not supposed to have sleepovers or tell secrets or trust each other.”

“And yet here we are,” you said, voice quieter than before.

Natasha gave a weak smile. “You’re not as scary as they say.”

You gave a soft laugh. “You are.”

Her head turned slightly, just enough to catch your eye. “Good.”

Silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. Just… still.

Eventually, she spoke again. “Do you want to, maybe, watch a movie?”

You blinked. “Right now?”

Natasha shrugged, her eyes darting away for a moment. “Yeah. If we’re having a sleepover... we’re supposed to watch a movie, right?”

You considered it for a beat. Then you nodded.

“Fine. But I’m picking.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing up from the floor with a grunt. “As long as it’s not that weird puberty book in movie form, I’m good.”

You tossed a pillow at her back and followed her into the living room.

*********

Clueless played low on the TV, its light casting long shadows across your faces. The two of you sat curled up, only a few inches away from each other, on the couch as you tried to make sense of the movie. Apparently, it had been all the rage last year. The movie kept playing in flickers of pink and plaid. Onscreen, Cher was giving another grand monologue about makeovers and high school politics. Her voice was sugary and confident, like she'd never once been afraid of her reflection.

You grabbed the remote and paused it.

Natasha looked over, brow raised. “Why’d you stop it?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were staring at the screen, eyes distant.

“Are girls in America really like this?” you asked finally.

Natasha blinked. “Like what?”

You turned toward her slightly, one knee curling beneath you on the couch. “I don’t know. Loud. Flirty. Ditzy?"

She shrugged. "Some. Why?"

You hesitated, a frown tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Natasha gave you a look. "Do they scare you?"

"Of course not," you scoffed, but your voice sounded unsure. "It's just different from what I thought."

"How?"

"I don't know." You paused, thinking. “I mean, technically, I’m American, right? But I was raised in Russia. In the Red Room. This kind of life?” You shook your head. “It’s like watching a cartoon.”

Natasha smirked. “A very well-dressed cartoon.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “They act like nothing can touch them. Like everything will work out just because it has to.”

Her smile faded a bit as she turned toward you. “Maybe that’s the point.”

You paused. “I think I hate Josh.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You pointed at the screen where Cher and Josh were mid-argument. “He’s smug. And annoying. And way too old.”

Natasha let out a small laugh. “I thought you said you liked this movie.”

“I like Cher,” you clarified. “I don’t like that she has to fall in love at the end.”

"Eh," Natasha shrugged.

"I mean, boys are stupid," You continued. "Love makes you soft."

“Soft isn’t bad,” Natasha said.

“It is where we come from,” you replied. Your voice was quieter now. “And anyway… boys are stupid.”

Natasha was quiet for a long beat. Then she said, “Not everyone wants a boy.”

You looked at her.

You didn’t blink.

Not for several seconds.

Natasha didn’t look away either.

The room got quieter. The movie still frozen on the screen behind you, bright colors casting soft light against her face.

Her voice was lower now. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You scoffed. “We were trained to. That’s different.”

“No,” she said. “I mean for real.”

You shook your head slowly. “You?"

Natasha didn’t answer.

She just leaned in—slow, hesitant, uncertain.

And so did you.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was barely anything. But it was real. Not rehearsed. Not for a mission. Not for leverage.

It was just you and her.

And when you both pulled back, neither of you said a word. When she opened her eyes, those green eyes. You did what only you could do. You panicked. You stood up, rushing to the guest bathroom, before slamming the door.

"Y/n?" Natasha called. "y/n are you okay?"

You didn't answer. You didn't want this to seem bigger than it was. This wasn't what you came for. Kissing her wasn't what you intended. Did you even like her in that way? All of the thoughts were too confusing, and you hated yourself for the tears clouding your vision. Inside the bathroom, you pressed your hands to the sink, gripping the porcelain until your knuckles went white.

Stupid. Stupid.

Why did you let that happen?

You weren’t supposed to want anything. Not connection. Not softness. Not her.

You were supposed to be composed. Cold. Controlled.

Instead, your skin still buzzed with the kiss. Your face felt warm. Your chest felt tight.

And worse, you didn’t even know what you were angry about.

Not the kiss itself. Not her.

You were angry with yourself. For reacting. For letting your guard down. For wanting something you didn’t fully understand.

You stared at your reflection and hated how young you looked.

Fourteen. Widow or not, you were still a kid.

And you had no idea what the hell to do with that.

****

On the other side of the door, Natasha was having similar feelings.

She stood still, hands shoved into her sweatshirt pocket, eyes locked on the bathroom door like it might open if she just waited long enough. But it didn’t.

She replayed it in her head—the kiss. Quick. Barely anything. But still too much.

She hadn’t meant to do it. Not really.

Or maybe she had.

But she didn’t expect it to feel like that. Not like the empty rehearsals with dolls and dummies, or the Red Room training clips on seduction and manipulation. This wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t performance.

It was curiosity.

Warmth.

It was real.

And now she’d ruined it.

You ran. Not just emotionally, but physically. Slammed the door like she’d said something cruel. Like she’d hurt you.

Natasha exhaled through her nose and leaned against the opposite wall, head thunking softly against the drywall. She didn’t like this feeling. It reminded her too much of the early days in training, when she didn’t know the rules yet. When every mistake meant punishment. Uncertainty felt like danger.

She was only twelve, for god’s sake. Just a kid. But she didn’t feel like one most of the time.

She’d killed people.

She could speak four languages.

She could disassemble a pistol blindfolded.

But now she was standing in a borrowed penthouse hallway like some stupid girl in a movie—after a kiss.

The silence dragged on, heavy and uncomfortable.

She wasn’t going to knock again. She wasn’t going to beg you to come out or apologize for doing something she hadn’t even known was wrong.

But she did feel bad.

Not because of the kiss.

But because you looked so scared afterward.

Because for once, she thought she’d found someone who understood what it was like to be pulled apart and put back together in someone else's shape.

Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to get that close.

Her thoughts began to get more self-deprecating by the minute when the door opened from the bathroom. Her head immediately shot up as she watched you slowly step out. You didn't say much, but the short sniffles she heard from you said a lot.

You weren't okay.

You slid down in front of her, sitting against the opposite wall, your hands balled into fists by your side.

"Did he tell you to do this?" You asked quietly.

She didn't have to ask who.

"No," She tilted her chin. She was observing you. Hoping that it alleviated some pressure.

"Okay," You nodded. "Okay."

Her answer hung in the air like steam off a wound.

You wiped at your eyes roughly, like you were angry they'd betrayed you in the first place. But you didn’t move away. You just sat there across from her, breathing through the quiet.

Natasha stayed still too. She didn’t want to scare you off again.

“I didn’t plan it,” she said finally, her voice a bit hoarse. “It just happened.”

You nodded again, but it was the kind of nod that said you weren’t okay with it. Not because it happened. But because of everything that came with it.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel.”

Natasha shifted slightly, arms draped over her knees. “Me neither.”

You both sat there in the narrow hallway, the tile cool under your legs, and the city humming far below. It wasn’t the Red Room, but it wasn’t safety either. Not really.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. You hated it. “I’ve only ever been his. Dreykov’s. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve learned, it’s all been for him. "

Natasha simply listened.

"We're not supposed to do that. We're not supposed to be that for each other." You sighed. "It's...things like that come with consequences and pain. It's weird."

"Is that why you ran?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah." You looked at her, but it was like you didn't see her. "I don't know why I kissed you back." You admitted. "It shouldn't be a big deal, right? People do that for fun."

"Yeah," She nodded. "You probably know more than me."

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know anything, actually.”

Natasha blinked, surprised.

You gave a hollow laugh, your eyes trained on the floor. “I’ve never done anything because I wanted to. Not once. Not really. Not without looking over my shoulder or wondering what it would cost me later."

The words tumbled out faster than you expected. You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t. If you did, you might stop. And you needed to say it before you talked yourself out of it.

“I thought I was smart. I thought I had power, being his favorite. I thought that made me different. Untouchable.” You swallowed. “But it didn’t. He still—he still took things. All the things I never got to choose.”

Natasha’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“And then you showed up,” you said. “And I didn’t know what to do with that. You weren’t scared of me. You weren’t trying to impress him. You just… were. You asked questions, you pushed back. You saw me.”

You rubbed your hand over your mouth, ashamed of the tremble in your voice.

“So yeah,” you finished. “That’s why I ran. Because no one’s ever touched me without trying to own me or hurt me. And you did it without asking for anything.”

The silence stretched between you, taut and heavy. You finally looked at her.

“Don’t say you understand,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that unless you really do.”

Natasha didn’t. She didn’t say anything. She moved closer, slowly and quietly, until she sat beside you. Not touching. Just near enough that if you reached out, she’d be there.

After a long pause, she said softly, “I don’t think I understand everything. "

You turned your head toward her, eyes glassy.

“And I’m not going to take anything from you,” she added. “Not ever.”

It wasn't a vow. Not a promise. Just words. But they meant something.

You nodded slowly, like that truth had been waiting years to be said out loud.

“I don’t want to belong to anyone,” you murmured.

Natasha looked at you.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Not even to me. Friends don't hurt friends."

You didn't know what changed between that day in the bathroom back home and here, but you were thankful for her. 

Bunny can pinpoint the moment like a location on a map. She can remember the first time she hid within herself, protecting what was left of her sanity, for the sake of staying alive. When she was nine years old her father died. She got the news on a Wednesday afternoon. She slid into the backseat of her mother’s car, wondering why her older sister was driving when she noticed the tense mood. She sat back in her seat, watching the trees go by, as they drove. She was silent the entire way home. The somber feeling of the car unsettled her. She walked into her home with excitement. Her teacher stuffed her very first report card of the year into her backpack and she wanted to show them. She struggled with math and her dad stayed up with her some nights to help her. He never got angry with her or yelled at her. He simply found the tools to help her thrive. She was more than ready to show him the fruits of their labor. She raced into the kitchen first, her backpack slapping against her back, as she searched for her parents. She skidded to a comical stop as she saw her mother bent over the counter, her older sister, Brie, holding her mother in her arms as she cried. 

“Mommy,” Bunny asked. She stepped around her sister to tug at her mother’s shirt. “Mommy, are you okay?” Sherry looked down at her with tears in her eyes. She was distraught and hurt. Bunny, having never seen her mother so upset, wanted nothing more than to make it better. 

“No, baby, I’m not okay.” Sherry sniffled. She wiped at her eyes before grabbing onto Bunny's arms. She looks into her eyes. His eyes. “Your daddy. He was sick.” 

“Sick how?” Bunny tilts her head. 

“Your daddy had cancer, baby,” Sherry continues. She swallows thickly. 

“Like the bald kids in the commercial?” She questions and Sherry nods. “So he’s getting medicine from the doctor, right? They can make it better.” 

For a moment Sherry wants to smile at her daughter’s innocence. She wants to cry at having this conversation with her daughter. 

“No, y/n, they can’t make it better.” Sherry doesn’t know the right thing to say. She doesn’t know how to tell her daughter that her father, her husband, stopped his treatments because he was in too much pain. He hid it from her to allow her to enjoy as much of her childhood as she could. “They can’t make it better this time. Daddy passed away. He’s not coming back.” Bunny’s lips curled, her chin quivered, and her tears fell as she cried silently. She leaned into her mother, reveling in the feel of Sherry’s arms, as the words sunk in. 

“He promised,” Bunny whispered into her mother’s shoulder. “He promised he would take me to the game. I don’t even like it but I can like it for him.” Bunny pulled back. “Tell him. I’ll sit and I won’t ask to leave and I won’t go to the bathroom too many times. Please, tell him.”

Sherry’s shoulder shook as she tried to keep in her sobs. “I can’t tell him, baby. I can’t. He’s gone.” Faster than she can react, Bunny pulls away from her mother. She runs up the stairs and into her parent’s bedroom. She searches far and low for the man in question only to come up empty. His side of the bed is perfectly made. His shoes still standing next to his dresser. His wallet is on the nightstand. Bunny comes over to the nightstand. His wedding ring sits on the dresser right next to the rest of his belongings. She only wants to touch it. To feel him with her. She takes a hold of the rings to turn over in her hands. 

He promised. 

A week later, the funeral has come and gone. Bunny has said goodbye to her father. She sits patiently in the living room of her home as people enter and exit. No one pays too much attention to her as they mingle and talk amongst themselves. Most of them glance at her and whisper. She knows what they’re saying. 

He dind’t tell her. No one told her. 

She was clueless as can be up until a week ago. She never knew her father was sick. She resents all of them for not telling her. She misses him. His smile. The way his eyes would crinkle whenever he was amused by something. She misses the way he smelled. The way he always brought joy into their lives. Bunny picks at her simple black dress. Her hair is pinned into a tight ponytail at the base of her head. Her shoes, black Mary Jane shoes, top off the outfit. She’s dressed so perfectly wehn everything inside of her feels like a mess. She stands from the couch to find her mother. Sherry is in her bedroom, surrounded by her older sisters, when Bunny enters. She’s crying to herself, as the other girls try and comfort her. 

“Hey, go downstairs and play with the other kids,” Brie instructs. 

“I want to be with Mommy,” Bunny ignores her to come and stand next to her mother. “Mommy, can I stay here?” Sherry simply looks at her and crumples. She turns away from the little girl to cry into her hands. 

“Go, Bunny, she’s not in the mood.” Brie tries again. 

“She hasn’t talked to me all week,” Bunny says defiantly. “I just want to sit with her. She’s my Mama too.” She stands with her arms folded. What used to be a way to annoy her siblings seems to do even worse. Brie doesn’t react. She simply stands there. 

“Go,” Sherry says in a hushed tone. “Go to your room, go outside, go sit down. I don’t care just please go.” She says. Bunny’s heart drops. She only wants to be with her family. She wants them to hold her. To be with her. She doesn’t want to be alone. She certainly doesn’t want to play with the other kids. “Go!’ Sherry shouts, pointing to the door. Bunny jumps into action, leaving the room with tears in her eyes. She doesn’t go to her room this time. At least, not to stay. She grabs her favorite stuffed animal, Bunny II. It’s the one her dad gave her. It still smells like him. If they wanted to be left alone she could do that. She steps into the hallway with measured steps. She counts to herself how many. Finally, she reaches the bathroom. She closes and locks the door. She climbs into the bathtub, pulling the curtain close, not caring if she messes up her dress, her hair, or her stockings. She squeezes Bunny II to her as she cries. 

She may be nine years old but she’s not stupid. Mama doesn’t want her. She never has. She has been able to tell since she was little. She treats her differently than all of the sisters. She yells at her more. Acts as if she is a burden. Maybe Daddy noticed too. Maybe that’s why he made the extra effort to be with her. Bunny lets her tears slip out onto the cold flooring of the bathtub. She brings her knees to her chest to lie in the fetal position. She stuffs her thumb into her mouth, sucking stronger, as she pulls at her ear. It doesn’t make her feel better. At least not all the way. It would work for now. Her body begins to feel weaker. She can’t stay awake for too long as her eyes flutter closed. 

Hours later, Bunny wakes up by banging at the door. 

“y/n, are you in there?” It’s Danielle. She knocks again, and again, and again. Bunny lifts to look at the door, not wanting to answer, as the knocking gets harder. If she doesn’t answer they’ll worry. 

A part of her says let them. They didn’t care if she was alive anyway. They never care. When the knocking becomes excessive, she climbs from the tub with Bunny II dangling from her left hand. She turns the lock and twists the knob open to find her family looking back at her. She’s met by her mother’s enraged hands shaking her. 

“Have you been in here this whole time?” Sherry shook her. “Answer me?” She didn’t care that Bunny seemed afraid of her anger. “Hello! Answer me. Why didn't you say anything? We’ve been looking for you for hours.”

Bunny simply whimpers. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Sherry asks incredulously. “What are you sorry for? You know better. Don't just disappear.”

Bunny’s lip trembles but she doesn’t cry. She stands, with Sherry’s tight grip on her arms, and a blank expression on her face. 

“Take these wet clothes off and go to bed,” Sherry releases her.

Bunny nods to herself. This was going to be her new normal. 

The next time Bunny regresses is when she’s eleven years old. She’s sitting at the dinner table, refusing to eat, and getting lectured about it. Her mother has been giving her disapproving looks all night while everyone else around her does what they're told. She pushes her plate away with a pout sitting against the back of the chair. 

“Y/n, you’re not getting anything else,” Sherry warns her. “So you eat that or you go to bed hungry.”

“Hungry,” Bunny supplies and Mike smacks his lips. “I can go to bed hungry.” 

“No, you’re going to sit and eat the food, even if you have to be here all night,” Mike steps in. He’s been dating her mother for a year. Long enough for him to think his opinion matters in htis household. Apparently, it does. 

“I don’t want it,” Bunny looks ot her mother pleadingly. She slams her fork against the table. 

“See that’s the problem,” Mike says. He looks to Sherry to back him up. “She does what she wants. No one else here acts like this but her. You need to whoop her ass and then make her eat it. Don’t give her a choice. Eat the food. I’ve said it not her. I’d like to see you give me attitude like you do her.” His tone of voice isn’t welcoming or loving at all. His words push Bunny into action. She mashes her fork into the mashed potatoes, forcing herself to swallow them down between her tears. She doesn’t like peas. Her mom knows that. “When I was growing up I wasn’t allowed to tell my parents what I would or wouldn't eat.” Mike goes on and on. 

Bunny shovels more and more food into her mouth, finally pushing the plate away before she can finish. 

“I don’t want to,” She whispers. 

“Come over here a second,” Mike beckons her over. Bunny looks over to her mother for help but Sherry clearly agrees with him. Bunny reluctantly stands from her seat to come to Mike. “I can tell you have an attitude with what I told you right now.”

“I don’t,” Bunny shakes her head. “I just don’t like it.”

“Every time I come here you don’t like it and she lets you get away with it,” Mike frowns. “She worked hard to make you food and you sit and act very ungrateful. She already gave me permission to whoop you. I just haven’t yet. I think tonight I might have to.”

“No,” Bunny shakes her head. 

“No, what?” Mike asks. “Everyone else at this table is sitting here. You’re the only one that has a problem. You always have a problem.” 

“I don’t have a problem,” Bunny balls her fist unconsciously as her feelings get the best of her. Why was it such a big deal for her to eat? She doesn’t want it. She’s not hungry. She can just go to her room like always. 

“And you’re balling your fist up at me,” Mike is angry. “What are you going to hit me or something?” He stands, towering over Bunny, as he gets a bit closer to her face. “Don’t you ever ball your fists up at me or I’ll show you what it really means to be grown since you want to act like it.” Bunny’s tears come faster now as she tries to calm her breathing. “Now, I gave you a chance to sit there and eat, and you didn’t.” Bunny can see her siblings sitting, avoiding her gaze, as she receives her punishment. “Go, and sit down. You’re going to sit here until everyone is done.” He instructs with a poke to her chest. Under normal circumstances, Bunny would have rubbed the aching spot. Instead, she rushes to her chair, with her head down. She rubs her arms, hoping to keep quiet, as she cries. 

She can tell it’s making everyone else at the table uncomfortable but she doesn’t care. 

It’s another half hour when Mike lets her go to her room. She felt all cried out as she tucks herself into the wall against her bed. She pushes her thumb into her mouth, eyes squeezed shut, as she hopes to shut out the rest of the world. Somewhere far away she can hear Faith enter their shared bedroom. She’s too far gone to respond to her. 

She doesn’t feel like herself. Her headaches. Like a constant pressure that can’t be relieved. Bunny cries herself to sleep for what feels like the millionth time in her life. 

*******

Over the years, as the pain never leaves her, Bunny finds those fleeting moments to bring her comfort. When she can calm down and not think about anything else but what makes her feel good. She does it more often as she becomes older. Her brain feels younger with the same constant ache. 

When she’s adopted by Natasha and Wanda she tries to hide it. She really did. She would hide in her bedroom whenever she felt like she needed a moment to herself. She would suck her thumb, and count the tiles on the wall, or sing a song to herself in her head. Everything she wishes she had someone else do for her. Bunny is a few months shy of her sixteenth birthday when she finds a viral video of breastfeeding on her Facebook page. She passes over it once before scrolling back up. She’s entranced, intrigued, and startled by the feelings inside of her. She listens to the narrator talk about the bond, the nutrients, and the emotions it brings forth for both mother and child. She finds herself for the first time in her life upset by something so innocent. She slams her laptop closed, leaving it to rest on her desk, as she returns to her homework. 

Days past and her interest only grows

Why did it make her feel this way? 

Some nights, Natasha or Wanda would tuck her into bed. She’d find comfort in the form of cuddling with her mothers. Her nightmares seemed to be getting worse. Other nights, Bunny would allow herself to regress. She learned that word a while ago. She doesn’t know how old she is when it happens. She only knows that being in this space made her feel better. It felt safe. No one could hurt her when she felt like this. 

Bunny’s cravings for comfort only grew. She would research and watch videos and research more. Whenever she had a long day, she would find a blanket, and cover herself, pushing her thumb into her mouth and imagining it was her Mama. Her eyes popped open at the new revelation. Her interest was something entirely different. She wants it. She needs it. She’s too old to want something like that though. If someone found out they’d make fun. Another thing on the list of things wrong with her. So Bunny’s desire goes untouched. She’s content with her thumb-sucking and her imagination for now. 

Until one night, she’d had a particularly bad nightmare. She’s been crying out in her sleep, sweating dripping from her forehead, as she thrashes around. She’s ripped from her dreams by a cool compress against her forehead and another hand caressing her cheek. She opens her eyes to find Wanda’s understanding ones looking back at her. Her eyes flash over to the lamp on her nightstand that’s been turned on. 

She whimpers. 

“Shh, sweet girl,” Wanda gives her a soft smile. “Mama’s here. You had a nightmare.” Her voice is sweet honey to Bunny’s ears. Bunny doesn’t move, she simply watches Wanda work around her before the other woman crawls into bed with her. Bunny doesn’t hesitate to tuck herself into Wanda’s arms. She lays her head directly onto Wanda’s breast, using it as a soft pillow, as she cries to herself. “Hey, it’s okay.” Wanda traces patterns into her forearm. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me and Mommy.”

“Mommy?” It’s the only word Bunny can mutter. 

“She’s out on a mission, a last-minute thing,” Wanda explains. “She had to but she misses you a lot. Don’t you miss her?”

Bunny nods. She’s too afraid to speak. She doesn’t know if speaking will help her right now. 

“You’re not very talkative tonight, huh?” Wanda doesn’t find a problem with that. “That’s okay. We can just lie here.” At Bunny’s shift, she knows there is a problem. She can feel the way Bunny’s fingers trace along the hem of her shirt. She raises it up enough for the young girl to touch the entire expanse of her belly. “It’s called skin-to-skin. A lot of babies do it to bond with their mothers.”

“Me?” Bunny says. Her limited vocabulary is a bit concerning to Wanda but she chalks it up to her being sleep deprived. 

“If it helps you,” Wanda encourages. “I think of you as my baby already.” She shrugs. “We all need something to ground us sometimes.” Wanda’s words soothe her. She talks about any and everything as Bunny’s movements stop. Her hand now lies flat on Wanda’s belly, just inches away from her breast, as the girl falls asleep again. 

Wanda doesn’t think of the moment again. In the morning, Bunny is back to her talkative and loving self. She eats with Wanda, watches a movie with her, and even takes a dog on the walk. There’s no indication of her nightmare last night. There usually isn’t. When Natasha returns home, Bunny is in her arms before she can drop her bags. 

“I missed you that’s all,” The teen says when Natasha gives her a surprised look. 

It’s a week later when Natasha discovers what’s on her laptop. She’s come into the girl’s room to put her laundry away. She places folded clothes in their appropriate drawers before she goes to leave. Bunny left it open to go and shower before they left for the Avenger’s Compound. Tony was having a family picnic of sorts. Natasha isn’t intentionally snooping. She simply wants to close the laptop when the headline of the article catches her eye. 

Breastfeeding Mothers and inducing breastfeeding. 

Natasha reads over the line a few times. Was Bunny pregnant? No way. They would have noticed. So why was she looking at this? Natasha doesn’t find it weird. No. Not at all. She just doesn’t understand. She decides to leave the laptop alone and maybe mention it later. 

At the picnic, Bunny sits with Lila and Cooper as they catch up with each other. From time to time, she glances over to Thor and Jane’s newborn baby. He’s a couple months old now. Jane is none the wiser to Bunny’s longing looks as she feeds baby Elias with a blanket for privacy. Natasha on the other hand does notice it. 

What was going on with her?

Natasha mentions it to Wanda later on in the night. 

“I’m telling you, she was staring quite hard,” Natasha pushes the covers back on the bed so she can climb in. She’s talking to Wanda who is standing in the bathroom brushing her teeth. Her only responses thus far have been “yep” and “oh wow” as she listens to her wife’s theory. 

“I don’t think she’s pregnant but I’m concerned,” Natasha finishes. Wanda peeks her head from the bathroom to look at her. 

“If you’re really that concerned we can talk with her,” Wanda shrugs. She doesn't see the big deal. A teenager being curious about such a natural part of life didn't concern her. 

“No, I don’t know,” Natasha tries to figure out what is going on with you. “It’s not like anything bad can come from it? I guess. I’m just curious about the reasons behind her being so curious, you know? Nothing serious.” 

“Well, we can keep an eye on her and if it becomes a thing then we can say something.” Wanda flicks the switch in the bathroom. She climbs into bed with Natasha. She cuddles into her and Natasha automatically wraps her arms around her. 

It’s totally become a thing. Bunny’s behavior, in general, has become a thing. No, there’s nothing she’s done wrong, but Wanda’s began to notice things. Like how she leaves her blanket and Bunny II lying around the house, or how her taste buds have certainly regressed to that of a three-year-old, and sometimes at night, she wants to cuddle with her more. She doesn’t hesitate to press herself into Wanda’s side and rests her hands against Wanda’s bare belly. Wanda notices the increasing glances to her chest. 

It’s kind of hard to miss when anyone does it but when a sixteen-year-old girl does she’s concerned. So she brings it up to Natasha. 

“Could she be wanting to breastfeed?” Wanda asks one day while they’re in the kitchen. At Natasha’s look, she throws the idea out of the window. “I know it sounds crazy but that may explain it.”

Natasha thinks for herself. All of Bunny’s behavior would explain it. 

“You might be right Wanda but what do we do with that?” She’s just as lost as her wife. “I don’t want to bring it up and make her feel bad about it.” 

“We do so gently,” Wanda sighs. “With care and with compassion.”

“You always know what to say,” Natasha murmurs into Wanda’s neck as she sits on her lap. “I love you. I love the way you love her.” 

“I love you too,” Wanda replies. 

How could they help? By doing research. 

Natasha and Wanda both did research. Together and separate. They came up with no links at first until Natasha stumbled upon something called age recession. Most research was geared towards children of younger ages. Bunny’s situation is different. Entirely different. With all of the tools they needed, they decided to let things happen naturally. If outside help was needed they would seek it but for now, they wanted Bunny to come to them. 

The moment arises when Bunny has another nightmare. This time she’s reserved and more into herself than before. They can’t get her to calm down no matter what methods they try. Until Wanda remembers how much skin-to-skin contact has helped before. She rips her shirt over her head and tosses it somewhere across the room. She’s now in her bra and sleep shorts. 

“Bunny, I’m going to help you take off your shirt now,” Wanda says hoping to get through to the young girl. “Can you nod your head if you hear me?”

Bunny gives a slight nod but doesn’t offer anything more. She allows Natasha and Wanda to take off her shirt before she rushes into Wanda’s waiting arms. She lies her head directly on Wanda’s chest as she struggles to breathe. Feeling Wanda’s warm skin against her arms and chest, calms Bunny considerably. The ache in her head is at the forefront of her mind but she tries to push it down. 

“Mama,” Bunny hwimpers and Natasha shushes her from behind. “Mommy.”

“We’re both here this time,” Ntasha assures her. Bunny continues to cry in theri arsm. When her breathing is back to normal, Natash ais the one to bring it up. “Bunny, how old are you right now?” She wonders if this is the right question as bunny stiffens.

“Sixteen,” Bunny answers. 

“Do you feel sixteen?” Wanda tries again. There’s a silence as they wait for Bunny’s answer. 

“I don’t know,” She’s panicking again. “I don’t know. I do but sometimes i feel younger. Like I need more.”

“More than what we’ve been giving you?” Natasha guesses and Bunny nods. “I’m not mad. Mama isn't mad either. I found your breastfeeding articles.” Bunny begins to remove herself from Wanda’s arms but she’s stopped by Wanda’s tighter hold. “We’re not mad baby. We just want to understand you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bunny whimpers. “I made it weird. I’m weird.”

“You’re not weird,” Wanda frowns. “You’re not weird for wanting it either. Do you age regress?”

Bunny shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She answers in a small voice. “It’s not like how I’ve seen. I don’t know. I don't want to dress up like I’m younger or do all of those things I don’t know.” She can feel herself becoming worked up again. “I don’t need to. I just sometimes it makes me feel better.”

“What makes you feel better?” They’re allowing her to lead the conversation in whatever direction she needs to. 

“Sucking my thumb,” Bunny confesses. “And my blanket, and Bunny II. I still feel like myself but younger. If that makes sense. I still am fifteen but I just need more.”

That makes perfect sense to them. She wanted to be nurtured and cared for. She needs that extra comfort sometimes. For some people, it was voluntary and involuntary for others. It seems that Bunny was more than aware of her feelings and what age regression looked like for her. 

“By more, do you mean breastfeeding?” Wanda questions. She can see the look of embarrassment on Bunny’s face. “It’s okay if you do.”

“You won’t think I’m weird?” Bunny looks up at her with wide eyes. “You won’t send me away? I can stop. Being that way I mean.”

“If you stop will that help?” Natasha figures this coping mechanism has helped Bunny through a lot. 

“No,” Bunny bites the inside of her cheek nervously. “I just… since I was younger I would feel different. Especially when I’m afraid. Like I needed someone to hold me and make me feel better. Like I need to be cared for. I do it on my own.” She wants to assure them that she isn’t asking for something they aren’t willing to give. She doesn’t need them to do anything. 

“But what if you don’t have to,” Wanda prods. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mommy and I were talking,” Wanda takes a breath. “And we would be willing if it's something you want. It could be our thing.”

“A secret?” Bunny questions. 

“A good secret, Malyshka.” Natasha rubs her back.

Bunny goes over the pros and cons in her head. She’s been with Natasha and Wanda long enough to know they’re not joking. They’re being sincere. Someone finally knows how she’s feeling and she’s thinking about giving up the chance. She glances at Wanda’s chest before looking back into her eyes. She doesn’t want to make things awkward for her mothers.  

“Can I think about it?” She asks. 

“Of course.” Wanda kisses her forehead. She settles further into Wanda’s arms as she drifts off to sleep. She’s too afraid to think about it any longer. 

Bunny’s home alone with Wanda when she feels it. A sudden wave of anxiety and depression hit her full force. She doesn’t feel good enough, or competent, or anything really. She finds herself thinking bad things. Deciding that she needs a distraction, she takes Bunny II along with her to find Wanda. She finds the redhead in her usual spot on the couch with her knees up as she reads a book. 

“Mama,” Bunny stands against the back of the couch. Wanda closes her book to look at her. “Can we?” She asks. Another wave of anxiety hit her. She’s afraid of Wanda’s answer. Wanda doesn’t need to ask what she’s talking about as she places her book on the coffee table. With a wave of her hand, she gestures for Bunny to come around the couch and lie with her. The positioning is awkward until finally, Wanda decides to lie on her back, with Bunny in her arms. She starts by pushing up her t-shirt. As if Bunny can feel the nerves from her, the girl moves to get up. 

“No, stay, baby,” Wanda encourages. She lifts her t-shirt further up to expose her breasts. Bunny’s eyes immediately drop to look. “You want this?” Wanda asks one last time and Wanda nods. She could do this. With her left hand, she guides Bunny’s head to her chest. She uses her other hand to guide her dusky nipple to closed lips. Bunny’s nervous. She can tell. “It’s okay, baby.” 

Bunny’s lips part, giving an experimental lick before she gently takes the entire bud into her mouth. She suckles weakly, at first, trying to get a feel of it for herself. When she finds she’s more sated than she’s ever been, her suckling becomes stronger.

 Wanda gasps at the sensations and emotions running through her. She’s never felt so close to or loved by her child before. Bunny, a bit startled by the noise, raises her hand to cover her face in embarrassment. Wanda doesn’t like this. She removes Bunny’s hand placing it in the valley between her breasts. She runs her fingers over Bunny’s cheeks and hair. 

“Open your eyes, b.” Wanda waits patiently for thick lashes to flutter and for furrowed brows to straighten as Bunny looks at her. She only feels love as her baby girl looks at her completely satisfied and safe. “Good?” Wanda asks and Bunny nods. She never stops her suckling as she closes her eyes to fall asleep again.