Chapter Text
I stand at the edge of the room, hovering in the doorway.
“It’s yours,” Clint crosses his arms. “You can do what you want with it.” I put down my bag. All that is in it is a photo of Pietro and I, and some toiletries Natasha handed me. Calling it a bag in this such a way is insulting to other bags. It is what you would carry groceries in. “Nat will take you shopping tomorrow for some stuff. We’re new here too, it’s our first time at this facility.” He looks around, “Dinner is in an hour, that should give you some time to settle in.”
“Thank you,” I sit down on the bed once he leaves. I have never felt anything so luxurious in my life. I run my hands over the silky coverlet. My eye catches on an open door. I have my own bathroom. It is enough to almost bring me to tears. I carefully take out the toiletries and put them in the shower. Back in my room, I take my photo of Pietro and pin it to the bulletin board on the wall.
“So what do you think?” Tony stands in the doorway.
“It is very generous, Mr. Stark, thank you.” He stands in the doorway, unsure what to do.
“Alright, I’ll see you at dinner.”
Dinner, I come to find out, is pizza. They are all crowded together around the dining table, speaking loudly over each other. They fall silent when they see me.
“Come sit with us, grab a slice.” Clint pats the seat next to him, putting me between him and Captain America.
“Pineapple is a pizza topping Romanoff,” Tony declares, brandishing his slice.
“It’s like putting strawberries on your pizza, Stark.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“You guys are ridiculous,” Captain America laughs. I look down at my slice of cheese. I hadn’t had pizza since before the bombing. “Do you like pizza?” He whispers to me.
“Yes, have not had it in long time.” I pick it up and take a bite, the flavor floods my taste buds.
“I think she likes it,” Clint laughs. I blush in embarrassment. “It’s okay, I’m pretty sure the first time Thor has chocolate he cried.”
“It was a very moving experience, Hawkeye.” Thor glares at the archer, but his eyes are light. “Unfortunately, friends, I must depart after this meal. Asgard needs me.” He picks up his hammer off kitchen counter. “Until next time,”
“He always makes such dramatic exits,” Natasha rolls her eyes.
“And no concern for lawn care,” Tony looks distastefully at his now burnt grass. The dinner ends uneventfully, everyone going to their respective rooms.
“We’ll leave at noon tomorrow,” Natasha barely looks at me, she walks brusquely down the hall, based on her outfit, towards the new training facilities.
“Can I get you anything before I head off to my room as well?” Clint asks, throwing away the last of the paper plates.
“I am good, thank you.” I push my hair behind ears. I turn on the small TV that is in my room, flipping through the channels. There are over a thousand, I had never heard of such a thing. How could every TV show be seen? I end on a show called The Office. Soon, it is nearly two o’clock in the morning. I close my eyes to sleep. For the first time since Pietro died, I do. In the morning, I wake plagued by guilt. I slept without nightmares, I slept peacefully. It is an insult to my twin. I shove the feelings deep down and step into the kitchen.
“Hello,” Natasha nearly jumps out of her skin, fumbling with her mug.
“Sorry, I’m a little jumpy this morning.” She picks up the carafe and pours herself a mug, then me. I take it quietly and disappear onto the couch.
“Hey Nat,” Clint comes into the kitchen, “how are you doing?” I’m surprised by Clint’s tone, it’s soft, gentle.
“I’m fine,” she snaps.
“Yesterday you said,” they are silent for a moment. “Hi Wanda,” he pokes his head over the couch. “Excited to go shopping?” I force out a smile.
“Cannot wait,”
“You girls will have fun, want to work on some hand to hand with me?” He drops into a fighting stance.
“Yes, I will change.” The clothes in my closet are slightly too big, I think they belong to Natasha. Clint is waiting outside my room, leaning against the wall.
“Alright, let’s go.” He leads me down the hall towards the elevator. “I spent some time exploring last night, found the new training facilities, they’re awesome.” We step inside a large gym. “Alright, I’m going to teach you some basic moves, okay? I’m not as good as Nat when it comes to close quarters combat, but I’m pretty good.” After two hours, we stop. I am sweating, but Clint is barely winded. “That was really good for a first timer, you’re going to be great. Go take a shower, Nat hates when people are late.”
I’m am waiting in the foyer when at exactly noon I hear a honk outside. A black SUV is waiting. I spot the redhead in the driver’s seat, her face covered by sunglasses. This is the first time I’ve seen her out of uniform. She sports jeans and a leather jacket.
“You’re on time, that’s good.” She waits for me to put on my seatbelt before shifting the gear on the car. She keeps her eyes trained on the road. The music on the radio stops the car from being silent. We pull up to a mall after about a half hour of driving. “This is no New York City, but there’s a Nordstrom’s.” I don’t know what that means. “Come on,” she shuts off the car and we walk inside. I gape are the sheer amount of clothing in sight. And shoes. And everything.
“So much,”
“Yes, there is a decent selection.” She leads me over to the racks of clothes.
“I have no money,” I look down at the tags, the prices of these items are more than the rent of an apartment in Sokovia.
“It’s on Stark, spend as much as you want. Then a little more,” Natasha smiles but it’s forced. “Maybe get you your own leather jacket,” she nods at the one I’m wearing. I realize it must be hers, she’s the only other female who lived in the tower.
“Sorry, I will return,”
“I am joking, it suits you better.” She hands me a pair of jeans. “You need other clothes though.” After acquiring a small fortunes worth of clothing and shoes, we move onto bags. “You need a duffel bag for missions,”
“Duffel?” This word is new.
“A bag than can hold a weekends worth of necessities.” She explains, holding up an example. I nod and move through the aisles. However, something else catches my eye.
“You can get it,” Natasha appears behind me suddenly, “we all have to be frivolous sometimes.” Another word I don’t know. I will have to google it. She plucks it from my hands, and I notice she grabbed me a duffel bag too, red. In the home section, I select from knickknacks at Nat’s insistence. She brings everything to the counter. I nearly die on the spot when I see the price.
“No,”
“Yes,” she hands them a black credit card. “I’m hungry, let’s get lunch.” We drop the bags off at the car and head back into the mall. In the food court, people mill around us and I watch in wonder.
“They so relaxed,”
“Yes, blissfully unaware of dangers that lurk around every corner,” she stabs a French fry in her ketchup. I look down at my hamburger. “Pizza and hamburgers, can’t get more American than that for your first two meals,”
“Italian and German?”
“That’s what America is, a mix of a whole lot of things,”
“Like Avengers?” Her eyes soften and a real smile blooms on her face for the first time. "Why do you help me?” I ask
“They don’t know what it’s like, to go from villain to hero. To have everything you’ve ever believed become wrong overnight.”
“You do?” I look suspiciously at her. How could she know?
“Until 2006, I was an assassin for the KGB. I wasn’t human, I killed with no regret.” My burger gets stuck in my throat. “Clint was sent to kill me, instead he saved me.” I take a sip of my water. I have so many questions. How many people did she kill? Does she remember all their names? How did you become an assassin? However, by the haunted look in her eyes, I can tell sharing time is over. We arrive back to the car.
“Thank you,”
“You’re welcome. We start training Monday. I’ll be teaching you language and combat. Cap’s got history covered. Clint has math. Tony has science.”
“School? Not training?”
“Did you miss the part where I said combat? You are barely sixteen, you still have to get an education,” she looks at me incredulously.
“I haven’t been to school since my parents died,”
“You are smart.” She starts the car. When we arrive back at the facility, she goes straight inside, leaving me to struggle with the bags. Clint appears moments later, concern painted on his face.
“Was she okay? While you were out?” he asks, taking the bags from me.
“Yes, fine.” I tilt my head, “Why?”
“Will you put on a fashion show for me?”
“A fashion show?” I laugh.
“Whenever my wife and daughter come home from a shopping trip, they model everything for me.” I grin.
Clint waits on my bed as I change in my walk-in closet. I step out in my new jeans and t-shirt.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he pauses, “Give me a twirl,”
“A twirl?” he makes a spinning motion with his finger. I spin around.
“It is awesome, let’s see another one,” Eventually, more clothes are now on the floor than in the bags. “I have to say, you rocked the runway.” I laugh, striking a pose. I hear something crash in the next room over. Clint immediately sobers, jumping up from the bed. “I’ll check in later, okay? Stay here.” I nod and he bolts out of the room. I don’t remember which Avenger I share a wall with. I begin to put away my new clothes, picking them up from their piles on the ground. I place a new cork globe on my desk. It comes with pins to mark everywhere I go. There are a few small posters and note cards that I add to the photo of Pietro. I toss my new throw pillows on the bed. When I am done, it looks more like a bedroom and less like a hotel room. I put back on the TV, The Office is playing once again. At six, there is a knock at my door.
“Hey kid, dinner almost ready,” Sam smiles at me. I follow him to the kitchen where Steve is putting the finishing touches on tacos. “So, did you have fun shopping today?”
“Yes, I have never seen so much clothes.” He hands me a plate and we go to grab food from the counter. Clint and Natasha join a few minutes later, though she trails behind reluctantly.
“Where’s Tony?” Clint asks, grabbing two plates. He fills them up and brings them over to the table.
“Off to Malibu with Pepper,” Steve replies. Pepper, that’s Tony’s girlfriend. I am yet to meet her. “Rhodey left too, had business in DC. Oh, and Vision is with Tony.” He takes a bite of his taco.
“Wanda put on quite the fashion show earlier,” Clint exclaims suddenly. I duck my head in embarrassment. Natasha smiles at me briefly before going to back to picking at her food. Steve is staring at her. They all know something I don’t.
“I have to head back to D.C. next week. I can’t abandon my group.”
“Of course,”
“Group?” I ask.
“I do a support group for veterans. Got a degree in psych after I left the military. I wanted to find a new way to help people. I didn’t know that would mean becoming an Avenger, but we’ve all got our path.” He laughs. Sam is very likable and happy, as stark contrast to the other members at the table. Except Clint, he seemed like a relatively happy person.
That night, I lie in bed hoping to fall asleep early. I hear the door to the room next to mine open and close. I forgot to look to see who sleeps there. I snuggle into the covers in my new pajamas. The cool silk envelops me. I fall asleep.
I wake up with my heart pounding. That was not my dream. I was in someone else’s head. I try to calm down, I am glowing red. Whose nightmare was that? My heart is pounding, I try to take a deep breath. There were dancers with broken knees, shards of glass in their feet. Slippers tied so tight that they cut off circulation. Their previous choreography could be seen on stage through streaks of blood. There will be no going back to sleep.
I sit at the kitchen counter Monday afternoon as Nat prepares us lunch. Earlier this morning we had combat, then Clint and I practiced math. Now, she was tutoring me in English.
“I know English.”
“Yes, you do. And quite well for someone who is self-taught. However, it needs to be flawless. There can be no trace of an accent or dropped articles.”
“Articles?”
“The, an, a. Besides your accent, it is the only problem you seem to have.” She hands me a peanut butter sandwich, “Can you read English?”
“Yes,”
“Okay, what other languages do you speak?”
“Sokovian, English, Russian, and German. I can read them all as well.”
“Once we perfect your English, we will start on Spanish. Once you learn Spanish, the other Latin languages come easily enough. After Spanish we will begin Mandarin. It is difficult to learn but will come in handy.”
“How many languages do you speak?” I ask, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Sixteen fluently, twenty-three if I just need the basics.”
“That is wild.” I stare in awe. I cannot imagine.
“Let’s set a goal for you,” she taps her finger to her lip, “Ten? I think we can get ten down pat before you’re eighteen.” I nod in agreement, eating my sandwich. I walk over to the couch and click on the TV. There is a commercial for the Nutcracker in New York City. I cringe, thinking of my nightmare last night.
“Have you ever been to the Nutcracker?” I look over my shoulder and see Natasha’s eyes trained on the TV, she is so still she isn’t even breathing. Her grip on her plate is so tight, it looks like it may crack. “Natasha?” I get off the couch. “Clint!” I run out of the room and down towards the weapons room where he said he would be taking inventory. “Clint,”
“Hey,” he looks up smiling, but the smile disappears quickly when he sees my face. When we get back to the living room, Nat is sitting on the ground, staring blankly at the back of the couch. The plate dropped from her hand at some point, shattered. “What happened?”
“I turned on the TV and she,”
“What was on the TV?” he demands.
“It was advertisement, Nutcracker,” I breathe. He curses.
“Nat, hey,” He sits down in front of her, snaps his fingers. There is no recognition in her eyes, nothing. It is like she isn’t even in there. My heart plummets.
“Were we attacked? Through the TV?” I ask, grabbing the remote and turning it off.
“Something like that,” he scoops Nat up in his arms and carries her. I follow. We go into the room next to mine, that one I now know belongs to Natasha.
There are pictures everywhere. It is the first thing I notice. Photos of her and the team or individuals that I don’t recognize. It is impeccably clean. On her desk, pencils are lined up perfectly, everything at right angles. Only two pictures sit on her desk: one of the original Avengers looking battle torn eating fast food, and another of her and Barton outside a farm with three others.
“Nat, can you hear me?” She is shivering on her bed. I hover off to the side.
“Can I do anything to help?” I manage to squeak out.
“You’ve done enough,” he snaps. Instantly, he regrets it. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Can you make a cup of tea? Chamomile?” I nod and head out of the room. How is this my fault? I didn’t know that the Nutcracker was going to be on TV or that it would even upset Nat. It was her nightmare last night; I know that now. I’ve done enough already. Oh my God. This is my fault. I run in with the cup of tea. Natasha sees me when I come in, but it is almost like she is looking through me. I hand the cup to Clint. He puts it in her hands. She blinks, looking down at the steaming mug. This is my fault. “Come on, drink some. You’ll feel better.”
“I’d prefer vodka,” she mutters but raises the mug to her lips. “You added honey?” she looks over at Clint.
“Sorry, no. I did,” I say meekly from the corner. My voice is barely a squeak. “I’m going to go,”
“You told her?”
“I didn’t mean to, it slipped,” he defends. I try to leave the room.
“Come back in here,” I turn around and stand in the doorway.
“You must hate me,” I cry.
“I don’t hate you,” she puts down the mug, her hands shaking.
“But this is my fault.”
“I am getting better; it was worse the first few days.” It was worse than this? I wring my hands. “You were on a bad path, but you moved to the right one. Your mistakes aren’t nearly as bad as mine.” She stands up, “I’m going to go take a shower,” she slips into her bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind her.
“What did I do?” I sit on the bed, head in hands.
“I shouldn’t have said that, I am so sorry.” Clint puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Why aren’t Thor and Steve in such bad shape? Or Tony?”
“Everything that they saw was fake, imagined. What Nat saw were memories, ones that she has tried hard to forget.” Clint closes his eyes for a moment, “It used to happen sometimes when she first arrived, a trigger of some sort. It started up again after,” he pauses, “and she is pushing through it now. She’ll be okay,”
“How will she be okay?”
“Because I’m not human,” Natasha appears in a bathrobe, towel drying her hair. “Not really.”
“Nat,” Clint groans, leaning back on the bed.
“They did tests on me, like they did to you and Cap. The outcomes just weren’t as noticeable. Since I turned eighteen, I’ve been aging slower. I handle mental and physical torture better. I can last on less sleep, less oxygen, less everything.” She steps into her closet and comes out a moment later in sweatpants and a t-shirt. “I was the perfect spy, perfect assassin, until this one corrupted me.” She looks pointedly at Clint.
“I’m so sorry for making you relive something that hurt you this much,” I chew on my lip.
“You didn’t know,”
“I’m going to go back to my room, watch TV.” I leave the room and quickly head into my suite. After grabbing the duffel from the top shelf of my closet, I begin to fill it with essentials. Once packed, I grab the photo of Pietro and I, and turn to leave. However, Natasha’s standing in the doorway.
“How did you know?”
“Because it’s exactly what I would do,” she takes my bag from my hand and carefully repins the photograph. She then begins to methodically unpack my clothes, carefully putting them away.
“Please hate me,” I beg.
“I can’t,” she puts the overnight bag back in its spot. “You are just a kid; you didn’t know any better.”
“But I hurt you,”
“At some point in our lives, we all need a person to look us in the eye and tell us we aren’t made from our mistakes. Who we are is determined by how we learn from them.”