Chapter Text
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, scrunching the skin as she read the file that was slid under her apartment door. No doubt it was from Maria.
Mission Name – Hydra Base Infiltration #34
Objective - Integrate Agent Romanoff into supposed Hydra Base. Learn about the Winter Soldier.
Timeline – February 2nd, 2009 – undetermined length.
Cover – Foster Mom. Hosting ten-year-old Peter Benjamin Parker, foster child. Name will be Natasha (Talia) Forest Rivera
Her fingers crinkled the paper as she reigned in her anger. Just a month ago, Natasha had returned from a long-term mission – spent in the Sahara Desert in the blazing heat. However, the assassin devoted herself to her job, so she dropped the paper down on the table. It slowly fluttered down, landing and sliding a bit before falling still.
Breathing in deeply to cool the hot anger than ran through her, she strode towards Maria’s office. Natasha was not meant to deal with children, Maria would have to find someone else for the job. It was rare that Natasha refused missions. Besides, Maria owed her.
Agents steered clear of her path as she marched down the halls and towards the stairs.
(She refused to take the elevators.)
She made her way up the stairs rapidly, laces on her shoes hitting her ankles. A few agents, some of the higher-ranking ones who knew her better, attempted to greet her and Natasha gave a curt greeting. As she reached Maria’s office, she slowed down and pushed back her curls before gently tapping her knuckles on the metal door.
There was a moment before a voice called out, hoarse with exhaustion, “Come in.”
The door unlocked with a click and Natasha pushed it open, peering inside to see Maria hunched over at the desk. Straightening up as Natasha sauntered in, Maria gestured to her to take a seat.
“Agent Romanoff,” she greeted, her voice expectant, “I figured I would see you today.”
Natasha nodded her head in greeting, “Commander.”
There was a moment where the two powerful women just looked at each other, a battle of wills. The Commander’s computer chimed a few times, messages coming in from various places around the world. Eventually, Maria sighed, but did not break eye contact.
“What can I do for you Romanoff?”
“Change my mission.” She all but demanded.
Maria raised a perfectly manicured brow at her tone, a slight reminder to mind her place. Natasha inhaled, she had to remain calm.
“I’m not cut out for this mission,” she said, and in hindsight should have brought the papers for Maria, “I can’t watch over a child Maria- I-” Natasha’s voice broke slightly, and she cleared her throat, “I’m not fit for this mission.”
Maria’s face softened a little bit, allowing her façade as The Commander to fall a little bit and allow Maria to come through.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “But Fury told me to give this mission to you, so you would have to bring it up with him.”
Her teeth ground against each other at the words. Of course, Fury had assigned it to her.
Natasha nodded, forcing her mouth to move, “Alright, thank you.”
While Natasha was one of the only people who dared to challenge Fury, she knew this was a losing battle. He had assigned her to a mission for a reason so she would have no choice but to complete it.
As she turned to leave, Maria called out to her, “I know it’s not much to you,” she said, the corners of her lips curling upwards, “I think you’ll do great.”
Natasha offered her a half-assed smile before heading out the door. She scowled the entire way to her apartment, taking care not to stomp her feet. Punching in the keypad, she made her way to the bedroom, sitting down on the bed with a sigh.
She needed to calm down.
There was a clatter as a metal grate fell to the floor. Natasha looked out into her small living area to see Clint dropping down with a grin. His hair was a mess as he turned towards her.
“Hi,” he said, carefully making his way towards her.
It was one of the rare moments when Natasha’s apartment was a mess. Knives and gun parts were scattered about. A few plates and a couple cups sat on the kitchen counter. Clint navigated the mess with practiced ease and plopped down on the bed next to Natasha.
“Get off my bed,” she shoved at him. It wasn’t a hard shove, but he still fell to the floor dramatically.
He whined, looking up at with wide eyes, “Ow. That hurt.”
Scoffing, she stepped carefully over him, moving towards her scattered mess of weapons.
“I heard you got a new mission.”
Of course he did. Rolling her eyes, she picked up spare parts for one of her guns, the metal cool from the AC that chilled her apartment.
“Yes,” she muttered, delicately organizing the pieces into a case.
“How long will you be gone?” Clint asked, dropping himself down on the couch.
He grinned at her when she shot him a glare for being unhelpful.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, her curls bunching up from where they rested on her shoulders, “A while, I think. It’s infiltrating a Hydra base so,” she trailed off, letting him fill the gaps.
Clint nodded, a slight frown overtaking his normal joyful face around her. With most other people, he was more solemn, the isolated archer. However, when with his friends, Clint came himself.
“I was going to take you to visit the ducklings this week,” he mumbled.
Natasha’s heart felt heavy suddenly, she really did miss the ‘ducklings.’ ‘Ducklings’ was code for his children, a young baby girl and a boy. Cooper took after his father, preferring to be quiet and was able to be energetic when he was excited. Lila was a bundle of energy. Babbling all the time and begging to be held.
She was able to be a good aunt to them, but Natasha didn’t ever think she could be a mother. Especially not for a mission.
(Vivid memories of a family of four in Ohio. A little blonde with a toothy grin. A drunk dad who sometimes did his best. A stern mother, yet kind enough to teach them the importance of a metaphorical heart. And a redhead who wished it was all real.)
Clint sighed sympathetically; despite knowing she hated sympathy, “You’ll do great.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I mean it!”
Shaking her head, Natasha made her way towards her room. She was set to leave tomorrow. Better start packing.
“Nat, come back.” Clint trailed after her.
She dug through her dresser, packing various clothes. SHIELD should provide most clothes, but that would most likely happen a few days later.
Calloused hands grasped her shoulders, bare due to the tank top she was wearing. Clint spun her around to face him, ignoring the vicious scowl she plastered on her face.
“Hey,” he spoke softly, his voice attempting to calm the storm raging inside her, “You’re not going to be like them.”
Clint was the only one who knew about her past. He was the only person she trusted to tell.
“You don’t know that,” she snapped. Natasha took a deep breath. She had no reason to be mad at him, he was just trying to help. Her voice softened, “What if I am?”
Clint squeezed her shoulders gently, “You won’t be. I mean you’re an amazing aunt, you can be an amazing foster mom. Besides, it won’t be forever.”
That’s what Natasha was worried about. What if she grew attached to this kid? She couldn’t keep him. She wasn’t fit to be a mother.
But Natasha didn’t voice those worries, rather smiling at Clint gratefully.
Giving her a final, soft, squeeze, he released her shoulders, the bare skin now vulnerable to the cold air. She should probably put a jacket on.
“Do you need help packing?” he asked, taking a step back to give her space.
Natasha shook her head, curls hitting her cheeks. Taking that as his cue, Clint gave her a quiet ‘goodbye’ and saw himself out.
^______________^
Peter Parker wasn’t a tall kid. He wasn’t short either. The boy had fluffy brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, a dull brown, as he ducked his head. After dropping him off and giving Natasha instructions in a chipper tone, Peter was left in her care.
Natasha inhaled slowly. Be patient, she reminded herself, be kind. She offered him a timid smile, one that he didn’t see due to his downcast eyes.
“Hi,” she greeted softly, trying not to spook him. She lowered her voice and attempted to make it soft and gentle, “My name’s Natasha.”
She didn’t mention that she already knew his name, waiting for him to respond instead. Peter briefly glanced up before ducking his head back down.
“Peter,” he whispered. His fingers twisted into his sweatshirt. It had a cheesy math joke printed onto the grey fabric. Shifting on his feet Peter looked up at her once more.
She tried to give him another smile but looked back down quickly.
“Would you like me to show you your room? Or are you hungry?”
Peter rocked back and forth on his feet, fingers tangling into his sweatshirt and curling it upwards. The sunlight hit his hair just right so that you could see all the individual strands. It was fluffy, curling around his ears and around the nape of his neck. While at first, she thought it was light brown, now it seemed more a golden brown.
He still hadn’t responded to her, so she cleared her throat, “How about I show you your room?”
Nodding, Peter readjusted his backpack and moved to follow her. It was a simple one-story house with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Fake photos were hung in the halls. A picture of Natasha grinning with her arms wrapped around someone. She actually remembered taking that photo actually.
They reached Peter’s bedroom, and she placed her hand on the cold doorknob, twisting and pushing inward. He walked in with a muttered “thank you”.
Natasha smiled tightly, closing the door to give him some space. A sigh escaped her as she made her way back to her room, just a few steps away from Peter’s. She shrugged off her jacket, a black leather one that was brand new and stiff and threw it on the bed.
She fell onto the queen-sized bed, relishing how soft it was. The pillows were soft beneath her head, cushioning her as she sunk into them. A TV hung in front of the bed, the screen a reflective black.
Underneath sat a large oak dresser, already filled with various clothes to fit her cover. To the public she was a personal trainer, to SHIELD was infiltrating Hydra. She was meant to enter the base as another soldier and gather as much information as she could in a limited amount of time.
Natasha forced herself to sit up and left the room, she should probably make dinner for Peter. Her stomach rumbled. She should probably make dinner for herself too.
The kitchen had nice marble counters with dark colored cabinets. It took a moment of searching, aka digging through the cabinets, before she found a pot. Filling it water from the sink she sprinkled some salt in it and placed it on the stove.
Macaroni was the simplest thing to make. Although it was perhaps the most nostalgic.
She remembered a little girl with a bright laugh and wavy blonde hair who held an innate love Mac and Cheese.
A wistful smile crossed her lips as her eyes stung. Natasha blinked rapidly, clearing away the tears and waited for the water to start boiling. In all honesty she had no idea what to do with Peter. During the day he would go to school, but what about the weekends? Natasha didn’t know how to spend time with kids.
(That was a lie. Clint had told her over and over again that she was great with his kids. She had rescued various kids during missions, but she never thought she was good with them.)
Natasha was a killer, blood stained her hands – not just her hands, she was coated in blood. Blood of children and people who did not deserve the death she gave them. People who were killed purely because they had wronged the Red Room.
The pot next to her started bubbling over and Natasha reached to turn it down, pouring some pasta into it.
It wasn’t long before the mac and cheese was ready with a premade cheese packet. Peter sat at the table across from her, picking at his food with his fork. His hair covered his eyes once more. Natasha had made a singular attempt to start conversation before giving up.
“Can you eat your food please Peter?” she asked softly, breaking the silence that had fallen like a weighted blanket over the room. The young boy flinched. He was nothing like what Natasha had imagined from a ten-year-old boy.
He gave a shaky nod, shoveling some of it into his mouth. That was all it took before he was gulping it down and muttering a quiet “thank you.” He sat at the table after that, head bowed, even as Natasha cleared their plates and set them in the sink.
“Did you want to talk about something?” She turned to face him fiddling with his fingers.
He stopped as soon as she asked the question, placing his hands in his lap and looking up at her with wide eyes.
“Uhm-” his voice was faint and delicate, “What are the rules?”
Natasha mulled over the question for a moment.
“Nothing much,” she told him, taking a seat from across him once more, “As long as you listen, try hard in school, don’t get into to trouble and clean up after yourself, we shouldn’t have any problems.”
Peter nodded, “May I go to room now?”
Natasha sighed, giving him a small nod. The boy basically bolted from his seat, scurrying back towards his room.
She gave a long exhale and closed her eyes. This was going to be a long mission.