Lost in Translation

Red Rooms, White Lies

**Get ready for some painful Natasha moments. You've been warned. I promise things get... sort of better. At the very end. Of the book, I mean. This whole chapter is depressing, though.**

"Dr. Banner, Boss would like to see you in the lab, please," FRIDAY announced in the living room, interrupting the news. The team was scattered around the comfortable space, some sprawled on the couch, others sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

"What for?" The doctor looked up from where he was lounging, his legs draped over Natasha's lap on the couch.

"I believe he is working on a new suit for Peter Parker."

Natasha tensed at the name, the movement barely noticeable to the rest of the team. Bruce felt it, though, and looked over at his friend with concern. Ever since last night, when Peter had been brought here and Natasha had seen him in the lab, the teen had been the topic of conversation. Who is he and why is he here and can I meet him had been bounced around at breakfast when they had all caught a glimpse of the teen running downstairs to catch the bus to school. Tony had invited him to stay. He'd invited him to live at the tower.

"You okay, Nat?" The red-head nodded, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She patted the man's legs as if saying time to go and the scientist reluctantly swung himself up and off of the couch.

"Any idea why Tony's taken such an interest in this kid?" Steve asked, muting the TV as Bruce walked down the hall to the elevator.

Sam scoffed. "Probably some love child."

Natasha's face burned for a second, almost like Sam had called her out himself. It wasn't... He wasn't just some mistake. The ex-assassin fought with herself, forcing the blush back down and out of her cheeks. She stole a quick look around the room, looking to see if anyone saw her moment of weakness. At first, she was sure that it had gone without notice, but then...

Clint had a single eyebrow raised, staring at the woman with an intensity she hardly ever saw from the laid-back archer. "Natasha, do you want to help me with snacks in the kitchen?"

Everyone looked over at Clint, his lilting voice suddenly taking on a more serious tone.

"You okay?" Sam asked, standing slowly to hold a hand out to his friend.

The archer nodded. "I'm fine, just want some help carrying stuff back."

Natasha got up and followed Clint out of the room, racking her brain for a believable lie. Lies were no foreign thing to an assassin, but with Peter, things were personal. Too personal for lies. She knew she couldn't lie about this.

Clint was barely a foot into the kitchen when he whipped around and put his hands on Natasha's shoulders. His eyes softened.

"What is going on with you? You've been quiet, more quiet than usual, and you act like someone just called you out on a mission whenever someone mentions that kid's name."

Natasha's breathing picked up, her chest rising and falling with rapid pace. She hadn't felt like this since before...

"It's nothing." The red-head made her way out of her friend's grip and further into the kitchen, pulling out a large bowl and grabbing a bag of chips. She ripped the bag open with a satisfying pop, then dumped the entire thing into the bowl. She held it close to her torso, almost like she was protecting something. "I just don't like letting random teenagers into our home. Grab drinks when you come back."

She turned on her heel and left Clint in the kitchen, ignoring his suspicious look. What was another white lie, anyways?

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