How to Dream

Weights & Secrets

Natasha can't help but call Rebecca out, sitting in the small café with the corner of a grilled cheese sandwich in her mouth;

"You're quiet."

Rebecca's hazel eyes, her father's eyes, move first. They lift. The sandwich falls from her mouth when she blows to huff a half-dyed curl from her forehead.

"I'm sorry,' her daughter says, 'I'll resume sharing the story of our exploded lithium-ion."

"No, thank you. I would prefer you don't continue to set me off into an angry tantrum which leads to me strangling your camp instructor," Natasha answers calmly and with a smile.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Cathode."

Romanoff's mind drifts into the past to the last time she had to hear about failed batteries and robot creations coming from the basement of her home. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner had been working on something special for his daughter Morgan and, as a result, Rebecca. Something to play with...

Natasha wonders if Rebecca remembers. Or if it was all too long ago. Especially since basement renovation and laboratory removal happened the day she returned to America.

It was all safer for Rebecca way; to play the role of an angry wife who would want nothing to do with her 'criminal' husband. She has designs and sketches of a new lab in the drawer of her nightstand under lock and key- a gift for when Bruce is free and ready ... once they've recovered from the last few years.

"You're in a bad mood," Rebecca comments and takes a bite of her sandwich.

"I'm not."

"You're frowning."

"I'm smiling," Natasha reaches across the table to steal it from Rebecca's mouth and take a bite.

"That's my lunch."

"That I paid for."

"You bought your own."

"It's more fun to steal from you and gauge a reaction."

"You're sick," Rebecca shakes her head.

"I've never felt better. You've got to save your appetite for dessert. And dinner tomorrow night. With Babushka and Dedushka."

Rebecca sits back with her face a pure puzzle.

Natasha surrenders the food after assuming she's misread and truly upset her daughter in their game. She snatches a French fry instead- nay, a 'chip' if she used the proper name.

"What," Natasha asks plainly.

"It's just,' Rebecca shifts, 'it's not Christmas."

"So?"

"So, why are we going to Russia?" Rebecca asks a perfectly valid question.

Why would they head to Russia if it weren't a holiday?

"To see your grandparents," Natasha's blood begins to boil.

"But it's not a holiday."

"It's a weekend with your grandparents," Natasha forces a smile.

"But why."

"Because I felt like it, okay? Just drop it."

Rebecca nibbles on her food and mumbles, seemingly knowing exactly what she's doing when she uses her mother's Russian accent that only bleeds through when Natasha is getting mad;

"Dropped. Geez."

Natasha rolls her eyes and adjusts her smirk and, subsequently, her temper, "They can't celebrate you? Your birthday?"