Snapshot (фотография)

XIV

Natasha kept an eye on the boy in the bed. Was this Peter? She had Clint bring up her files for when she first was recruited into the agency, as well as the transcripts from her therapy sessions. This boy had probably been abused and shaped into their idea of a perfect warrior. He looked so innocent, lying there, but Natasha knew this boy had probably killed. The boy- that's all he ever was in her mind. He didn't remember being called Peter, only the name that his handlers had assigned to him to dehumanise him. Something about it wasn't sitting right with her.

A groan echoed through the room as the boy shifted in bed, his eyes squeezed tightly. Natasha jumped out of shock, her hand instinctively reaching toward her pistol on her hip. He was still asleep, but shivers rocked his body like they had for the past few weeks. It had been nearly a month since he was found, half dead and tortured, and they didn't know if he would ever wake up.

"Any changes?" A voice came from the door. Natasha shook her head. It was May Parker, the boy's- Peter- aunt. She came every day, weary from her long shifts as a nurse at the hospital. Her husband visited unfrequently, often sitting catatonic beside the boy and seemingly searching for any familiar part of him that he might recognise. May was different. She would whisper to Peter, caressing his hands tightly, tears in her eyes.

Natasha had watched her, the longing in one woman's eyes hidden behind a stone facade and the other exposing her deepest secrets. There was something off about her. Natasha wrote it off as paranoia of a new person. Something just wasn't sitting right to the former spy,

"What was he like?" Natasha asked, images and old memories flitting through her mind from her childhood. She had only allowed herself to dream of a reunion with her family a few times, knowing that sorrow would only bring down her defenses. Peter was one of the lucky ones. He was still young, and though he would have scars and trauma for the rest of his life, the boy had the option to sweep this under a rug and try to live a normal life.

"Peter?" May confirmed quietly. Natasha nodded, her eyes trained on the sleeping boy in the bed, who would wake up with his family waiting for him. May smiled sadly.

"He was a sweet kid." She said. "Worshipped Tony Stark." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Why had Ben encouraged that? Natasha had other thoughts. Would he still look at the man he had been forced to assassinate and see a hero?

Nat never wanted children. Not really. Growing up in the Red Room had done too much to her, and it seemed cruel to consider ever bringing a child into a world where such a horrible life like she had could be even a possibility for any daughter she might someday bear. Nat grew up in the middle of it, but she knew even then that a child should never have to live that sort of waking nightmare. So she had made the decision early on to never have children. Not as long as the world was still so full of evils as the ones she had known her whole life. Years later, the choice would be taken from her in a ceremony that was marked by the ending of an existing life and any possible life that she might have brought about. Had Peter gone through that yet?

There were times when she felt the earth was narrowing around her. They were odd moments and almost impossible to really describe. How do you put into words the way that everything compacts into one thing – a firefighter, an assistant, an explosive, a computer – and the way that anything else just stops existing for however many heartbeats it takes for the brain to really comprehend what it sees? How can you explain to someone the way that the universe can somehow stretch out for impossibly long intervals of time that pass by in the matter of seconds? It seemed like too long, but it was barely an eighth of a minute.

Nat had been brushing off Peter's possible- definite- trauma because he was young. He was not a child anymore. He hadn't been one for a while. The trained assassin was nearly an adult, unprepared for the world he was now expected to face. It had taken Nat years to understand social cues. Would Peter pick them up quicker? She had ignored her worries because she knew how The Room treated their prized pets. Peter looked well-fed, cared for in a sense.

Would he quip back in snarky teenage fashion, or would the life be beaten out of him to the point he would be afraid to look them in the eyes? There was something wrong with May's behavior. Ben had explained that she was just in such shock. Natasha couldn't put her finger on it. The spy had been trained since the tender age of 4 to detect things like lies. It was easy. Normal people- civilians and workers- had tells. Only psychopaths and the specially trained could hide them.

"Are you doing okay?" Nat asked, observing May's sunken eyes and tired shoulders. She was only a bit older than Natasha herself, but stress had aged her beyond her years. She was still beautiful, nevertheless, and carried an air of careful confidence that Natasha wished she could emit.

May smiled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling as a tear escaped. Her fingers rubbed against the back of Peter's limp and pale hand. She nodded, looking at the boy in the bed. The worry in her eyes was evident, but the hope that Natasha saw overrode it.

"Yeah.." May croaked. "For the first time in a while, I think I am."

The two women remained there for a minute, each carrying their own secrets. The moment was shattered with the harsh sound of Natasha's work phone. Frowning, Natasha gave an apologetic look to May. The doors swung shut behind her as she made her way out into the hallway, tangling her fingers in the wig she wore to visit the hospital.

"Clint- Clint!" She tried to keep her voice down, attempting to make sense of the ramblings her partner was spewing from her device. "What do you mean they found another Peter?"