that's not up to you

The Sun cuts gently across the murky water of the lake, creating a picturesque scene that could undoubtedly be seen hanging up at your local hole-in-the-wall studio, where middle-aged women (drunk on “fun” and definitely not the bottle and a half of red) pretend to live out their childhood dream of being an artist whilst their marriage lies in shambles back at home. This new pessimistic version of yourself swirls your toes around twice in the water before letting out a huff and pushing up from the gravely bay and away from the mediocre scene.

You find yourself picking at your fingernails and shuffling your feet around, kicking a rock along the pathway here and there. A nearby onlooker might describe you as pensive or even reflective, but internally you’re churning every thought in your brain away from anything remotely real or tangible.

You hate the world, you’ve decided, and you hate how it’s “just a floating rock!” and how “everything is meaningless!“ because how are those two phrases supposed to bring you any comfort? How is knowing that every action you’ve ever made or that every word you’ve ever spoken is absolutely nothing in the whole scheme of things supposed to make you feel any better?

You hate the world because you are a once positive person turned bitter. You hate the world because it let you see the good in things and it let you want to believe that things would ever be okay. You hate the world because it saw your naïvety as something to exploit.

Mostly though, you hate the world because it took her from you. It saw your happiness and it crushed it like a fucking bug. It saw her red hair splayed out on the black pillowcase (because of course notorious and badass assassin Natasha Romanoff had black pillowcases) and chopped that image up into completely indiscernible bits.

Now you were alone, wallowing in self pity in the mid-fucking-west of all places, trying to decide what in the hell you were going to do with yourself. Finally crossing the threshold that brought you back to the lone but ever impactful tree, you paused at seeing a blonde figure standing where you were moments before.

You groaned, your whole body recoiling in shooting pain as you writhed around on the hot pavement. The sun beat down on you and you squinted against it. A shadow made its way into your line of sight, effectively blocking the harsh rays of sunlight. 

Through the dull ringing in your ears you heard a voice. “Are you alright?”

You peeled your eyes open, surprised. A woman (and not just any woman, she was by far the prettiest and most gorgeous woman you had ever seen, your half-cognizant mind registered) stood over your crumpled form, a small smirk playing on her lips. Her red hair had caught the breeze slightly and you watched on in amazement as it swished gently. Her eyes (an emerald green color that surely would’ve made your knees buckle had you not already been on the ground) twinkled with a hint of bewilderment and mirth. If you hadn’t been so captivated by her, you would’ve been offended at her amusement.

“Never better,” you chuckled, wincing at the pounding of your head that followed. The woman offered you a hand and you took it gratefully (not without noting how soft and light her touch was). She pulled you to your feet and you felt yourself stagger slightly before strong arms (which, kill you now, you thought) wrapped themselves around your midsection. “Thanks.” you spoke softly through your embarrassment.

She laughed at your flustered state and you swore you could have listened to that sound forever, “No problem.” 

You smiled at her and pulled yourself from her embrace, deciding to spare yourself from further embarrassment. But of course, before you could turn the corner, you tripped over your own feet. To your luck and surprise, the woman from before caught you. She steadied you on your feet, “You know,” she laughed gently, “ you should probably go get yourself checked out. I think you might’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell out of that tree.”

You shook your head with a chuckle, “No I’m alright, I promise.” 

The woman shot you an incredulous look, “You just tripped over your own two feet.”

“I really appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.” 

She gave you a long look that you couldn’t quite decipher and before you knew it, you had been scooped up into her arms, where she carried you bridal style. You looked up at her with your mouth agape in shock at her display of strength, “What are you doing?”

“Saving myself from arguing with you. You’re quite stubborn, you know.” 

“So you thought, ‘hm, let me just pick this stranger up?’ I mean, you don’t know anything about me.” She looked down at you and only laughed quietly. You cried out, outraged, “I could be dangerous, I’ll have you know!”

At that, she burst out laughing and you found yourself once again, shocked. “I don’t see what’s so funny!” 

After a few more minutes of walking her laughter had died down. She looked down at you in her arms and smiled (god, she was beautiful), “You fell out of a tree and you expect me to think you’re dangerous.” 

You frowned, “Fair point.” 

She smiled at you again and you went back to walking (well, being carried) in silence. You admired her as the two of you went, trying to etch the lines of her face into your memory forever. Whatever had caused her to come across you on that sidewalk, you were immensely thankful for. You were completely and utterly enraptured with her and as you stared up at her in wonder and perplexity, her eyes met yours. A blush flew to your cheeks and you quickly looked away. Her gaze remained on you for a moment more and you swore you could see a slight pink hue on her own cheeks from your peripheral vision. You chalked it up to your imagination and said nothing as the hospital slowly crept into view.

“Hey,” she poked your side gently, “why were you up in that tree anyway?”

“I was just relaxing I guess.” You shrugged, thinking nothing of it.

“You were relaxing?” She was giving you a weird look that was making you confused. 

“Yeah? You know like listening to music, reading a book-“ A wave of her hand cut you off.

“No, no I know what relaxing is. But why on Earth were you relaxing in a tree?”

“I dunno I guess I thought it would fun?”

“That’s weird. You’re weird.”

“I am not.”

“You are too.”

The best thing about being a parent, you decided, was getting to show your daughter the world. Her big brown eyes would look up at you in wonder and amazement over things that you found mundane and common. Seeing her with a wide toothy grin never failed to put a smile on your face. You found so much happiness in your daughter and from the moment you had first laid eyes on her, swaddled up in a hospital-issued blanket, you loved her endlessly and unconditionally. 

Anastasia Maria Stark was turning five today. You smiled fondly at all of the memories you had of her along the way: her first words, her first steps, and her first day of kindergarten. Anastasia was a mischievous, sneaky little thing with a sharp and stubborn wit to her; the perfect combination for a whole lot of trouble.

“Yoohoo, space cadet. We’ve got a party to set up, you plan on just standing there all day?”

You rolled your eyes at your brother. Ana’s party was pretty much all set up by now and Tony was just probably looking for a reason to tease you. You scoffed and looked at your brother incredulously, “Oh come on Tony, I think we both know I’ve done most of the work here.”

Tony chuckled and raised his hands in defense, “I’m not saying I have but,” he glanced at his watch, “the party starts in thirty minutes and I’m not the one whose head’s gonna get bitten off if everything’s not perfect.”

You cursed quietly and bustled around, adjusting paper plates and decorations. Natasha would have your head on a platter if anything was even slightly out of place. She had been tasked with distracting Anastasia while you set up her surprise party. You knew she probably hated not being able to micro-managing your daughter’s party to make sure everything was perfect but truthfully, you had wanted to relieve her of all the stress she would’ve inevitably felt while doing it. 

After Anastasia was born, Natasha had turned into the world’s most fiercely protective mama bear. She watches over her every move and is there in an instant if Anastasia so much as trips. If Ana asked for it, Natasha would bring her the moon. She would go to war for her little girl and you would follow her without hesitation.

“Whipped!” Tony called out to you. You flipped him off with one hand while the other straightened out the giant banner hung across the room but deep down, you knew he was right. You were, undoubtedly, whipped. Being whipped didn’t bother you as much as it once might’ve, in fact, you weren’t bothered at all. Natasha was your everything and you would walk across hot coals to prove that to her. Sure, being a genius and a billionaire had been fun but being Natasha’s spouse and a parent, well, that was a whole different ball game. Nat’s stubbornness and Anastasia’s mischievousness paired together kept you on your toes. Your girls were an unforgiving, trouble-making pair and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Speak of the devils and they shall appear. Natasha and Anastasia walked in hand-in-hand, big grins pulled tight across both of their cheeks. For a moment you were struck with how much you loved them. The two of them made you so, so happy and you didn’t know what you would do without them. 

The duo approached and you stood smiling, until Ana broke free from her mom’s grasp and unceremoniously launched herself into your arms.

“Surprise, sweetheart!” you exclaimed. She giggled and squirmed as you tickled her sides and Natasha watched on, her smile stretching impossibly further. The exchange carried on for a minute longer until your brother called out for Ana.

“Uncle Tony!” she cried out excitedly and ran to meet him in a hug.

You turned to Nat, “She’s really five, huh?” You were honestly blown away at how fast she was growing. 

“I can’t believe it either.” Nat whispered softly. She reached out and squeezed your hand for comfort. You returned the gesture.

The two of you shared a look all parents knew fondly: Anastasia was growing up. She was still, and always would be, your baby, but she was growing up nonetheless. Time was forever constant and as long as the Earth continued to spin on its axis, tilted at 23.5 degrees relative to its orbit around the Sun, the clock on Anastasia’s childhood would tick, painstakingly slow yet faster than the speed of light at the same time. 

“Natasha,” you spoke slowly and earnestly, dragging your words out in hopes to add depth to them, “I love you. So much.”

She smiled a soft, beautiful smile, “I love you too.”

With Ana’s shrieks of happy laughter and an old Kidz Bop CD, the party began.