Natasha Romanoff Oneshots

"Something's Wrong With Natasha!"

Description: After a mission gone bad, Natasha is having a bad day where everything seems to remind her of her past, so when something that might seem normal to others surprises her, she freaks out. Unfortunately, the only two Avengers that are there seem to care so much, and Natasha isn't sure how to feel about them understanding her.

Ships: None

Major Characters: Natasha, Tony, Steve

Warning: Mentions of child trafficking and abuse.

You guys, I just realized something and now I'm crying:

So, Clint was the only Avenger who knew about Natasha's other family, right? Or else he would have used Natasha telling the Avengers (as well as him, of course) about Yelena to help back Yelena down when she was trying to kill him. But on Natasha's grave it says: Daughter, Sister, Avenger. And since Black Widow takes place before Hawkeye, that means that either Yelena, Melina, Alexei, or Clint picked out her grave. But it also means that NONE OF THE OTHER AVENGERS EVEN VISITED HER. THEY NEVER VISITED HER AND LEARNED THAT SHE HAD A FAMILY BESIDES THEM, WHO LEFT HER ALONE FOR FIVE WHOLE YEARS.

BTW, Natasha thinks a lot of things in this chapter that I definitely don't agree with, it just might make sense that she does.

This isn't my best work, I gotta say, and I feel like the characters don't really act like they're supposed, so I'd particularly appreciate feedback on this one.

-*-

Natasha was having a bad day long before the fireworks started.

First of all, Clint had left the previous night so he wouldn't miss Nate's dance recital, and Natasha already missed him. She had wanted to go to the recital, too, since she had been the once who got him into dance, but Fury made her stay because she had a mission to go on.

Natasha had begrudgingly gotten out of bed and gone to Fury's office, only to learn that it was a rescue missions. But it was only when she got to the site, did she realize that she wasn't rescuing one man or woman, but twelve children, ranging from the ages of 9-14, being trafficked off to somewhere in Europe.

Glimpses of memories had flashed through Natasha's mind in that moment when she locked eyes with one of the younger girls, clutching tight to a boy only a year or two older than the girl. The girl had looked so hopeless, and Natasha had ground her teeth to avoid doing anything to jeopardize the safety of the other children and herself so she could pull that girl into a hug and never let go.

Pieces of the mission had already faded from Natasha's mind, now replaced by memories. Maybe that was why she hadn't seen the thirteenth child, hiding behind a large crate when Natasha charged in, guns raised. She yelled at the kids to run into the building she had been previously hiding out in while she distracted the armed adults who had been moving the children. The thirteenth child, she later learned, had suffered from a leg injury in a car crash when he was younger, and could hardly walk. The boy, only eleven years old, had been hiding behind the crate because whenever someone touched his injured leg it acted up and he cried out in pain.

If only Natasha had seen him—had counted each of the kids more carefully or asked if there were anymore.

If only she had jumped in front of the gun.

If only that boy hadn't been shot by one of the men she was fighting.

Maybe her heart wouldn't hurt so much then.