The Silent Canary

Chapter 2: Get to Know Me

The humid summer breeze blew off the Hudson River toward Natasha and Steve. The wind rustled her light, pale green summer dress, blowing the hem up slightly. Natasha stared out at the water getting lost in the horizon for a moment. She wished she could be whatever she wanted even if just for a day. She imagined a life where she had no limitations on her. Steve cleared his throat, and Natasha was catapulted back to the present from her imaginary world. She stepped forward moving toward the water. Steve followed a few feet behind her.
Natasha leaned against the railing. Water splashed against the rocks below her. The mist sprayed her legs. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Steve stood silently behind her wondering what was going on inside the woman's head. She rolled her shoulders trying to relieve the stress and tension in her muscles. Steve stepped up and leaned against the railing beside her. Natasha's eyes snapped open as Steve invaded her personal space. She glanced at him. Steve flashed her a soft smile.
"What's on your mind?" Steve asked. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
Natasha hesitated. Her father probably wouldn't approve of her telling family secrets. Most in their organization didn't know they were at war.
Natasha changed her expression, forcing the stress to melt from her face. She smirked.
"Different question, Rogers."
"Well, tell me about you."
Natasha scoffed a little at the question. "What would like to know about me?"
Steve animatedly rubbed his chin. Natasha laughed quietly.
"What was your childhood like?"
Natasha slumped slightly. She tucked her arms closer to her body and fiddled with her hands. A deep question so soon, she thought. She pushed a rogue hair behind her ear trying to mold it back into its place. Steve noticed the change in her posture.
"Forgive me, Natasha. Don't feel like you have to answer that."
Natasha shook her head. "It's stressful being the daughter of Joe Rushman."
She opened her mouth to continue, but Steve nudged her with his elbow. Natasha glanced at him. He shook his head, letting her know she didn't have to divulge anything more.

"Well, Rogers. Tell me about you."
Steve shrugged. "I'm nothing special."
Natasha shook her head. She turned toward him, leaning her side against the warm metal railing.
"Everyone's got something unique about them. There's gotta be something, Rogers."
Steve sighed, turning his body to face her. His eyes lifted to her eyes. She had a playful smirk splayed across her red lips.
"What's your heart's desire?"
Steve stifled a smile.
"Wow. Ah-" Steve ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully. His dream of being an artist seemed so lofty he dared not even mention it. Artists struggled: penniless and tortured. Steve was working for the Rushman family because he knew he could never make it as an artist. He focused on Natasha as she leaned in, closing the distance between them. She rested her chin on her hand as she analyzed the boats chugging passed in the bay. She glanced back at Steve, and the look on her face struck him. Her piercing green eyes seemed to peer into his soul. A connection formed between them even though they barely knew each other.
"I'm an artist." Steve answered before even thinking.
Natasha smiled. "That's amazing."
Blood rushed to Steve's face. His ears burned read, and his gaze lowered to his feet.
"Thanks", he muttered.

Natasha turned back to the water in front of her. Steve followed suit, resting his forearms on the metal railing. Despite being almost strangers, the silence that followed felt comfortable. They both watched the boats pass by and the birds swoop down into the water and periodically commented about something they saw.
Natasha sighed; her eyes briefly shifted to Steve who was rambling about his father worked on the tugboats. His eyes shone as he talked about spending time at the harbor with friends waiting for their fathers to come in at night. He told her about sketching the boats as they passed by and his friends skipping rocks on the bay. A futile effort, she thought, but the image of little Steve sketching while other little boys pelted the bay with pebbles made her smile.

Peace washed over her. The normalcy of their conversation made her happy. She felt like more than just collateral or a pawn as he told her about his childhood. She wondered what a carefree childhood felt like. Natasha's mind wandered to her own childhood as she watched smoke puff from a tugboat.

The air filled with cigar smoke during stuffy mafia meetings. She would sit beside her father his arm resting on the loveseat behind her. Periodically, he would jab her spine, reminding her to sit straight and not slouch; they had an image of posh elegance she had to maintain. His jab would jolt her to attention. The chime of the grandfather clock in the foyer signaled her bedtime and the start of the real business talks. The ding-dong of the clock coincided with the rattling of ice in a glass. Ding-Dong. Clink. Ding-Dong. Clink. Ding-Dong. Clink. She counted the chimes knowing by the ninth and final chime her nanny would slip in as the bartender served a whiskey on rocks to her father. These moments were the soundtrack of her childhood.
Her nanny would usher her out. Natasha would balk as nanny pushed her towards the door. She wanted to be close to her father, wanted to feel a part of his life. All she wanted was to be more than just Big Joe's little girl. Without fail, Natasha squirmed away from her nanny, but the door would slam closed in her face. As she was escorted to her bedroom, silent tears would make their descent down her rosy cheeks.
All she wanted was to be loved, all she needed was to be wanted by Joe, but these moments hardened her of exclusion. She learned to not need anyone, not even her father. Eventually, Joe saw this change in his little girl. She was becoming the apathetic mobster he was. The chimes that used to signal the end of Natasha's time with her father passed and she held her position beside her father, straight backed. But this inclusion didn't dull the ache in her heart to have a real relationship with her father.

Natasha's mind was elsewhere as her unfocused eyes watched the billowing smoke of tugboats. Steve noticed Natasha's vacant expression, but he quieted down. Natasha returned to the present and a plastered smile spread across her lips.
Something about Joe Rushman's daughter intrigued him. He wanted to know more about her - get to know who Natasha Rushman really was.