Safe Place

3: The Deadly Black Widow

Wanda's POV: 

The Black Widow just ran into my bedroom.

The Black Widow is holding my doorknob - yeah, I know she's strong, but what?

The Black Widow is staring at me, her emerald eyes filled with intense concern.

If you had told me that Tony Stark, in a clown costume, had cartwheeled into my room singing "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider" and declared that he was giving his entire fortune to Dum-E the robot, I probably would have been less surprised.

Well...maybe not. But still.

Either way, when the Black Widow ran into my room, I was so shocked that I almost stopped crying. All I can manage, however, is a limp little squeaking noise.

She tosses the knob over her shoulder and crawls onto the bed, grabbing my shoulders. I tense and shudder so vigorously that she almost loses her grip, but her long fingers tighten around my collarbone.

"Breathe, Wanda," she coaches softly. "Watch me." The Black Widow presses one of my hands against her chest, holding tightly to my wrist. I feel her inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

For some reason, her firm touch soothes me, and I breathe a shaky breath. "Good job," she whispers. "Do that again."

I obey, and a few minutes later, my breathing is almost regular. I never calm down this fast.

The Black Widow wraps her arms around me, and while my body's instant reflex is to freeze and tremble, I feel something warm deep inside. It's not happiness, not even close, but it's the tiniest drop of comfort. For a second, I feel safe. 

Then she pulls back. The air feels instantly colder, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to bring back the little ball of coziness that had nestled into my chest. But I feel empty.

"Wanda, sweetie," she starts. "What happened there? What's going on?"

I look at her, like, really?

She looks back at me, like, come on, girl.

I push myself backwards, curling into a tight ball with my arms around my knees. "I'm fine, Ms. Widow," I mumble, immediately feeling a flush of embarrassment at her amused expression. 

She laughs - a low, throaty sound. It's such a tortured but glamorous laugh, just like the rest of her. I look up at her, trying to find a witty follow-up, and whoa.

She's freaking gorgeous.

Her hair is the richest shade of red I've ever seen, her lips the exact same shade, her features slim and perfectly shaped. 

Her eyes are the color of soft moss. 

Her skin is as smooth and pale and untouched snow. 

"Ms. Widow?" she repeats, interrupting my transformation into a living, breathing, still-grieving starry-eyes emoji. "Wanda, seriously. Call me Nat."

Her eyes search my face, which heats up like a stove with the burner flicked on. "You sure you're alright, Wanda?" she asks.

I nod.

With that, she rises from my bed, scoops up the knob from the floor, and closes the door softly behind her. I collapse back onto my pillows, feeling weirdly calm. Thoughts of Pietro drift slowly across my mind, but I feel separated from them. Not empty - I know emptiness inside and out - but just a little more...something. 

A little more okay. 

I think about getting up, maybe showering, maybe even venturing out of my room. But it's only ten AM or so. I'm still anxious, still tired, and I just want to rest for now. 

I think that's fine. Maybe it's even normal.

Well, how about that, I think to myself, almost giddily, as I start to drift off to sleep. The deadly Black Widow, famed assassin and original Avenger, told me to call her Nat.