Love is for Children ↠ Natasha Romanoff

Chapter Four: The Safe House

CHAPTER FOUR: THE SAFE HOUSE

It almost seemed, to Natasha, that Steve Rogers was trying too hard to cheer her up. He didn't talk much – it was as if he was in his own little world. But his actions and words around her were forced – a strange, robotically cheerful demeanor that scared her.

Steve was almost absent around the other Avengers, full of guilt surrounding the tragedy of Bucky and whatnot - it entrapped his mind like a Flytrap, or a sticky spider's web...

Natasha had few of her own webs in her life. She was usually the one creating them. They called her "Black Widow" for no little cause. She had killed for that title. The post-traumatic stress that the Red Room gave her was her own web that she was tangled within for almost a whole lifetime.

It hurt. 

It hurt to be like that.

The KGB had offered a different kind of spider's silk to her during her time there. It wasn't the web - it was more like a marionette's strings.

I had strings.

The strings were still there, sort of. But it seemed as if the puppeteer was gone. He was gone for a long, long time.

But now I'm free...

Yet, Natasha's memories always flooded the surface during the most unnecessary times. Most of them were unclear and vague, and when she recalled them it was like holding a soap bubble in her hand and trying not to burst it.

The memories themselves were colorful and reflective – many different shades of violets and pinks dazzled the lens of them in an inhuman manner. Every voice that was spoken inside of them had an echoing tone. She wondered if Clint had the same problem now that he was awake.

Now that he was remembering.

Natasha had re-visited the hospital twice to see him. Mr. Lee wasn't there either time.

Most of her conversations with Clint were kept to a minimum. It was small talk. 

It was talking with a stranger.

----

"Hi," Natasha said to Clint softly. "How was your day?" She was worn out, like an old, threadbare teddy bear that was overused for too long.

"It was fine." He said almost bitterly, his voice thick with fever. He looked over to her. "What about you?"

"Oh, mine?" She faked a little smile, "Not better than yours, no doubt."

"What did you say your name was?" Clint asked.

"N-Natasha," Natasha stammered. The nurses had warned her about little things like this. It was only a few days since the operation and Natasha acknowledged that respectfully. She didn't want to overwhelm Clint, no matter how much she wanted him back.

"Nice name. I'm-"

"Clint! Yes I know, you told me yesterday, Barton. But the thing is; I've always known that."

He looked a little confused, so she stopped at that.

"M-Miss," A young nurse with curly blond hair smiled politely, "I'm afraid you cannot stay any longer."

"I understand." Natasha gave her a wide grin and got to her feet. She walked past the girl, who was much smaller than her. The door slammed shut once she was out of the room.

Goodbye, Clint.

----

"So, what's the reason you brought me here?" Natasha asked Steve Rogers. It was five days since Natasha's last conversation with Clint. She and Steve were at a nearby restaurant together.