#Bailey Biggers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesvnandthemooon · 2 months ago

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𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: not much to say tbh. have fun i guess?

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: implied smut, cheating

word count: 10.9k

…part 3, part 4, part 5…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A TANGLED HEART —

The kiss threw Natasha off.

What started as a simple mission, a plan to figure out who Ethan Bailey is and what kind of shady business he's involved in, resulted in her meeting the love of her life again. Discovering that was a curveball Natasha wasn't prepared for, one that made everything about indefinitely more complicated.

Keeping her distance seemed easy enough at first, but it quickly became impossible. As soon as she'd figured out enough to know that Ethan Bailey is hiding something bigger, her old feelings came rising back to the surface rapidly. Protecting you and your daughter — that was her new priority. That, and not falling in love with you again.

Well, shit — she's failed at one of those already. Plans have always had a way of collapsing whenever you were involved.

To be honest: she never failed to keep her heart out of it. She never even tried.

Natasha leans against the counter in her kitchen. It's been a few days, but her lips still tingle whenever she thinks of the kiss. The look in your eyes burned itself into her mind and wormed its way straight into her heart, settling there comfortably.

She tried to distract herself — mostly because you're married and have a family. She knows your marriage with Ethan isn't perfect as you've told her so yourself, but becoming a homewrecker? Or even being something that's close to a homewrecker? It's not something she'd ever thought she'd do.

Natasha exhales slowly, her fingers drumming against the smooth marble countertop. It's silent in the kitchen, apart from the gentle hum of the refrigerator — a sharp contrast to the whirlwind inside her head.

Something that was once an easy mission has unraveled into something much more complicated. It's not just about Ethan anymore. In fact, it stopped being about him the minute she saw you.

And that kiss. That damn kiss.

Actually, it's way more than just the kiss. It's everything combined — your smile, the way you look at her even seven years later, the way Nina beams at you. It's the same affection you once directed at her: the same warmth, the same genuine, quiet adoration.

Natasha hates how easy it is to slip back into your orbit, but she can't help it. She remembers the day she realized she's in love with you for the first time. The realization that her feelings ran deeper than expected — that, what was once a quick conversation over coffee, had turned into something that would screw her forever.

The way she loves you has always gone beyond what she can easily explain. She's never experienced this before, and she's certain she won't have to experience it again.

Her gaze shifts to the window. The city outside is unfairly calm with its glittering lights and towering buildings, almost taunting her. Natasha quickly forces herself to look away, a shaky breath escaping her.

She knows she should focus on the mission, on Ethan's secrets, on protecting you and Nina from whatever storm may be brewing. But her heart keeps dragging her back, screaming louder than the rational voices in her head.

She pushes off the counter and grabs a glass of water. As she takes a sip, her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweatpants. She fishes it out and glances at the screen, spotting Hill's name.

Maria: Any updates? — 10.32pm

Natasha stares at the screen for a moment, the message managing to pull her back to reality. The kiss may have blurred the lines, but it hasn't erased her responsibilities.

Her thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, then she texts back.

Natasha: Not yet. I'll check in

tomorrow. — 10.33pm

Maria: Distracted? — 10.33pm

Blushing, Natasha shuts off her phone and pretty much tosses it aside. 'Distracted' — that's certainly one word that comes to mind at her current predicament.

. . .

The laptop glows dimly in the darkened room. The neatly spread files before her are anything but neat in content — transaction records, meeting schedules, cryptic emails. All of it hints at something deeper, something that's still out of reach.

A new address pops up when she clicks on Isabelle Durant's name that's listed under a few of Ethan's known associates. A location Ethan visited recently, possibly right before leaving to visit his family with you. It's miles away from anything even remotely tied to his company's headquarters.

Natasha is certain of three things by now.

1) Ethan is involved in human trafficking. She's not sure in what way exactly, but he is.

2) Some woman named Isabelle Durant is a part of this as well, and Ethan's hiding something about their relationship. Coincidentally, she found the exact same email you retrieved from underneath his clothes — and she immediately realizes that it isn't just business between them. And if her hunch is correct, their relationship may be the thread that ties Ethan's secret dealings together.

3) You don't know the full extent of what Ethan's involvement — which, admittedly, stings. However, she noticed your growing sense of unease when you were talking, and she's afraid it's only a matter of time until you discover the truth yourself.

Natasha's torn between telling you herself and letting you figure it out on your own. She isn't sure which one would be more upsetting; but, in the end, she'd have been lying to you either way. Because she'll either have kept her investigations a secret for way too long, or the fact that she's known about Ethan's shady business all along.

She leans back, exhaling sharply. She still doesn't have enough. Enough to bring Ethan down. Enough to explain to you why she's been lurking around. But what she does know is that she needs more access.

It's something she realized a while ago, something she's done before — but it still hurts every time.

She has to use you for more information. Again.

Even if what you can give her are only scraps, it'll still be helpful. You're his wife, after all, so you automatically know different things about his whereabouts than anyone else. Plus, a not-so-small part of her brain wants to hear your voice again. See you again. Kiss you, hold you, all that sappy stuff she never thought she'd be daydreaming about.

Like she said: you worm your way into her heart with ease every time.

Natasha hesitates as she stares at your contact for a moment. She's not proud of what she's about to do — using your current situation as a way in — but the truth isn't going to reveal itself without her digging for it. Part of her is also scared that in the end, it'll seem like she was using you for intel.

But she has to do this. Protecting you and Nina is more important than keeping your relationship (affair?) alive later on.

She dials your number with a quiet sigh. The line barely rings before you answer.

"Hello?", your voice cuts through, sounding rushed and distracted.

"Are you alone?", Natasha asks, concealing the relief she's feeling at hearing you again. It's only been three days, Romanoff. Get a grip.

You let out a humorless laugh, and she hears something clink in the background.

"You mean aside from Nina demanding I cut her sandwich into a perfect star shape? Ethan barely left for his trip, and I'm already swamped."

"Didn't mean to interrupt", Natasha says, smirking faintly.

"No, no, you're not. It's just...chaotic", you mutter, your voice fading slightly as you shift the phone to your other ear. Natasha can hear Nina as she demands chocolate pudding. "No, we're having breakfast first— This is what happens when he springs things on us last-minute. Barely said goodbye to Nina this morning — too busy packing and taking a damn call. Do you know he didn't even-"

You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "Sorry, I'm rambling. What's up? Everything alright?"

"It's fine", she says after hesitating for a split second. She didn't expect you to volunteer so much so quickly, but she'll take what she can get. "Sounds like you've got a lot on your plate."

"That's putting it mildly. Honestly, it's always like this when Ethan decides to just leave. I mean, he's not exactly hands-on when he's here, but still..."

Natasha picks up on the frustration in your voice, filing it away for later. She feels irritation, directed straight at Ethan, when she hears how stressed you sound. "Where'd he head off to?"

"Some business meeting or whatever." You pause, and Natasha can hear Nina in the background again. She smiles faintly at the familiar sound of the little girl's voice as she keeps asking for chocolate pudding. "Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention. Something about reconnecting with business partners overseas. You know how vague he can be about his work."

Natasha, in fact, doesn't know. You assuming that she does amuses her for some reason, but what you said is causing her mind to quickly piece the details together. "Right. You sound exhausted."

"You have no idea", you say, huffing a laugh. "Anyway, why'd you call? I assume this isn't just a check-in or something."

"I just wanted to check if you're alright. I haven't seen you and Nina in a while, so I figured I'd stop by, see if you need anything", she says, careful not to give anything away. You chuckle softly.

"That's sweet of you. Actually, I wouldn't mind some company —", Natasha hears you rip open a bag as you balance the phone between your ear and your shoulder, "Nina's been asking about you, by the way. But you'd better bring snacks. She's on a roll today."

"Snacks, got it", Natasha says, a smile tugging at her lips. "Text me your address? I'll be there soon."

. . .

— WHERE SHE BELONGS —

The domestic chaos of everyday life — you tidying, Nina playing with her toys — is something Natasha didn't know she craved.

A scent of soup lingers in the air as it boils on the stove, clearly homemade. There are stuffed animals and drawings everywhere, Nina is constantly running from one room to the other, a basket of freshly washed laundry is sitting on the floor next to the couch. It's impressive how you've managed to turn a white, lifeless mansion into something warm and welcoming.

Natasha carefully steps over a pile of blocks as Nina zips past her, carrying what looks like a crayon-streaked notebook.

"Mommy, look!", she says, skidding to a halt in front of you. You dry your hands with a dishrag before taking the notebook and inspecting the drawing.

"That's beautiful", you praise her warmly, handing the notebook back to her. It's almost full by now, pages and pages filled with doodles and typical toddler-drawings.

Nina beams and turns to Natasha. "You want to see?"

Natasha blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Sure, let's see", she then says, crouching down and letting your daughter place the notebook in her hands. It's a chaotic swirl of colors, messy and vibrant, but Nina's eyes are lit up makes it feel like a masterpiece. "Wow, that's amazing!", she says. "A real artist, are we?"

You huff softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You keep walking around the room as you tidy up, pulling a stray sock from in between the couch cushions and gathering the empty snack plate Nina left on the coffee table.

"Sorry for the mess", you apologize. Natasha just waves her hand dismissively. "I try to stay on top of it, but Nina..." You gesture at the girl as she tries to climb the couch, only to flop over dramatically halfway through. "She's a bit of a tornado."

"A cute tornado", Natasha says, grabbing a pair of kids' pajama bottoms and holding it out to you.

"Thanks", you say absentminded, tossing the laundry into an empty basket. "'Cute tornado', huh? You sure you don't want to borrow her for a week and see if you still think that?"

"Amazing idea. I'm known to be great with kids."

You smile at the sarcasm in her voice. "You don't give yourself enough credit", you say firmly, putting the laundry basket with the dirty clothes aside. "She adores you. Right, Nina?"

Nina briefly looks at you, then jumps off the couch and zooms into the hallway. "Yes!", she yells, her footsteps echoing through the house as she patters upstairs.

"Where are you going?", you call out to her.

No response. You shake your head and grab the basket full of freshly washed clothes. Whiffs of soap and fabric softener, clinging to the threads and now surrounding you. You start sorting through the clothes in silence, Natasha joining you after a minute or two.

You're working side by side, quietly, as if you've done this a hundred times before. Your fingers brush against hers as you reach for the same shirt, your eyes meeting — and for a moment, you pause.

"Thanks for helping", you say, finally looking at the shirt you're holding.

"Anytime", Natasha replies. She means it more than she probably should, but part of her is aware it's too late now. She's too deep in to get out again, and maybe it's time to make peace with that.

. . .

The more time you spend together, the more you're reminded of what you once had — of what you could've had.

A glimpse into some other universe, timeline, whatever you want to call it. Unfortunately, you both like what you see — it's sweet, warm. It's familiar, lulling you both into a sense of peacefulness.

Natasha spent years honing her ability to slip into any role, to blend into any life. Now, for once in her life, doesn't feel like she has to pretend.

You slip into a routine easily. Natasha keeps folding laundry, stacking tiny socks and soft towels into neat piles, while you clean the kitchen and get started on lunch.

She joins once she's done, offering to chop veggies. You hand her a chopping board and a knife, and she gets started right away.

Let's say it like this — Natasha has an interesting approach to cooking.

You give her an amused look as she starts to cut the onion into small pieces (or, what are supposed to be small pieces). They're uneven, some a bit too chunky, but there's no way you're going to complain about that.

It's nothing you're not used to, either. It reminds you of that time you and Natasha were stranded in a safe house in rural Russia. You wanted to make dinner from a few scraps you'd found — spaghetti, canned tomatoes, frozen fish. An odd combo, but you made do with what you had.

It was a dingy house with nothing but a hot plate. The pot was old and all banged up, and Natasha had managed to burn the pasta. You'd laughed for ten minutes straight while Natasha, red-cheeked and torn between amusement and embarrassment, had dug through the fridge for something eatable. You'd ended the night with buttered peas and some crackers.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how you dice an onion", you finally say, earning a small smile from her.

"Looks perfectly fine to me", she says nonchalantly and throws the cubed onion into the pan with the hot oil. It starts to sizzle quietly.

"Don't let it burn."

Natasha suppresses a smile and throws a piece of onion peel at you. "Still haven't forgotten about that?"

"No", you laugh, dodging the onion peel. "Now stop making a mess. I have my hands full with Nina already."

"Full hands, huh?" She raises an eyebrow and tosses another onion peel your way, which ends up on your sleeve. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me."

You pause, your fingers quickly brushing the onion peel away. Your features soften, if only momentarily. "I am damn lucky", you tease, but there's an underlying hint of sincerity in your voice. Natasha picks up on it despite you not wanting to. Her smirk fades, being replaced by something warmer.

"At least you're aware of it", she teases back, then proceeds to throw away the rest of the onion peel. She flicks it into the trash with exaggerated precision, trying to steer the moment back into lighter territory. "And just for the record — I don't burn food anymore. I'm a whole new woman."

You smile faintly, focusing on the salmon filets in front of you again. "Oh really?" You pause, sprinkling a generous amount of pepper over the three pieces. "A whole new woman? What else is new about you, then?"

Natasha smirks, tossing a handful of vegetables into the pan. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I mean, you're the one who said it", you tease, grabbing the salt from the tray with the seasonings. You hesitate for a moment, your curiosity bubbling back to the surface. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. A few weeks ago, I noticed something. Avengers Tower — what happened to it?"

Her movements slow for just a fraction before she continues stirring normally again. "Ah, that. Right. It's...been a while. Things happen, people change, whatever. We moved to a more secluded location."

"Oh", you mumble, unable to conceal your disappointment. "I liked the Tower."

"You'll like the Compound", Natasha says and you glance at her, smiling weakly. "No, seriously. It's nice there. Not the same, obviously, but still nice. Lots of outdoor space, too."

"Perfect for kids", you tease, hearing Nina sing along to some song as she's sitting in the living room and drawing.

Natasha nods, trying to hide how your simple statement affected her.

"Yes", she says quietly, keeping her gaze fixed on the pan in front of her. "It is."

Lunch is a messy, laughter-filled affair. Between stealing bites of your bread and making her cutlery 'fight', Nina demands Natasha cuts her salmon into pieces, which the redhead doesn't mind doing.

"You're spoiling her", you say, half-serious, as you watch her carefully cut the filet into bite-sized pieces.

"Guilty as charged", Natasha replies. "She deserves it."

Afterwards, you stack the plates and put the knives and forks into the sink as Natasha wipes the table. Nina, having grown impatient with the adults, starts tugging at Natasha's sleeve.

"Come play outside!"

"Bossing me around, are we?"

Nina shakes her head, still insistently pulling on Natasha's sleeve. "Mommy says she's the boss."

Natasha shoots you a pointed look, a small smirk on her face. "Seriously?"

"She's not wrong", you say, shrugging. You wipe the countertops before crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Before Natasha can even think of a response, Nina has already grabbed her hand and started tugging her outside. She's surprisingly strong for such a little thing, and at least double as stubborn.

"Go, go! You too, mommy!"

Outside, the sun is warm and the grass is soft underneath your shoes. Despite it being November, it's not nearly as cold as you thought it'd be, but the air is still chilly. You barely manage to tuck Nina into a jacket before she storms away, quickly running from the dreaded scarf in your hands.

You watch from the sidelines as Natasha is pulled into a game of tag. Nina's like a hurricane, bouncing around and chasing after Natasha, but she's not quick enough to catch her.

Your chest grows warm at the sight. Natasha's taking the game far too seriously — she even pretends to stumble just so Nina can catch her. She collapses onto the ground, with the girl climbing onto her back triumphantly.

"I win!"

"Unstoppable", Natasha agrees, breathless. She looks at you, a small smirk forming on her face. "You're next, boss."

"Oh, no", you immediately say, but your daughter has other plans. Soon enough, all three of you are tumbling in the grass, a mock-yelp escaping you as Nina tackles you.

"Got you!"

"Traitor", you say, tickling her sides until she starts giggling and kicking her feet. Natasha smiles, propping herself up on her elbows as she leans back and watches.

"Didn't even have to help", she says, brushing a few blades of grass off your jeans. You roll your eyes — Natasha had caught your wrist when you tried to run, making you an easy target for the little girl.

"You're terrible at lying, Romanoff."

Nina flops onto your chest, her kicking legs slowly coming to a halt as she nuzzles into you affectionately. You smile, wrapping your arms around her.

"Mommy, you're warm", she declares.

"That's called body heat, sweetie." You look at Natasha, her expression soft and lost in thought. "She used to do this all the time when she was smaller. Just...collapse on top of me."

"She feels safe with you", she says quietly, absently plucking at a stray thread on her hoodie.

Before you can respond, the feeling of raindrops on your face makes you pause. You look up at the sky, which is now marred with dark clouds. A cool breeze sweeps through the yard, rustling the grass and sending a ripple through the trees. Natasha looks up, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Feels like rain", she mutters.

"You always say that", you say, sitting up. Nina quickly gets up when more raindrops start to fall on you, her face lighting up. The light drizzle suddenly turns into a downpour, and the girl cheers happily. "Oh no!"

Nina laughs, her arms stretched out as if she's trying to catch the raindrops. "It's raining, it's raining!"

You scramble to a stand, brushing wet hair from your eyes. "Nina, come on! We have to go inside before we catch colds!"

"No! I like the rain!", she protests, hopping in place as the rain soaks through her clothes.

Natasha doesn't waste another second. She grabs Nina and hoists her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Let's go, puddle jumper."

"No!", she whines, her legs kicking half-heartedly. "Mommy, save me!"

"You're on your own here, honey."

You hurry after them, slipping slightly on the wet grass. By the time you're all inside, you're all drenched, water dripping down on the hardwood floors.

Natasha sets a still-giggling Nina down, her curls clinging to her face. "I'm wet!"

"I can see that", you say, glancing at Natasha as she wrings out the hem of her shirt. "I'll go grab some dry clothes. Make sure she doesn't run outside again, yeah?"

"On it." The redhead grabs a fluffy towel from the stacks of fresh laundry from the couch, swiftly wrapping Nina up in it. She rubs her arms to chase away the chill, a small smile on her face. "There you go. You look like a little burrito."

"What's a burrito?"

"It's food", Natasha replies, sitting back on her heels. "Never tried it?"

Nina shakes her head, hugging the towel tightly around her. You reappear with a bunch of new clothes, tossing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie onto the couch for Natasha.

"Here, sweetie", you say, handing Nina a fleece overall. "That'll keep you warm."

She scampers off to go change, leaving you and Natasha alone in the living room. It's silent apart from the heavy rain, pattering down on the roof and against the windows. The storm has darkened the sky, turning the late afternoon light into something dimmer.

You stand on opposite sides of the room, the tension palpable. Her eyes locked on yours, green and deep. Yours, warm and less guarded than they were when she first arrived.

She clears her throat before turning around, taking off her soaked clothes and slipping into the fresh ones. Unsure what to do with yourself, you start to change as well.

. . .

In the evening, it's Natasha who reads Nina's bedtime story to her. You linger in the doorway, arms crossed and a small smile playing on your lips. You can't decide how to feel about this — Ethan has not read her a bedtime story once, claiming he'd be bad at it. How come Natasha's managed to slip into this role so easily, then?

"You talk funny", Nina giggles. Natasha has been using her Russian accent to read this story to her, making the pirates sound like they regularly eat borscht.

"Funny?" She scoffs playfully, reaching out to smooth out her blanket. "This is my professional storytelling-voice, ma'am."

Nina breaks out into another fit of sleepy laughter, her eyes drooping shut for a moment. She's exhausted — it's been a long day, after all.

Natasha can see the tiredness in the little girl's face, so she smiles softly and finishes the last page of the book. She shuts it and puts it aside before slowly starting to get up.

"Night, Tiny."

Immediately, her eyes snap open again. "Mommy said you're staying tonight", she blurts, which is definitely a lie. However, you can't deny that you've been thinking about asking Natasha to stay, just for a night. Your cheeks turn pink anyway.

"Nina", you chide.

"Well, looks like your mom's got plans for me, huh?" Natasha looks at you, a teasing smile on her face. You shake your head, a soft huff of air escaping you.

"I didn't say anything", you say, flustered but trying to keep your composure. "She's just...guessing."

Natasha hums, tilting her head. You sigh, a sheepish smile breaking through.

"Though I wouldn't mind if you did", you eventually add.

"Right", she says quietly, brushing some hair out of Nina's face. A small gesture, but one that seems so natural and effortless that it makes you all warm on the inside. It's like looking through a window, watching someone else's life that you wish could be your own.

Natasha catches your gaze — and for a quick second, it's like you're the only two people who exist. The remaining flush on your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. It reminds her of everything you once shared. It's so much more than she bargained for, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

And just for a moment, she lets herself think about what could be. If things were different, if she didn't have this mission weighing on her. It's a fleeting thought, but it startles her.

She pulls her hand away from Nina's face, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

"Goodnight, kid", she says once more, slowly getting up. Her eyes lock with yours as she approaches you, then she walks out into the hallway. You tuck Nina in and kiss her forehead, then you follow Natasha downstairs.

You find her by the bookshelf, her head tipped back against the wall as she leans against it. She briefly looks at you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"I meant what I said", you start, approaching her with your arms crossed in front of your chest. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night. Nina would love to see you in the morning. And, I mean, it gets lonely here. It's a big house, and being alone with a toddler-"

"I'm staying."

You tilt your head, pausing. "You're sure?"

"I'm staying", Natasha confirms, her voice soft. She tries to give you a teasing smile, but it doesn't quite work. "I hope your couch is comfortable."

You smile and nod, slowly uncrossing your arms. "It's a nice couch", you say awkwardly, causing her smile to turn more genuine. "I'll make it nice. You'll see."

"Can't wait", she teases, watching you as you quickly busy yourself gathering pillows and blankets. She watches you for a few seconds, her eyes following your movements as you fluff pillows and smooth out blankets. "You don't have to fuss, Y/N. I've slept in worse places."

"This isn't 'worse places'", you argue, continuing to feel the different pillows to determine which one is the comfiest. "It's my house. I don't want you to wake up with a crick in your neck."

"Well, thanks", she says quietly, sounding sincere. You hum, patting the couch.

"Here, see if it's okay like this."

Natasha lays down, her head sinking into the pillow. "It is nice", she simply says, watching as you absentmindedly grab a stuffed animal — a cat — and hand it to her. "Seriously?"

You glance at her, confused, before realizing what you did. "Oh, sorry. That's a habit", you say, quickly reaching for the toy again. "Nina needs her Bearie at night."

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. "As long as you don't tuck me in, we're good."

"I was just about to do that", you say with a smirk, covering her with a blanket. "You're all set?"

"All set", she confirms, shifting a bit. You hesitate, unsure if you should say anything else — and then decide against it.

It takes a few hours for Natasha to fall asleep. Her thoughts are running wild with various things — you, the mission, Ethan, what this means, where it's leading. She's still grappling with her old feelings for you, and she knows you're conflicted about this as well. You're married, after all. You have a family.

Ironically, being apart makes it worse. You used to sleep in the same bed, tangled up underneath bedsheets. You used to sync your breathing, listen to each other's heartbeats.

The physical distance feels unsettling, unnatural, but you both know better than to get up and join the other.

. . .

Early morning light filters through the curtains. Feet shuffle across the polished floors, dishes clink quietly in the kitchen. Quiet giggles, a hushed voice reminding the child to be a bit more quiet.

Natasha wakes up early, drawn to the quiet sounds of the house. The thoughts from last night linger, but she tries not to overthink. She'd rather focus on how warm she feels, how the smell of coffee is wafting through the rooms. Slowly, she gets up, her feet padding across the floor as she approaches the kitchen.

You're in front of the stove, dressed in pajama bottoms and a loose top. You have a cup of coffee that you're sipping on while simultaneously preparing Nina's breakfast. There's a soft, familiar warmth to you — one that she remembers so well from times that were simpler. It makes Natasha pause and lean against the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Good thing Nina has her back turned to her, otherwise she probably would've blown her cover again.

But no, you don't notice her at first. Natasha just stands there, watching you as you put some oatmeal into a small bowl. It's a peaceful, fleeting moment — one that can't last forever, but she pretends it will.

Finally, you look up. Your eyes meet, pulling you into a moment of shared connection. It's easy, like it always used to be, and you find yourself putting your mug aside.

Without thinking, you step closer, and Natasha follows in suit. It doesn't require words.

Her hands on your waist, yours on her face. Your lips meet in a lazy, unhurried kiss, carrying all the affection you've never been able to truly let go of. All you focus on is the taste of her lips, the gentle pressure of the kiss, transporting you back to a place in the past.

For a moment, everything else fades away. No missions, no lies — just the two of you and the feeling of what once was.

You pull away slightly, your hands resting on her face. Your thumb brushes over her mouth, eliciting a sleepy smile from her.

"Morning", she mumbles, her voice still raspy with sleep.

"Morning", you reply, not taking your hands off her cheeks even when you start to flush a little. The color on your face sends a thrill through Natasha, little sparks of electricity shooting down her spine and making her heartbeat quicken. You can feel it against your chest, the rapid thumping of her heart underneath her ribcage, and you smile at the realization.

Still a little flustered, you pull away before Nina turns around and sees you. You keep stirring her oatmeal to make it cool down quicker, a small smile playing on your lips as you steal a glance at Natasha.

"Want coffee?", you ask, trying to appear casual.

"I'm good for now", Natasha says, leaning against the counter. "How's Nina?"

You look at your daughter, who's happily making faces at the spoon. It never fails to amaze you how easy it can be to entertain a child.

"She's in a good mood, apparently."

Nina, finally realizing that a) Natasha's here, and b) the adults are talking about her, looks up. She smiles when you put down the bowl of oatmeal in front of her, instantly digging in.

Natasha watches the girl with fondness, then directs her attention towards you again. "What did you have planned for today?"

"Oh, the usual", you say, filling the remaining oatmeal into two bigger bowls. "Run some errands, clean up around the house...that kind of stuff. Nina's not going to preschool today, so we'll just hang out a bit."

"Sounds peaceful", Natasha says, subtly moving behind you. Her arms snake around your waist before she can stop herself and reconsider whether this is a good idea, and her mouth places a kiss on the back of your neck. You freeze before melting into her embrace, but she's already stepped away again.

"Yeah, it-" You clear your throat, the flush on your cheeks making you look like you're sunburnt. "It's all I can manage right now, I guess."

"Mhm." Natasha smiles, her arms now crossed in front of her chest.

Trying to distract yourself, you decide to check on Nina. The girl's chin is smeared with oatmeal, but she looks completely content like this, oblivious to the world outside of her little bubble of joy.

You exchange a look of both amusement and fondness, then you nudge the chair next to Nina's aside and sit down. You wipe her face, ignoring her halfhearted attempts at protesting.

Natasha wasn't expecting this moment — this simple, fleeting slice of normalcy —, yet here you are. No espionage. No dangers. Just the three of you.

She may not have all the answers yet. Truthfully, she has no idea where this is headed. But the smile on your face, so soft and disarming, makes her feel like she's exactly where she's supposed to be.

Natasha will never know what life would've been like if it had taken you down another path. What she does know, however, is that this, right here, is something worth holding onto.

. . .

— A SWISS AFFAIR —

"You're so paranoid."

"I am not paranoid", Ethan replies, irritated, and keeps scrolling through his phone. He's been checking it obsessively — scanning emails, cross-referencing encrypted notes, making sure his location is turned off. He looks out of the window of the sleek black car, almost as if expecting to be followed.

But the quiet streets of Zurich are empty. Snow is covering the sidewalks, glittering under the streetlights, and there are no people to be seen. No cars, either, lucky for them.

"You're going to give yourself an ulcer", Isabelle teases, swirling a glass of champagne that was offered to them by the driver.

"This isn't some charity gala, Izzy", he says, briefly glancing at her. "One wrong move, and we're done."

"Paranoid", she repeats in a teasing tone, her red lips moving exaggeratedly with each syllable. She leans in closer and plucks the phone from his hands. "Relax. We're here to spend money, not stage a coup."

"You can be exhausting", he says, slumping into the seat and scrubbing a hand down his face.

The car drives up to the gate of a private mansion on the outskirts of the city. It's secluded, surrounded by sprawling, snow-dusted grounds, with ornate stonework and high arched windows. The tall iron gates are manned by heavily armored security, which scan their car with a device.

Ethan rolls down the window to show their invitation. The security guard nods and waves them in, two other men opening the gates for them. The car rolls up the driveway, coming to a halt in front of the mansion.

"Why would they need to check the car?", he mutters once they're out of earshot, unbuckling his seatbelt. "What are they expecting?"

"Oh, I don't know. Explosives?", she says, laughing softly. They exit the car, the air around them icy and fresh. Isabelle leans closer to him as they approach the building, her voice a whisper: "Honestly, it's endearing. You want to look like you belong here so desperately, but you're always so tightly wound. Charming in its own way."

Ethan just shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his tie. Her words are teasing, but there's truth to them. He's out of his depth here, and she knows it. No tailored suit, no Swiss watch, no polished shoes can hide that. Every choice carefully considered, but lacking authenticity. A constructed mask, one that Isabelle sees right through.

They make their way into the mansion, passing through the upper floors. Laughter and champagne flutes clink freely, creating a stark contrast to the basement they're now approaching. Down there, the air is heavier and the light dimmer.

The auction room stretches wide, with antique archways framing the space. Polished marble floors, bare stone walls, a touch of severity to it all. In the corners, alcoves host private conversations between guests.

Ethan steps into the room, feeling more and more out of place with each second he spends in this place — one that is filled with people who seem too at home, like they've been living in this kind of underground world for years.

"You see her?", Isabelle whispers as they walk deeper into the darkened room, nodding at a woman in a green dress. "She's the one who gets the 'deliveries' to the right people."

Ethan stiffens. "Don't talk like that."

"What?" She scoffs, smirking. "You're here, Ethan. You know what this is. Don't play innocent."

"I am innocent", he snaps, his tone too harsh for discretion. "I just-" He looks around, quickly lowering his voice. "I'm not involved in any of this. I just buy art, Isabelle. That's it."

She rolls her eyes and leads him to their reserved seats. "Keep telling yourself that, darling", she mumbles, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. "Without payers like you, there's no auction. No money. Everything would crumble."

His hands clench and unclench as he rests them on this thighs. He wants to argue, find a way to tell her how wrong she is.

It's easier to focus on the artwork, to tell himself his hands are clean, than to admit that he's guilty.

The auction starts with the ring of a bell. All the conversations die down, and a woman in a black dress steps up on the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen", she begins. "Welcome. I'm delighted to see so many familiar faces tonight..."

Ethan tries to focus on her words, but his eyes drift to the display area. Multiple paintings and statues, lined up neatly. One painting catches his attention — a bold, abstract piece with thick strokes of crimson and black. Something about it draws him in — it's violent, chaotic, unlike anything else that's being auctioned here tonight.

He briefly glances at Isabelle as she shifts next to him.

Isabelle Durant. Auction facilitator, middlewoman, laundering specialist. Although she tries to avoid direct contact with the human trafficking side, she's definitely more involved in this than he is.

She ensures the auctions go smoothly, she helps conceal the origin of funds. And, unlike him, she's completely aware of the fact that she's financing the system. She has no delusions about it — she knows she's a complicit, but she simply doesn't care.

Sometimes, he wonders whether she feels any guilt at all. Whether she has made peace with it.

Part of him knows she has. Maybe that's the thrill of it all.

. . .

Ethan manages to win the piece he laid eyes on after a dramatic bidding war. It's supposedly from a reclusive European artist, and it'll certainly look good in his gallery — but the knowledge that this painting helped funnel an enormous amount of money into the trafficking organization sours his mood.

He gets into the backseat again, Isabelle joining him from the other side of the car. She looks completely unfazed — happy, even. The hard part of the day is over. What comes now is alcohol, a nice suite and maybe some good food.

"Don't look at me like that", she says, leaning in. Her fingers brush along his jaw, making him look at her. Sometimes, he still wonders what drew him in — her good looks? Her sophistication? The fact that she seemed to know everyone worth knowing?

A mix of that, probably, but she also had a certain gift: she knew how to make him feel special, especially in the beginning. With her, he felt like the smartest, most desirable man in the world. You'd never made him feel like that (granted, you didn't make him feel stupid or unlovable either — but a narcissistic little part of his brain craved the validation that he's better than the best, that he's more than anyone could ask for).

While he does appreciate the fact that he has a family with you, one that makes him look good to the public, he also knows that he can't appreciate the simplicity of what he has with you.

Ethan grasps her hand and pulls it away from his face, his expression stoic. He's aware that their affair has turned into a relationship that is a toxic web of dependency and control — he still keeps telling himself that he could leave whenever he wants to. Her influence, however, is undeniable.

"It's been a long night", he finally says, grazing his lips over her knuckles. She smiles, cupping his face with her other hand.

"That's true", she confirms, kissing his stubbly cheek. "But it's worth it. You're one of them now", she adds, her voice more teasing this time.

Guilt and exhilaration flood his brain. Before he can dwell too long on either, Isabelle pulls him into a brief, charged kiss, her lips moving against his.

. . .

— LETTER WITH CONSEQUENCES —

Receiving a letter in an unmarked envelope is never a good sign, but especially not after an anonymous number texted you to check your mailbox at half an hour prior to midnight.

At this point, Natasha and you have spent the past three days together. She hasn't gone home once — she's been sleeping on your couch, showering in your shower, wearing your clothes. She's spending her days with you and Nina, and you haven't been this happy in a long time. Even your daughter noticed, telling Natasha that she "makes her mommy smile."

You're still both trying to keep your distance, although it's become more of a one sided effort. Something about the ring on your finger makes you hold back from anything that's more than a simple kiss. Even that little display of affection makes you feel nauseous with guilt, which Natasha knows and understands. She doesn't know what it's like, since she's never been married, but she understands anyway.

You've basically forgotten about Ethan by now. He's somewhere in Switzerland, doing his usual business. You're still not sure what to believe regarding him possibly having an affair, but you've decided that you'll deal with that issue once he's back home.

If only there wasn't that damned letter.

The text message lights up your screen right as you're about to go to bed. Natasha's on the couch downstairs, reading a book, so she doesn't notice it or the way your eyebrows knit in confusion.

ANON: Check your mailbox. — 11.32am

In retrospect, you'll realize that obeying a command from god knows who is not the smartest idea — especially not this late at night. But right now you're tired and puzzled, as well as a little curious, so you make your way down the stairs and open the front door.

The air outside is cold and crisp. It smells like it's about to snow, which is a feeling nobody but Natasha has ever managed to understand.

You can't smell snow, can you?

Yes, you can, you think, carefully approaching the mailbox. You open the small compartment and pull out a letter. No sender, no recipient, nothing — the envelope is completely blank

Frowning, you quickly pad back into the house and gently shut the door, then you walk into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, you use a knife to cut the envelope open. You pull out the neatly folded piece of paper and open it, your eyes immediately skimming the text.

It was typed and printed, clearly trying to keep whoever sent it to you secret. But that's not the only thing that makes you pause — the contents of it are far more unsettling.

「 Dear Mrs. Bailey,

You don't know me, and I have no intention of revealing who I am. What I do know, however, is that your husband isn't the man you believe him to be. For your sake — and for your daughter's — I strongly urge you to open your eyes to the truth.

Ethan has been lying to you for months. His late-night meetings, his frequent business trips, the people he surrounds himself with — it's all a carefully constructed web of deceit. While you've been holding your family together, he's been tearing it apart behind your back.

He's been cheating on you — but he isn't just unfaithful.

The company he keeps and the deals he makes aren't just unethical — they're dangerous. If I were you, I'd take my daughter and leave before his sins catch up to him.

Consider this a warning from someone who knows more than you think. You deserve better.

Signed,

A Friend 」

At first, you don't dare believe what you're reading. Surely, this is a prank. A manipulation tactic, something that's meant to freak you out.

But the details hit too close to home. Whoever sent you this letter knows at least as much as you, but probably way more.

No, they definitely know more. This isn't something they could guess, or lie about. It's way too serious for a prank, especially considering that they mentioned your daughter twice.

Nina. Innocent and oblivious, asleep in her bed upstairs, a heart-patterned blanket covering her. The mere thought of something happening to her makes you sick to your stomach.

How dare you, you think, your hands shaking as you stand frozen in place. You built a life with him, trusted him. You gave birth to his child, set your own dreams aside in order to allow him to fulfill his. And this is how he pays you back?

You feel a mix of emotions, but most prominent of them all: anger. All the lies, the betrayal, crash over you in waves.

You're aware of the lingering distance between you and Natasha, the way everything has shifted since she reappeared in your life. But in this moment, all doubts and reservations vanish. You need to do something, need to feel something that's not the crushing weight of your life.

Without thinking, you put the letter aside. Your legs carry you to the living room automatically, where you're met with the sight of Natasha. She's on the couch, now looking up from the book she picked from your bookshelf.

All words die in her throat when she sees the storm of emotions in your eyes. Raw, intense, but also mixed with something soft and familiar.

You cross the room without saying a word, your heart pounding in your chest. You hesitate for only a moment, your breathing shallow.

"I'm not really sure what we're doing", you say, "but I know I can't keep staying away from you." She stares at you, her blood rushing through her veins and clouding her brain — it's a quiet admission that Natasha's been waiting for, but didn't expect to come this way.

She doesn't have time to respond. You close the gap between you and her in a single step, your lips meeting hers in a desperate, messy kiss.

An explosion after years of suppression, resulting in a heat that consumes you both. Her arms wrap around your waist as you sink into her lap, feeling like they've always belonged there. Your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the strands, your movements frantic and needy.

Natasha's hands push under the fabric of your shirt to feel the warm skin of your back. You let out a muffled moan, breaking the kiss reluctantly to start trailing kisses along her jaw.

There's no time for second guesses — not this time. All that matters in this moment is you and her, your bodies tangled together on the couch, heat enclosing you and shielding you from the world. You'll deal with the consequences later.

You tug on her shirt, needing to feel more than the soft fabric. Natasha doesn't hesitate to let you take it off, the piece of clothing being tossed aside carelessly.

When you finally feel her skin against yours, it's like a million fireworks going off inside your veins. The closeness is electric, but also full of tension. The way she runs her hands along your curves is familiar, mapping them out and tracing the scars you got all those years ago. She remembers every single one and how you got them, the pictures vivid in her mind.

Then, her hand grasps yours, sliding the wedding ring off your finger. It clatters hollowly as it meets the floor.

You push forward and box her in against the couch, meeting her lips with your own again. You taste her tongue, her hands palming at your sides, your heart beating erratically. She moans quietly, her fingers starting to toy with the waistband of your sweatpants and finally pushing past it.

You break the kiss for just a moment, pulling away enough to look into her eyes. You both pause, hands stilling and breaths mingling in the small space between you. Natasha's gaze searches your face, her expression unreadable, but the look in her eyes tells you everything you need to know.

"Nat...", you begin softly.

Natasha doesn't respond right away. Her fingers brush along your cheek, the touch featherlight but purposeful. You swallow, tracing the outline of her collarbone.

"We can stop this", she finally says, her voice quiet. "If you want me to leave, say it now."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You shake your head, not saying anything. You don't need to say anything — because you don't want her to leave. Not now, not ever.

Instead, you sink into another kiss. At this point, it's a language of its own.

. . .

Bodies naked and entangled on the couch. Natasha brushes her fingers along your spine, her lips pressing a kiss to your forehead. You're fast asleep, your body curled against hers. For the first time in way too long, you both feel right — even if the situation is wrong.

It's been a few hours by now. Natasha slowly disentangles herself from you and gets up. She puts on some clothes before leaving the room, deliberately keeping her footsteps quiet to make sure she doesn't wake you.

The kitchen tiles are cold underneath her feet. She grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water, but her gaze drifts to the abandoned letter on the counter. She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway that leads to the living room, where you're still asleep.

Curiosity gets the better of her. She's a spy, after all — if something seems off, she'll investigate it.

Natasha's eyes skim over the text, her chest feeling tighter with each word. She's so fixated on the letter and what it means that she doesn't even think about the fact that she's not completely innocent either.

She doesn't know what to feel — concern? anger? disappointment? — and she also doesn't know who to direct it at.

This is it, she thinks bitterly, her grip on the letter tightening so much that the edges crumple, This is the reason for last night. This is why you came to me with such desperation.

The faint clink of glass in the kitchen was what pulled you out of your slumber. You shift on the couch before sitting up, the blanket pulled to your chest.

"Nat?", you call out softly. Natasha tenses when she hears your voice, then she slowly walks back into the living room. You hesitate when you see the look on her face. "Everything okay?"

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. She simply thrusts the letter toward you, making your heart drop.

"Is this why you slept with me?", she demands, her voice low but trembling with emotion. "To get back at him?"

"Nat, I-", you start, your mind scrambling to explain.

"Don't", she cuts you off, her voice rising slightly. "It was never about us, was it? It was about him."

"That's not true!" You quickly get up, trying to wrap the blanket around your body. You're way too conscious of the fact that you're still completely naked. "I just..."

"Don't lie to me", Natasha snaps, tossing the letter aside. Her voice cracks as she speaks, the rawness of her emotions spilling out. "I let myself believe, for one second, that maybe we-" She shakes her head, swallowing thickly. "Forget it."

Your brain takes a few seconds to realize that she, in fact, has turned around and stormed out. Car keys in hand, only wearing a hoodie and some shorts. The front door shuts, finally ripping you out of your frozen state.

"No", you say, scrambling to get some clothes on. You hurry after her. "No, no, no! Wait!"

Natasha's outside, fumbling with her car keys. The air is cold on her skin, but she doesn't care — she needs to get away.

Your panic spikes as she slides into the driver's seat, the car starting. You bolt for your own car, jamming the key into the ignition. But nothing happens — the engine sputters once, twice, and then falls silent.

"Shit!", you curse, slamming your hands against the steering wheel. You look up and see the Natasha's taillights flicker to life, the car pulling out of the driveway. "Fuck!"

Without thinking twice, you lean on the horn. The sound — loud and insistent — cuts through the quiet suburban morning like a scream, probably waking everyone who's asleep, but that's not important.

"Natasha!", you yell, throwing open the car door and stepping outside. Snow, icy and numbing, melts under your bare feet. You didn't even notice it before. I was right, is all you manage to think as tears run down your cheeks. "Natasha, stop!"

You press the horn again, desperate and frantic, hoping it'll at least make her hesitate.

And it does.

Despite her better judgement, she instantly stops the car. For a moment, she considers driving off, letting her anger take her somewhere else, anywhere else, to a place where it won't hurt so much.

She should protect herself, and she should protect you. She should put some distance between you and her, finally stop you from stirring up all these feelings — but she can't.

Natasha sighs, her forehead dropping against the steering wheel. Then, finally, she steps out of the car.

Your face is tear-streaked, your chest heaving from the yelling and crying and everything else that's happened in the past five minutes.

For a long moment, you just look at each other. The air is heavy with unspoken words; words that feel too dangerous to say.

"You sure know how to make a scene", she mutters, her voice low but not unkind.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. "Yeah, well, you know how to run", you reply.

Natasha steps closer, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. Her breath comes out as visible little clouds in the icy morning air. She stops a few feet away from you, hesitating briefly.

"Well, you've got my attention", she finally says. Her voice is softer now, but still tinged with frustration. "What is it, Y/N?"

"Look, I-" You brush some hair out of your face, trying to find the right thing to say. "Don't run. Just...just don't run. Please. I know it's messy, I get that. I also know that I should explain, but..."

"Explain what?", she asks cautiously.

"That I don't know what I'm doing", you say, your voice wavering. You take a careful step closer to her, and to your relief, she doesn't back away. "That I've made a thousand mistakes. But sleeping with you last night? It's not one of them."

She goes quiet for a moment, studying you. She swallows and looks at the ground, the footprints left in the snow. "And what was that letter about?"

"I was going to tell you about it. I just didn't know how", you admit, your fingers curling into the material of your sweater as you cross your arms. "Someone sent it to warn me about Ethan. I had an idea that something wasn't right, but I didn't want to accuse him before knowing for sure. And I guess..." You sigh and shake your head. "It doesn't matter. All I know is that I'm done pretending my life is something it's not."

Natasha's shoulders sag slightly as they loosen up. Her eyes dart around your surroundings for a moment — the dark sky, the hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon, the mansions around you — before meeting yours again. "You have a funny way of showing it", she mutters, though her tone is more resigned than biting.

Your lips curl into a tentative smile. Maybe you didn't screw things up completely. "You have a funny way of staying."

"I haven't decided I'm staying yet", Natasha points out, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips despite herself. She doesn't move an inch, however, staying right in front of you.

"You're not running, either." You stay silent for a moment, your eyebrows narrowing. Natasha's smirk fades as you search her face. "You knew, didn't you?", you finally say.

"Knew what?", she immediately deflects.

"Natasha", you say, taking a step closer. "Don't lie to me. You knew about Ethan, about what he's involved in. Didn't you? I mean, you always know more than you let on."

For a moment, she considers lying. It'd be pointless — you definitely know that she knows —, but it'd be worth a try. She wants to protect you, but she's not sure from what exactly at this point.

"I've been investigating him", she eventually admits. "Not just him. Everything he's involved in. I've been trying to take it down."

"And you didn't tell me", you say quietly, your jaw tightening.

"I couldn't", she quickly says. "Y/N, I didn't know how deep you were in. I didn't know if you'd be safe."

"'Safe'? You think you were keeping me 'safe'? I deserved to know what was happening behind my back! I don't even want to think about the kind of danger my daughter and I could've been in!"

Natasha shakes her head, her expression bordering on pleading. "I didn't want to put you two into more danger! All I've been thinking about since running into you that night is how I'm going to keep you and Nina safe."

You go quiet, watching her with a guarded expression. "Is this why you suddenly decided to be in my life?", you then demand. "To get intel?"

Her face falls. She exhales and her defenses crack. "Maybe at first", she admits. "I needed information. It was an opportunity to get closer to a him. He's been involved in a human trafficking ring, which is being financed by the auctions he attends — complicated stuff, you know. I was focused on the mission. But then..." She pauses, looking up. "...then I saw you again. Really saw you. And then it all changed."

"How am I supposed to believe that?", you whisper, feeling like something's stuck in your throat.

"Because it's the truth", she says firmly, her green eyes unwavering. "I don't know what this is, or where it's going. But I know I want it. I want us."

"Nat, it-" You look away, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to blink away the tears. "It's not that easy. I don't know if I can do this. Ethan has power, resources. If I leave, if I even try to leave, then what happens to Nina? What happens to me?"

She hesitates before placing her hand on your arm. "I can protect you both", she says softly. "You and Nina. But you have to trust me."

You shake your head. "You don't understand", you say weakly. "He's not just some guy I can walk away from. He'll ruin me, Natasha. He'll take Nina away from me."

"No, he won't. Not if I have anything to do with it."

You give her a doubtful look, but the conviction in her eyes doesn't fade. Natasha is a woman of her words — in all these years, she's never lied to you, unless it was to protect you. Not even when she probably should have. And you also know that she knows what she's doing. She's not someone who'd put the people who are important to her in danger. Her entire life has been about protecting others, but you were always her priority.

"I'm scared", you admit, searching her face for reassurance. It softens under your gaze.

"I know", she replies. Her hand shakes as she lifts it to your face, brushing her fingers across your damp cheek. Then she cups it, her eyes meeting yours and the outside world seeming to fall away.

Finally, she leans in. It's a tentative kiss, salty from your tears and so warm it creates a striking contrast to the icy air. You sink into it, prolonging it for just a few seconds and soaking up the feeling. The part of you that is scared thinks that this may be it — your last kiss.

The circumstances could be worse, though. You're standing in the snow, feeling so cold that both your fingertips have started to turn blue. Your only source of warmth is each other, as it's been so many years ago.

You both pull away, not saying a word at first. Natasha's hand drops to her side, but the ghost of it lingers on your cheek.

"I don't have an answer yet", you admit quietly. "I just...I just don't know. I'm sorry."

It was what Natasha expected to hear. She nods and exhales sharply, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh.

"Don't apologize", she says, her voice low and rough. "Just...figure it out. Before it's too late."

There's a pause, heavy and suffocating. Then she steps back, her walls slowly being rebuilt already — you can tell by the way her expression is becoming unreadable again.

Natasha turns around and walks away. The car door shuts, the engine fires up, and you watch her leave.

. . .

— "COME AFTER ME" —

It's been days since the morning on the driveway — days since Natasha left, since you last saw her or heard from her. Apart from the email she sent you, at least. One that contained a bunch of information about Ethan and the human trafficking ring and black market auctions. Reading it gave you the headache of a lifetime, but it also gave you clarity.

The house has felt colder since, quieter in a way that has nothing to do with the November chill creeping in through the windows. It's as if a fog has settled over your mind, muting every noise and color.

It happens when you're running errands, a mundane escape from the stillness at home. Ethan is supposed to return the next day, which makes you all the more tense. Thankfully, Nina hasn't picked up on it — she's as happy and chatty as ever, skipping along next to the shopping cart and looking at the bright display of cereals on the shelves.

"Oh, marshmallows!", she says, clearly delighted, and grabs a box of Lucky Charms. You sigh, shooting her a faint smile.

"You can have one thing, honey. We agreed on that when we left, remember?"

"I want this", she says, nodding, and gets on her tiptoes to drop the box into the shopping cart.

"Sure", you agree, continuing to push the cart. Your daughter keeps a firm hold on the basket of the cart, giggling when it makes a noise.

"It's squeaky!" She rocks the cart back and forth a little to make the noise louder. "Like a mouse, mommy."

"Like a mouse", you agree, smiling distractedly, and glance at the shopping list in your hand again. But her continuous laughter, bright and bubbly, pulls your attention for a brief moment, and you manage a quiet chuckle. Nina smiles back at you, her hand letting go of the cart to grab yours.

You eventually approach the checkout, and Nina asks if she can help put some items on the conveyer belt. You agree, putting her in the shopping cart and placing everything on the conveyer belt together. The barcode reader beeps whenever the cashier scans an item, and Nina imitates the sound every time.

You barely notice that, though. The cashier tells you the total, and you nod and start rummaging through your purse. As you reach for your wallet, your fingers brush against something unfamiliar. A small piece of paper, smooth and folded precisely in half.

Frowning, you pull it out and open it. The ink is smudged, but the handwriting unmistakable.

You stare at the three simple words, not even registering when Nina tugs at your sleeve and tells you that it's your turn. All you can do is stare at the note, the red ink stark against the blank page.

Come After Me

⧗

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets @upsidedowndanvers

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #wlw #fanfic #marvel #fluff #light angst #moon’s fics

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