**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?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My legs ached as I got closer to the medical office, knowing what was coming next. It wasn't like this was a routine procedure.

Everything hurt, not just my legs. Hours of struggling and pushing and screaming had left my body sore and raw. My wrists were red from being bound. My eyes were sore from being awake and present and crying and conscious for hours.

I pushed open the doors, my hands shaking slightly.

"Hello, Natalia," a nurse said, her smile cold and unfeeling. "Please wait here for the surgeon."

I knew, somewhere deep down, that they wouldn't have let this whole thing happen if they didn't want it to. I knew they could have kept him away, and I knew they could have forced the problem away if they wanted.

I waited patiently. This was what I was made for. The perfect girl, the perfect weapon, the perfect genes.

It was a little early, but not by much. I was 14, so graduation was right around the corner anyways. It only made sense. They already let one mistake through the cracks, they weren't going to allow for any more.

"Natalia. This way, please." A strict looking man led me into another room, cold steel glinting in the harsh lights. "You know what we will be doing today."

I nodded. He picked up a syringe.

"When you wake up, you will be nothing more than a weapon, you understand? You will never be a mother, you will never be a woman, again. You will never see that boy again, your son is no longer your concern, and you belong to us."

I didn't even have time to register what happened before the needle went in and I was plunged into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha's eyes blew open, her knuckled white against the red couch. The color was almost exactly like that fucking room. She jumped up and off of the couch, startling the people around her.

The living room. The soundtrack to some movie playing in the background. Chips.

She was in the living room, surrounded by her team.

"Natasha!" Bruce grabbed her hand. "What's wrong?"

The woman looked down at the scientist, her eyebrows drawn up together. She nodded slowly, regaining control of her breathing. "I'm fine."

"Liar," Clint coughed, throwing a pointed look at the assassin. Bucky smacked him upside the head. He knew that look of panic before. The super soldier had seen it on Steve's face plenty of times, and on his own when he woke up thirty and panicked and went to the bathroom for water.

"Probably that jolt right before you fall asleep, right?"

Natasha looked over at the man with a grateful smile. "Yeah. Your stupid movie was boring me, Clint."

The archer stuck out his tongue while Natasha settled back into her place on the couch.

"Ты действительно в порядке?" Bucky asked. (Translation: Are you really okay?"

Natasha shrugged. "Я в порядке. Просто кошмар." (Translation: I'm fine. Just a nightmare.)

The team resumed watching the movie, unaware of how panicked and unsteady and scared Natasha was. It had been so long since she dreamt of that place. Of that time. Of that procedure. She tried to focus on the movie, but it was some plot about zombies and this girl who was friends with one. It was just so stupid.

"Oh, verdammt!" Everyone turned to the source of the outburst. Peter was standing in the hall, Tony's arm slung around his shoulders. "Is this Warm Bodies? I love this movie!" (Translation: Oh, damn.)

"It's Clint's favorite," Steve chuckled. He couldn't help but love the bubbly kid even though he'd only met him this afternoon. "Are you all settled?"

The teen nodded shyly, flashing a quick smile. "I got the guest room at the end, next to Tony and Pepper's room and your's, Mr. Barnes, sir."

Bucky burst out laughing at that, throwing his head back. "Did you hear that, Steve?"

Mr. America himself chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Don't inflate his ego, kid."

"Was that German?" Clint asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah. I can speak German, French, Russian, Spanish, Italian, and Cantonese, though I don't usually use that one in day-to-day."

Tony smiled, a hint of pride coming over his face. "He's a genius, guys."

"Awww, does Tony have a son?" Sam teased. Natasha balled her fists discretely.

"Shut up, bird-brain."

Tony led the boy over to the couch, letting him settle in with the others. Once Peter was sitting comfortably, his legs drawn up underneath himself, Tony cleared his throat and looked around the room. "So, what is this movie about?"

Clint began talking rapidly, Peter talking over the archer in English-Russian hybrid, each one describing the movie.

Natasha followed the way Peter's eyes lit up, the way his mouth curled over words, the way Russian seemed to flow even easier than the English did. He was so much like him. So much like her. All of the good stuff, the stuff they stomped out of the woman when she was just a little girl, was there. Alive.

"-And that's where we are now." Clint concluded, Peter nodding his head rapidly, bouncing curls falling over the teen's forehead.

"Oh," Tony said, still processing the information. "And what is-"

Peter's phone rang. He sheepishly said sorry as he pulled it out of his jeans, pausing for a moment when he saw the caller ID. He stiffened, then answered the phone and brought it to his ear.

"Director Fury, I thought I made my resignation clear."

Natasha's blood boiled at that. Fury had known? Fury had trained and used and abused Peter for his own purposes? Suddenly, flashes of scenarios played out in her mind, each one worse than the ones before. Fury, holding a baby Peter in cold arms. Fury, pulling away teddy bears because 'those are for babies'. Fury, teaching him to hold a gun. Fury, teaching him to fire a gun. Fury, asking-

Peter held out his hand, the phone slightly shaking as his arm tensed. "He wants to speak to you, Mr. Stark."