Archive of Our Own

Natasha lurched upright, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat. She clawed at the sweat-damp sheets tangled around her trembling body, sticky and uncomfortable. Her ragged breaths lingered in the still of the room, punctuated by the occasional rustle of the sheets and the pounding of her heart in her ears. Faintly, she could pick up the sound of crickets chirping outside the cracked open window.

Crickets are undisturbed. No intruder or threat outside the window. 

The remnants of the nightmare - the memory of a lived nightmarish reality - continued to flash behind her eyelids. She looked around the room, blinking against the blurriness in her eyes. 

Dresser. Night table. Lamp. Closed bedroom door. White walls. Carpet. 

No threats. ​

She took a deep breath, laced with the tang of sweat hanging in the air, intermixed with the faint scent of laundry detergent, and stared at the cloying shadows in the nearest corner. There was no one there, of course, but she couldn't help but expect a masked figure to melt out of the darkness - to feel rough hands grabbing her, dragging her back to that place. 

Even as reality sank in, Natasha's muscles remained coiled tight, ready to strike. She scanned the room again, cataloging exits and potential weapons. 

Lamp. Books. Pistol under the mattress. ​

Her breathing evened out as the surge of adrenaline faded. She pushed sweaty hair back from her forehead and focused on the bed beneath her, soft and giving. Real.

The worn cotton of her t-shirt shifted against her skin, bunched at her waist, exposing a line of stomach. She pulled the shirt down and felt her skin, clammy and oversensitive. Her stomach clenched at the ticklish contact. 

I'm real, too. ​

She turned her head. 

Next to her, Maria slept on. The steady rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful expression on her face - all a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Nat's mind. 

She's so tired. Exhausted from the work. She usually wakes up when I startle out of a nightmare. ​

Her gaze lingered on Maria's face, on the elegant line of her features, the proud cut of her jaw. In the dreamy glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, she looked ethereal, like a fantasy. Beautiful and strong and yet delicate in the soft femininity of her structure. Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch the silk of Maria's dark hair and feel the satin skin of her cheek. But she restrained herself, unwilling to wake her from a desperately needed rest. 

"Maybe only one of us will have nightmares tonight," she whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. 

Maria kept sleeping, and Natasha sighed. She couldn't just lay there staring at her girlfriend - she needed to move, to quiet the restless energy thrumming and sparking through her veins. 

With one last look at Maria, she slipped from the bed, her bare feet silent on the floor. She padded across the room, every step measured and precise, a habit of movement ingrained from years of abusive training. They'd only had to cane the bottoms of her feet once, she'd never had loud footsteps again.

The sensation that something was off, that there was danger and she was vulnerable to it, followed her, it's presence towering and claustrophobic. It prickled the back of her neck and set her teeth on edge. Her skin crawled and muscles urged her to flee or fight. 

It was the same instinct that had saved her life countless times in the field. Saved Maria. Clint. A sixth sense for threats that never truly switched off. 

She paused at the bathroom door, one hand resting on the cool metal of the knob. "Get it together. You're still the apex predator in the room."

"My little tigress," Melina whispered approvingly as she meticulously braided Natasha's hair.

With a twist of the knob she stepped into the bathroom and slapped on the light. The glare was harsh after the dimness of the bedroom, making her squint as her eyes adjusted. She leaned against the sink and gripped the edges until her knuckles ached with the pressure. 

Her reflection stared back at her, a pale ghost with haunted, bloodshot green eyes and a grim set to her mouth. 

The Black Widow, always so composed and in control. 

Maybe outside, to those who needed her to be that. 

Here, in the deep of the night in a safe house without a witness, she was just Natasha. Natalia. Fractured, exposed, and so very tired. 

She took in the dark circles under her eyes, the faint phantoms of freckles peeking out against wan skin. Her hair hung limp and crimped from a busy, unfulfilling sleep. All the tossing and turning and sweat holding the red tresses in oddly curled contortions against her head. 

Natasha closed her eyes and dialed in to the sensation of the warming counter under her hands, the cold linoleum under her bare feet. 

"I'm Natasha Romanoff," she said. Not Natalia anymore. Not with anyone but Maria. "I'm an agent of SHIELD, an Avenger. I'm in Georgia, in a safe house. Maria is here with me. The time is..." 

She glanced at the digital clock on the counter, at the numbers that glowed in hazy neon green. 

"... 3:27AM. I am safe here."

The panic receded, but the general unease lingered. It clung to her like a greasy second skin. 

Enough. Enough wallowing. ​

It was time to refocus, compartmentalize like the good little spy she was. She shook her head and turned off the light before she crept back into the bedroom. Once more in the dark, she could just make out Maria's wiry body, curled beneath the sheets, thin comforter long kicked off to the foot of the bed. The dark red of their favorite blanket, too heavy for the Southern heat, added a splash of color to the standard white of the sheets and pillow cases. Maria had balled it up and tucked it between their pillows when they went to bed the first night, and used it as a third shared pillow.

A pang shot through Natasha's chest, warring with the restless energy still crackling beneath her skin, as she stood still and stared at Maria.

She snapped out of her stupor and made a beeline for the dresser, yanking open a drawer and rummaging through the contents with single-minded determination. Her fingers closed around a familiar, buttery-soft set of workout clothes, the fabric a comforting weight slick-sliding across her hands. Sports bra, long-sleeved running shirt, leggings, socks, battered sneakers. Each item a piece of armor. 

Natasha knew from too much experience that a hard run would help dust out the cobwebs, reduce the lingering adrenaline and fear to smouldering ruins. She craved the pounding of her feet against the pavement, the burn of her lungs and the ache in her muscles. 

Physical exertion had always been a safe go-to method for silencing the demons. 

At least for a moment. 

A break. 

As she tied her hair back into a tight ponytail, she glimpsed the scars encircling her wrists, pale and raised against her skin. A harsh reminder of the shackles she could never truly escape, no matter how far she ran or how hard she fought. The Red Room would always be a part of her, a shadow she could never fully step out of. 

Maybe, just maybe, she could outrun it for a little while though. 

"Babe. Maria." She perched on the edge of the bed and reached over to run the pad of her finger along Maria's cheekbone and around her ear as she'd desired to do earlier. A fond smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. I don't know what I did to deserve you. You see past all the things, embrace them, and love me still for the actual flawed, fractured human I actually am. Her chest constricted with a fierce surge of protectiveness. She would walk through fire for Maria - and she might very well have to in their current mission. "Masha, hey. I'm going for a run. Need to clear my head."

"Mn-Nat." Maria stirred and sighed. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a second before awareness snapped to. "What? ...Oh. Do you want me to come with you?"

She was already pushing herself up and shaking her head to clear out the cobwebs of sleep. 

Natasha shook her head and pressed Maria back into the welcoming embrace of the safe house bed. "No, it's okay. You need the rest. Besides, I won't be long."

She could see the protests forming on Maria's lips, the furrow of concern between her dark brows. But something in Natasha's expression must have given her pause, because after a moment, she simply nodded and sank back against the lumpy pillow.

"Take your phone, please," she said, her voice slow and softly slurred.

She's so tired. Natasha leaned in and brushed a feather-light kiss against Maria's forehead. "Okay. I'll be right back."

---

The night air enveloped Natasha as she stepped outside. Goosebumps rippled across her skin at the first touch of the bracing chill. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing away the warmth and safe harbor of Maria. 

Out in the suburbs of Georgia, everything felt unknown, unpredictable, unique. Her breath clouded before her face, dissipating into the humid air like smoke. That reminded her a bit too much of being back in Russia during wintertime, conducting ops in the frozen woods, stalking targets through icy alleyways with the cold seeping into the marrow of her bones. That bitter, insidious cold that settled into the core, snug and secure, burrowed deep and leached everything from its host. A killer.

But this was different. The saturating humidity clung to her despite the evening cool, left a thin film of moisture on her skin, an oppressive blanket she couldn't quite shake off. 

She trotted down the driveway and took off at a run, her feet pounding against the pavement in a sharp, staccato rhythm. Each stride jolted through her frame, the impact reverberating up her legs. She pushed herself harder, faster. Like maybe she could outpace the wraiths forever snapping at her heels. 

A fresh layer of sweat beaded on her brow, an all too recently familiar feeling. 

How many times had she fled like this? Running on pure instinct and adrenaline? Too many to count. 

It was long burned into muscle memory. Fight or flight permanently fused. 

She veered around a corner, scanning the quiet street with dull disinterest, but it wasn't her worst habit. Quaint houses lined the block. With their manicured lawns, cars in the driveways, mailboxes and bird-feeders and lawn decorations, they were an image of tranquility. The grave markers of the American dream. 

But appearances were often deceiving. 

Natasha knew that better than most. 

In this particular slice of Americana, a mutant lurked. Identity and location unknown. Just somewhere in that neighborhood, SHIELD thought. They'd used anchor points and profilers and fancy tech to pinpoint the area of interest. She had to find them, slipping through the shadows and playing their deadly game, leaving smouldering ruins in their wake. There was so much rage to their attacks, a message screamed in fire. She had to get to them before they escalated further, before the first body was incinerated, on purpose or not. 

Her mind raced along as her legs pumped, running through scenarios and probabilities. The math. It could be anyone. The soccer mom unloading her groceries. The jogger with his dog. The troubled teen skateboarding down the block. 

Another shiver worked its way down her spine, the thrill and peril of the mission merging with the aftershocks of her nightmare. 

She had to stay sharp. Had to stay ten steps ahead. There was no room for error or doubt. 

As Natasha rounded another corner, a familiar silhouette came into view. Though initially indistinct against the dim streetlights, the broad shoulders and steady gait were unmistakable, even at distance. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, jogging at a slow, measured pace, his presence both unexpected and oddly reassuring. 

She slowed as she approached him, instincts kicking into high gear as she assessed his demeanor and purpose. 

Did he or Clint find a lead? 

Is this a bizarre coincidence? Two Avengers, working an op for SHIELD, both out for a run in the small hours? ​

She kept her expression neutral as they drew closer to one another, not wanting Steve to see even a glimpse of the tumultuous emotions swirling beneath the surface. 

"Fancy meeting you here," she called out. "And here I thought I was the only one who likes a pre-dawn run."

Steve slowed to a stop, not even panting. He stared at her for a moment, not the least bit subtle. "I got sent out on recon. Everything alright?"

She put on a smile and shrugged. "Just peachy. Taking in the sights on the usual run, getting some fresh air, doing my own recon. You know how it is."

His eyebrows pinched together as he continued his obvious study of her face. "No, you're not just out here doing recon, too. Something's bothering you."

Her heart skipped a beat, but her face didn't so much as tick. "Bothering me? Steve, I've been a spy my whole life, nothing bothers me."

"So you're just doing recon?" He shook his head.  

"What, you think I'm up to something sneaky?" Really? She put her hands on her hips and let her gaze wander over their surroundings, taking in the sleepy suburban street. "You challenging me? Okay."

His frown deepened. "Wait, I'm not -"

"Two houses down, there's a car with a dented fender parked in the middle of the driveway. Probably a new driver, judging by the hesitation marks on the curb. Across the street, there's a dog barking in the backyard off and on. It's a German Shepherd, I'd say, based on the pitch and style. And there?" she pointed to a darkened window without turning away from his now confused looking face. "A light just went out. Someone's up past their bedtime."

He sighed. "Oh."

"Oh," she repeated, her lips curving into a smirk. "I'm a master of the craft, Steve, but thanks for the test."

"Natasha," he said, kind blue eyes searching her face again. "I know you're not telling me the whole truth. I can see it. You don't have to tell me, we barely know each other, but I just want to help if I can."

Oh. ​

She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "Honestly, I'm fine, I just needed a run to clea-"

He reached out and his fingers grazed along the delicate skin of her wrist, tracing right along the thicker skin of her scars. 

It hit like she'd touched a live wire, shooting a jolt of electricity through her body. 

She grabbed Steve's wrist, twisting it sharply as she spun on her heel and shoved her hips under his and hoisted. He slammed down onto the pavement, flat on his back, his eyes wide as his breath exploded out his mouth. She chased after him, her knee across his belly and her hands pulling him into a vicious choke. 

"Nat," he forced out, gagging already.

Awareness snapped back. She stared down at him, eyes straining and breathing rough. 

Horror dawned swiftly. 

She'd attacked Steve. Captain fucking America. She'd done it without thinking, without hesitation. 

Like she was back in the Red Room, back in service as a mindless weapon. A tool for destruction. 

"Oh god." Shame washed over her, hot and thick. She couldn't look Steve in the eyes again, didn't want to see the shock, the hurt, the betrayal surely written there. 

She scrambled off of him, her movements clumsy, uncoordinated, and stumbled backwards, putting as much distance between them as she could. Her heart pounded anew, drumming in her ears as she sucked in shallow breaths. 

"I'm sorry," she choked out, the words bitter and burnt in her mouth. "I'm - I didn't mean - I don't want to hurt you."

More. ​

She twisted on her heel, ready to flee. To run as far and as fast as she could. Had to go somewhere she couldn't hurt anyone else. 

But it was futile. There was nowhere she could run to, no place to fully hide from the demons that possessed her at her weakest. They were a part of her, a parasite, a symbiote. Dark threads woven into the fabric of her being. 

Steve's voice cut through the panic. 

"Natasha, wait."

She froze, her back to him, every muscle in her body wound tight. His clothing rustled as he got to his feet. She sensed him coming near again and wanted to bolt, but something in his tone held her in place. 

"It's okay," he said softly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. He didn't pull away when she flinched at the contact. "I'm not hurt. You didn't hurt me, and I'm not angry. Just took me by surprise, and I'm sorry I startled you."

"I could have killed you," she said, equally quiet, her eyes locked onto the toes of her shoes. You'll never be free of them. You'll always be the weapon they made you. The killer. 

"I'm tougher than I look." He laughed and pulled his hand back. "You snapped out of it, that's what matters, and I learned my lesson, too. Next time I'll ask."

She shifted on her feet, clasped her fingers around the scars wrapping her wrist. "Not the wrists. I have... scars. They used to chain me - us - to the beds at night. It made it... easier."

He swallowed loudly. "Okay. Got it. Thanks for telling me."

She nodded. "I have to go. Marine Corps Hill gets annoyed when you don't check in at regular intervals."

She worries. 

"Also noted, thanks for the tip."

"Get some sleep, Steve." She darted forward, running away again, back the way she came. 

Back to safety.

---

Natasha burst through the door of the safe house. She stumbled inside and leaned back on the door to close it, heart pounding in her chest, lungs heaving from the exertion. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins from the hard sprint through the neighborhood, but it was the emotional turmoil that had her hands trembling as she scanned the dark room. 

Maria. Where is Maria? ​

There - movement at the end of the hallway. ​

Maria crept down the short hall, pistol drawn and tucked closer to her chest at the ready. Her aim was unwavering even as recognition dawned on her striking features. She lowered the firearm slowly, posture visibly relaxing, and then she stiffened back up as she came closer, worry etched on her face. 

"What happened?" She closed the distance between them in a few long strides, pistol clattering as she set it down on the coffee table. "Nat?"

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, to brush it off with her usual flippant remark. 

The words got stuck in her throat. 

Because she wasn't fine. The memories that Steve's innocent, accidental touch dredged up still clawed at her. They were like zombies from the Red Room that threatened to drag her down and devour her alive. 

Maria's hands cupped her face and tilted her chin up. Piercing blue eyes searched her face. "You're shaking, baby."

Baby. She never calls me that unless something's wrong. Unless she's being that protective. Concerned. 

"I..." She couldn't get the words out of her mouth, all the sharp edges caught on her tongue as she looked at Maria's beautiful face. "Steve, he - I ran into Steve - he grabbed my wrist."

Maria stroked her thumbs against Natasha's cheeks. "You had a nightmare about the Room earlier."

"He didn't know," Natasha mumbled. She slid her hands down Maria's arms to hold onto her slender wrists, keep her hands where they were against her face. "I reacted, but he's fine, and I..."

"And you're not." Something shifted in Maria's expression. A small, micro detail. 

Care.

Love. 

Natasha gasped as the tears she'd been holding at bay welled and threatened to spill over. "Masha."

Maria pulled her in immediately, one hand sliding deep into Natasha's hair and cradling the back of her skull. The other arm slipped around her back and held her tight against Maria's body. "It's okay. You're safe. I have you."

The tension in Nat's muscles finally began to unravel, the knots of anxiety and self-recrimination slowly loosening. 

She leaned into Maria, her head against her shoulder. One of her favorite places to rest. Where she could hear the steady beat of Maria's heart as a soothing counterpoint to the jumbled mess in her mind. Natasha inhaled deeply, breathing in Maria's familiar scent.

"I've got you, Natalia," Maria murmured. "You're safe here."

Safe. Home. Natasha nodded, tearing up again at the use of her name. She focused on the sensation of Maria's fingers, carefully taking down her ponytail and then carding through her messy hair. The repetitive motion helped to ground her in the present, tucked small and close against Maria. 

I don't deserve this. My ledger... 

I don't deserve her, but I can't let her go either. ​

Maria kissed her temple, as though sensing the direction of her thoughts. "I'm here. I'm not going."

"I didn't hurt him. I don't think I can hurt him, but I lost myself and it..." she kept her voice low, barely a whisper. Ashamed to be confessing such a relapse. 

Maria's hand continued its soothing path through Natasha's hair. 

"Take your time," she said, her lips brushing against Natasha's temple. "I'm still here."

Natasha closed her eyes, steeling herself against the onslaught of memories that threatened to engulf her. The cold, unforgiving walls of the Red Room seemed to close in around her, the echoes of sharp commands and sharper punishments ringing in her ears. She shuddered and tightened her grip on Maria's shirt. "I thought I was past this. I thought I was stronger. One touch and I relapsed, reacted on instinct and had him on the ground in a strangle. Who knows what I could have done to someone not a super soldier."

Maria's hand stilled, and for a moment, Natasha feared she had said too much. Finally said the right thing for Maria to see her for the broken, damaged thing she was and turn away in disgust. A thing that good, noble, sweet Maria - with all her tragic backstory - didn't deserve to be saddled with. 

Yet she keeps choosing me, and I keep choosing her, and I don't want to let go. I don't want her to go. 

Please, don't go. ​

Maria's arms tightened. 

"You are not weak," she said fiercely. "You are the strongest, most resilient person I know. You're so brave, Nat, to claw away from that place - and to still have your heart? That big, beautiful heart? You're remarkable. What happened with Steve, what the Red Room did to you, it doesn't define you. It never has, and it never will. You always tell me we're more than our pasts."

She loves me. Natasha stared up at Maria's face in wonder and clung to her like the lifeline she was. She looks at me and doesn't see the blood dripping monster. The child soldier. The assassin. 

Maybe it's not about deserving. 

"I love you," she said, wishing the simple words were enough. 

With deliberate, slow movements, Maria guided Natasha toward the couch. She sat down first and pulled Natasha down to her, lying back so Natasha could snuggled into her, caught between Maria's side and the back of the couch. 

Safe. ​

"Can I touch your wrists?" Maria asked softly. 

Natasha nodded and Maria gently raised each wrist to her lips, pressing kisses against the marred skin. Nat's breath caught in her throat at the gesture, a lump forming as she watched Maria's thumbs rub soothing circles over the faded marks. 

Maria, who had scars across her hands and swollen knuckles and chronic pain. 

"You're safe."

---

Natasha's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of a peaceful dream clinging to her consciousness. She blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings before the events of the early morning came rushing back. 

She shifted slightly, still tucked between Maria and the back of the couch, careful not to wake her slumbering protector. Maria's arm was draped over her waist, her breath warm and steady against Natasha's neck. 

A wave of contentment crashed over Nat. 

How did I get so lucky? She wondered, her eyes tracing over the delicate features of Maria's face, softened and slack with sleep. 

As if sensing her thoughts, Maria stirred, her eyes slowly opening to meet Natasha's. A sleepy, sweet smile tugged at her mouth. "Mornin', beautiful."

Warmth flooded Natasha's chest. "Hey, gorgeous, I didn't mean to wake you."

Maria shook her head and made one of those little sleepy, soft grunting noises. Her hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Natasha's face. "I don't mind. Waking up next to you is the best part of my best days."

"Flatterer." Natasha leaned into the touch, savoring the gentle caress. 

They fell back into silence, and Maria's eyes drifted shut once again. The soft light of late dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a warm, sunny glow. 

For that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The job ceased to exist. It was just her and Maria, sleepily pressed together on a borrowed couch in a house they were renting for a short while. 

This is home. Natasha nuzzled into Maria's side and sighed. This is what it actually means. It's not a place. It's a person. My person. 

Maria's breathing steadied into a slower rhythm and Natasha gave herself permission to bask in the tranquility of the moment, while the world seemed to be on pause for them. 

She brushed a stray strand of hair away from Maria's peaceful face, her touch carefully light as she followed the curve of her cheek. Maria mumbled in her sleep. Her eyebrows twitched and lips puckered. Natasha grinned and leaned up to kiss Maria's forehead. 

In the golden hue of the room, Natasha closed her eyes and let herself be enveloped by the feelings. Good feelings instead of the harsher emotions of her early morning. Surrounded with such contentment, with a full feeling in her chest and a longing for Maria that made her fingers ache, she knew that as long as she was with Maria, she was home.