The Trial of Bruce Banner

Becks at Ballet

The decision made the night prior consists of Natasha dropping their baby at ballet before they head to the grocery store.

It'll be a morning of mom and baby- as if any other week day were very different.

The Black Widow doesn't mind, especially when Bruce seems so excited about the upcoming advancements they're hard at work on in Tony's basement;

He's happy and she'd rather spend time with Rebecca than all of her hours on mission after mission.

Rebecca Yelena Banner has her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Or, as much of a ponytail Natasha can manage with the thick curly red hair of a four year old that could break a brush.

And it has. Three of them.

"You have your dad's beach waves," Natasha muttered earlier in the day when she snapped the handle off of the fourth.

Now, outside the classroom in preparation for ballet, Natasha is trying her best to fit in. The other moms and dancers arriving seem to be far more out together, somehow.

Four and five year olds arriving in their branded warm up gear with their hair slicked back in high buns. The one with lip gloss at 10am makes Romanoff want to swear.

She finally does so. in Russian, under her breath, reaching for the scissors left out on the unattended administration desk to chop the pesky thin ribbons from her daughter's shoes.

Natasha has zero tolerance, uninterested in tying them.

...So much for selecting a calming activity.

Rebecca is watching her mother's every move, picking up on the energy.

Natasha continues to mess with Rebecca's black ballet slippers, the lone dancer in all black while the rest seem to prefer pink.

Rebecca swings her legs, waiting patiently for her slippers.

"Take your boots off, Becks," Natasha calls, cutting the laces on the other shoe.

Rebecca fumbles through, boots falling as she frees her feet.

"...stupnya," Natasha coaches and puts her daughter's slippers on.

She fluffs her red curls and kisses her cheek, "Slushatʹ. Have fun. Be my good girl. Okay malyshka?"

"And who is this?!" The teacher bends over to greet her.

"This is Becks," Natasha introduces her daughter proudly.

"Hi Becks. Are you ready to come dance with us?"

Rebecca nods, checking in with 'mom' for clearance.

The teacher smiles fictitiously, "So mom? Are you her mom? For the record, our dress code is posted on the window. Okay? Just, for the future. For the next class, okay? Okay."

"We were rushing. You know,' Natasha scratches her head, 'I work. So."

"Yeah...and if we can do something with that hair-."

"This is as good as it's going to get," Natasha laughs anxiously, tempted to punch her in the face.

"Okay," the teacher smiles, not caring at all, leading Rebecca away.

"That's. Okay,' Natasha taps her own ear, eyeing her daughter, 'Stupnya!"

The door slams shut by a parent on the inside.

"Are we allowed-?" Natasha questions.

Another mom pulls out a magazine, shrugging, "That's Kathy. All seven of her daughters go here. Her triplets all won gold last year...She's an ex-dancer herself, thinks she knows everything."