Chapter Text
Somewhere, on a helicarrier
Natasha was tired. She was tired of being called in the middle of the night; tired of the constant fighting. Tired of being an agent for a country she doesn’t really care for anymore. But this recent mission was almost too much. She looked across the helicarrier, to a sleeping Bucky. She knew she suffered from nightmares too. They all did.
This recent mission was simple, a quick in and out, quick kill, the end. Killing people was easy, it was what she was trained to do. She closed her eyes. She saw his face. All she knew about her recent victim was his first name, his height and where he would be at 9.13am on a Sunday morning. She thought about his family. One of the first things she was taught was to never think of her target as being human. She wasn’t supposed to think about their family, or think anything really. She had one job, and that’s all she’d ever known. She was taught this in the red room, and she used it fighting the same people who taught her. She got her assignments and she followed her directions, and she hoped she was fighting for the right side this time. This life was all she had ever known. Sometimes she imagined in a parallel universe, there’s a Natasha working a normal life as a HR manager. Or something more fun like a ballet teacher. This Natasha has a normal family, normal friends, and hasn’t even squashed a fly. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Floor 57, Avengers Tower
Natasha opened her apartment door and breathed in the cool, sterile air. She lived, like everyone else, in avengers tower. She couldn’t fault the accommodation that Stark provided, it was exactly what she needed. She’d spent most of her life running from hideout to hideout, never staying anywhere long enough to get comfortable. This arrangement worked for her. The apartment was made up of two rooms, one room with a tiny kitchen and a mattress on the floor, and a small bathroom with a shower (no shower curtain). Small enough to feel safe, no dark corners. Tony was horrified when he first realised how small her apartment was, and Natasha had to repeatedly assure him that this was the only way she could feel safe. Natasha had issues.
The first thing she did when she returned from a mission was to jump into the shower. She considered this the start of her post-mission ritual. It served two purposes, one to clean the literal dirt and blood from her body, and two to calm her as much as possible. Despite their powerful public personas, each and every avenger struggled with the things they had to do, the people they had to hurt. Human, monster or alien, it was all the same to Natasha. They all had coping mechanisms, some more dangerous than others. The water was boiling hot, and she could feel it burning her skin as she scrubbed away. Blood ran down the drain, a mixture of her own and some anonymous victim.
Tony made things. When he needed a distraction, he invented a new suit or some bullshit invention that he claims will save the world. Steve punches things, usually just punching bags but occasionally walls. Clint and Bucky abuse alcohol. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, glancing down at the hundreds of scars that crossed her thighs. Some of these were from enemies, but most were from herself. She pulled out a small pack of blades she kept on her at all times, examined her legs, and got to work. A few minutes and she felt better. She didn’t notice the pain, the red room made sure of that, but it did the job. Maybe too well, she’d started to feel dizzy, and her vision had started to blur. Natasha could perform minor surgery on herself in the field, but some jobs did need another person. She did a poor job bandaging up her legs and started the short trek to apartment of the only other person she trusted with all her secrets.
Clint lived on floor 54, fortunately only three floors below Natasha. She’d normally take the emergency stairs, to avoid the unlikely chance of accidentally bumping into a civilian who’d got lost attempting to get to one of the many floors of Avengers tower; but in this state she risked the elevator ride. Leaning against the wall, she pressed the button to summon the elevator and hoped it was empty. Her bad luck streak continued, because a familiar face was already in the elevator.
“Nat you look like shit”. Bucky looked at her with a face full of concern. “I’d come to see if you were ok after yesterday... I take it you’re not.” She reached out to Natasha, who flinched and jumped back.
“Can you just help me get to Clint’s please?” She said through gritted teeth. In an hour or so, her injuries would heal themselves. She needed them neatly stitched up or she’d be left with some nasty scaring. Fortunately for her, the red room had given her a similar version of Steve’s super serum, making her stronger and heal faster than normal people. Bucky had something similar. Bucky stepped back and let her into the elevator, keeping her distance.
“Can I at least walk you to his door?” She said quietly. Natasha nodded a silent response. They were good at this. Years of working together, even as enemies, they’d picked up ways to communicate silently and without other people noticing. Subtle body movements and silent whispers.
The elevator stopped at Clint’s floor. The ride had only lasted a few seconds but Natasha had learnt a lot. She’d never quite escaped the analytical mind she’d been trained to develop, to over think and over analyse every situation, to look for hidden dangers and advantages. It was weird of Bucky to come and visit Natasha, and she seemed… shy? Why was she being so nice to Natasha all of a sudden? She was suspicious. Reluctantly accepting an arm to lean on from Bucky, the pair stumbled to Clint’s apartment.
Floor 54, Avengers Tower
Clint must be used to this by now. It happened after almost every mission, and recently it was happening in between missions. He shared a look with Bucky.
“You can go now” Natasha stated bluntly at Bucky, and shut the door in her face.
“That was rude.” Clint raised his eyebrows at Nat.
“She’s being too nice to me. I don’t trust her.” Natasha replied.
“Right-“ Clint looked amused. “So, are we going to talk about this?” He already knew the answer.
“No.” Natasha replied quickly. “I don’t need you worrying about me. I’m fine. I just need you to help stitch me up and then I’ll go. Ok?” Taking care to be as gentle as possible, Clint cleaned and stitched up the wounds. He was good at this. He also didn’t say much, which is why Natasha still liked him. They’d been partners for years, and when you’re working deep cover operations with someone for months, you get to know all their secrets. Natasha kept Clint’s secrets and she knew he could be trusted to keep all of hers. Bucky was the only other person who knew about Natasha’s coping mechanism. Tony would ship her off to some ridiculous multi million dollar rehab centre and she’d waste at least half an hour figuring out how to get out of the building. Steve wouldn’t get it, and he’d worry too much.
She hadn’t planned to tell Bucky, it had just happened. She’d found Natasha after a failed rescue mission. They’d been sent to rescue hostages, but no one got out alive. Natasha didn’t fail missions often, and she took it badly. Bucky almost forced Natasha to go to the medical floor, but after Natasha proved she wasn’t dying by threatening Bucky’s life, she let her go. Bucky walked her back to her apartment and she'd stayed all night, just sitting with Natasha in silence. The only person she’d ever opened up to was Clint. Of course, Bucky would never know the worst things about Natasha, even if her worst memories were similar. They both had the unique, shared trauma of being forced and used to hurt and kill innocent people. Bucky was different, but Natasha still wasn’t completely comfortable with her.
“You need to be careful Nat…” Natasha pulled away from him and moved over to the door. She hadn’t came here for a lecture, she’d come for help. To her surprise, Clint grabbed her forearm. In a second, she’d pulled a knife to his throat.
“Jesus Christ Nat… what the fuck?” She backed away, putting the knife down.
“Force of habit” she said coldly. “Sorry.” It was a sincere apology, and Clint understood. The trauma and PTSD was difficult to manage.
“I think you need a break from missions… from everything!”
“And what else am I going to do Clint? Do you think Starbucks will accept a CV from me? Do you think I can get a good reference from Tony? I can’t sit here and do nothing whilst people are dying. We don’t know what’s out there, we don’t know what the next threat is going to be. If I can help prevent that, then I have to. I have to make up for all the bad I contributed to this world” Natasha didn’t have to elaborate, Clint understood. He always did. Natasha left his apartment in anger, slamming the door behind her. That was the last time she asked for his help. She’d deal with her problems the way she’d always done from now on, alone.
Clint hadn’t quite finished, and that made it significantly more difficult to get back to her apartment, but she made it. She quickly scanned her room for any dangers, and when she was sure it was safe, she fell into an uncomfortable sleep on her plain mattress.
Floor 57, Avengers Tower
Sleep wasn’t something she was good at. The red room only ever let the widows sleep for a few hours at a time, as it was critical for missions to be able to perform on as little sleep as possible. She had been trained to put her needs last, and the mission's needs first, and if that meant staying awake for 72 hours, that's what she did. She’d never grown out of the habit, and usually woke up every few hours to check her apartment.
There were some benefits to living in Avenger’s tower, Stark’s tech meant that no one was getting in who wasn’t allowed. Natasha refused armed guards on her floor but they were stationed on most floors. There were endless cameras and security tech most people didn't realise had been invented yet. Still, she’d never felt safe sleeping here. The last time she felt safe sleeping was another lifetime ago. It didn’t matter how exhausted she felt when she woke up, she still checked her apartment for hidden dangers. Natasha settled back to sleep for a few hours, until she woke up again.
BANG
Natasha leaped from her mattress, grabbing the gun that she’d stashed underneath it, and a knife hidden in her pillow. What the fuck was that? She took a second to wake up, and heard a second loud bang, coming from her apartment door. What the fuck? No one had ever knocked on her door before. Only Clint and Bucky had the security clearance to get onto this section of her floor, so that narrowed down the potential candidates of the intruder, and generally, they knew better than to wake up Natasha Romanoff.
“Who is it?” Natasha called out cautiously before she opened the door.
“Nat, it’s me, Buc-“ Natasha aggressively pulled open the door before she could finish.
“What the fuck do you want? I didn’t want to see you last night and I sure as hell don’t want to see you this morning. Did Barton set this up?” As soon as Natasha finished shouting at her, she noticed the assortment of breakfast foods Bucky was holding in her arms. She felt a small twinge of guilt.
“I just thought you might be a bit hungry, I know you probably didn’t eat last night. Can I come in?” Bucky didn’t wait for an answer, and pushed herself into Natasha’s apartment. There was a small dining table and two chairs in Natasha’s apartment, and Bucky settled herself into one, before gesturing to Natasha to do the same.
“I’m not talking Bucky. It’s half six in the morning.” Natasha sat in front of her, grabbed a pastry and ate.
“I thought you’re usually an early riser?” Bucky grinned at Natasha, finishing off pastry as she talked.
“You woke me up three minutes before my alarm. Where did you get pastries this early?” Natasha asked.
“I baked them myself!” Bucky smiled, meeting Natasha’s eyes for a second. Natasha met her gaze, and quickly dropped it. She wiped some crumbs from her cheek, to distract herself from the moment. “You’ve got- here-“ Bucky reached over and gently wiped the crumb Natasha had missed from her cheek. Natasha froze. She didn’t react, and didn’t move Bucky’s hand away. She was so gentle and her hand was so soft. Natasha wasn’t sure what to think. She wasn’t sure why Bucky had been so pushy lately. Why she’d want to spend time with her, especially when all she had done was push her away.
“You should go… I need to shower. Get ready. Shower” Natasha stood up quickly and repeated herself. “Thank you for the… thank you for breakfast” She couldn’t make eye contact with Bucky, who was still sitting at Natasha’s breakfast table. Natasha ran into her tiny bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. She turned on the shower and sat in the freezing cold water. She’d spent her entire life making sure she kept her guard up. She’d never let anyone get close to her before. Yet she'd just let herself be vulnerable, and it didn't feel bad?