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Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - I'm Spider-woman

Gwen’s body hit the concrete of some random roof.

She had been kicked out of the Spider Society. To be precise, Miguel had kicked her out, and now she couldn't help Miles. That fucking asshole. And she had thought they’d started to get along, at least a little.

Gwen wasn't surprised. She wasn't scared that she wasn't surprised. This happened all the time. Everyone leaves, sooner or later. Everyone abandons her at some point. She becomes too much. This was a constant.

It didn't stop the ache she refused to acknowledge, though.

After spending a full hour just staring into the void, trying to figure out how this changed her life and what she was supposed to do next, but once again finding no answer, she got up from the spot where she'd been lying and called someone. Not the police, not her former friends. No, she called the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself.

The teenager had never called S.H.I.E.L.D. before; she'd been too busy, and she'd had no reason to. She couldn't imagine what it was like to be the director of a secret society that managed the Avengers. He probably didn't want to hear about some burglar, or a math test, or a guy in a wingsuit with alien weaponry.

Besides, she didn't like relying on Fury. Or on anyone, really. When they left, it was harder for her to let go.

She'd never really had anyone to rely on before. Not really.

The phone picked up on the fifth ring, and the response was a tired, irritated, "You little shit." Yeah, that was about right. Fury said it like it annoyed the hell out of him, and it probably did. But, to be honest, Gwen hadn't been answering Fury's calls for months. Something was always happening, and Gwen didn't want to drag Fury or S.H.I.E.L.D. into it, even if they could help. And she didn't want to be part of his covert spy business. Even if she had been on his little created team in the past.

"I need you to come get me." she said, her tone so deadpan she didn't even understand how she managed it. How utterly devoid of emotion her voice was when her head was full of feelings, plans, and everything. It was giving her a headache.

"Why?" the older man asked, his tone not shifting.

"My father is dead." Gwen said in the same flat tone, catching the tension in the voice on the other end, and sighed.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Fury growled, stumbling slightly over the words. Despite the situation, Gwen's lips twitched for a second, but then fell again as she remembered she'd abandoned her friends and Miles, too. It felt so good to have thrown this man off his game. But there were dead people... though, on the other hand, this was kind of normal, so...

"And I got kicked out of the society I was in, and... I feel weird... c-could you just..." Gwen continued, as if Fury had been silent, her voice growing quieter and quieter. Maybe her feelings were deciding to overpower her voice after all; she was trying to hold them back. Fury wouldn't do anything about it; Gwen needed to sort out her own physiological chaos herself. Fury wouldn't care if she was crying or not.

"Whatever." Gwen nodded, as if that settled everything.

It settled nothing, though.

________________________________

Six months later...

"That's it. It's official. I hate explosions."

Gwen growled into her comms, hauling herself out of the burning building with the last two kids she'd managed to pull out, though not without burns scoring her sides. A burning beam had fallen on her when she entered, and she'd managed to avoid similar incidents on her way out with the children.

"Comes with the job," Clint said sharply, his voice raspy. There was no arguing with that, and Gwen felt a sigh build up in her chest. His tone held an unspoken, 'If you can't handle it, get out.' Gwen wanted to scream like a child because she couldn't just leave people to suffer. Not anymore. Especially now. It had become apparent, given the constant explosions in the city. At least, they seemed to be winding down. She could feel the grip of her anxiety loosening.

She was fighting alongside the Avengers against some aliens who seemed to love explosions. Very destructive explosions.

Well, she wasn't so much fighting with them right now as she was cleaning up after them. She was on 'crowd control,' as she called it, and Steve-sorry, Captain Rogers-didn't like the nicknames she gave to certain things, like her 'spider-sense' (Wade had said it sounded sexy and laughed, but honestly, Wade's primary goal was to find the sexiest possible use for every phrase in the English dictionary). Though when Peter did it, he never said a word. It wasn't fair.

She was tasked with keeping civilians safe and moving them from compromised buildings to safer parts of the city. When Spider-Woman 'fought' with the Avengers, this was always the position she was assigned (usually, this kind of duty was given to her with... Spider-Man. Love you too, honey. Sorry for disappearing for a few months without telling anyone!). But she didn't mind. She always slept better not having to think, 'I hope that guy got out safe and sound, because that crazy octopus guy was about to blow the building sky-high and I didn't have time to check!'

She couldn't say the same for the other Avengers, but she liked her crowd control job. It soothed her anxiety, because being paranoid even before the super-anxiety (spider-sense = foresight = no birthday surprises) was probably the worst. Even if the only reason they made her do it was probably because they didn't want the kid getting in their way, you know, with the avenging.

Even if she had the lowest casualty rate, was the least destructive, patrolled almost every night, and on most of those nights beat up bad guys. The Avengers didn't do their job unless it was a large-scale city event, end-of-the-world scenario, HYDRA invasion, aliens, etc. (Except for Peter, who, like her, patrolled the city every night), and that soothed Gwen a little, because for all their good deeds, the collateral damage was... well, not the best.

She could hardly imagine the Hulk on patrol. It would be a living hell for the city construction crew and damage control, but at least it would scare criminals off. Or maybe push them to create more dangerous weapons—really, it could go either way.

If Gwen had her way, she wouldn't even be fighting with the Avengers. Don't get her wrong, they were amazing and wonderful heroes who had saved the city and the world a million times over, but the only reason she was even taking their orders was S.H.I.E.L.D. (which, honestly, she wasn't really following, but whatever).

Plus, she could never be like them.

A year ago, after the Goblin attack, Gwen was on patrol when she was stopped by a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent—wasn't she supposed to be dead or something? Well, stranger things had happened.

They offered her a position as an agent, which wasn't the same as enlisting her (into the male, fucking, army), but at that point, neither of them was in control, 'water under the bridge, Phil,' but Gwen refused because she needed to preserve her identity, plus he gave her the option to say 'no'—"See? We're growing, Phil."

It turned out they didn't know anything about her either (except for Peter. He'd known her for ten years), at least not anymore; she had changed a lot... a lot. She had underestimated how far they were willing to go to get intel they didn't have. Gwen knew the real reason they were there was that they saw Spider-Woman as a threat; and Gwen Stacy had been a threat long before that, just of a different kind. So Gwen made her own offer (because she was exceptionally fair and a genuinely good person): she would let S.H.I.E.L.D. monitor her patrols and vet them without interference, she'd even assist them if they needed it—because Spider-Woman always helps—but anything regarding Gwen's identity or personal life was kept secret, and she did it on her own terms—she was allowed to say 'no.' Under no circumstances—unless she herself said so—was her personal information to be investigated or revealed.

It was the first and last time she officially and seriously—like, seriously seriously—recommended something. At least for a while.

When George died, Fury and she agreed that it wouldn't do either of them any good for Spidey to get into the system—plus she had already finished school—and, in turn, assigned her a sort of 'babysitter.' Only the 'babysitter' turned out to be plural, and it was the Avengers. Except for Peter, who was Gwen's age and also a teenager.

Turns out, she was now a sort of member of the Avengers. Which was cool, but they only knew her name and age, and that was it. They didn't know why she was with them on the mission, and knew nothing about her past. That was essentially all she gave Fury, and she was surprised how badly he actually wanted this. Or at least surprised that he stopped there.

Gwen never once let her guard down around him.

She didn't hear from them until a month later, a couple of weeks after she officially finished school. She ended up fighting alongside the Avengers in Philadelphia. She wasn't very good at following orders, so she wasn't assigned to the team as often as she might have been if things had gone smoothly.

After the first few times, she stopped giving reports altogether because even she found them silly. She couldn't tell Fury about the 'big' things she did during her patrols and outside of her S.H.I.E.L.D. duties because he would just send agents, or worse, the Avengers, to intervene, and it only made things worse. But as compensation, she always provided information if asked for it or if it was important.

It turned out they didn't care, neither about her reports nor about her herself. Everyone reacted differently to her assignment to a team she wouldn't write home about. Well, you know, if she had a home. Or anyone to write to. Wade was right, not the best analogy. They were all inadequate, that was the point.

She didn't take orders well. But not because she was a sassy teen rebelling against all adults—even if that was her excuse or what they thought, and she just let them believe it—but because she simply didn't agree with the methods being used. She did her job in probably the most annoying and relentless way possible, but if it led to fewer side effects or saved one more kid, it was worth the negative feedback. And, hey, it always worked out.

That was probably what annoyed the Avengers the most.

Steve's reaction was surprising at first. He decided it was because of how young she looked. But in the end, he just put on a professional face and accepted the assignment—no jokes, that's literally what they called it. She hadn't been called an 'assignment' since she was six. He ended up yelling at her after the very first mission for fighting a monster or something without permission—okay, Captain America, I'll just let that ugly bug beat me to a pulp while I wait for further orders. She didn't say it out loud, but still.

She decided Cap's opinion was invalid due to inefficiency.

And none of the other Avengers' reactions were any better.

Tony looked at her and smirked disdainfully, saying something like, 'Powers like Peter's, how cute'. Gwen noticed that Peter and Stark clearly had a father-son relationship. Then he started coming up with the most offensive nicknames for her, joking about her age and build ('I'm small because I'm a kid, not a shorty with health issues'), and Gwen just considered it rude. She was excellent at her job, even if she was a child. A robot wouldn't care if she was 16 or 47, it would still beat her up.

So, Iron Man's opinion was invalid on the grounds of illogicality.

Natasha just looked at her and went back to her business. She almost caught a glimpse of pain in her eyes, but then realized this was the Black Widow; she would never let her emotions slip around a newbie, especially one like her. She could never figure her out, but she could see she was upset that Natasha had to deal with her. Natasha also went on the offensive whenever they talked, but Natasha didn't have to do it often because Cap seemed to be handling it just fine.

So, the Black Widow's opinion was invalid because 'I don't know what she's actually saying, and she's scary. Bye-bye~'.

Clint's eyes held a grim, calculating look. There was something almost hunted or scared in them, and that pissed Gwen off the most. But then he said she'd be good for covert ops if she weren't so loud. But he was on the comms all the damn time. So that was hypocritical. Plus, he had kids, so he was biased and didn't let her fight.

Hawkeye's opinion was deemed invalid due to bias.

Thor seemed quiet but upset by her presence. A clear sign of distrust and disgust—or something like that. He said a child wouldn't take their battles seriously, which, of course, Mister Thor, but Gwen didn't take anything seriously. And given that most of her personal villains liked to dress up as mechanical animals and throw pumpkin bombs… well, she just had a weird emotional spectrum.

Thor's opinion was invalid due to Gwen's corrupted operating system.

Bruce immediately left the room.

So, Bruce's opinion was disqualified. The Hulk's was under consideration.

She really tried not to be offended, she honestly did. She understood it wasn't about welcoming her. She preferred seeing her childhood heroes as something unattainable rather than trying to play on their level.

But she was dragged into this prematurely, just like a bunch of other events that had spoiled her. It would have been exactly the same as a bunch of others that would have just made her worse. But this time, the Avengers had to deal with it, just like she did.

They fix things, they don't break them.

It soon turned out Gwen was wrong.

In the end, she performed solo—thank god she kept a part of that in the contract, she never actually signed anything, so wasn't sure how that worked. A verbal agreement?—she wasn't good at the team play thing, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make herself a team player. (When she was on a team with Ava, Luke, Danny, and Sam, no not Wilson, it was a bit easier since they were all teenagers).

She essentially just had to listen to them in the field, and that was it. They wouldn't play a big part in her life, nor dictate too much. Gwen wasn't stupid enough to believe she'd keep all her freedom—she never had—but if she wanted to avoid conflict, it was better to keep her head down and nod. After all, they were on the same side, fighting for the same goals. Why fight them when the real fight was already happening.

How hard could it be?

If you keep fighting the people pulling the triggers, you'll never catch the guy aiming the gun.

And then she heard the orders and saw a million possible ways it could go wrong. It did, but she didn't follow the subsequent orders because she already had a damn plan in her head with too many moving parts to explain quickly, and people were dying now. So her objective changed, don't stick out, fix the mistakes and make sure almost everyone stays alive? Very nice, isn't it? Please don't die, mister, sir, I would appreciate it, thank you!

It creeped them out, but she didn't mean to.

She didn't have to be friends with them anyway, just cooperate. Is it so hard to be professional?

Apparently, it's very hard when you're 16, graduated high school, can't afford college, and have no friends because they're either in jail or dead... or you just abandoned them because you didn't want to see them sick, dead, or gone (and because you left during that moment) or because they're in another universe. But now they're gone because you abandoned them, and... Gwen didn't like thinking about it because, damn, feelings are awful! And it brought up too many emotions. So goodbye, emotions she probably should deal with, but she's not going to~!

Gwen didn't even know she was looking for a friend or someone to trust, because George still didn't know about Spider-Woman (even though he hated her and even put a bounty on her when she killed Norman Osborn) and never would, oh god, he's dead, and everything is so tense right now, and emotions are just terrible!

She had no one to talk to about it, no one to report injuries to or just be around—she used to have George, but he's gone now, killed by the Lizard. She was still holding back those feelings because George only knew about her losing her mother—before that she didn't care, but okay, George, you love her, so I'll try for you—and the Avengers don't know or care who Harry Osborn is (maybe Stark knows), and the media just knows Spider-Woman killed him. She has no outlet for her emotions, and it sometimes makes her actions so complicated.

She acknowledged she needed to talk to someone, and hey, maybe the Avengers are plotting something. She wasn't going to tell them everything right away, she needed to make sure she could trust them. So she let a few jokes slip over the comms, but got nothing but 'focus' and 'stop acting like a child' or just groans and sighs. It was a serious blow, because Gwen mostly joked with friends, and they always said they were bad, but it was never this sharp, and it made them happy anyway.

And since plans A through Y failed, she just decided to give up and bottle it all up, like a real hero should... She missed Ned and Sam and many of her friends including Hobie and Pavitr. No, STOP! Feelings are bad! Not now! Wait until you're alone to cry about it, people are dying and buildings are collapsing. Not the time for these damn feelings.

She grabbed the kid just as a beam was about to fall on them, and tossed them next to their mother, who hugged the poor thing tightly, looked them over, and kissed their head several times. Don't look, people are still dying! She waved it off.

FRIDAY was a good friend to her, which was honestly pathetic considering it was a computer, an AI-thing in Tony Stark's walls. And she could only talk to her in the Tower, and even then, mostly for reports.

When she first returned to the Tower after getting stabbed and patrolling more frequently than usual, she asked her to report it to Tony. She obviously refused immediately. The last thing she needed was for Tony or any other Avenger to have a real reason to think she couldn't handle it, because then they'd take it away, and at this point, Spider-Woman was literally all she had left. It was just a minor stab wound; nothing major, and she wasn't a real Avenger anyway, so... Then FRIDAY said it was a protocol call to inform Tony or Bruce if any Avenger was injured. Gwen told her to just lie because they didn't need to know—and she could still walk, so that counted for something, right?—but FRIDAY said it would go against her entire programming and that she couldn't lie to Tony. So Gwen decided to rewrite it and, essentially, compromised, somewhat outsmarting the AI: if any of the Avengers asked if she was injured, the AI would tell the truth, but only if they asked directly. It was not only a way to avoid a babysitter but also a way to test the Avengers, to see how much they cared.

After all, she wasn't a real Avenger.

She tried not to be upset when FRIDAY no longer advised her to see a doctor about her injuries. But she still gave advice that was practically bordering on telling her to get medical help before she bled out!

She intended to avoid the Avengers for personal, non-mission-related matters, and they avoided her for most of the six months. Not that Gwen minded; it worked for everyone. The Avengers weren't annoyed, and Gwen got more freedom than she'd initially anticipated. It got to the point where they only saw her after missions. She even stopped reporting to Tony and Steve because they shut that nonsense down immediately—Fury wasn't surprised.

Still, when Fury found out about the terrible act of anti-heroism committed by Gwen (she'd set off bombs at a port station during patrol), he yelled at Tony and Steve, and also mentioned to the other Avengers, except Peter, that they were doing a terrible job of keeping the kid in check. Everything would have been fine if Fury hadn't mentioned all the reasons they were keeping an eye on her in the first place. Because she was dangerous and a potential threat. She was too naive and childish, but she knew what was going on. Blood, death, violence, suicide, harassment, rape, death, broken families, human experimentation, death, death, death.

Everything ended in death.

And Gwen was offended by that—what had she ever done to them? Well, besides being a pain in the ass. She didn't think she'd done anything to deserve that kind of treatment. Well, except for the bomb that killed nearly a hundred people, but that was her fault! Or was it? It was her job to keep them safe, and oh god, it's your fault, Gwen!

But when she opened her mouth to voice such a complaint, Tony snarled, 'Shut up. The adults are talking!' and it shut her up, and any thoughts of the Avengers being her friends shattered into pieces.

Everything was professional.

She went on missions and did what she was told. To some extent, the Avengers and Fury didn't control her, and she wanted that to be perfectly clear. Because for the first time in her life, she could choose what happened to her, even if the choice was shitty. She didn't have to answer to anyone. It didn't dictate her life, but damn if those condescending looks from her teammates didn't make her even more insecure than she already was, she'd let Tony test his new repulsor on her.

"Okay. Great job, team. Back to the Tower," she heard Tony's voice, shot a web at the building's wall, and swung back towards the Tower. She needed to file a report, and then she'd go to Saint Margaret's to sleep on Weasel's couch until opening time.

That sounded amazing right now.

________________________________

The mission debrief was one of the most unbearable ordeals she had ever endured. Second only to Miguel's reports and his empty chatter. Ugh.

And she had spent four months in the Spider Society without waging war against the Spider-Man substitute - Miguel O'Hara. But, to be fair, the Spider-Society had treated Spider-Woman much more calmly than the Avengers.

Sit down, Stacy.

You can't be that tired.

Don't fall asleep.

It didn't even concern her or her duties; she was just here out of politeness. She didn't need to be here, and honestly, she didn't want to be either. It was just Fury droning on to the council about the mission's success, which they hadn't even been aware of because it was straightforward, and they definitely didn't approve of Gwen's methods.

She'd rather not see the disapproving stares of huge adult heads, thank you very much. Sorry if that wasn't her favorite pastime.

"So, about Stacy's conduct?" Again with this. Gwen rolled her eyes and received a condescending look from Rogers. Well, he could just fuck off, because they were going to say the same thing again. So yeah... fuck off, Captain.

"Pard-" Fury didn't even get to finish.

"Denied. You've come up with every excuse possible, I highly doubt you've found anything worthwhile." What did I even do? To her great annoyance, the Avengers (except for Peter. Love you too, my spider boy) perked up, like, guys, help the Spider. Adults are just kids who've been around longer, ugh.

"Why are you being so lenient? She didn't follow any of the protocols set by S.H.I.E.L.D. Why are you denying her any punishment?" Oh... that was new... she looked at Fury, who was irritably squinting with one eye. Was she not following some important rules? Getting into trouble? If they were important, shouldn't he know about it? Fury read my mind and answered!

"It violates the agreement, and you know it," Fury said in a monotone voice, as if he'd said it a million times before. He had, Gwen could confirm. But not in a way that revealed it to Gwen. "It's personal."

"Discussing this... agreement... isn't she a teenager? Her abilities surely don't scare you enough to feel the need to hold back and let her run free." What the hell? That was new. Were they finally tired of her old nonsense? Probably.

Well, better hurry up then.

"The order is…"

"Not relevant to the current mission. Bye, assholes." The call ended as Stark pressed a button. Whoa, Iron Man to the rescue. What did he want? Whatever it was, Gwen sighed quietly in relief. No more big blue cowardly heads.

"Stark—"

"Those guys are bitches looking for leverage to make her a scapegoat." Tony's gaze flickered to Gwen for a second, and her breath hitched. Did he just call me... Oh hell no! "No, Fury. Tell us why you're coddling the kid without letting them breathe down your neck. What makes her so special?"

Years of mutation, human experimentation, enhancements, cross breeding, broken DNA and trauma. But you can take your pick Stark. Gwen thought bitterly. But her origin story checks out to be that of either a superhero or supervillain, plus she’s got the protagonist emotional disorder, so she’s basically a comic book god. Her plot armor was too thick for her to not die in one of the most dramatic heroic plot twisting ways possible.

Or she just would keep getting rebooted.

That would suck though.

(come on Marvel give me a break for like a good decade here, see if your franchise can thrive without me) (answer it can’t)

But he wasn’t gonna tell Fury- or anybody for that matter - that. The abridged version, ‘I got bit by a spider and now I’m strong, sticky and can heal.’ and therefore, her plot armor was stripped away...or was that just the protagonist emotional disorder? She’d have to ask Deadpool.

They had no idea about...everything else.

"She's a valuable asset... my personal asset..." Fury interrupted Gwen's slow, tired voice.

"I'm no one's asset, and you know that, Director," Gwen said formally and respectfully, but with a hint of reckless disregard.

"Then what are you?" Natasha asked coldly, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not a weapon," Gwen nodded, but didn't look at her directly. Instead, she glared angrily at Stark. He returned it with an indifferent look. I'm a kid! You said so yourselves, assholes.

"You're certainly not a soldier," Steve remarked, giving Gwen a light, authoritative look. "You don't follow orders and you can't be bothered to show up for even half the missions." Gwen frowned slightly, then shrugged again.

"I'm busy." Just like you can't be bothered to show up for even half of the other groundbreaking problems in this city. Like I don't know. Dealing with giant rhinos, lizards, and pervert octopuses, checking Fury's leads. Dude, I can't be on Avenger standby 24/7. "I have my own life, you know." Ha! No, you don't. Not anymore. You gave it up for plot armor. Yep... okay then.

"Getting cats out of trees?" Sam (Gwen hated that he had the same name as her Sam Alexander) remarked slyly with a smirk, and Gwen beamed a radiant smile back at him. They didn't expect such a joyful reaction to a demeaning comment; she loved it when they stumbled over their replies.

"Sure, let's go with that," she said and turned to leave. Smirking to herself at their awkward responses to her clumsy defiance.

"Wait! What's that supposed to mean?!" Sam finally asked with a bewildered look.

"It means our conversation is over," Gwen said a bit more flippantly than she intended. She regained her half-smirk and left.

Well, this was going to be interesting.

________________________________

It was a reliable, yet vicious system.

Nick ordered missions, and Gwen took them.

If she wanted to.

And that usually didn't sit well with the esteemed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. But Stacy was different from other heroes, hell she was different from other people.

She only listened when she wanted to. It heavily depended on her mood. Though the kid's attitude was starting to grate on Fury's nerves.

She got cats out of trees and helped old ladies cross the street. She also kicked a lizard's ass, a rhino's, a mechanical octopus's, and a bunch of various alien creatures, and fought whatever fell from the sky. Yet she wouldn't do reconnaissance unless she was bored. But she'd move heaven and earth to stop a kid from getting hit by a speeding car. She wouldn't do data gathering, hacking assignments for intel, unless she had a free weekend. Yet she could stay out until 3 AM in pouring rain, trying to keep a box of kittens dry.

She avoided Avengers missions, and when she couldn't, she acted like a little shit to them, just because she could. Though Fury couldn't blame her for that; in a way, it was even amusing. But then she'd turn around and be painfully polite to the girl at the coffee shop counter. Genuinely, truly polite.

Her behavior was unpredictable, and it was irritating.

What irritated Fury the most was that this kid was damn good at her job—when she actually did it. Better than any agent he'd ever had. The agents he trained got their asses handed to them by her, and Stacy knew it too.

She was smart, mighty, strong, and far more cunning than she let on. She didn't show off; she got the job done with minimal collateral damage and in the shortest time possible. But she laughed and brushed off all the insults that essentially called her a talentless, dumb, arrogant brat. Yeah, she was a brat; one who managed to hide so much intel about her personal life from the best super-spy in the galaxy.

It was damn terrifying.

Since she performed better than most of the useless bastards he hired, Fury covered Stacy's ass with the higher-ups and kept her at the top of his speed-dial - not that he'd ever tell her that, because he'd never had anyone on permanent speed-dial after the Chitauri attack. She'd been evading security for so long that Fury barely needed to do anything; the kid was damn good at not being found when she didn't want to be - which was damn annoying if you were trying to find her.

Fury covered her little ass and said it was all because she was a kid. But Fury was being honest when he said he owed Stacy more than Stacy owed him. It was true, not that she ever brought it up. Which annoyed Fury, because you could never figure this kid out. She didn't like being called an 'asset' or a 'weapon,' and Fury wouldn't even hint at her being a soldier—in fact, she was far from it.

Fury didn't give a damn if she was a kid or not; this little shit could handle herself just fine. Fury knew it. Gwen knew it. But she didn't act like it. Because everyone else refused to believe a teenager could take care of herself in this fucked-up world. Fury would rather always have someone as smart, strong, deadly, and cunning as Gwendolyn Stacy on hand than let her potentially end up on the opposite side.

That. That was it. That would not be good... it would be like a bad end-of-the-world scenario. The kid could probably take over the world if she had a free Sunday. Or sufficient motivation.

He'd also prefer to keep Gwen's intellect, strength, and deadliness to himself. Gwen didn't even need to say anything, so Fury figured she had similar thoughts. It would cause fewer problems if no one knew she was a kid and potentially the most dangerous creature in the world.

Well, maybe not the most powerful, but definitely near the top.

But damn, this kid was so ominous.

"You can't just walk out like that." Fury said from the driver's seat.

"It projected power." Gwen remarked sarcastically from the passenger seat next to him, waving a hand exaggeratedly. It was in moments like these that Fury wondered why he'd hired this kid.

"It was immature and childish." Fury replied, like an adult. Gwen deserved enough respect from Fury, even if no one else shared the same sentiment. "Listen, kid, I can't cover for your mistakes anymore. So follow orders, or you'll face the council's wrath next time." How many times had he said that, yet never followed through? Oh yeah: every single time.

"They're a bunch of holographic cowards. Can't even take down a butterfly, and those are a pain in the ass." Gwen grumbled, and Fury realized she was just venting, but it sounded more restrained. Gwen never insulted anyone to their face, but she usually wasn't angry at anyone either. Not truly. Just meaningless jokes and empty insults she didn't mean. She was more of a passive-aggressive person. Emphasis on the passive.

That kind of attitude would have gotten anyone else in her place killed in an instant.

"So are you." Fury shot back sharply.

"I know how to fight." Gwen assured him with a snort.

"God knows how." Gwen just smirked but didn't answer the unasked question. Fury sighed; it was worth a try.

"What did I even do this time?" Gwen asked with a suffering sigh. She looked at Fury with an innocent expression, knowing full well he was gritting his teeth. Fury didn't understand what this kid was trying to pull here, but it wouldn't work. Or would it work on him? With this kid, Fury could never tell for sure.

"You disobeyed an order," he said simply. Gwen groaned and slumped in her seat. If Fury had any sympathy left, he'd undoubtedly long since used it all up on this kid.

"I couldn't," Gwen muttered, irritated. But she wasn't trying to hide it, so Fury figured she didn't mind showing him. Sometimes he envied Gwen's ability to turn her emotions on and off at will.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fury asked, not looking at Stacy, and the kid groaned like a genuine teenager. Which she was.

"It's supposed to mean: tell me, who are they really mad at?" Damn, he forgot this kid actually had more than two brain cells. Stacy had genuinely performed better than anyone could have hoped or accounted for. She made all the right calls, but at the cost of ignoring the given ones, and she absolutely did not care when she made them. And yet, she saved far more people than she would have if she had actually followed orders.

"They're just arrogant, hot-tempered, self-righteous bastards." Fury said, "And you proved them wrong and embarrassed them." The girl nodded understandingly, as if she had enough experience to share wisdom. She probably did, even though she was only 16.

"So they value their ego more than the lives of 15 innocent people and three dogs?" Gwen asked, and Fury nodded.

"Well, then they can shove their damn lectures up their asses. I don't care about their damn reputation, or mine for that matter. Let it burn in hell, I don't care. If I can save 18 lives, I'll do it. Screw their egos."

"You count the dogs?" Fury raised an eyebrow again. Unsure whether to scold the girl or laugh.

"Fuck yeah!" Gwen replied without hesitation. Fury laughed loudly.

"Seriously? They can mess things up for you in ways you can't even imagine," Fury reminded her, and, my god, talking to Gwen reminded him of talking to Carol. Everyone around him acted so professionally, but these two never did. God forbid they ever meet and make Fury's life hell.

"I'm already in so deep it should be impossible," Gwen said, and Fury raised an eyebrow. "Look, I fight the person aiming the gun, not the one pulling the trigger. Less messy and much simpler, plus no red tape. So yay, bonus points. If I need to kick their asses..." Gwen shrugged. Ominous. God, half the time Fury didn't even understand what she meant, but at the same time, he did. And damn, only Gwen Stacy could pull that off.

"Just don't interfere next time. Or at least try to follow orders." This kid was going to be the death of him and many others, and sometimes Fury thought that was her plan. She seemed completely innocent, but then she'd go and kick everyone's ass. She seemed harmless, a useless loser, but then she'd save over a hundred lives, casualties were lower, and Manhattan was essentially intact, if a bit sticky. She was a fucking genius, and no one even realized it, and Fury thought he liked it that way, because it gave him an advantage when people gave up and turned their backs on her.

And damn, it was a killer advantage.

"Hey, do you think our stomachs perceive all potatoes as mashed potatoes?"

This kid was damn smart.

________________________________

Thor did not like the spider-child.

It wasn't that he disliked children; on the contrary, he greatly enjoyed their innocent company. Their eyes were full of naive wonder, and they delighted in the smallest things. Impressionable and obedient to teenage commands and requests. Even when they screamed and cried, they were cute, a ray of sunshine against a grim reality.

Life hadn't broken them yet, and they remained in blissful ignorance of the problems and harshness of the world they lived in.

But Stacy wasn't like other children.

She was a child, and while she was a child in age and demeanor, she joined them on the battlefield. She faced the harsh world head-on, utterly unprepared for it. She hadn't yet seen the real world and wasn't ready to fight the Avengers due to her naivety. She would hold them back with her childish antics, which had no place in combat. She might even run away when her comrades were counting on her the most.

She also didn't glow with wonder like regular children did, say, at the presence of the Avengers (like Peter, who was the same age as Gwen and had similar abilities. Peter knew how to connect with people, while Gwen did not). She even tried to run away from them. She was snarky and sarcastic. She didn't obey authority or orders, and while so far she had gotten away with it and no one had gotten hurt, it still angered the god, because Stacy got away with things she shouldn't have. The good Captain had tried to reason with her, but the arrogant brat hadn't paid him any mind.

She was nothing like young Keener, who, despite his sarcasm and snark, was almost a year older and didn't participate in direct combat. On the other hand, the young Keener wasn't enhanced, mutated, or had any training beyond the self-defense he practiced with his comrades. But that was precisely the problem; young Stacy believed she had to use the powers bestowed upon her, unaware they could become a liability. She saw it all as fun and games, a game that would soon get someone hurt.

Harley and Peter were perfect examples of why he loved children. They could joke with the Avengers and listen when asked to hide (well, not Peter, but Peter did listen to their advice and tried not to put himself in danger.) Thor, like the rest of the Avengers, adored them. They were smart and helped fix damaged or broken equipment. Harley helped out and didn't pick fights, unlike Stacy, who only responded with violence and obliterating her enemies. He also hadn't lost his innocence.

However, there was something dark lurking inside Stacy that, frankly, scared Thor. It was the reason he avoided and ignored the young girl, instead of reprimanding her like the Captain did. He didn't think the Captain had noticed it, because he was sure Rogers would be frightened, too, if he saw it. It was scary to see, especially in a child.

The only reason Thor noticed was because he had seen it in his own brother. The darkness from having seen things you shouldn't have, from having your innocence ripped away at such a young age. Being treated as an outcast and knowing nothing else. Watching scenes of happiness, knowing you would never feel the same way again. That unsettling look, mirroring the color from green eyes to blue, was exactly like his brother's.

His brother's defense mechanism was to scheme and try to take over Asgard. His response was violence. Stacy's response, it seemed, was a sense of humor that was far better than Loki's, but it scared him all the same. And annoyed him.

Though the coping mechanisms were different, the problem remained the same. The longing hidden behind that mischievous glint. The desire to be treated as something better.

And perhaps that was why Thor avoided Stacy. She reminded him of Loki. She reminded him of how he had failed his brother, and if he tried to comfort Stacy, he would surely fail just the same. He knew there were many things he could have done differently with his brother, but that was only because he had known him his whole life. He had just met Stacy and couldn't fix any of the mistakes she might have made. Loki and Gwen were only similar in this way, and no other. He wouldn't know how to fix young Stacy even if he could.

But instead of being remorseful about it, he felt anger. And he took it out on the small child.

“Um, sorry to bother you, but we’re landing in about five minutes,” Stacy said, her hand hovering over Thor’s arm as if afraid to touch it.

Thor frowned, pulling his arm away, perhaps too sharply, and Stacy immediately retreated. She didn’t look scared or frightened, just stared at him with an expressionless gaze.

“You understand the difficulties we will face there, right?” he asked, rather coldly, and Stacy looked at him in confusion. She tilted her head, like a puppy, reminding Thor of all that naked innocence. Taunting him with his failures. “You should leave before you mess up, especially when my comrades are counting on you,” Thor said, stepping closer to Stacy, who finally shifted. He wanted to make it clear that a child had no place here. That if her childish antics got someone she cared about hurt, there would be severe and serious consequences, preferably delivered by Thor or even Natasha herself. The Black Widow was truly terrifying, far more fearsome than any warrior of Asgard. Gwen was silent for a moment before giving a crooked smile.

“You’re counting on me? Aw, that’s sweet,” the child said flippantly, and Thor felt anger flare within him at having something taken from him by the child.

“This is not a game,” Thor said tightly, trying not to shout. Not to show his anger, just as Gwen, rather successfully, didn’t show her fear of this mission. Stacy might be a child, but at least she understood that if she messed up badly enough, innocent people would die.

“Yeah, but whatever,” Gwen shrugged casually, and Thor grabbed her by the collar, forcing her to look the god directly in his furious eyes. In that moment, the nonchalance was unbearable. Truly out of place, when people's lives were at stake. People they were trying to protect.

“You will follow orders. You will not escape me. This is not a joyride for your bestowed powers,” Thor said quietly. Gwen looked him straight in the eye. “Though I don't even know why you were given such abilities at such a young age. It is not fitting for an inexperienced child to wield such power and squander it as you do,” Thor continued his sharp tirade.

“Could you have given this speech, like, ten years ago?” Gwen muttered after a moment, letting her voice carry not so much an annoying humor, but something else. It infuriated Thor that he couldn't place it.

“You don’t understand…”

“Can you skip the lecture? I’ve heard it before,” Gwen sighed, letting boredom take over her tone. She was hiding something, because her voice was too tight to ignore. “And I wasn't 'bestowed,' as you put it. With these abilities. Stuff happens. Accidents happen. Where were the Avengers when…” Gwen shook her head, continuing her thought. “I don't avoid consequences; no one doles them out. Besides,” Gwen then smiled, “it all seems to work out in the end.” Thor shoved her forcefully, and Stacy, unbalanced by the awkward angle, fell to the ground.

“We’ll see about that.”

________________________________

Stacy reminded him of his own children.

Clint didn't want his kids to turn out like him. To become an assassin, a spy, and/or a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. or even be associated with it. Absolutely not. He wanted his children to be able to trust others like regular people, and not suffer from paranoia about their family, their present, and their future. He didn't want them to look over their shoulders, expecting danger. He wanted them to be carefree, to have fun, and to live in the daylight, not in the shadows.

Stacy was a perfect example of everything he never wanted his children to become. But also, in a way, everything he did want. That was the main thing that pissed him off about Gwendolyn Stacy. In fact, it pissed off a lot of people, and she seemed not to care at all that they essentially had a list of grievances compiled specifically about her. In fact, she seemed to encourage it.

She was reckless, irresponsible, and disobedient. She never followed orders. She went off on her own. She disappeared for days, only to return occasionally with a smoothie. She was unreliable for the Avengers, and probably for everyone else in her life. Hell, yeah, she probably skipped school for this 'superhero' crap, if she even attended at all. She acted like she knew everything and behaved as if she was too good for something, like the damn teenager she was. She didn't listen to anyone and had zero regard for safety.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. had failed to contain her, too. No professional organization could honestly say they controlled Spider-Woman. She was too difficult to even track. That was the only part of Gwen he wished he could pass on to his kids. The fact that she could come and go from S.H.I.E.L.D. at her own whim.

Unlike the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't order her what to do, only ask if she could do it. Gwen could say no to S.H.I.E.L.D. She could piss off pretty much anyone in that organization and get away with it. And Fury seemed to be fine with it. He seemed perfectly content to let Gwen come and go without warning or permission. And Fury didn't waste resources tracking her down. They didn't need to, because they simply didn't care about controlling her. Unlike the rest of the world, Stacy, and he couldn't emphasize this enough, could not be controlled.

It was impossible.

And that probably angered Clint the most. Clint never asked questions like Gwen did, he never said 'no' to S.H.I.E.L.D. He considered it a given, no questions asked. And then he beat himself up over it, because this girl came along and did just that. Said 'no', disobeyed orders, stood up for herself. She was everything Clint didn't do because he thought it was impossible.

And Gwendolyn Stacy is anything but possible.

She was an enigma and had managed to jeopardize almost everyone she worked with. He couldn't even imagine the trouble the Stacy family, whom he oddly never heard her mention, must be in. Her loved ones must be in a living hell, trying to talk some sense into a damn girl with an ego so inflated she decided to fool everyone in New York, just because she could.

He would never tell Gwen about his children... Never... not even at gunpoint. He would just continue to mock the girl until she was gone from their lives for good. Leaving his team and his family alone.

And that was the thing, she was still a child. She acted like she knew what was going on, but she didn't. Like every other kid in the world. She didn't grasp the danger, didn't understand how cruel the world could be. Spider-Woman didn't kill, at least that's what he heard from people, not from the kid herself. She didn't understand that death and destruction don't stop because she decided to be a hero. They don't stop with the death of a loved one. They keep going and don't end until they kill you, too.

"Hey, we're landing in just four minutes," Gwen grumbled, like a teenager who'd just been grounded for staying out past curfew. He'd heard Thor had lectured her. Well, this girl had it coming.

"Yeah?" Or maybe she needed a few more. "And what's your plan, hotshot? To go in there and listen, or, like, shoot stuff?" Clint asked gloomily. Gwen shifted slightly and rolled her eyes.

"Don't call me hotshot." she snorted, then added, "Depends on how good your plan is." She shrugged and was about to walk away, but Clint grabbed her arm quite sharply and spun her back to face him. He wouldn't let anyone, especially a spoiled girl, talk to him in that tone. She needed to be set straight and properly punished for her behavior.

She needed to treat adults with respect, not as if they weren't trying to help her. She needed it.

"Like Thor said, this isn't a game," Clint said, and even as Gwen tugged slightly at his grip, he tightened it and watched a flash of panic go through Gwen's eyes before resolve and another unreadable look flooded in. "So stop treating it like one. Stop acting like you know everything."

"I don't know everything," Gwen admitted, but it didn't sound like a confession. Clint snorted, squeezed harder, and this time a flicker of fear crossed Gwen's eyes, which Clint immediately caught.

"Not following orders? Going off to do your own thing? If you don't, then tell me, kid, why do you act like you think you're better than everyone else?"

Clint's voice rose to an angry whisper. Every word dripped with venom. The kid didn't even flinch, yanking her arm back, and Clint was sure he used more force than he intended as the old man stumbled back.

"I'm not, you jerk."

________________________________

The kid wasn't afraid of him.

It was strange because the only one who hadn't been wary of him from the start was Tony. He teased him and even mentioned the Hulk. But Tony Stark was Tony Stark; he was hardly a good role model for young, aspiring heroes like Gwen, who was, unsettlingly, becoming her own unique entity the more Bruce spent time around her. He struggled to understand how Harley had turned out so responsible, far more responsible than his adoptive father. It was also worrying because she was a damn kid who didn't know the danger she was in around Bruce or the Hulk. Or maybe she did; as Bruce said, Gwen was an unpredictable anomaly.

All the other Avengers had been cautious around Bruce for the first few months of working together. They eventually became as casual with him as Tony was. But Gwen? She showed no fear. Of course, he didn't talk to the kid much one-on-one, but when he did, she seemed perfectly happy to talk to him. The only reason they didn't talk much was that Bruce was afraid he would hurt Gwen. Physically, of course. He wasn't attached enough to her to cause any mental or psychological harm, and even if he could, it would be for the best, so Bruce kept his distance anyway. Stacy had a way of pushing people's buttons, and unlike Harley or Peter, Gwen didn't have a parental figure in a protective suit. Even if Gwen had superpowers, the Hulk could crush her with one swing of his fist.

Gwen seemed like a good kid at first. For the first half of their initial mission together, she was slightly reserved. Kept to herself, and they thought she was listening to them. They were the Avengers, after all, and what kid doesn't listen to the Avengers? Gwendolyn Stacy, apparently. It turned out she wasn't listening; she was just too bored to voice her opinion, and then she pissed everyone off. He was quite annoyed that she never followed orders, and while Bruce disliked it, the Hulk wouldn't stand for it. Well, probably because she did follow orders, but on her own terms.

Gwen never had a problem pissing people off. Why would she, when she was just stopping carjackers and getting cats out of trees? But pissing off Bruce or the Hulk? That was a significant danger, not just to Stacy, but to everyone around. But Gwen didn't seem to grasp that, because she was too naive. The Hulk could kill this kid with one finger in an instant, and she seemed capable only of mocking, teasing, and pissing Bruce off to no end!

But whenever he talked to Gwen, a strange feeling arose. As if the anger he suppressed to keep the Hulk at bay just… vanished. The Hulk wanted to come out whenever she was around, but not out of anger. Which was weird, because the Hulk hated people. Bruce knew he couldn't let the Hulk out under any circumstances except for a Code Green.

Gwen just didn't understand the danger her carelessness posed to everyone. Not to mention herself; she was too reckless for the consequences not to be obvious already. She was a kid who thought everything would work out because she was a minor, that everyone was safe since she was walking around in spandex. And yes, that was part of the job, but the other, much more important part was actually helping, listening, and doing what was necessary to keep everyone safe. She needed to know this wasn't just a game, and that there was no reset button if she messed up.

That this wasn't a training exercise. This wasn't a drill. There were no do-overs, replays, or resets. When people die, they die. They don't come back. And when they die because of her. Because of her mistake. Because of a choice she made – and yes, she would eventually have to make that choice. It would eat her up inside, and the pain would never quiet down. And it didn't just affect her. It affected the families of those people, perhaps even more strongly. Because they didn't know the names of everyone they saved, and they didn't know the names of everyone they failed. Those they let die. This wasn't a game; the kid needed to know that.

"Touchdown in 3," Gwen rasped, storming in from the other room, angry, or at least what seemed like anger. She was already turning to leave when Bruce gently grabbed her shoulder. Gwen tensed before spinning around sharply to face him. "Don't you dare say anything about following orders, I got it."

So the others had talked to her too? That was good. But it had only made Gwen angrier. Which was not good.

"I don't think you do," Bruce said softly, and Gwen pulled her arm back and sighed a little. It was good that Gwen knew how to calm down. Bruce knew she wasn't completely clueless; she had been doing the Spider-Woman thing long before she was part of the Avengers. She just needed to approach this differently because her old method of jokes and quips wouldn't cut it anymore.

"What's it to you?" Gwen muttered, not looking him in the eye. God, she really did look like a kid. Like Harley or Peter when they were being moody teenagers and didn't want to leave the lab to do their homework.

"Because it's dangerous out there, and the orders are there to keep you safe," Bruce reminded her. Gwen didn't step closer; she seemed to not want to be touched. Bruce understood that; he didn't think Stacy would have it easy if she ended up where he was now. He hoped she never ended up in a situation like that, eventually.

"That's not the point of going on a mission," she muttered, reminding him, and Bruce sighed. Yes, they were going to save others, but…

"Yeah, but you're a kid," Bruce said. "Just listen, and it'll be fine. Try not to piss people off so much."

Gwen looked at him with mild offense before turning and walking out into the other room. Bruce barely heard what she muttered under her breath.

"I am trying."

________________________________

She reminded him of a soldier.

In his youth, Steve had dreamed of serving in the army. He was young, foolish, scrawny, and small. He had asthma and sometimes couldn't even make it to school because he was constantly sick. All he wanted was to help people and prove himself. When he finally enlisted, Steve finally got his chance to do just that. He was given no special treatment during basic training; he was treated as harshly as everyone else. He was yelled at even more, and it only pushed him to fight even harder, even though he was almost sure they wanted him to quit. Then he got the chance to take the serum, and he was able to help people even more. And even more so when he joined the Avengers.

When he first saw the kid walk in, he thought it was the same thing—it even made his head spin. He thought the kid wanted to grow up. Wanted to fight for the greater good. He thought the kid would listen and try her hardest to impress. He thought this was a kid who just wanted to help and prove herself.

He was wrong.

This girl seemed to feel she had nothing to prove to anyone. She didn't follow orders, didn't try to impress. She seemed to enjoy irritating everyone by getting away with everything.

She didn't want to be a soldier. But Steve still couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at a shadow of the soldier he could have become.

Or the one he was.

Steve, however, had no doubt that she wanted to help people. And, strangely enough, she genuinely did. In her own weird, twisted way, she managed to save a bunch of lives. But her methods were still highly unorthodox and inappropriate, so much so that if there was a map for it, she would be so far off it she'd probably end up in Asgard... metaphorically, of course (he didn't think Thor would let her anywhere near the Bifrost). She had all the hallmarks of a child too young for battle. Just like Steve had been, but Steve still didn't see combat until after he took the serum. Probably like Gwen, if you swapped a controlled experiment with a consenting volunteer for an unplanned radioactive accident.

Nevertheless, Steve treated her like a soldier. Because whether she was an Avenger or not—and Steve was almost sure she was, a thought that scared Steve even more—she was fighting alongside the Avengers. Under Steve's or Tony's command. She was supposed to listen. She was supposed to follow orders. No matter what. Regardless of the stakes. She was supposed to fall in line.

But she didn't.

Gwen—no matter how many times Steve lectured her, or Natasha scolded her, or Tony snarked, or hell, even Bruce yelled at her once—would never, ever follow orders if she didn't agree with them. That was the most accurate statement, because sometimes she did follow orders, and Steve presumed it aligned with plans she never wanted to share with anyone but herself, or she was too tired to actually rebel. It didn't matter how harshly he was treated, because that's what needed to be done to save more lives, in his opinion. This wasn't kindergarten. If the kid wanted to fight, she had to understand she was a small—a very small—piece of something much larger than herself and her own crazy plans—which seemed to be giving the middle finger to the Avengers, well, Avenging. She didn't understand she was fighting for something bigger.

Because she was just a kid. Smaller and younger than Steve had ever been.

Then she was gone for a while. And Steve thought it was fine, she was just on a break. But then Fury gave them a mission and muttered, or as Tony eloquently put it, lamented, that they could have used Stacy for this one. Steve wondered why Fury didn't just call her. It took Steve a second to realize Stacy had essentially told Fury 'no' when he asked for her help. To potentially save the world.

That. That right there. Was not okay.

When Stacy finally returned, beaten to hell, she might have added that Steve pounced on her. He didn't let up because the kid had made a commitment, and Steve was all too happy to remind her of it. The kid was subdued for a while, until she wasn't, and snapped back saying that, actually, she'd just done S.H.I.E.L.D. a favor. Steve was confused, and still is confused, but the sharpness in Stacy's voice when she said, and Steve quotes, "Stay in your fucking lane, Rogers," made Steve never ask her about it again. "If Fury hasn't told you, then you don't need to know. Be a good soldier and march along, or whatever." It was a logical suggestion, and Steve left her alone. But he didn't march, making that clear as he walked off, grumbling, which sent Stacy into a fit of laughter that made Steve's head spin.

It didn't stop him from lecturing Stacy about other crap, for lack of a better word. He did.

"Two minutes." Stacy said, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for Steve to look her way. Steve braced himself, looking at the face of a kid who was deeply uncomfortable. Weird, since Stacy was usually so well-trained in her expressions.

"Who told you that?" Steve asked. For lack of a better way to start the conversation he was about to have. Gwen looked like she knew what was coming but didn't want it either. She bit the bullet anyway.

"Mister Stark." It was strange that Stacy had the politeness to use honorifics like Mister, Miss, Captain, and Agent, but she never added sir or ma'am. She never said it without sarcasm. Only if she was teasing.

Steve didn't want to do this, it felt wrong for a lot of reasons, because this sort of thing was standard in the army. Stacy, of course, was not like other soldiers. But she was one, and she shouldn't act differently or be treated differently.

"Sir," Steve reminded her stoically, and Gwen froze for a second in confusion. She tilted her head and blinked, like a confused puppy.

"Pardon me?" she asked. As if she didn't believe what she'd heard, or was just baffled by the random word, or didn't expect the conversation to go this way. Honestly, Steve hadn't expected it either.

"Mister Stark, sir," Steve said for her, and stood to his full height as understanding dawned on Gwen's face. Then, anger mixed with something else flashed across her features. He watched the anger slowly drain from her face into her eyes, and it was terrifying, but Steve could pinpoint exactly what emotion it was flooding her body with. And what the hell, a kid shouldn't carry herself like that!

"I am not calling you 'sir,' Captain," she said snidely, and Steve had to give the kid credit. She managed to keep most of the anger out of her voice. But the attitude had to be corrected.

"You will, because you might not be an Avenger yet, but you're fighting alongside them, and you..." Steve was cut off.

"Excuse me, what?" Gwen asked, her voice sounding more disbelieving than angry. Steve raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "Who said I was going to be an Avenger?" Steve sighed. This kid.

"That's why Fury had you shadowing us..." Steve was starting to get annoyed with these interruptions. But proving Gwen Stacy wrong was difficult, especially when the kid almost never proved herself right with words. She never had to. She was always so annoyingly right. But one day—Steve hoped, and it was a terrible hope—Stacy's luck would run out.

He didn't understand how ironic that was.

"Ha, that's not why he had me 'shadow' you. Funny choice of words, by the way." Gwen snorted and shook her head. Steve flushed slightly at her arrogance and what she was implying.

"Then tell me, why are you here?" Steve, for all his wisdom and grandeur, couldn't comprehend how the kid in front of him could just shrug off all the anger he had already seen in her eyes.

How could a kid control her emotions so completely? It was frightening, unsettling, offensive, and just plain unfair. Steve didn't have an ounce of that composure, while Stacy seemed to have a boundless supply.

"I don't know, but it's not to become an Avenger." Gwen said, and Steve stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. "It's not your call." Steve raised his hands as if in surrender.

"You're right, but Fury didn't bring you onto the team for no reason." Steve countered, and Gwen nodded.

"You're right, and if you needed to know, he would've told you." Gwen said flippantly, shrugging, and Steve felt his anger flare again, though not at Stacy, at least not directly.

"And he told you?" Steve snorted at her mockingly. Stacy, however, didn't take the bait.

"Maybe if you asked him..." Gwen said, finally looking at him with an awkward, almost smug expression. "Did you?" she asked in a tone too sweet to be innocent. "Y'know, ask him."

Steve shook his head. "You don't just question the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve said. "Good soldiers don't do that. They don't ask those kinds of questions."

"Then I guess you've answered your own question, Captain." Gwen said, cutting in as if to stake a claim on Steve's own territory. "The difference between you and me is that I'm not a puppet who bows their head when required." Gwen tossed back snidely, and Steve let the anger simmer inside him involuntarily. He knew Stacy was just trying to get a rise out of him. He knew this kid was just trying to make him say or do something he'd soon regret. But how she knew exactly which buttons to push. How she pushed them without hesitation. How Stacy could be so... It was so damn infuriating.

"And what makes you think you shouldn't be treated like a soldier in training?" Steve asked suddenly. It was unexpected, but it didn't seem to catch Gwen off guard. Not one bit, though she didn't hesitate with her answer.

"Because I'm not one" Gwen said and pushed off to step closer to Steve. "And I'd prefer not to be one." she said in the same voice she usually used to taunt bad guys. Steve snorted and stepped forward, looming over Stacy, who had only taken two steps into the room and didn't seem intent on asserting herself further. She was positioned by the door, ready to bolt at any moment. While it was perhaps one of the most effective and best strategies in any situation, Steve saw it only as cowardice, not a scared kid facing her fears head-on. Because Stacy was never scared... right?

"And what's so bad about that? What makes you hate the fact that you're fighting for more than just yourself? What makes you so afraid of being a soldier?" Steve asked. They were all rhetorical questions, but Stacy didn't answer them in the usual way, just kept looking at Steve as if completely unperturbed. "Why do you refuse to be who you are?" Steve meant that Gwen was a soldier, whether she liked it or not. And she could interpret that statement in many ways, but whether it was an attempt to say something, or just indifference, or just a genuine desire to make Steve shut up, she answered the unasked question: 'Why don't you like being a soldier?'

Steve was too angry at the kid to process what she had just said in that brief moment when her opinion truly mattered. But Gwen's response would later be forever etched in Steve's memory:

"Because it sucked the first time."

________________________________

'Follow my lead, soldier!'

She was trying.

'Do what I tell you!'

She was trying.

'Get over here!'

She was trying!

Sure, in the heat of battle, she usually did what she wanted. It usually didn't matter, as long as the job got done. Usually, she didn't care. Usually, she wasn't this scared, angry, and confused. Usually, she didn't feel this betrayed and alone. Usually, she never felt like she had anything to prove, not even to the Avengers.

But now she had to follow orders. She'd promised Fury she would at least try not to be difficult. She thought she could do it—she wanted to do it—because the Avengers had stopped giving orders when it wasn't absolutely necessary. And if she couldn't, then, y'know, no sweat. They usually didn't care.

Except for today, apparently.

Today, they wanted to make a point that she'd messed up. Today, they wanted to yell at her and lecture her for not following orders. Today, of all the goddamn days, they wanted to make it clear how little they trusted her.

And now she had this weird feeling, a feeling she hadn't had since she was eleven, that she needed to fucking prove to these arrogant assholes that she was worth something. She wasn't a coward. She didn't think she was better. She knew the dangers. She wasn't a soldier.

Not anymore!

So why the hell did she want to prove to these guys that she wasn't what they thought she was? Today, the one day she was actually trying to be polite and follow orders because Fury had asked—softly, at least for Fury—and politely, at least for Fury—for her to follow the rules. To try. Just this once. And she was doing it because she wanted to at first. But now it felt necessary. And she didn't need to do anything, she was done with school.

Cap had given her a specific set of instructions, and they were easy enough to follow. But then Tony decided to ask her to be on the other side of the battlefield and do a completely opposite set of tasks.

Then Natasha decided now was the time to command her, and she was needed elsewhere. But it didn't matter because they all ended up coming to her anyway. But she had other things to do, like the initial assignments, and she just tuned out and scrolled through to the end.

Getting a little rusty, are we?

Cap said he needed some monster-goblins webbed up, and Tony said he needed the alien goblins beaten up. Natasha said she needed the transports they were using, but in the end, Gwen only heard one thing.

Beat up the bad guys.

And that's exactly what she did.

Too many orders plus not enough time and a panicking spider. That's her equation: 2O+Ti-1=PS. Logical, or rather, no, it's not an equation. But she didn't have time for balance, damn it, but it sounded much better... she'd show her work later, for now, she was beating them all up, webbing them up, and taking their transports.

So they should all be happy.

But they're not.

They just kept yelling at her. And her vision was already blurry, and her whole body was covered in cuts, and everything was too loud... Oh... oh no.

This was a completely inappropriate time for a sensory overload. A completely inappropriate time. Can't her anxiety just calm down for a few seconds so she can fucking breathe? Please! And it would be nice if you'd stop yelling at me!

"You didn't listen to me! You were supposed to web up those guys, not everyone," Steve said sternly, looking down at Gwen with a painfully hard gaze. He reminded her of her foster father, what was his name? Don't think about it!

"She wasn't ready for it." Something with a 'G'. Stop thinking about it!

"She can't even follow, I don't know, one order?" Or H? You'll throw up if you think about it!

"I swear there are three-year-olds who listen better than you!" Garo...d? Stop!

"We literally gave you the simplest orders." Garo...lid Don't even think it!

"If you can't even follow that, what are you even doing here?" Harold! That's it... oh god.

I told you.

"Are you even listening to us, Stacy?!" Oh, honey, do you think she can really hear you over all this white noise? That's just hilarious!

But seriously, she's going to pass out or throw up if she's not pulled out of here, like yesterday.

"Yeah, and they can't just be webbed up like that. If the webbing were weaker, they'd break out," Tony looked at her angrily, and it made her shrink even more. She couldn't breathe, and it wasn't asthma.

Help.

She worked on the webbing when she got her hands on some damn chemicals, waiting for better ones, she had to use cheap school crap, so she was working naked. But she tried so hard to make it a reliable bond, not some stupid rope. They held a person's weight, added strength, and all that physical nonsense. Although she was skinny and weighed less than she should...

You know what, no, she won't belittle her genius. Everything else in it could be sent to the dumpster, and probably already has been, but this? This was the best she could do with the materials she had, and you know what? Fuck you, Stark, not all of us are billionaires, some of us are actually broke, thank you very much. Not everyone gets a multi-billion dollar family business. Not everyone manages to get a fucking job that provides for your entire well-being, especially if you're a minor. And not everyone manages to keep a job, especially if you're a fucking superhero. So piss off, asshole.

I'm going to see flashbacks.

"I just asked for one transport. Was that so hard?" Natasha was perhaps the worst, and Gwen wanted to cry. She really wanted to cry or scream. But instead, she just sighed. Crying and screaming wouldn't do anyone any good except waste time. Maybe it would make her feel better, but it wasn't worth it.

But, damn it, her head hurt, and everything was blurry, she needed to get out of there because everything was too loud. But the Avengers were still lecturing her, yelling, and humiliating her. At this point, she could only catch fragments of their conversation, and even that made her burn with anger.

I don't want to see flashbacks.

"Can't even follow simple orders..."

Not there.

"You're too irresponsible to be on the field..."

I'm not there.

"What was Fury thinking, bringing an irresponsible little..."

I need to get out!

"I need to go." She didn't even realize she was cutting Steve off mid-sentence because she couldn't hear him. She wasn't sure if her voice was even making a sound, and she didn't care right now. She stood up on shaky legs. She couldn't hear anything but loud muffled sounds, sirens, screams, buzzing cars, skidding, and the rumble of debris. It was all too much, and she couldn't be there because it hurt.

She barely managed to shoot a web, swing off in the right direction, and dodge away.

Help...

________________________________

"Where is Spider-Woman?"

Fury was demanding more than asking the Avengers.

Gwen, whatever she was doing, rarely missed a debrief, even if she knew she was going to get yelled at. She only missed it if she was injured - and in her book, that meant any loss of consciousness, no, a stab wound isn't serious, come on, Fury, stop asking stupid questions - or if she had other pressing matters - and that, that right there, scared Fury more than any wound that kid could possibly get.

He really hoped it was the first one.

"She left us after the battle," Steve grumbled, and Fury sighed, here we go again. Steve Rogers was going to be the literal death of that kid for pissing him off so much… One could hope, the kid was too stubborn to die.

"What did she do?" Fury asked, already knowing the answer. It was a formality.

"Didn't follow orders," everyone said at once, except for Parker (that boy was clearly smitten with Stacy), and Fury let out a long, drawn-out, suffering sigh. This was getting tedious. Why did they even try?

This. Kid.

They literally talked about this less than 10 hours ago, how the hell did she manage to mess up so badly?... or maybe she wasn't the one who messed up...

"Why did you even need to recruit a snot-nosed kid?" Clint asked, putting his feet up on the table as if he didn't care, but he still wanted an explanation. Fury knew Barton well enough by then to know that. Barton never asked questions, so when he did, it gave them weight, unlike Stacy, who asked stupid, seemingly pointless questions and got absurdly terrifying answers to just about anything.

"She's dangerous," Fury answered simply, not answering the question fully. The kid was far more than just dangerous. She was lethally dangerous, and that word probably fit Gwen Stacy better and described her almost perfectly.

"You know, Fury, that's the answer we always get," Tony said, and most of the other Avengers seemed to almost agree with him this time. Only Stacy could make people who were never meant to meet agree with each other. "Yeah, sure, she has some weird abilities, like Parker, big whoop? She's not trained, and she's a kid."

"Yeah, a kid needs supervision, but why not make her like the Defenders? They're monitored but not part of the Avengers Initiative. Why does a kid need this?" Natasha asked in her monotone voice. She was far more invested in this situation than she let on, but if she could see Stacy's potential beyond her kid status, she'd be asking her for help with her little... problem.

She just had a thing about child soldiers, but so did Fury. Stacy, truly, was neither a soldier nor a valued asset. She was free to do whatever she pleased, and sometimes for Fury, that meant the small pleasure of watching her up close when she agreed to participate in Avengers missions.

Fury frowned and scanned the room for Gwen, even though he knew she wasn't there. Something wasn't adding up. Gwen had never followed orders before - hell, that was expected - but she had, without fail, every single time, come back for the debrief. She always took responsibility. She never shirked it and never let anyone else take the fall for her mistakes, no matter how severe.

So where was she?

As some of the others looked slightly confused, Fury didn't answer their questions. He didn't answer at all. "Why did she leave? Was she injured?" That made everyone freeze, especially Parker. They honestly didn't know if Spider-Woman was injured, they had just been yelling at her, and Fury rubbed his hand over his face. "Find her," he said, his voice irritated. The Avengers looked just as irritated, but Tony started typing on his StarkPad anyway. "Wait." Fury backtracked, how could he think these guys could find her. She had clearly run from them. So the last people on Earth who would find her were standing in this room. "I'll fucking do it, you can't." Stark made an indignant noise.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" he asked loudly. It means the kid doesn't want to talk to you.

"It means you fucked up," Fury said honestly, and dialed Gwen's number, hearing four rings before she picked up.

"What?" Her voice was hoarse and raspy. Like she was being strangled. Most likely, she was. She seemed to be suppressing something, like a sob, a lump, or some other emotion. Though, no, wait, it was probably bile or spit. Fury didn't care right now.

"Where. The fuck. Are. you." Fury gritted out through clenched teeth, as if it could somehow act as a filter for his anger.

"Not here," Gwen snapped back sharply, like the little shit she was. Then she groaned in pain, and no, she wasn't being dramatic, by the sounds of it, the kid was genuinely dying a slow and painful death.

Fury continued speaking into the phone with absolutely no sympathy.

"Why?" These were statements, not orders. Demands, not commands. Gwen understood the difference, the Avengers didn't. It was the only way to get Gwen to not be a completely insufferable little shit and be slightly corporate... sometimes... if the orders weren't stupid.

"What's it to you?!" He heard one of the Avengers scoff dismissively, as if it proved his point. He rolled his eye and heard a muffled retch. "Fuck." He looked at the Avengers, who were staring intently at him.

"Are you sick?" Hearing that, the Avengers bristled, and he heard Gwen spit something out and groan again.

"Piss off," she muttered, but didn't hang up. By the sound of it, she'd dropped the phone and probably put it on speaker. How did this kid even have anything to throw up if she barely ate? He wondered involuntarily.

"What the hell? Why didn't you say you were sick? You should've—" Fury was cut off by another loud groan from Gwen. Oh, she did not need a lecture. He shot a sharp look at the Avengers, who mostly looked annoyed, if not a little guilty.

"I said, piss off, I'm not sick." Wow, this kid was really trying to play that game? She just puked on the phone with the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Gwen was always unprofessional, titles meant nothing to her anyway. You could rule the world and she'd still call you out and kick your ass if she needed to. Or felt like it.

"Kid, I just heard you tossing your cookies everywhere." Fury hoped it was into a toilet or a sink, and not a dumpster in some Queens alley. Because whatever was making this kid do that, she didn't deserve it.

"Yeah, but I'm not sick," Gwen insisted. Her voice was tired now, less irritated. Unlike Fury, who was ready to explode with impending rage.

"If you're not sick, then—" Fury's eye twitched in irritation as Gwen flippantly cut him off again. Like she seemed to have done many times, and she absolutely did not care.

"Fury, I said it twice and I'll say it again. Piss off," Gwen said pointedly. And it must have been awful, whatever was happening to her, because she called him Fury. Well, without the sarcasm. Fury cut that thought off because he didn't know how to ask the relevant question right now. He hated how Stacy could do that.

"Words have power. The right words can make or break a person."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"...A friend."

"Fine." Fury sighed, deciding to press on. "Then explain why you ran off instead of telling the Avengers you were about to puke?" His words were met with an irritated grunt. Fury heard someone's muffled voice in the background, but it wasn't Stacy. He couldn't make out anything except that wherever she was, there was another person. Stacy chose to answer him quickly, but not out of fear, more out of a desire to get out of this conversation as soon as possible.

"I tried, like you said. It was the worst experience I have ever been a part of. So thank you for that, you crazy bastard. I feel like shit. Go fuck off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under and leave me alone. Have a nice goddamn day!" The call cut off before he could ask a single follow-up question, and Fury dragged his hand down his face. The Avengers hadn't heard the conversation, and honestly, he kind of wished they had. Just so he could see what he had to deal with when they made the kid's life difficult.

At this point, he honestly couldn't blame Gwen. Her words exaggerate heavily, but her actions always tell the truth. This time, they fucked up, Gwen did what would save most people, and she got yelled at. No wonder she constantly tried to dodge group assignments and didn't follow orders. She always picked the best option, even if it meant acting alone and struggling.

"What happened?" Steve asked, like the stalwart captain of a team of superheroes and super-shits that he was. Or at least, was supposed to be.

"She was puking," Fury sighed, and Steve immediately straightened up. "And it takes a lot to make her puke," he said significantly. Steve immediately deflated.

"Accelerated metabolism?" Bruce asked quietly. Fury ignored the question the scientist had already asked himself gloomily and was running through his head. He was contemplating a bunch of equations Fury didn't even know existed, nor did he particularly care.

"We didn't notice she was sick, she seemed fine on the jet," Tony muttered, frowning in confusion.

"Maybe she was faking?" Clint suggested. "We were chewing her out, and she just used it as an excuse to leave and not face the consequences." Clint shrugged, and Thor seemed to simmer with anger. Fury better cut this line of thought off, because it was probably untrue. And he didn't need the Avengers getting into a full-scale war with the spider-teen. It would be embarrassing if they lost.

"Tell that to the kid who was puking on the phone and then insisting she wasn't sick," Fury said flatly, and Clint looked disappointed while Thor noticeably calmed down. These little…

"If she doesn't think she's sick, then why did she leave?" Natasha snorted. It was illogical, she was right. Maybe Gwen just needed to be alone? Y'know, to feel better and then come back. But it seemed she wasn't coming back anytime soon. Definitely not for the debrief.

"Do you all want to be watched while you're throwing up your cookies?" Fury asked, raising an eyebrow, and no one answered, so he continued, "What orders did she not follow?" Fury asked the group, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

"She webbed up all the goons with just her webbing. We said to incapacitate them, not shoot silly string at them," Clint answered, and Fury flinched. Did he hear that right? The kid followed the order, and she got yelled at.

"Oh my god. Are you kidding?" Peter moaned, who heard what the Avengers meant. "That webbing has a tensile strength that could hold ten planes, and then some. It's not breaking anytime soon." he explained.

Fury dragged his hand down his face again and stopped at his mouth. "God, she's never going to follow orders again. If she gets yelled at for doing it, and yelled at for not doing it. My God, you've officially found a way to make it worse. She's never going to listen again." he muttered under his breath, almost hysterically. Silence fell for a moment.

"Shit!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Too much bullshit.

Gwen found the devil in her dumpster.

The girl was trying to climb out of a goddamn dumpster and had three bullet holes in her shoulder. Gwen had, of course, seen a lot of weird shit doing this, this whole 'taking out the trash' thing, but this was like, sixth place. Gwen wasn't about to ditch him like an asshole, no matter how much she got blamed for it.

She'd met Wade Wilson long before Deadpool was ever a concept. Honestly, Deadpool was never a concept, it just sort of happened. They fought constantly, and they were the most annoying, yet fun fights she'd ever been in. Every fight with Wade or Deadpool was like that.

Deadpool eventually met Daredevil, but Gwen never found out how, and they never told anyone. Wade and Gwen were literally government-banned from teaming up, but no one said Spidey and DP couldn't have a friendly... non-living meet-up. And obviously, the more the merrier, and these guys were nutjobs, so fuck it, they could smash heads in at the Double D. No one could stop them when they didn't know who they were. At least they all teamed up once, it was bound to happen.

Obviously, like most events in Gwen's life, it didn't go as it was supposed to.

They formed Team Red. A group of mentally unhinged assholes who didn't give a damn about society or the law. Or anything, really. Not even their personal problems—they just laughed at their own depression and refused any and all therapy. They tended to piss off each and every person they came across because of their pasts, which they couldn't let go of. Pasts that clung to them and wouldn't let go, no matter how far they ran from it, but they didn't know that because they never tried to run from the darkness that was slowly consuming them and pushing away everyone they loved. They created a toxic, unhealthy environment for themselves, and Gwen should probably get the hell out of it.

It was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Matt was blind lawyer and Wade was scarred mercenary, or “bounty hunter” when cops or any legal people were around and he was in his street clothes- but those were very particular cases, cause honestly no one wanted to fuck with him or talk to him just by his face alone( and Gwen has blatantly mentioned to Matt that he looked like an old avocado after it got shitted out, but only when Wade was in earshot). That’s what she knew. She didn’t associate their names with their faces. She associated their names with their real life shit and problems. And they probably did so with her too.

Gwen preferred Team Red to the Avengers.

They complained about their problems without offering or receiving any meaningful solutions that would bring all parties eternal happiness. Essentially, their solutions encouraged holding a grudge and washing it down until they forgot about it, and in the morning they didn't care because they had a hangover (Gwen never partook in the alcoholism, but she liked it when Matt and Wade got drunk and let themselves forget their problems, watching their suffering).

They didn't give her orders; they just threw sticks, bullets, webs, knives, and sometimes sledgehammers, very rarely a laser, maybe a bomb or two, but like little bombs, but mostly glitter and sticks made of whatever material they didn't nitpick about—at the bad guys and watched the consequences. It usually ended with the guys retaliating, which led to one of them retaliating back, and they got knocked out, but sometimes Wade hit them with his katanas—they're fucking swords, Wade, but as the saying goes, go with the flow, man—and they sort of… died? Became un-alive? Permanently stopped breathing? But it was okay, because Gwen did that sometimes too, and she always dumped the bodies in the Hudson in five different spots, and they were all nowhere near where they actually killed the guy—she had a fucking reputation, unlike Wade, who could just leave the body there, lucky bastard (but sometimes, when Gwen was too tired, she'd just pin it all on Wade and didn't care if Wilson got the street cred while Stacy slept).

They fought, barely discussing battle strategy, and talked a shitload about literally anything. They were always much more brutal than they should be; Gwen noticed she was more aggressive in their presence. But it was almost like they kept each other in check. They didn't get too aggressive, didn't kill someone by beating them to death—they weren't fans of prolonged death unless absolutely necessary—but they also didn't judge each other and could let out all their aggression, much more than when they were alone or in the presence of other people. It was a place for Gwen to let out all her aggression—and she never told anyone about it because it would ruin everything. There was always blood—too much blood for Gwen's usual taste—and Gwen paid much less attention to it in their presence. She thought it was because they talked too much to notice. Almost like sweeping all their problems under the rug.

Matt always said he wore red so people wouldn't know he was bleeding. Wade replied that he just didn't want to deal with stains. Gwen saw the logic in both statements, however scrambled, but true nonetheless—stains are such a headache, you have to buy ten Tide pods to get them out (especially if the blood got on the top part of Gwen's suit, which was white, while the bottom was black). Wade considered it a waste of a perfectly good snack—and she explained to them that she wore red because it was the cheapest thing on the shelf. They nodded back in understanding and wisdom.

Team Red had only one plan of action:

Just beat them up.

That’s all.

No orders or instructions on how to do things specifically, tediously, and boringly, as long as the job got done, everything was fine. No plans and protocols, because plans usually went to shit in the first twenty seconds, and protocols not working were the reason they were doing this in the first place. They operated completely off-protocol. Handled things even cops wouldn't dirty their hands with, because those plans and protocols went to shit, as previously mentioned.

They didn't have that untouchable hierarchy Gwen was supposed to conform to. They weren't arrogant bastards taking the law into their own hands. They were just people who saw shit in their past and wanted to beat people up in a similar fashion because they were A.) evil and wanted some form of revenge; B.) they had a surge of angelic feelings and suddenly wanted to do the right thing (but these were like adrenaline shots that ran out quickly after one act done out of pure goodness—suffice to say, Gwen got these the most); or C.) they were just fucking bored and had nothing to do all day—well, two-thirds of them, Matt had a fucking day job (ugh, successful people, am I right?).

Only in Team Red could she be herself around people. With them, she felt the most at ease because she could use the techniques she grew up with, armed with weapons, dirty fighting, and hacking to make kittens replace their files.

Though sometimes it got fucking weird. Like the time DP made her hack the speakers at the bad guys' base so he could play the Lady Gaga Essentials playlist and sing along to it, off-key, even if it threw them off their game. Or the time Red threw two sticks at her and said 'hit me as hard as you fucking can!', even though he knew she had super strength and could probably kill him, because while Red was a badass, he wasn't enhanced like her or Wade.

Suicidal bastards.

She fucking loved it.

She learned to read them well.

If Matt was hitting the bad guys ten times harder and nearly killing them, he was having a mediocre day. If he was throwing them against walls and kicking them in the balls over and over, and then nearly killing them, he was having a good day.

On a bad day, Matt was terrifying. Even to Gwen.

If Wade was constantly cracking jokes while shooting people in the head and slicing bodies in half, it was a good day. If he was talking to the voices in his head and the goons simultaneously before turning them inside out, it was a mediocre day.

On a bad day, Wade was terrifying. Even to Gwen.

Gwen was proud of herself because she could figure them out, and they were literally the hardest to figure out. But she also hated Team Red because they could figure her out too, and Matt was a fucking human lie detector, and Wade somehow just got it. She didn't like it, but they never talked to her if she was having a bad day, if she was having a bad day and didn't want to talk about it, they just stayed away from her.

They were bad at handling emotions, but very good at understanding them. It was awful. Because some emotions hurt, and others were too strong and took up too much space, and sometimes they made it hard to breathe.

"Who shoved a stick up your fine ass?" DP asked from behind her, waiting for them all to gather on the roof. The roof was always the roof. Wade said they should be called 'roof friends,' Matt said it sounded like a knockoff Magic Treehouse. Gwen retaliated by reciting the entire first book from memory to punish Wade, who had never read the Magic Treehouse because he lived in fucking Canada. Wade called Gwen a fucking audiobook, and Matt agreed that audiobooks were the best books. Gwen said Matt's opinion was invalid because he was blind, and told them audiobooks weren't real books and probably sucked.

"The Avengers suck," Gwen said irritably. It was obvious. She shouldn't have been so blunt, because she actually wanted to talk to them about it, if only to hear them mock the Avengers, and it would make her feel better.

"Foggy wouldn't shut up about how well you handled things," said Red, and Gwen groaned. She didn't want that. She was bad at reacting to compliments, and Matt knew that too, damn it, Matt had the same problem. And when Gwen didn't know how to handle something, she either dropped it or ran away. Unless it was a math problem, but she could always handle those.

"And yet they yell at me! I don't do what they tell me, and they call me a bitch, and when I do do it, they yell at me! I just want to be able to do what I need to do, it's not like I messed up so badly it's irreversible," Gwen exhaled and crossed her arms, steering them back on track. Wade fucking laughed, the asshole.

Team Red was the only place she could act like a child. No judgment, no scolding, no serious babysitting (they always joked about her age but never said anything serious about it), no lectures. Because Wade, and Matt to an extent, acted just as childish. It was just heaven.

"So the teen rebellion is in full swing. Atta girl, I knew you had it in you!" DP cheered, and Gwen snorted again. Damn right, they just didn't know the teen rebellion wasn't just to spite the Avengers, but to save this damn city from their ignorance. Yeah, she thought so. Sue her. She didn't see the Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes out here destroying debt and crippling drug and sex trades. Maybe it's not the end of the world right away, but it certainly ruined those people's lives... wait, that got serious, back up back up!

"It's our fault for not reining her in, and now she's a real little menace who thinks she gets whatever she wants," Red remarked sarcastically, and Gwen nodded. Now they got it, that's why she came to Wade and Matt. They got her.

"Damn right it's your fault. I don't like being told how to do my job, thank you very much," Gwen said without thinking. She felt a little better.

"Alright, always remember your please and thank yous," said DP, walking over and sitting down next to Red. Silence fell for a moment, and then Gwen heard police sirens and sighed.

"I wanna quit so bad," Gwen muttered, and Red laughed sharply.

"Same."

"Mood!"

...

"We're all fucking idiots."

"Wanna go beat someone's ass?"

"Hell yeah!"

________________________________

They didn't apologize the next time Gwen was with them.

Gwen had just gotten a message on her cracked, broken, and untraceable burner phone (ha, go figure, Nick, she's a Gen Z'er, superior at tech, the generation that used mankind's greatest creation for memes) from Fury, saying they needed help downtown.

She rolled her eyes and turned on the comms. Even if she really shouldn't have. Even if she wasn't ready to see the Avengers, let alone think about them without summoning a wave of nausea and panic. But... people needed help, and Gwen would be damned if she let those damn Avengers undermine her confidence so much that she couldn't help.

So fuck it.

But did Fury always have to notify her so late? She knew she probably would have shown up anyway, probably would have shown up if she wasn't hanging out on the other side of New York with her headphones on, turning away from a giant squid monster attacking Manhattan. She just really needed to finish up this mugger with a note and a gift, wrapped in webbing, for the cops. She made a bow and everything, even went and got new markers, so she was going to take her time with this. They were fluorescent purple, can you believe it? They had those! And Wade had already called dibs on the pink one that came with the pack, but Gwen didn't know why Wade needed it. Whenever Deadpool left a note, usually for Gwen and Matt if he wasn't home to feed the cat, he left it in bright red crayon, not stupid cheap Craze-Art crap, Deadpool wasn't some hardened serious dude, he was ex-special forces and went through the worst kind of hell to get his powers, he used fucking Crayola.

But if Gwen was here to talk about proper school supply purchases for kids, she'd be here all day with this mugger who was about to stab a poor woman. One emergency at a time, please. The aliens would just have to get in line, thank you for shopping at Le Beat Down De Spidey, have a nice day.

She didn't say anything to them when she joined the fight, and they didn't notice her presence until she kicked a small squid (which was spawned from the momma squid's sucker, like, we're talking independent labor here, but it's gross) that was about to kill Falcon with a laser (seriously? Since when can squids shoot lasers from their fucking tentacles?), and said, "Welcome to Chile!". Sam's surprised face was priceless, and she laughed. This is why she wore the mask, so they couldn't see her expression and she could look like an idiot. - she says, doing a trapeze act in her black-and-white-with-pink-accents spandex.

Pretend nothing happened.

"Spider-Woman?"

Pretend like you’re okay.

"Hey, kid"

Like you always do.

"What's up?"

"Yeah, sorry I'm late. Fury didn't send the invite on time," she said, a bit rushed, but she didn't care. They seemed weird too, much softer than last time. Maybe Fury told them about your sensitive tummy.She growled at the giggle in her voice, but not enough for the Avengers to pick up on the comms. "Guess I was on the guest-helper list." She and that voice were going to have a talk later. Then she might talk to Fury too, he's not some crybaby kid who got upset over a bad day.

That day was just... a lot.

"About time," Natasha said. Yep, there's the judgy, lecturing adult voice, yep, didn't miss you at all. Welcome back to reality, bitch. Honestly, she didn't want lectures, she just wanted to mute them and go about her day. But at least they weren't pitying her. Or at least, the Black Widow wasn't. She could always count on her to consistently be like 'I hate you.'

"Flank left." The right had even more small squids, which doesn't seem like normal squid birthing procedure, but guess they just pop off. Damn, there was nothing over there, and there were still people in the way. They'd get hurt, but Gwen would get yelled at. Gwen, obviously, went right. Her logic was flawless: screw it all. She's getting yelled at anyway, judging by last time. She shouldn't have to change the entire dynamic of her relationship with the Avengers. It was like a one-night stand, although Gwen didn't know what a one-night stand was, not in the intimacy way. But she didn't know what sex was in a romantic, y'know, consensual way. Okay, she was too adrenaline-high to have this conversation with herself, the point is, listening to the Avengers against common sense is a one-time thing. One and done. That's all these ungrateful bastards get.

That's what Fury wants you to do, think rationally, not out of spite, go left. Listen to them.

...

Yeah, so... going right, right?

Heh, homonyms.

"What the hell!"

"Not again."

"Stupid kid, the fight is this way."

"Gwen..." (love you too, Petey pie!!)

Nope, it's not. Gwen rolled her eyes, kicking with a squelch—she believes 'squelch' is the correct term so it was loud for emphasis—even as the black ink splattered everywhere, gross! She heard muffled sounds, growls, and groans and smirked to herself, looking at the chaos she caused.

"‘Mmmmm watcha saaayy~"

"Tell us next time!"

Gwen absolutely did not care about the Avengers' preference.

All was right with the world again.

________________________________

Fury didn't go easy on her, like the Avengers.

That fucking bastard didn't have the soul to feel guilty. He was constantly angry and irritated. Those were his only emotions. Gwen would bet all her money (no, she was much more responsible, she'd bet all her monopoly money) that those were the only emotions Fury had ever felt. Ever. It was a vicious cycle. Gwen sometimes wondered how disgusting a life must be to get to that point. Gwen asked, and Fury irritably walked away. It was truly inspiring.

But no matter how much she respected the old grouch and aspired to be as badass as Nicholas J Fury, she would never, ever in her life give her secrets to him.

"Saw your work with Deadpool and Daredevil yesterday," Fury started, and Gwen just kept a deadpan expression. The face that said 'we're doing this seriously,' come on, Nick, at least try to be subtle about it. Gwen was even surprised he had the nerve to bring it up at all, especially after all the shit that went down less than three days ago. She wasn't about to expose her team, or at least, the closest thing she had to one. The preferred term was 'band/bunch/gang/cult/what-have-you of assholes,' but that was just a recommendation. They were also considered 'bastards.'

"They're unhinged assholes," she smirked and rocked on her heels. "And as long as they don't want to see you, you won't see them," she laughed, looking at their confused faces, but Gwen didn't understand why they were confused. Maybe she mixed up her words, but she thought she was being pretty straightforward. She was never good at speaking eloquently.

"And yet... you fight with them?" Clint asked, his eyebrow suspiciously arched. And what business was it of theirs who she hung out with in her free time, they weren't her fucking guardians.

"Deadpool kills," Natasha started with a hint of venom in her voice. Bold of you to assume we all don't kill.

"And isn't Daredevil excessively brutal?" Tony asked, but by the tone of his voice, Gwen understood he was genuinely asserting the same thing.

Well, shit.

Who the hell did they think they were to judge? This wasn't a peaceful line of work, the Avengers were really only known for burying their problems so deep they never saw the light of day, and not knowing how to negotiate by any other means, in any shape or form. They had the fucking Hulk, who they weren't afraid to use to level a city in an instant, even if Gwen considered him one of the most worthy of all the Avengers, and yes, that included Bruce separately, and she didn't consider that a common or civilized method of debate, but it fucking worked. So what if a few people died, yeah sure, it's not perfect, but if they were bad guys, it should at least soften the blow. Plus, at least they wouldn't hurt anyone else. Not that Gwen didn't feel a ton of guilt on her shoulders afterwards.

"Yep," Gwen shrugged. Fury sighed like it was the millionth time. He knew getting information out of Gwen was impossible, or at least he should have known. Gwen might not be famous for her interrogation methods, but she really made her interrogator's life hell when she was the one being questioned. Though Nick was being very nice, trying so hard.

"Why?" he asked, very demandingly and tiredly. Gwen didn't like the tone, but she smiled anyway. Knowing she wouldn't give anything up.

"Gonna have to be more specific," Gwen said flippantly, and Fury groaned and rubbed his temples in irritation.

"For the love of all things holy-" Fury muttered to himself as Gwen's smile grew. "Why do you fight with them?" he asked in a very specific voice. Gwen would have complimented him, but decided against it and gave Fury that hit. She just hoped Fury understood he could be much more annoying, and this was an act of God's mercy and pity—and mostly because she was too tired to continue this conversation.

"They don't tell me what to do," she stated it as a matter of fact in her, as she liked to call it, 'teenage voice.' It got the typical reaction she expected from responsible people like the Avengers and what Gwen loved so much. Exasperation and annoyance.

You know the good stuff.

"Bet you love that," Cap grumbled, and Gwen laughed, unexpectedly but justifiably, because she had genuinely pissed off Captain America. It was just awesome. MJ and maybe Ava would be so proud of her...

If they were here... Shut up.

"Yeah, I do," she laughed, ignoring her voices and rough emotions. Peter, who was standing off to the side, sighed, and Gwen tried to hold back her laughter, to focus on the present and forget the past. Pretending works. "I pissed you off. Holy shit, as if I haven't done that with you before. Everyone else? Yeah, sure, easy. But you? It's awesome."

"Stacy!" Fury barked, and Gwen choked back a laugh and froze, her head snapping towards Fury. Nick, you're ruining the fun. She deflated.

"Yeah, uh... sorry... but... there was this guy, and he stole something," Gwen mumbled and rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Dodging was one of her specialties, but when it didn't work (like when a bunch of scary Avengers were mad at her and she didn't feel like fighting them), she could always be elusive. Fury was actually great at taking hints and dropping the subject, letting her handle it herself. Trusting her. Which was stupid, she'd let Nick down eventually. It was only a matter of time. But Gwen had always managed to get out of situations far more dangerous or worse than Nick could imagine. She always got the job done, no matter who or what she was working with, even if she was alone. Especially when she was alone.

Not this time, apparently.

It was a matter of time.

"What?" Fury blurted out, knowing pulling this out of her was painful. That's why Fury didn't do it often. And Gwen commended him for lasting this long without killing her. But Gwen wondered why he was doing it now. It's very hard to be this annoying, Nick, please appreciate her effort. Her condolences include stopping this damn conversation.

"Kids... from Afghanistan..." Gwen muttered quickly, not knowing herself why she was embarrassed. Or maybe she was embarrassed because she'd dealt with this a million and twenty-two times before, and Fury had never said anything before, and she literally had no reason to be embarrassed now.

Except for the puking while you were on the phone with him.

"Kids?" Fury asked, like he was saying 'really?'. Okay, maybe 'stealing kids' is a serious issue, and maybe it's just a weird way to phrase kidnapping, but she wasn't exactly wrong. And she wasn't lying. She didn't look at the Avengers' reactions, instead Gwen stared intently into Fury's eye, and everyone straightened up.

"And their cats..." Fury shot a deadly look at that addition. She wasn't sure if it was about the situation or about how Gwen was trying to play it off like it wasn't a big deal.

"Those damn cats again?!" Fury said, like he couldn't believe how blatant Gwen was being. But the novelty of child trafficking (which Gwen hadn't told them about) had worn off for her long ago. Probably when she herself was essentially a victim of trafficking, because she wasn't found in America, but in Russia.

"They were kittens! Little kids, cats, mutts, and they were so cute! A Siamese and a British Shorthair, I'm 95% sure! The kid even let me pet one, and you know what? I petted it! It was the best thing I've ever done in my life!" Gwen said, emphasizing her point by waving her hands up and down and then crossing them rather proudly and nodding approvingly. Like she'd just stated the most amazing reason to live.

For her, it probably was.

No, it was. Definitely, 100 percent.

"Oh, so your superhero criteria are met?" Fury asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice now that he knew everyone got out safely (Gwen was genuinely offended that Fury even doubted she'd let those kids and cats down). That didn't deserve an answer. Stacy answered anyway.

"Yep!"

God, this kid!

________________________________

2001, Red Room.

Love had crashed back into her life.

But instead of taking the form of the relentless man who knew nothing of her past, it came in the form of his miniature copy. Needless to say, the Director was furious upon seeing her child.

Even when her honor and respect were humiliated. Even when she was looked upon with disgust. Even when she was a child herself (she had a damn child, oh my god, she was a mother), she couldn't find it in herself to care.

She'd never had a choice before, about whether to have a child or not. In fact, emulating the Black Widow—like a black widow—she was against sterilization. She was going to do it after her important mission. And when they found out she was pregnant, she was supposed to have an abortion. But she argued—stupidly put herself on the line and fucking argued with her superior about her stupid mistake—that she had never before disobeyed anything she was told to do. All to keep her child—she had no idea why she wanted to keep the child, she didn't even know what a mother did. The Director looked offended and as bewildered as she felt when she spoke, the disgust in his eyes shifting to shock, and then to contempt. However, they agreed on the condition that they would also incorporate Captain America's DNA.

She didn't care at all what they thought, given what her lover and her child thought. My god, what would the child think of her? Not now, as she looked at her child. A child born of love. Her love. A child born of warm love, not cold necessity. She thought it impossible. At least, for her.

Galina Romanov.

The Director wanted to get rid of her upon learning the child hadn't inherited the super-soldier strength and was born ordinary. She stared her down, clutched her to her chest, and refused to hand her over, even when the superior tried to snatch her right out of her arms. She didn't let her go, not like her partner. This time she would beg if she had to, and Natasha had never begged for a second in her life. Never even considered it. But she was ready to throw all her convictions away for this tiny human she had created herself.

Her daughter.

That's when the doctor dared—foolishly, probably just a bit dumber than her—to speak up.

He told the Director she could be used, trained, and utilized for the Red Room. After all, she was the biological child of three enhanced individuals. As far as they knew, this hadn't been tested. She could be the first child raised on all the pillars of the Red Room, with no external ties. No other purpose but to be devoted to the Red Room.

The doctor didn't do it out of kindness.

His yellow teeth spread into a smile as the Director, albeit reluctantly, approved. He did it because he was sick and wanted to conduct experiments. Wanted to strap her child to a cold metal table and perform tests on her. Wanted to cut her child open and dissect her like a frog.

She once thanked that doctor.

After that, she was trained like a dog. Tedious and humiliating exercises designed for children, but intensified to the point of being unbearable. They didn't stop and were relentless. She barely had time to breathe, and sweat was her constant companion.

They beat her, tortured her, and subjected her body to torment over and over again.

But at the end of the night, when dawn was just beginning to break, and she was sent to sleep for a few hours. That's when she finally visited her, her precious little Galya, she did it again. It was worth it.

Galya was worth it.

For the next four years, she watched Galya grow, walk, and speak three different languages she taught her. Galya watched her train, but didn't fight, not yet. Her child was smart, smarter than most children, and quiet. And even as a toddler, she had already formed a character—not cold and heartless, but warm and compassionate.

She remembered the first night she came home, Galya was awake and reaching for her, and at first she thought she wanted something, but her diaper was clean, and all Galya wanted was for her to lie down next to her and hold her.

It melted her heart and made her love Galya even more, though she didn't think it was possible.

She progressed much faster and adapted to the lessons much quicker than any of them expected. For that, she was grateful. The Director was somewhat pleased.

She loved her little Galya. With all her heart.

Galya made loving easy.

And then that love was torn away by cold, heartless hands. The same heartless hands that had taken her father (or maybe two fathers, though the second one died later). By cruel irony, by a decision as sudden as Natasha's love for her daughter.

The worst part wasn't that she could fight back, because she tried. The worst part was that she couldn't fight. That she could do nothing but watch as they strapped her to a chair, as they knocked Galina out and took her away to an unknown location.

She experienced the worst feeling in the world again, the second time in her life Natasha cried, the first time ever in her life. She hadn't done enough to keep her love, and let it slip away again.

She hated love. She hated it so much.

________________________________

2018, New York

Natasha didn’t not like the kid.

She wasn't a bad kid at all. Snarky and a bit sassy, but not bad—those were probably her most amusing traits, and Natasha had always had a soft spot for deceptive looks. In fact, she seemed like the sweetest thing ever, it's just the Avengers were constantly on her case, or at least when she was incredibly tired—seriously, the kid needed to sleep. But if you help little old ladies cross the street using your superpowers, and try your hardest to get a cat out of a tree, how bad can you be?

She knew she was pushing Gwen away. She snapped at her, though not as harshly as Steve did, whenever she got too close. She kept her at arm's length because she was 16 and had no business being near this kind of shit. Gwen got it the worst, but only because it was the truth. Still, she could see it was getting to her, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, accept it, or pretend it didn't get to her. A good defense mechanism she wished she'd had in her youth, but it didn't make it any less annoying. It must have been especially grating when she got scolded for doing a good job. It irked her a little, too.

But... she reminded her a little of Galya. Even if their names weren't that similar.

Galya would be 16 too...

She felt she had to keep Gwen at a distance because, as she'd said, this kid had more than two brain cells. She was perceptive, far more than she let on. Not that she was trying to hide it, but she wasn't exactly advertising it either. Plus, it wasn't that obvious. So she scolded Gwen more than she deserved, because she was playing a game with her:

Pretending everything was okay.

Sometimes she wondered: if Galya were Gwen, would she use her powers for good? Or for HYDRA's good? Would she kill people, like she had, or would she try to save as many as Gwen did? Would she do the right thing, even if it meant disobeying orders? Would she be free to choose what to do?

The more Natasha thought about it, the more she wished Galya were like Gwen. She wanted her child to be exactly like Gwen, but that was unfair. What if Galya was lost or different? She would love Galya anyway, but when picturing her, she pictured Gwen.

Maybe it was the superpowers or the mysterious past. She didn't know, because she hadn't felt this way when she met Harley. But she knew things about Harley. She had never dug into Gwen's past, even if she could have found out things she might not have wanted to know. Because the less she knew about Gwen, the more she could pretend she was Galya.

Then she got so angry because Gwen wasn't Galya, but some maternal part of her didn't want Galya to get hurt either. Since Gwen was perfect, she didn't yet know what Galya would be like, but she knew she would be perfect too. That Galya would highlight Gwen's flaws and free her from the cage that was Gwendolyn Stacy. She would get to learn all of Galya's life and pick her apart, as she was meant to.

Right now, she was angry at herself for not letting herself get attached to the girl. It also meant she had to prove it by being mean and cold. Not helping her when she looked like a beaten kitten, but kicking her harder when the opportunity arose. It was twisted logic, twisted to make sense, but the more she thought about it, the more her head hurt. The more regret and guilt she would feel, because Gwen was just a kid. She shouldn't know where the most child trafficking happens, where assassins hide, or where supervillains lurk. But she did, and somehow it felt like too much to put Natasha's weird feelings about her probably-dead daughter on top of all that. Gwen already seemed to hate her own emotions, why should she have to deal with hers?

She didn't like it. She knew what she was going to do. Gwen had so much on her plate lately, and Natasha could see it; Gwen wasn't sleeping, was losing weight, and slouching. Her jokes were a bit drier, and she had no sense of time. She was tired and didn't need more stress. But Natasha had to do it.

"You should have reported it. Human trafficking is too dangerous for you," Natasha sneered. Gwen reminded her of what she had lost, and somewhere deep down she knew it was unfair and unjustifiably cruel to Stacy. She was glad Gwen was so strong. Gwen didn't deserve the hatred simmering inside her. For some reason, it was easier to take it out on Gwen, maybe because she knew Gwen could take it and wouldn't hold a grudge. For some reason, Gwen never held a grudge that hard. Or maybe she did, but was very understanding. She saw her take Steve's anger over fucking seatbelts because the Captain was having a bad day. But she didn't think the same method applied to favors. She really didn't want to owe her, not when she was already so indebted to her, but she was going to do it anyway.

For Galya.

Fury had sent her to the docks to handle the situation, but by the time she got there, the police and social services were already there. Weapons were scattered everywhere, and the traffickers were… webbed up. Anger flared in her that this kid was so reckless when she needed her. She would ruin everything. She couldn't die. Not now, when Galya was still missing.

She found Spider-Woman on a roof, exactly a thousand meters away, on top of a building where the police couldn't see her, but she could see them. Her suit was a bit rumpled and dirty, but otherwise she looked unharmed. Except maybe a little tired. She was probably more tired and beaten up than she was letting on. Natasha had to force herself not to care. Gwen needed to take care of herself if she wanted to survive in the world she'd chosen.

What if Gwen didn't want to?

But she noticed her the moment Natasha stepped onto the roof. She turned to her sharply, the mask still on. Her hands were on her hips. Gwen looked puzzled, not understanding why she was here. She seemed to be waiting for an explanation. And it was harder to get past that stupid mask when it was on Gwen.

"Can I help you?" Gwen asked, looking up but not standing. Her voice was a bit breathless and raspy. But otherwise, she gave nothing away. Natasha didn't want to be so angry with her.

"Why are you so—" she groaned, leaning into her arm, and Gwen laughed and took the mask off. Her face was pale, her eyes tired, but they held a childish irony. Gwen contradicted herself with her actions and words, and Natasha never knew which one was sincere most of the time. They always alternated.

"Unbearable?" she asked cheerfully, turning to her. She glared at her sly smile, studying her for a moment, and the mischievous glint didn't leave her eyes. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed the tension in her shoulders, as if she already knew what she was going to ask. "I have a theory about you," Gwen said, instead of following her hunch. Natasha saw she was letting it happen.

Far more than two brain cells. A smart kid.

"Don't want to hear it," she said, not amused. She was trying to ask for a professional favor, but at the same time, she needed this conversation to go in Gwen's favor. Reminding herself that Gwen was a kid, and she needed some self-control not to let herself do this half-assed.

"I think you do," Gwen said, and her tone lost its previous lightness. The contrast wasn't as stark as she expected. "I think you don't hate me as much as you try to," she said, tilting her head and looking at her. "And for the life of me, I can't figure out why you do it."

"I'm not trying to hate you," Natasha said, sounding astonished, yet not entirely surprised. She allowed herself a moment of regret as she saw the kicked-puppy look flash across Gwen's face before it settled into a neutral expression.

"Yes, you do," Gwen said, as if it didn't matter, but there was a faint trace of sadness and disappointment in her voice. Something in Natasha's chest clenched painfully. "I remind you of someone, don't I?" Gwen asked, her voice dropping lower. It felt like a punch to the gut.

"No, I—"

"Yeah, I get it. It took me a while to figure it out, but I know," Gwen said, hopping up and stepping over the ledge. Her gaze followed Gwen's back. Natasha allowed herself to analyze her, and it didn't take Natasha long to realize she'd had this conversation before. Gwen had lost someone like this before. Gwen understood she would never know Natasha's pain, and frankly, that was more comforting than if Gwen knew exactly how she felt. At the same time, it was the most heartbreaking thing she'd ever seen. Gwen just seemed so... tired of it. "And isn't it weird that you remind me of someone, too?" Gwen asked. That caught her a little off guard.

"You're crossing a line, asshole," she growled. She didn't want to be so harsh with Gwen, but she didn't know how else to handle her. Gwen looked at her with big blue eyes, wide with a childlike surprise.

"So I'm right!" Gwen said with a slight smirk. That pissed her off, because this was supposed to be serious. "If I wasn't right, there wouldn't be a line to cross!" Silence fell on the roof for a moment. The conversation was moving too fast, but she didn't know the right way to say 'help me find my missing daughter, who you remind me of, even though I've never met her.'

Natasha shifted, and Gwen gestured for her to sit next to her. She walked over slowly but surely and sat down, not looking at Gwen's face. A quiet fell between them, the sun was setting, and the sky was a burnt orange. Until Gwen spoke again. "Did you not like the person I remind you of?" she said it softly, gently. Inattentively, but comfortingly. Reminding her that Gwen wasn't who Natasha wanted her to be. She was silent for a while. She didn't think she would answer until she did.

"No, I loved her with everything I had," she answered honestly. Gwen nodded but didn't look at her face. "And you?" It would only be fair if Gwen answered her honestly, after she had.

"I don't know. I don't think I hated her," Gwen said, and seemed to ponder how to explain it. Or just didn't know how to explain it. It was okay if she didn't know, because Natasha didn't know how to explain hers either. She didn't expect Gwen to continue, but she did. "No, I'm sure I didn't. I don't remember her fully, but it seems… I was too young to remember her face, but… I think it was my mom," Gwen whispered. Natasha's head snapped towards her, and Gwen almost flinched in embarrassment, something she never allowed herself to do. Gwen looked guilty, as if she shouldn't have said it, probably shouldn't have, but Gwen also somehow looked lighter. Then she started stammering, and bright red blush bloomed on her cheeks. "Oh my god, Miss Romanov. I'm sorry. That was… that was weird. I… I know you're not my mom, but…"

"You remind me of my daughter," she said, and she didn't know why she didn't hide the slight smile when Gwen pressed her lips together and looked at her with that confused kitten look again. Natasha didn't know why she said it. She shouldn't have. At least, not like that. She tried to keep her face blank, but found she didn't have the strength to regret it.

"Your… your daughter?" Gwen whispered in a raspy voice, more to herself, as if it pained her to say it. Gwen was calculating, trying to remember if she'd read it somewhere, heard it, or something. She was working something out in her head, but couldn't quite grasp it, because she looked confused. Natasha expected questions. But Gwen didn't ask them. She was strangely grateful for that. "I won't tell anyone," Gwen said instead. If Natasha could be even more grateful to the kid, she would be. She didn't even have to threaten Gwen to keep her mouth shut. Gwen just knew exactly what to say. Gwen owed her nothing, and yet she was keeping this, something that, if their roles were somehow reversed, she wouldn't hesitate to expose.

Gwen seemed to understand her request, too, though she didn't nod or show that she knew what she was about to ask. Somehow, she knew what she wanted, and somehow she knew Gwen was fully invested in it.

If anyone could find Galya, it was Gwen Stacy.

________________________________

Harley Keener was Tony Stark's adopted son.

Gwen knew that. Everyone knew that. You'd have to be living in Antarctica not to know. Gwen didn't like keeping up with superhero news anymore; it was pointless now that she worked with them—she wasn't one of them, not really—because she could always get the info faster by hacking—because they would never, ever tell the 'dumb kid' all their deep, dark, and dirty secrets. Plus, the tabloids never said anything nice about her when she showed up. She didn't need the extra negativity. If she needed to know something, she found out soon enough. That was it. Gwen never dug for information she needed without even knowing she needed it.

But that doesn't mean Gwen didn't have a mental file on Harley Keener. She would never, ever write that shit down. And the only reason she had a mental file on him was that he wasn't a superhero, but a kid, and a serious target.

Here's what she knew about Harley Keener before meeting him:

A) Harley Keener saved Iron Man with a Mandarin's help.

B) Harley Keener had a sister who left with his mother god-knows-where, leaving him in his little shack in Rose Hill, Tennessee (that's why you don't live in the damn sticks).

C) Harley Keener was considered a child genius.

D) Harley Keener was 7 months older than her.

E) Harley Keener started attending Midtown School of Science and Technology a year after Gwen graduated from the same school.

F) Harley Keener's best friends were Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones and Peter Parker, who were interns at Stark Industries (Michelle with Pepper Potts, and Ned with Peter in R&D, they were smart, she was so damn proud of them).

G) Harley Keener didn't like pineapple on pizza (don't even ask how she knew that, it just happened).

Despite all that, she had never met Harley Keener. Tony was too paranoid or something to introduce the kid to the Avengers—or at least to her, because the Avengers seemed to adore Harley (same with Peter. Ugh). But apparently, not paranoid enough to stop talking about him constantly (is that what a good father sounds like? It's fucking annoying). She understood she was the wild card, and didn't really do 'personal,' especially with the Avengers (even though it had been six months already, seriously, they just needed to be adults and get over it. Gwen was over it ages ago). It was perfectly logical that she'd never met Harley, and logical to expect he'd never meet her, because Gwen didn't want 'personal' relationships with the Avengers.

Until today, apparently.

Fury said he needed something and didn't trust Gwen alone (at least in the Avengers Tower, which... okay, fair). Then they ran into Pepper Potts, who fucking beamed at Gwen and started talking to her. Like a normal person. No yelling or screaming. Which was a surprise, because usually people just ignored her if they weren't yelling at her.

She was nice, and people being nice to Gwen was a rarity these days. She asked if she wanted to join the Avengers for dinner, and Gwen didn't know what to say. The whole thing escalated pretty quickly in her opinion, and she ended up somehow getting flustered and blurting out that she wasn't actually planning on having dinner. She didn't understand how it slipped out, but Fury was fucking having a field day messing with her. What an asshole.

She ended up going, because she was nice (no, shut up, Fury, she was nice), despite anything anyone had ever said... ever. Plus, she was a little hungry...

Okay, she might have remembered the last time she ate, or she might not have, and knew she hadn't picked up a shift at Saint Margrets in forever. Weasel usually wasn't too picky about a good side gig, Gwen usually just showed up and got paid. There was no schedule, Weasel understood she didn't have time for that 'stable life' bullshit, but she still needed to eat somehow. She doubted she could find a job that would pay for food and stuff, because she was fucking sixteen.

"Bye, kid, have fun." Gwen had never seen Fury look so happy in his life. He was wiggling his fingers and acting like a smug schoolgirl. Gwen let her mind replace Fury with one in a bright wig, acting like he was in Mean Girls (she and Sam loved riffing on that movie, criticizing and comparing it), and that disturbing image entertained her all the way to the living room.

That asshole deserved it.

Gwen wasn't uncomfortable with her body; she knew she was very thin. And even if she didn't like being pestered about what crap she was shoving into her body and how much of that crap she consumed, she didn't stop eating because those jerks couldn't mind their own business.

Gwen had always avoided eating with the Avengers for a very, very good reason, and it wasn't this one:

They didn't like her.

They used to always invite her out of politeness, but she never accepted because she was sure they didn't want her there. She kept refusing, and soon they stopped inviting her unless she brought it up herself.

They didn't want to get close to the reckless vigilante, and honestly, she didn't want to either. Although no one ever got that close. Not even George. She never let them get that close because she didn't like the baggage she had to unpack after they left. It was hard to talk about and hard to sort out her feelings after they were gone.

They always leave.

Plus, they'd probably insult and interrogate her. She didn't like that. And she didn't want to be yelled at for longer than necessary (though she certainly could never go on Avengers missions, but she sometimes needed someone to yell at her, and George wasn't alive enough to do that anymore, and Miguel was in a whole other universe, so he couldn't do it either.). Because, even if the Avengers didn't care, they were interested in sniffing out unknown entities. Gwen was essentially one of those unknown entities. She took pride in that, thank you very much.

But Pepper was pushy, yet kind, and no one was ever kind to her. She was impossible to refuse. It wasn't that Gwen didn't want to, she just didn't want to. People were always pushy and rude and told her she was too young to object (how could she confirm her very valid 'objecting' point, which was just adult bullshit about her being wrong). She also figured Pepper Potts wouldn't take no for an answer, and she was too tired to deal with anything heavy right now.

She would endure anything for Pepper. She always had exceptions.

We fucking went over this, Stacy.

She knows, but...

The elevator doors opened, and the sharp scent of pizza, cannoli, pasta, soda, wine, and alcohol hit her like a physical force. She wanted to run—it smelled so good, probably because she was so damn hungry. How had she not noticed the smell was this overwhelming before?

Everyone was in sweatpants and comfortable clothes. Gwen was in an oversized hoodie with the faded print of the rock band Sex Pistols (she and Hobie used to listen to them back in his universe), under which her dirty, bloody suit was visible. Her torn, turquoise Converse, held together with silver duct tape, and her bag containing all her worldly possessions ( books, a change of clothes: 8 t-shirts and a couple of pants) stood no chance. Naturally, she felt completely out of place. Like Pepper had picked up a stray kitten to feed it and then throw it back out onto the street. Actually, that's exactly what it was. She was a fucking spider, not a kitten.

This was different from how Team Red celebrated their big wins. That usually involved cheap booze (not that Gwen drank) and bar-hopping (she'd eat fries and laugh at her drunk teammates). They'd sing terrible karaoke once Matt and Wade were sufficiently wasted, then drag them back to Wade's apartment to crash and maybe watch a movie buried under a pile of blankets and pillows.

Suffice to say, this was entirely different. And Gwen, frankly, preferred her way. It was more... low-key and didn't make her anxious about everything (prices, the amount of food left, time until portal departure, escape routes, etc.).

"Hey, hon," Tony smiled and walked over, a glass of champagne in his hand. He stopped upon seeing Gwen hiding behind Pepper and staring at him with wide eyes. It was the look she got when she didn't know what to feel and wanted someone to tell her what to do, which didn't happen often. "Why'd you bring the bug?" Gwen felt a pang of disappointment, and another unpleasant emotion shot straight to her bones. She wanted to leave. She needed to handle this in the field; she wasn't going to endure this any longer than necessary.

But Pepper is so nice to you...

...

Fuck!

"Tony," Pepper said in a tone that even made Gwen flinch and fear disobedience. "Gwen" she winced at her name being said with that accent "is here because you should get to know her. She's been going on missions with you for over half a year, and you know next to nothing about her."

Great. She didn't want this. Please don't ruin it.

Tony smirked. "She's, what, seven? How complex can she be?" Gwen looked slightly offended but still shrunk in on herself. Did this man, this tiny man, just question her origin story? What the actual fuck? This was a fucking declaration of war.

I think I've endured enough, thank you very much.

Matt always said she had impeccable manners.

"I'm 16," she mumbled instinctively, and then fear gripped her as she noticed the silence that fell and all the eyes on her. God, she didn't want to draw attention to this. She wasn't going to speak. It was unbearable, and she fidgeted slightly, keeping her eyes down.

"Perfect!" Pepper exclaimed cheerfully and clapped her hands, breaking the tension. Gwen was fucking floored by the sudden shift in topic and tone. God, being polite is so cool. She couldn't admit she liked it, wanted it; it was dangerous for her. "That's almost like Harley!" Tony actually choked on his champagne, and Pepper snatched the bottle from his hand and took a swig like the total boss she was. Gwen had a bad feeling.

She's not... no, that's her son. She was nice, but she wouldn't make him... no. Would she? ...no... just... no.

No!

"Miss Potts, I don't think..." Gwen's timid voice tried to interrupt Pepper, who was addressing the ceiling. Of course, she wasn't given a say.

You never are.

Gwen Stacy? Having an opinion?? Being validated??? Not in this economy. You know why? Because this economy hated mutants and hated kids, and it fucking sucked to live in it, especially if you were a blue-collar worker with an accelerated metabolism.

That's why.

"On FRIDAY, you can invite Harley over for dinner?" she said sweetly, like poison mixed with honey, took another sip of champagne, and looked at Gwen with excited eyes. There was something almost unhinged in her gaze. God, she did hates me after all. Gwen leaned back slightly. "You'll like him, he's a bit reserved at first, but I'm sure you two will be great friends." It felt like ice water had been dumped over Gwen.

Why the fuck warn her? Why not just drop her on MJ and Ned and reveal her identity? Better yet, drop her on Ava, Sam, Luke, and Danny. This was all an omen. This was bad; she needed to get out. She already knew who Harley Keener was, for fuck's sake. She knows who he is. And if he was good enough to handle MJ's primness, then he was already awesome. Case closed.

She hadn't had friends since she was kicked out of the Spider Society. She couldn't. Not that she didn't want them; she had the best friends anyone could ask for. She just didn't want them dragged into the mess she'd gotten herself into. This bloody, bloody mess with too many deaths, pain, injuries, scars, and deaths. Even if four of them had abilities. So, no matter how much they called and texted, they eventually stopped. And so it happened, well, sort of. Ned still texted her sometimes. MJ texted once a month... sometimes. Ava kept texting occasionally. Sam stopped altogether. And Luke and Danny texted like once every few months.

She always read them. She never replied.

She didn't want a new friend. She couldn't protect him/her. She didn't know how. She didn't have the resources needed to have friends who couldn't heal from a gunshot wound in a day. No matter how cool they were, they weren't mutants (well, Matt wasn't a real mutant, but he was over 18, so he didn't count). And even if she did, her enemies knew she was fucking broke (after George died, she literally became homeless), she wore leggings, for fuck's sake. If they used a hostage in 9 out of 10 cases, they'd probably kill her anyway because they wanted to hurt her. Not just physically; they wanted to play with her mind, wanted to break her in every way possible and then some. She could have all the money in the world, and it probably wouldn't matter.

She couldn't save them. She knew. She tried. And it always ended the same.

She must have zoned out, because a hand landed on her shoulder, belonging to none other than Harley Keener, who seemed even more amused seeing her sudden shock. She didn't miss Tony whispering something in his ear as he passed by. The boy's smile widened. Gwen felt her body shrink in on itself slightly, the sense of foreboding only growing stronger, but her spider-sense remained silent.

"Come on, spider girl," he waved his hand, and Gwen followed him, fidgeting with her sleeves and looking anywhere but at the other person, specifically Harley Keener. Spider-Woman could handle this, but Gwen Stacy couldn't.

Fuck.

They sat down at the counter, and Gwen tried to ignore the Avengers burning holes into her back, eavesdropping on a conversation she was having, not them. Fuck them!

Be careful. Don't give anything away. Yeah, fuck no!

"Harley Keener," the guy smiled. Gwen offered a timid smile back as Keener grabbed a slice of pizza. Gwen watched but made no move to take one for herself. "You hungry?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Gwen was starving. She had an accelerated metabolism, so she never got enough food. She shook her head anyway. If she ate, it would be harder to escape. She knew she'd want more food, but she also knew she needed it, and an opportunity like this wouldn't come again for a long time.

Unless you actually make friends.

"I'll eat when I get back," Gwen mumbled, dropping her head onto the table and crossing her arms. She just wanted to sleep. Maybe Harley would take the hint, unlike the parental units, and finally piss off.

“Back where?” Harley asked, taking a bite of pizza. Gwen made to answer, lifted her head and everything, but found she really didn’t have one. Gwen pondered it. She didn't have a permanent place she could call 'home' right now. (Even when she was in the Spider-Society, she lived with Hobie, who didn't mind.) No one would rent an apartment to a 16-year-old, and her income wasn't exactly conventional. Right now, she was talking about Matt's apartment. Matt always came home late and woke up early. He and Wade sometimes let Gwen crash on their couches and steal food if she really needed it. But Matt barely had any food, and all of Wade's stuff was expired. If she felt too guilty, or if neither of them was home, she'd find a spot in a storage locker or on the couch near the pool table at Saint Margaret's.

"Good question," Gwen decided to say instead. Ominous. Good. Maybe even too good. She knew she'd have to circle back to this somehow. She dropped her head back into her arms and turned it to face Harley.

"So where do you live then?" Harley asked. Okay, so not taking hints was hereditary. Must be contagious, given the Avengers hadn't stopped their prying stares either. Seriously, they should mind their own business.

"Queens," Gwen answered automatically. Because that's where she grew up. Like really grew up, not white picket fence or anything, but it’s where she met her friends, went to school, had fun and all that childhood shit she should have been doing since she was born or something. She was proud of that place. Like, Queens. Not her less-than-impressive hellish childhood. She might have grown up in Queens, but she wasn't from there. That white room is.

It will always be a part of you.

"Rose Hill." Yeah, I know. But he doesn't know that. "So where do you go to school?" Harley asked. Gwen eyed him suspiciously from over her arms.

"These are very standard ‘grown up’ questions." Gwen noted this with suspicion and felt the air tense, just like Harley's shoulders. Oh, this is their attempt? Wow they really sent in a kid to dig up this kind of stuff. Gwen smiles, alright, she'll bite... just a little. "Kidding," she said airily, and Harley laughed nervously.

"You joke a lot, huh?" Harley almost accused, and Gwen gave him a dry look.

"Well, you ask a lot of questions I don't like answering." Gwen shrugged, and Harley looked flustered for a moment, while Gwen smiled into her hand.

"I just asked where you live and what school you go to." Harley snorted and crossed his arms. "That's not a lot." Gwen smirked wider; Harley was making this too easy.

"That's exactly what a child predator would say." Gwen smirked even wider seeing Harley flush, and she felt almost proud of her work. She thought Tony would come and pull his kid out of this fight, but it didn't happen.

"I'm a kid too, asshole," Gwen raised an eyebrow at the profanity. "What?" Gwen shrugged.

"I didn't think kids from a place called Rosefield knew language like that," she said thoughtfully, "but then again, Tennessee was a slave state, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Harley stilled for a moment before snorting at her.

"You know, my friend would dunk your head in this pizza if she heard you say that." Not sure she would. Who the hell do you think I picked it up from? "And you don't have to be so rude, I'm trying to be polite!" Harley spat out angrily, and Gwen smiled even wider.

"How can stating a fact about your state's history in relation to the country's history, and its influence on your culture as opposed to your dialect and county name, be considered rude?" Gwen asked with a smirk as Harley stared at her for a moment. Gwen rolled her eyes. "But I'm sorry if I offended you. It was a very contentious way to bring it up."

"N-no. It’s...it’s fine… it’s just that MJ would probably say it too. Sorry for making a big deal of it," said Harley, and Gwen even blinked, too stunned by the apology, which was so stupid she hadn't heard one like it in a long time.

"I don’t," said Gwen, and Harley tilted his head in confusion as she turned to look at him more seriously. "I didn't do very well... in school." She might have graduated, but they didn't need to know she couldn't afford college. She knew she made it sound like she dropped out. She wanted it to sound that way. Besides, ever since she got her powers, people made her even more anxious, and she was anxious to begin with. She didn't want to anymore. But she stayed because it gave George more time to save up for college, even though she insisted she didn't want to go and could just go to college when she saved up enough herself. George wouldn't have stood for that shit.

She ran away right after George died.

Sorry.

Harley smirked. There it is.

"Well, I guess it's one or the other," Harley shrugged, and Gwen wanted to act smug, but she knew she shouldn't. She wanted to get angry, because they had literally just had an academic debate and Gwen had held her own. She wasn't the smart one, or the brawny one. She wasn't either, though not neither. She wasn't this or that. She was everything and nothing. She was whatever she needed to be. She didn't need these lame labels.

"I guess," she replied instead. She ignored Tony's contemptuous snort. "What about you?" she asked casually. Though, she knew the answer. "It's that school for smart kids in Manhattan, right?"

"Yep, Midtown," said Harley, and she saw Tony puff out his chest proudly.

"Good school. Got friends?" Yeah, your friends, you jerk.

"Yeah, they're fucking smart." I know. "They have internships here. Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds and Peter Parker. You probably know Peter, you're on the same team." I know.

"Watch out for Flash," Gwen muttered absently, dropping her head. Harley startled.

"What?" he asked, surprised. Gwen smiled. Oops. At least she'd said it quietly enough that only Harley heard, and not any of the Avengers.

"Nothing, just... must be nice to go to a school full of nerds, 'cause nerds don't have bullies," said Gwen, and Harley chuckled. Yeah, almost. Flash had pestered Gwen since elementary school. Elementary? She thinks that's what it's called in America.

"Yeah, but there are still jerks," he replied. Gwen knew exactly who he was talking about. Flash must have moved on to the next person to get the best grades out of everyone. She almost wanted to go back and punch her, like she promised Luke she would if Flash messed with her too much.

God, she missed them.

"Well, there are always jerks," Harley chuckled in response and looked at his plastic water bottle, while Gwen continued, not lifting her head and looking exhausted, but probably bored. "But that's what they are, jerks, and sometimes they change, just don't pay them any mind."

"Is that what you do?" Harley asked dumbly, and Gwen looked up, surprised by the shift in his tone. "Ignore the jerks. Like how you ignore the Avengers?" Wow, personal much? Calm down there, buckaroo.

And escalation? Where did that even come from?

"Nah, I just ignore everyone. It's kind of my thing." Gwen brushed it off, closing the topic; this conversation was getting too personal. The phone in her pocket vibrated. She looked at it. A message from Wade.

‘Let’s hit some fuckers balls.’ Gwen grinned.

"Well, I listen when I want to," she stood up and gave a silly salute to Harley. Harley looked at him in disbelief. "Sometimes."

And proceeded to flip out the window.

________________________________

Wade preferred the term asswipes.

Matt thought that was putting it delicately. Gwen couldn't help but agree, and they promptly dashed the name in favor of mother fucking asswipes. And then they collectively agreed adjectives were the best form of grammar and proceeded to blow up a window.

Team Red had a certain... expertise, so to speak. This expertise had been elevated to an art form. This art form was their profession. One could describe their particular skill set in many ways, but the gist of it should be clear by now. The general public called this skill set reckless, dangerous, risky, suicidal, weird, explosive, and so on. These skills were also particularly useful for catching villains the Avengers or the police didn't bother with.

The Avengers and the police don't worry about certain things, like human trafficking rings. The police aren't built for it, and the big-league superheroes couldn't afford to when they were saving the world. That's where vigilantes like Team Red come in. They were the in-between that no one cared about, though perhaps they should.

They were currently investigating a drug ring, but they only stumbled upon it because some idiot decided to mess with kids, breaking the rules to pass the time between jobs. A poor, sick son of a bitch. He must have been from out of town.

When Spidey decided to 'heroically' crash into the city—she wasn't a hero, thank you very much, look in the mirror, Wade 'I'm Gonna Save the Orphans From a Burning Building' Wilson—the guy ran back to his little hideout, where he was obviously tracked. Wow, he was a really bad guy. Matt even laughed when Gwen told him she didn't think anyone was tailing him. Come on, man, at least try to make it difficult.

Gwen wouldn't have called it suspicious if it weren't for the rise in trafficking in general, not just drugs. But over the past six months, she'd moved away from gangsters and was now more involved with circles like these. She noticed some former mob members were joining so fast it was as if being a mobster had gone out of style. Wade said they'd died out about a decade ago.

Well, she couldn't find any real connections besides their rising popularity, and honestly, Gwen had been having an existential crisis for the past week and a half. Matt said she should join a club, and Wade said this was her 14th club since joining the Avengers. Gwen retorted that it was actually because of the Avengers.

By the end of the night, the wall was covered in newspaper clippings and TIME and Science magazines that were either charred, punctured, soggy, or painted over with sincere, inventive paint. And Gwen had eaten so much ice cream she felt like she'd gained 10 pounds (and regretted it in the morning when her stomach hurt terribly). Who said Team Red couldn't be petty? They were the embodiment of the word.

"And then he just shoves a fucking pizza at me and starts lecturing. Like I'm just gonna take that? Like I enjoy being unironically made fun of? I mean, I can take a good roast, but as a lecture? From a guy almost eight months older than me? What the hell!" Gwen ranted at the criminal she kept kicking. As if he had the answers. The guy stared at her dumbly, and he looked so stupid that Gwen even laughed. "Do you think that's peer advice or just some spoiled brat being arrogant, just like his father? No, seriously, I need an honest opinion, what do you think?" Gwen said seriously, and Half-Tooth stammered out an answer.

"I-I th-think he is j-just a k-kid try-trying t-to def-defen-defend his fa-fa-father?" he finished on a high note, as if asking a question, and Gwen stopped hitting him. She blinked behind her mask, and the mask mimicked the action. Then she tilted her head. For a second, her brain short-circuited, and she needed to shake it off.

"Explain..." Gwen slammed the goon into the wall, probably harder than necessary. Why did her chest tighten when he said those words? Those awful, stinky words (like, 'seriously, dude, would it kill you to have one or two mints between heroin hits')? Was it because of origins? No, these guys weren't stupid enough to mess with dark magic. And they weren't smart enough to read English, let alone an ancient alphabet written in a language from another world/galaxy/universe/dimension (take your pick).

"We-well, did-didn’t St-Stark take him o-off the st-streets? Li-like it w-w-would ma-ma-make se-sen-sense that he w-would w-wanna def-defend h-hi-him.” And that, right there. That was a good point. This scumbag, this disgusting, woman...touching-without-consent scumbag, had a fucking point. Gwen didn’t get it from a personal experience standpoint, but he got it from a logical—even though emotions aren’t logical, they are just stupid and they hurt—perspective.

Of all the fucking fairy tales.

'You'll never have a family.'

"Huh, never thought about it that way," she muttered in awe. "I mean, those weren't the options, but I guess option C. I didn't make the rules. Thanks. Your opinion has been noted," said Gwen, knocking the guy out. Then she yelled to the two other adults."Guys! Half-Tooth helped me figure it out! I think my existential crisis is over!" No, it's not.

Matt chuckled like the asshole he was and then spoke the goddamn truth. "Your life is an existential crisis."

And then Wade, being the asshole that he was, spoke another goddamn truth. "Honey, you've got a big storm coming."

But the joke was on them, because Gwen already knew.

________________________________

"And why would she tell me that?"

"I thought you were smart," Fury said impassively, and Gwen let out a sound that was half groan, half laugh. More of a scoff, if you asked Fury. As if she couldn't believe what had just come out of Fury's mouth, or disagreed with it. Disbelieving and completely out of place.

Honestly, this whole conversation was out of place. They were supposed to be surveilling a HYDRA base, operating under stealth. Frankly, Fury would have preferred Romanoff or Coulson, hell, even Barton as a surveillance partner. But the Avengers were on a mission, and Coulson was somewhere with his team. Speaking of which, he had an Inhuman; Fury said he'd look into it more carefully and find reliable sources who could offer advice and guidance, maybe even training. So maybe it wouldn't be the complete disaster he expected.

Stacy was a reliable (sometimes... okay, never, but 'reliable source' was a very good definition) and was a mutant herself. She specialized in gathering evidence, following a trail with nothing but a speck of dirt to go on, and eventually finding the super-villain hiding in the sewers. Plus, she had connections with other unregistered mutants (she wouldn't reveal their names because, despite her loyalty, Stacy was no snitch and was incredibly devoted). She surely knew reliable sources that could help them.

"That's your mistake," said Gwen, and Fury rolled his eye. Maybe… she wasn't such a great idea after all. I mean, she was the mutant closest to the Avengers and rejected them so fiercely that they were angry with her. And really, tracking a lizard in the New York sewers isn't that hard… right?

...

Shit.

"You know why Romanoff told you," Fury stated, not looking at Stacy. "She was chasing rumors to find that child. And you, Stacy, are unnaturally good at that." Gwen hummed in acknowledgment. At least she admitted it.

After all, it was true. Gwen could catch words literally and learn about things that were never meant to be found, things that shouldn't be found, especially by a punk teenager in spandex. She found impossible leads in seconds. Her brain worked even faster than Stark's or Banner's or Parker's, but instead of using it purely for science, she used it practically. Like Fury, she wished Stark and Banner would use their heads more. Romanoff was right to enlist her to help find the child. Stacy was an invaluable asset in this matter.

"So she wants me to find her daughter? I don't mind helping, but she knows I work alone." Fury grunted. Of course. How could he forget. (That S.H.I.E.L.D. team with Nova, White Tiger, Power Man, and Iron Fist, which gave him a few dozen gray hairs in two years, he'd never forget). Stacy was not a good team player. She never shared her discoveries until the battle was already won. For someone who talked so much while doing anything and everything, she never gave out truly useful information. But Fury knew her chatter was, for the most part, a distraction. To throw the opponent off and confuse them. Few could do it mid-fight, but it seemed to help the kid focus better.

"She just wants you to follow the lead when she finds it," said Fury in the same tone he'd used all night, still not looking at the kid. "And keep your ears open. You're more perceptive than most and constantly deal with international gangs," Fury added casually. "You hear things that usually go unheard." That's what made Gwen an invaluable source for finding leads. She had information not just on HYDRA, but on a wide variety of organizations and gangs. She had a completely different set of informants that even Fury couldn't guess at yet. And those informants had completely different intel. Romanoff was trying to find a different angle, and Gwen was nothing like the leads she was currently following.

"That's good. I like a good puzzle," Gwen said sadly, nodding in understanding. "So what do you want?" See, perceptive. And fucking scary.

"What gave it away?" Fury smirked, not looking at Gwen and trying not to let on that he was slightly thrown. Gwen wasn't looking at him either. Straight ahead, at the dirty, polluted water of the Hudson, not at the base next to them, on Fury's side.

"Everything," Gwen giggled (what the hell? Seriously, this kid was supposed to be Spider-Woman, and she fucking giggled) and turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "Come on, spill," she said, bouncing a few times before propping her head in her hands. Elbows on the dashboard, with a bright, excited look in her eyes, like a schoolgirl discussing gossip (or ‘tea’ as Gwen said, or was it ‘t’? He’d never get Gwen’s generation sense of humor).

"Do you know anyone who's useful for mutants?" Fury asked rather bluntly. He knew how it sounded, and Gwen understood it wasn't exactly what she'd said. But Gwen didn't call him out on it, because Fury never asked questions like that. The kid tilted her head and thought for a moment before answering.

"Hmm, depends on what you want. Do you want to hide them, protect them, control them...?" Gwen asked, letting her voice trail off on a questioning note. Fury didn't answer, and Gwen waited a moment before speaking again. Carefully, but a serious expression flashed across her face; one of realization. She dropped her hands and straightened up. "Is this about Coulson's team?" All traces of joking were gone from her voice. She was speaking completely seriously, and it honestly scared Fury more than the fact that she knew Coulson was alive, let alone that he had a team, and that team had a mutant. Even the Avengers didn't know Coulson was still walking among them.

"How do you do that?" Fury gritted out through clenched teeth, letting frustration pierce his voice. He was angry because Stacy was one of the few people who could figure him out. And one of the few who could figure him out so well. The kid shrugged and looked forward again, her usually cheerful face adopting a calm and casual expression.

"Because you don't care about shit like that. But you care about Coulson, no matter what you say. Not judging B T dubs," said Gwen without sarcasm, but not entirely seriously either. Fury let her finish her thought to answer her question. "Let me guess. Someone on his team developed abilities? Having control issues?" Fury didn't answer, pausing, and she nodded as if receiving an answer before continuing. "Normally I'd suggest Xavier, but he's not too trusting, especially of S.H.I.E.L.D. They're probably agents too, and I don't think Coulson wants to lose anyone, especially to a school with an... advanced curriculum. Are they Inhuman or mutant?"

"Does it matter?" Gwen hummed affirmatively but wasn't offended. She must be taking this really seriously, or she really wanted to help that agent. Likely the latter, the kid was like that. "We believe they're Inhuman."

"Okay. So the powers are closely tied to emotions and memories. My advice? Power suppressants and training with them. It'll hurt, and it'll take time to get used to. But it's the safest way. If they don't want to give her up or have her discovered, I'd suggest Xavier, but I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to be indebted to the X-Men," said Gwen. She wasn't looking at Fury, but the conversation was over, and Fury confirmed he'd taken her thoughts on board.

"Duly noted," a second of silence followed, and then Gwen unbuckled her seatbelt.

"There's our guy," Gwen muttered, jumping out of the car to deal with the bastard.

Battles with Stacy were always an adrenaline-fueled ride. She always managed to get as close as possible without getting hurt. The kid had skills, though. They just weren't applied in any way Fury had ever seen. She was flexible but strong. Agile and fast, but firm and precise. She tumbled like the Black Widow and hit like Captain America. She was like those two, plus Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier with the intelligence of Iron Man, all in one tiny person who might one day be the strongest in the world.

God forbid she ever become a supervillain.

They intercepted the HYDRA informant. They needed to capture and interrogate him. Extract information by any means necessary.

Fury didn't interrogate him.

Honestly, watching Gwen interrogate someone was a real privilege. She was like Romanoff; she'd made it an art form. Gwen didn't let anyone observe her, except for a select few. Fury was almost flattered to be one of the few who got to see her in action.

Gwen was actually a lot like Romanoff. Her espionage and emotional control were more than unorthodox, but on the Black Widow's level. She also fought like her, using flexibility and speed over strength. She observed everything, could read people like her. Could be stealthy and smart like her. She even spoke six languages Fury didn't know she knew until she did it.

But what really reminded Fury of Natasha was the interrogations and torture. They turned it into an art. Beautiful but dangerous. Graceful but brutal. Delicate but painful.

They didn't start with pain. They gave the victim a chance. One chance. To avoid the pain. To talk. One chance.

Fury had never seen a single victim dare to take it.

Gwen knew exactly every person's weak spot without even guessing. She knew where it was and how to pierce, cut, or gouge it. One second everything was fine, the next, pain beyond what they could bear. It didn't build, wasn't gradual, it was instantaneous.

Stacy said it was because she was impatient.

Romanoff claimed it was just the beginning. The information came in exactly 3 minutes and 26 seconds later.

A new record.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Galina Romanov

2000, Red Room.

“Один… два... три”

Shots rang out on the third count. The thick Russian accent bouncing off the bleak walls. A row of girls no older than 15 lined up against the wall, reflecting their perfect picture on the other side of the room, dark shadows casting over their stoic faces, watching as the freshly appointed Black Widow made her final shot to earn the honored title.

The woman watching over on the tall balcony who had been proctoring the test didn’t move one bit, just as she had been when she first came. Never made any motions to indicate the test was over, never writing down the tests progress. If the candidate messed up even a little, the test would be over and the participant would fail. There was no room for even the slightest error in the Red Room.

“Приемлемо, Вдова” (Acceptable, Widow.) she addressed never moving an inch, but her voice rang out as powerful as a tidal wave. The red haired 22 year old lowered her weapon, but didn’t look up nor did she acknowledge the praise.

Praise wasn’t meant to be acknowledged. It was a part of the test. Praise was just a distraction fueling your ego and making one arrogant and overconfident in one’s ability and competence. Praise was just a mean used to seduce an opponent into a false sense of respect and admiration. Praise was a tool to be used against enemies.

The man next to the director did not look pleased. He did not know any better because he was not from the Red Room. He was a potential alliance and if he was to actually, officially be allied with the Red Room, then he would have to know his place. But for now, they allowed the German HYDRA official speak his incompetence. He was allowed to furrowed his brow and speak his feeble concerns to the Director in German.

“Diese Mission ist in unserem Bündnis von entscheidender Bedeutung. Sind Sie sich sicher, dass dies Ihr Kandidat ist?“( This mission is crucial in our alliance, are you positive this is your candidate. ) The Director did not humor him with an answer and turned to the large chipped wooden doors at the back of the balcony. The heavy doors opened and the Red haired woman walked straight. She followed the beige halls with flickering lights that grew more ark inbetween the next lighting fixture on the wall with no doors. Passing by the same old wooden normal sized doors to a point where you thought there was no Vega inning or end to them. But lead to a red door that stood out, breaking the dull pattern which continued on the other end of it. That is where she stopped and knocked exactly once before waiting. There was no indication that was visible or heard but after exactly 10 seconds of waiting with her hands behind her back, standing straight as a board, Natalia opened the red door.

The Director was sitting there at her plain desk, no emotion on her face as she stared straight at Natalia, directly in the eye. The man from earlier stood in to the side of the desk his body turned more toward the Director than to to her, he looked at her though threw a bit of a side eye and his expression was a little late to be schooled from his almost angered and irritated expression to a scowling neutral face, that only had a bit more emotion than the Director’s and Natalia’s stoic, solemn expression that have no emotions away. Almost as if they were robots. Then there was a man that hadn’t been in the training room, against the wall that casted shadows over his still figure in grey and black. He had long brown hair and a black mask that covered his mouth, his eyes were as lifeless as Natalia’s as he stood attention, back never touching the wall and his hands at his sides. She noticed his left arm was made of metal and a red star on his bicep. He didn’t look at her, just straight ahead, as if he was a rag doll and awaiting orders.

Natasha dissected him quickly, as she was expected to do with any and all unknown entities that surrounded her. He was American. Around 24. Closed off, and attentive. He had a Hydra symbol on his clothes. So did the German man.

The Director was talking about alliances and this was a mission room- and not just any mission room themission room; the room where all the higher ups got their missions they were to assign to the Red Rooms assassins and soldiers and the room where the Black Widow got her missions directly. Natasha felt dread pool in her gut, she didn’t like group missions. She was better solo. Other teammates held her back and she was very good at following the Red Room Number One rule:

Companions are for the weak.

It was the rule she based her entire life around. She cut off or killed all her connections outside the Red Room. She made herself the number one assassin-the Black Widow- in the red Room. She had no emotional attachments or connections and it made it easier to be lifeless. Easier to make her obey, because all her morals were dashed. It made it easier to kill with no personal attachments.

But on group missions, she had to interact in ways that weren’t deceiving or seducing her target. She had to work together with other people. And 99 percent of the time they were more emotional than her. They had connections and wanted to make them with her. She made sure to distance herself as much as possible, stay on guard around them, and never talk to them unless it was to discuss the mission and only if it’s imperative . No nonsense, no side conversations, no unnecessary interactions. If they didn’t get the plans on the first time they discussed it, then they would die and Natasha could improvise. She never ever depend on anyone else during a mission. Especially a team mission. She always assumed they would fail or be incompetent or die. She made auxiliary plans for every scenario she could think of.

“Natalia, you are the newly appointed Black Widow of this Red Room. A sort of congratulations are in order.” the Director said in nearly perfect English accent tonite only slightly with a Russian one(English is a boarder language that was spoken fluently among HYDRA and the Red Room, so she is already supposed to know that she is to speak mostly English on the mission and speak in English when she answered the questions verbally in the briefing room) and she slightly tilted her head in reply, but just to acknowledge the fact, face never showing emotion. The director’s lips formed an amused smile, in display of her control.

The Director was the only person who could show such emotion, she rarely did it. When she did it was to emphasize her anger or displeasement. She nearly never showed that she was pleased.

The HYDRA official, on the other hand, was not . And spoke such insolence that defied her director's decision. Especially for a second time. Natalia was genuinely curious how this man was still alive.

️

“She is new. She will not be sufficient for this mission. She does not have enough experience in her job well for this-” the German man went on a tirade. His German accent that laced his tone was ugly and thick, she never liked that language. It left a bad taste in her mouth. The Director cut off his venomous flow of words with a harsh slap of a paper to her oak desk. The sound resonated and her smile had completely vanished, a hint of irritation pinching her face in a way that a normal person wouldn’t even notice.

“She is the most obedient and strongest of all our candidates, and was the only one combatant enough to pass the exam on her first try. Natalia is the most acceptable for this mission, for she has never failed a mission assigned by the Red Room before. She will suffice the needs of this mission perfectly.” The director informed the German man never losing her composer, but allowing the heat and authority in her voice assert  dominance over him. She then turned back to Natasha. The German man shut up. She looked the fresh Widow in the eyes and held her gaze in a deadly stare as she informed in a voice that threatened that anything less than perfection was unacceptable on a level that would get her severely punished. “You will not fail.” Natalia nodded once and stood straighter as she said:

“Yes, Madam.” In a firm voice that did not show weakness or defiance. It showed promise for what she would do. The Director nodded in approval once before continuing the debrief.

“This mission is a extended mission in Italy through Germany. You will be assassinating delegates that might have future influences on the country, but have none as of now. Your target list will be given to you upon departure.” she said formerly, never breaking her eyes away from the Widow.

Black Widow.

“This mission is also important because beyond assassination and influence, there is alliance that will be maintained if all goes accordingly. You will be partnering with Hydra’s main asset.” the Director said barley gesturing to the soldier with the metal arm. Natasha didn’t take her eyes off the director, she didn’t turnto even glance at the man. She only heard as the man stood to attention by turning toward the Director and stepping away from the shadows and stood a few paces behind her. Locking his hands behind him to show compliance. “It is a partnership that we have been working on for decades. This mission’s success will be the deciding factor. Hydra’s new asset and the Red Room New Black Widow. Don’t mess up.” She warned, her tone suggested this would be something greater than she informed Natalia of. But it was not Natalia’s place to question her director.

She left with the soldier following her. Her next orders did not have to be said. She was to get ready and leave immediately. She got to her quarters quickly but never in a rush and closed the door packing a small beige backpack she acquired from Iraq. She does not have design preferences, the accessory was to only be used as functional and a tool on a mission.

When she walked out of her room, the soldier was standing by her door looking confused as if not knowing what to do, but in a way that he didn’t have any emotions on his face as he stared at the opposite wall blankly. She wanted to scoff, but she kept a neutral face as she made her way to the transports they would be using. Passing him by without a second glance.

He followed compliantly.

________________________________

They didn’t talk to each other while traveling.

They didn’t talk on the ride to the airport, in which she drove and he took the front seat. They didn’t talk to each other at checkout, she only talked to the check-in lady at the airport. They didn’t talk on the flight, they sat together while listening to the usual noise of coach seating area. They didn’t talk on the way to the hotel, they walked because it was only a short distance and kept to the shadows and mapped out the surrounding areas for their mission. They didn’t talk at the hotel, as they silently claimed their spots and unpacked.

As soon as they got to the one bed hotel room, she sat on one side of the bed and placed her pack on the floor, claiming the side as her own. They only got one room with one bed to avoid suspicion. It was unsaid that they’d be posing as a couple, not on a honeymoon or anything, just taking a simple vacation. There was no need for couples to request separate rooms or two beds and saying they were coworkers on a business trip was too complicated. No one asked questions this way.

Digging out a pad to show their first assignment of 25. The missions were given on a location based system. There were 25 assignments that unlocked as soon as they were in each city and locked again once they left the designated city. Currently they all were under the incomplete tab, once the assignment was complete they would get a new source of information and the necessities to travel to the next location. She estimated it would take 1 week per kill. That was 25 weeks.

The mission details were very clear, but not giving too much information. Just a name, location, and time. The way that they had to kill the first target was open ended and there were no building plans so that meant they had to scope it out before they went in.

The Soldier was quiet as he sat on the other side of the bed. Back toward her, sitting straight up. Waiting for orders. It was clear that she would be leading this mission. She didn’t find herself wondering about the mysterious man. She believe the expression went ‘curiosity killed the cat’. It was one of her flaws however, to be maybe too curious about things she believes she has no right to understand. It took a lot of her teenage years to suppress that instinct and still took a lot of self control to keep those thoughts away.

The Asset didn’t try to make an emotional connection to her. It was a bit off putting, but it did make her job not to get attached easier. So she shrugged it off.

They had a mission.

Week 1.

He didn’t talk.

She didn’t talk.

The lights Just turned out and they went to sleep on the first night. Both of them slipping into a light, restless sleep. Only inches apart and not touching. They made no noise as they slumbered, and did not move or wake up, as there was no threat.

The next morning they both woke up exactly at 6.

They got ready quickly and went out the door to scope their targets location of his imminent death. They only talked when they needed as to not look suspicious, and it was in codes about the mission. They spoke in Italian.

Natalia was pleasantly surprised when the Asset wasn’t as mindless as she first thought. He gave important input on the plan, that they were apparently expected to make on their own. The more technical things that is. He never said much and she talked only slightly more than him. Only to show him plans and her routes and if he had adjustments he would make them. Then they’d burn the paper to erase all evidence once the plan was solidified.

The target was killed by the end of the week.

Week 2

They were in Sicily.

Not far from where their first mission was, just across a straight. They took a boat there and the ride was only two hours. Neither one of them talked.

They didn’t really need a plan, they only need not to be caught. Unlike the last mission, they weren’t to make it as quiet as possible, but this time there was a note under the name, location and time. The note had said that they were to make a specifically of it.

Make it noticeable but not to be noticed.

Asset took the reins on this one by building a time bomb out of some scrap metal he found and taking gunpowder he had packed. She had to admit out of the little resources they had, it was a pretty decent bomb. She never verbally acknowledged it, but it did cross her mind.

They blew up the delegation center where their target was.

Week 3

She was bringing toast up to their room in Barcelona.

It was far away from the second kill, which was plastered all over the news. The delegation buildings bombing killing twenty people and injuring 103. Out of those twenty, only one was a target, but she couldn’t find it in herself to mourn the 19 others who had fallen. She hadn’t had those kind of thoughts in so many years she can barely remember.

“You have crumbs on your shirt.” he said in American. It threw her slightly off because That was the first time he’s ever spoken to her and gave her information that was not about the mission. It wasn’t an invitation of companionship, just a fact that she acknowledged by brushing it off and not offering a thanks.

But she couldn’t help but notice that behind the gruffness and an accent only a Native American (she believe it sounded most like a Brooklyn accent, but that part of the accent  was barely noticeable) in his voice was a tint of gentleness and the same barely noticeable confusion that always laced his voice whenever he talked. It wasn’t like the German Officer, in fact he rather liked his voice.

She shot a woman in the head the next day.

Week 4

“I am going out.”

She had said one night and he got up and followed her into the woods that was near their hotel in a small town in Scotland.

She was going out to train and to not lose her edge. She didn’t expect him to come but she didn’t deny him and his silent invitation to spar. Their default fighting styles were completely opposite.  She used speed and her agility and flexibility. He mostly blocked and used his strength and precise hits that would do a lot of damage.

They didn’t go easy on each other and that was the way she liked it. No one would go easy on them in the real world and it’s best to train with no handicaps.

They spared in silence for hours until they were both drenched in sweat. Sneaking back into the hotel near 3am, sneaking past the half asleep receptionist. Not letting anyone notice as they slipped back into their room and took turns to shower and get ready.

Two days later they hung a man in the early morning under a monorail track.

Week 5

“I am Natalia.”

She told him and he looked up, and they stared at each other in silence for a long time. His expression flashed a bit of surprise, before settling back into the blank stare, that the longer she looked at it, noticed it wasn’t so blank. It held a swirl of emotions and memories that he, now that she really looked at him, visibly suppressed.

She never told him her name in the month that they had worked together, she felt it was appropriate considering the next 20 weeks were going to be spent together. They were going to be undercover at least once in that time.

“I don’t have a name.” he informed in a clipped tone. She did not feel sorry for that. She respected him too much to pity him. Natasha pitied no one. “They call me Soldier.”

“You need a name for this mission.” she said, but she didn’t offer him a suggestion. He hummed in affirmation. Agreeing with her. And took some time to think of one.

“How about Aktivs.” she raised her brow. She didn’t like it. Latvian for Asset. That wouldn’t work, as they were in Latvia. That was basically like going to America and saying that he was named Asset.

“No.” she responded. He gave her a cocky smirk, one he probably would never dare to do where his handlers could see. One that showed more emotion than Natalia had been shown her entire life. It was so sudden and shocking and overwhelming that Natasha could not stop a quiet gasp from her mouth. He falter just a bit before continuing.

“Krasnaya.” Interesting. Her shock was gone and replaced with that curiosity she suppressed. If he could be cocky then she could be curious.

“Russian?” she asked. Letting amusement and interest cautiously enter her tone. He looked a little shocked but for less time than she had and he nodded.

She liked it.

It didn’t matter that they had shown more emotion in the past 30 seconds than they had in their entire lives. Their bosses weren’t here to call them out or punish them. And it wasn’t like they were going to tell them, because if Natalia was honest, it was kind of nice.

He strangled someone to death the next day.

Week 6

“Natalia.”

He said her name for the first time in the dead of night, as they were laying on their hotel bed in Munich. They were sharing a bed, as they always did, inches apart and not touching.

She liked how he said her name. His Russian accent being nicely fused with his gentle English.

“Krasnaya.” she responded in her own tone tinted with slight affection. If he noticed then he didn’t say so.

“Do you ever think there is something else out there. Besides this.” He said in almost a child like tone. Innocent and unassuming. This was dangerous territory he was defending into. Even questioning their existence and what it meant for them to live was deadly and would warrant immediate punishment. She stared at the ceiling for a second, and couldn’t help but contemplate her answer. It should’ve been simple.

“Not for us.” she responded. That was the simplest way to put it. They had no life other than being their organizations tools. Being a small part of a bigger picture that they could not know.

When she was younger and more naive, she thought it was like a jail. She was a prisoner being made into something that wasn’t human.

She wasn’t wrong.

They drowned a 19 year old the next morning,

Week 7

“I can’t remember.”

He mumbled to himself in a frustrated tone, having more emotion than it should. Natalia looked up from her book that she was reading on a chair. He was sitting on the bed, back facing her. His hands gripped his knees so hard that she saw his flesh hand turn white.

She shouldn’t say anything. But she does.

“What?” She asked simply, quietly. Letting gentleness creep into it as to be non threatening. For the first time, he seemed upset.

“Before I woke up in HYDRA.” He said and turned slightly to her as she put down her book but didn’t get up. He looked down to his arm. “The only thing I can remember, is that I didn’t have this.” He the movement in his arm minuscule to indicate what he was talking about.

She didn’t have a response for it, so she didn’t say anything at all. But she did attempt to send some sort of silent support, not offering any apology.

This wasn’t her fault.

But she did feel a flash of anger blaze within her. Anger that she hadn’t felt since she was 16. Anger at this system, this organization for not treating them better. She hadn’t had these foolish thoughts of think she deserved better since she was a kid.

But she felt Krasnaya deserved better than how HYDRA had been treating him.

They drowned two women in the cold water of the Mediterranean sea.

Week 8

“I like the way you fight.”

It was the first time they talked during a sparring session. Which was sort of strange because the only noises that were heard was the nocturnal creatures and dull sounds of the city. The only noise they made were flesh on flesh or metal and their slightly heavy panting.

It was nearly 2, and they were just about to end up their sparring session with one last round before heading back to the hotel in Zermatt. She took him off guard and went for the legs, smirking as he went down and then jumping on top of his fallen figure, straddling him with a freshly sharpened knife to his throat.

“Oh yeah?” She asked, with a hint of amusement at his chagrined face. It took a second for the miffed look to disappear and replaced with something else.

“Yes.” he confirmed after a while with a nod and she smiled a bit more, never leaving her position as she leaned closer toward him.

“And what exactly is it about my style that you like?” she asked in an almost seductive way (but it wasn’t seductive, because she wasn’t trying to flirt just tease) , letting her curiosity get the best of her and took over her words.

“It’s almost like a dancer.” Krasnaya replied, Natalia scoffed. The Red Room entire theme was a ballet studio. The dancers were as physically fit as one could be. Ballet took a lot of self control and hardwork. Physical prowess was everything when it came to training. Being called a dancer was supposed to be an insult, for Natalia it left a bad taste in her mouth. It reminded her of the Red Room and the torture she had to go through to get to where she was now. She couldn’t focus on the past because the mission didn’t require that.

But somehow, when Krasnaya complimented her, when he said that she looked like a dancer. She knew it was his American way of saying she was graceful and elegant. In American eyes, Russian Ballet was an untouchable art form. She couldn’t help her smile.

They killed the tenant in the room just above theirs when they got back.

Week 9

“Natasha.”

He said and she looked up from the plans she was making for their next target in Berlin. He had been looking at her for a while, just staring. It wasn’t unnatural for Krasnaya to stare at her, or at the wall or anywhere really, so she had ignored it. Had she looked up she would see that he had a look of concentration on his face. Like he was trying to figure something out.

“It’s easier to say in English.” He explained and she gave a look of understanding and exasperation, but hid her small smile by ducking down to continue making their plan.

She liked it.

She sliced a 42 year old woman’s throat 2 hours later.

Week 10

“I like cats.”

It was the most random and weird thing to say. Completely inappropriate for a woman of her status and a situation this dire. Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to be regretful of the words, especially as Krasnaya gave her a baffled expression. That showed he was completely lost on how to reply.

They were currently in the vents (they were really big vents) in a convention center in Edinburgh. Their target was two rooms away and the vents were big enough for both of them to fit so they could get a clear shot of their target as he walked by.

“Yes, I think I like cats.” he finally responded and Natasha let out a small quiet laugh. Of course that’s how he’d respond. He looked at her again and smiled.

“You seem like a dog type.” she observed and she in a million years would never expect him to respond with:

“I like the way you laugh.”

That took Natasha by surprise. She didn’t know why her heart stopped and she froze. She didn’t know the feeling that was crawling up on her insides, it was warm and fuzzy. That was probably a red flag, a warning sign that she was emoting but she couldn’t help but like the feeling that came upon her.

She didn’t even notice their target was dead until she saw red.

Week 11

“You remind me of someone.”

He said to her as they were eating breakfast in a little cafe in Nerja. They were trying to listen in on their target, but he had gone to the bathroom and they made no move to follow. Best to keep suspicion off of themselves. They already had all the information they needed, but couldn’t find it in themselves to go. She looked up from her biscuit with a raised eyebrow as he hurried to add.

“I mean I think you remind me of someone. A woman.” he said hurriedly and Natasha nodded in understanding. She didn’t give any indication for him to continue, but didn’t speak as she munched on her breakfast. “Someone before…” he moved his metal arm only slightly.

They’d talked about this on and off for a while. Krasnaya not remembering anything, not even his own name. HYDRA not telling a thing about his past to him or anyone else. They used his metal arm as an indicator of timestamps.

“What do you remember about her?” she asked, having an almost foreboding feeling in his gut. She shifted and didn’t like the way that the thought of talking about her made Natasha feel. And she didn’t know why she was feeling the way she felt right now, she just knew that it was probably stupid. So she schooled her expression into a neutral one, Krasnaya didn’t seem to notice.

“I remember that she has brown hair. I also remember her being a strong individual. I usually remember her with a blonde boy, I think. I don’t know, everytime I look at you I get reminded of her.” Krasnaya said and shifted a little. “Like, you two have the same...air about you. You two seem very different otherwise. But strong and independent is what I’d call her, and you remind me of that.” he shrugged.

“Do you like those characteristics?” she found herself asking without think about it. He looked at her oddly before shrugging.

“I do, but I don’t feel the same way when I think of her as I do with you.” he sounded confused. And Natasha found herself in the middle of relaxing and tensing up even more. She didn’t know why; he was just telling her what he remembered.

Like he always did.

She strangled their target in an ally on his way to lunch.

Week 12

She kissed him.

She didn’t know why she did that of all things, but her target was looking directly at them. They were in a corner of a shopping mall in Mons. They sat on the bench waiting for their target to finish purchasing a very expensive watch, and they must have looked suspicious because he looked over and narrowed his eyes a bit. Now he averted his eyes and was hurriedly walking away.

Krasnaya seemed just as surprised as their target, if his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates were anything to go by it. She waited until the target was out of sight to part lips, looking distinctly away from Krasnaya’s shocked murky blue eyes.

Her heart shouldn’t be pounding this hard; she had to do what she had to do to avoid suspicion. But was kissing Krasnaya the best way to go about it? It was an instinct, an in the moment decision which was weird. She never not kissed someone to maintain her cover before, but somehow this was different. Should couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t just to maintain their cover. She actually quite enjoyed it, which wasn’t good because she shouldn’t have enjoyed anything.

“Why did you…” he whispered, body only tensing after she broke them up. He looked at her and she only looked where her target had left. Trying not to pay any mind at his intense stare baring into her. He didn’t seem upset or mad. But she felt that he was confused, she was too.

“He saw us.” She explained herself and glanced, only for a second, at his still tense and unmoving form. “Physical displays of affection make people uncomfortable.” She couldn’t help but smirk as a light red dusted his cheeks, barely noticeable.

She got up to finish their job.

The target never even noticed he was dead.

Week 13

“This tastes like shit.”

He scrunched up his nose at the breakfast she had made him. There was a kitchen in their hotel in Lyon. They didn’t feel like eating out today and had a more complex mission to plan. They needed more intercite plan and they only had two days to make it. She had made a drink with kale and Chia seeds she had found in the market. She just boiled that combination in water to give to him as he continued with the plan. She huffed and turned away.

“It’s good for you.” She insisted and he pushed the cup away from him. It looked like sewer water in the dark. He wrinkled his nose again at the cup as if offended him.

“I think you’re trying to poison me.” He mumbled and she snorted. He had a pouty look on his face, and it was kind of cute…. Wait...what?!

No no, that was the exact wrong thing to think! She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t have feelings or affection if any kind for Krasnaya. That would get her killed. That would get him killed.

“Stop being dramatic and drink it.” She found herself saying in almost a scolding tone, even if she was going to an existential crisis inside her brain and heart -How was her heart fucking apart of this now?!

They poisoned a lady, with real poison that evening.

Week 14

“I would never forget you, Natasha.”

Krasnaya looked at her seriously as they were staking out a woman with red heels in the car on the edge of a small town 50 miles outside of Berlin. It came out of nowhere and Natasha looked at Krasnaya a bit shocked, just like he did when she sometimes did something odd, it must’ve shown because his face softened from the serious expression it was.

She didn’t know why the hell she felt lighter. She felt a flutter in her chest and it made her feel nervous and relaxed at the same time. But most of all she felt warm and comforted. She found that she didn’t mind the feeling nearly as much as she was trained to. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

With Krasnaya, all her training and self control over her emotions flew out of the window. She could breathe and relax and let herself feel because Krasnaya doesn’t judge her or yell at her when she does. It was okay because He doesn’t care about self control nearly as much as he should either.

“I count on it.” she smirked at him. He smiled back. That smile that made her feel a sense of happiness. She didn’t fight it this time. She found that letting herself feel emotions wasn’t as bad as she thought.

Not with Krasnaya.

They killed the woman with a noose.

Week 15

“He was blonde.”

They were about to go to sleep when Krasnaya had a major flashback. He had fallen off the bed and his eyes went wide. His breathing picked up to the point he was hyperventilating. Natasha went on autopilot and did what she thought was the natural way to deal with this. She instantly took him to back the bed sitting across from him in a cross cross as he mirrored her breathing.

Then he tentatively requested to talk it out, as if she would say no. She scoffed at that insecurity and told him to spill, because that was what she was going to tell him to do anyway.

He smiled up at her with a small painful, but genuine smile. She had her own easy small genuine smile just for him too.

They had talked for hours about a small boy that was always sick and could barely breathe. Natasha guesses he had asthma and he had another series of flashes and told her that the boy put newspapers in his shoes to be taller.

Most of the memories were painful, some he laughed painfully at. Almost all of them had that small blonde boy with newspaper in his shoes. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t put a name to the face.

Krasnaya said that the memories were painful because it seemed like he had a good life before the metal arm. It didn’t seem at all like he was working for HYDRA.

Natasha has never felt more hate to the organization as she did just then.

They strapped a man to the bottom of the boat instead of sleeping.

Week 16

“Do you ever wonder if we could have a normal life.”

She asked in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling of their motel room in Unquera. He hadn’t said anything to her, but she could tell that he wasn’t asleep. They both couldn’t sleep. But she guessed it was just one of those nights.

Those night where their thoughts were too loud to go to sleep. Where they screamed that what they were doing was wrong and that they could have a life outside of this. The nights where they imagined what life would be like if they never were apart of their respected organizations.

She couldn’t help but notice that being with Krasnaya increased those thoughts. She also did notice how he snuck his way into her fantasies.

“I do.” He whispered into the darkness. He inches closer to her and she did the same to him, breaking their streak of not moving while in the bed. She could help but think it was nice and wondered what she would feel like if they closed the contact all together.

But for now, two inches closer was enough for her.

“What do you think it’d be like?” She asked in the same quiet tone, barley even making any noise. If he was anyone else, it would’ve been like the question wasn’t even asked.

“Better than this.” He predicted not changing the volume. She couldn’t help but agree with that assessment.

Because if they had a normal life then she could be happy and feel emotions with no repercussions. If they had a normal life they could see more smiles from each other. If they had a normal life she could touch Krasnaya with no reservations.

She snapped a man’s neck 12 hours later.

Week 17

“Hey Nat, did you get the report?”

She paused at the name. She had never been addressed so informally before. ‘Natasha’ was already pushing it a little. But shortening that name even further seems unprofessional.

That was something friends do.

Normally she would panic. Worry that her training had fled her or that she had to close herself off even more. But Krasnaya seemed to be the exception to nearly all her rules. She didn’t mind the thought of being companions with Krasnaya.

And she didn’t care at all by now.

“What did you just call me?” She asked, hoping she heard him correctly. Hoping that he too dashed all his morals to be affectionate with her. She smirked as she saw that he blushed a bit. But he didn’t repeat himself nor did he deny that he had given her a pet name.

She wished he could give one to him, but she didn’t know his name. She found herself thinking that he’d find out. She’d get that information, if not him than for herself.

So she too could call him a ridiculous pet name.

They decapitated their target near a lake.

Week 18

“You’re an idiot.”

“It’s not my fault, it just froze, Nat!” He said as he adjusted his arm on the wrong way again. He had landed on it wrong when sorting and in the morning they had found that some gears had shifted out of place.

“God dammit.” He cursed under his breath adjusting the gears again and she laughed at his misery. “Don’t laugh, this fucking hurts.” He groaned, and she just knew he was being dramatic. This had happened before, it wasn’t that big a deal if he put everything in its proper place before he shifted them again. That only made her laugh more.

“Don’t do stupid things, like try to beat me.” She shout back with a teasing smile and he looked at her exasperated then went back to poking a screwdriver in his arm, rolling his eyes.

He hit the kill spot of a 35 year old man at dawn.

Week 19

“I’ve always wanted a family.”

He said in the front seat as they drove through country roads to get to their next destination. She wasn’t taken by surprise by his random notes that he made. If Krasnaya remembered something then he’d tell her and she’d respond, hoping to encourage more of the memory to come out.

But this one took her a bit by surprise. She didn’t take her eyes off the road but her left hand gripped the steering wheel as her right settled on his left arm comfortingly.

She couldn’t help but feel remorse for that one little fact. She’d never thought about having a family, it just never seemed to be in the cards for her. She was indifferent to it before she met Krasnaya.

Now the thought was a pleasant but far away one. She could never have a family and neither could he, not anymore.

It seemed to communicate over to him as he slumped. He knew it too. But whoever he was before would’ve had that, and that probably made it more painful for him.

Her heart constricted, because as much as she wanted Krasnaya to be truly happy and have his old life back, that life would’ve taken him away from her. She found that She was willing to sacrifice whatever these feelings were for that.

As long as he was happy.

He rammed a pole into a woman’s head near the afternoon.

Week 20

“I never knew my parents.”

She finally told him as he looked at her with a raised brow and she shifted from side to side. They were standing in a line to the metro so they could get to the place where the kill would take place.

She never really cared about her parents before. She never gave them much thought, even when she was younger. But being with Krasnaya brought out a lot of things she never thought twice about.

Even killing people seemed to lose its luster.

He smiled at her a little, easing her nerves and grabbed her hand gently with his metal one. A silent form of support that they hadn’t spoken about but was still a reoccurring thing now. She didn’t mind it in the least.

“Well I don’t either.” He said snarking her and she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile as she jabbed him in his ribs.

She never did let go of his hand until they were in the front of the line.

She strangled  a man with twine at 8.

Week 21

“I don’t think I agree with the Red Room.”

He looked up with her, panicked look flashing though his eyes as he nearly dropped his muffin. They were in another cafe, this time in London, eating breakfast, because apparently her cooking was shit and Krasnaya’s was way better but they didn’t have ingredients.

His face settled into a more serious expression before he answered with “I don’t agree with HYDRA’s either.” He admitted and she had a feeling he’d say that. Especially after all they’ve done to him.

“This is dangerous to think.” She replied in a solemn tone and he rolled his eyes and but didn’t look confused.

“Then why’d you bring it up?” He asked in almost an exasperated tone. She shrugged.

“Because it’s an important things to know.” He didn’t respond to that, nibbling away at his muffin again. But the air around them was speaking volumes when they didn’t. It was tense but relaxed.

It felt right.

They strapped a man on a subway track in between terminals.

Week 22

“What if we didn’t go back?”

That was even more dangerous than even thinking about defying the Red Room expectations. It was a fantasy though, she couldn’t help but want that after all these weeks. Want was a dangerous thing for both of them. Hey didn’t have that luxury and leaving was not an option. They were trapped in the messed up system that broke them. The system that said that they would fix them when they didn’t know that were ever broken. When they were too young or confused to understand.

“Krasnaya-” She warned gently. They had talked about this before, just not so blatantly. She didn’t panic anymore when they did, and neither did he. But they did keep a closer look on the area around them, just in case anyone was listening in. Anyone that would rat them out.

“No, I’m serious, Natalia.” She stiffened because he never called her Natalia. Only when he was really serious or mad. They had played with this idea, and she thought it was a mutual fantasy. She never let it be anything more than that. If she did then she’d have hope and hope was something that she absolutely could not allow herself to feel. Hope was deception and she was firm in that opinion and not even Krasnaya could change that. Hope was a downfall, and was the ultimate thing that would tear her apart if she felt it; she knew that.

“They’d find us.” he didn’t argue with her, but she did feel his sadness in the rejection. He understood the logic but couldn’t hold back the want. She sympathized with it, but she could let Krasnaya have false hope. It would break his already broken mind.

They watched the drowned man’s kids find their father.

Week 23

“I think I love you.”

It was said with such sureness and confidence as she stood in front  of the man she proclaimed it to. She knew had never had these feelings before, never had any feelings of affection for anyone really, so she could not be 100 percent sure.

But she knew what she felt was intense. She knew what she felt was more than just friendship. Over the past months she had grown a bond with Krasnaya, a bond she did not want to break. A bond that she wanted to hold onto forever.

“I think I love you too.” He responded, taking her hand gently in his. He said it in a quieter tone but with just as much conviction. Both of them did not know what love was, but to them it didn’t matter.

She wanted to love Krasnaya, and it didn’t matter of the Red Room or HYDRA. It didn’t matter if she was an assassin or not. It didn’t matter if Krasnaya couldn’t even remember his own name.

They would love each other in their own way and she doubted anyone could stop them. Even if they were a million miles apart. Even if he forgot her, he’d always remember her love.

You never forget love.

When they kissed this time, it wasn’t because they had been spotted.

They slit the throat of their target quickly that night.

Week 24

It was a quick thing.

Something they didn’t even think about. It really just happened. Almost like an instinct. They didn’t discuss it before hand or anything, just went at it.

It was unplanned, but it felt right.

They didn’t trust. Never learned how. But if there was some semblance of trust in them, this was the closest thing they had. Their relationship was based off of trust and blood. Silent comfort and aggressive sparring. Their mutual lack of knowledge of their organizations desires and the confusing thoughts of their mutual wants.

“This isn’t a good idea.”She isn’t sure who said it, but she couldn’t help but agree. She also disagreed, apparently, because her body was showing otherwise. He seemed to feel the same way, but like her, they just didn’t care.

“No one will find out.” The other responded. How could they? There were no tests, nor were there any way to find out or evidence that indicated they did this. Not in anyway their organizations could find out. And they certainly weren’t confessing about this.

But they only had a week to do this. She didn’t know much, her mind went blank when she tried to remember what initiated this. She wasn’t sure who said what but she acknowledged it; she wasn’t sure if anyone would find out but she doubted it. She only knew how she felt, and she felt her love for him and his for her collide together in intense passion.

And as she laid there with Krasnaya on top of him, she couldn’t help but think that this felt natural. She couldn’t find herself to be worried about it; about her director’s opinions or the punishment that would occur for both of them if this was ever found out. He didn’t seem to care. She found that she didn’t care either, because this felt right.

More right than anything in her entire life.

They hung a 23 year old man the next night.

Week 25

It was that week that he was ripped away.

Out of her sight forever.

She was never to see him again, and she couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t do anything. In the knowledge that they’d both be punished if they defied their bosses decisions. In the knowledge that it would arouse suspicion and mistrust among their separate peers.

She just watched him go, standing board still upright with her hands behind her back. He walked the same walk he did when he first came in. The following soldier walk. She relieved only now that she hated that walk. Her Face never gave her away to any emotion. Neither did his.

She couldn’t help but feel that she wouldn’t see him again for a long time. She had known that before, but only now was it sinking in. Tearing her to pieces inside.

His going was the most painful torture she had ever experienced. She would give into all forms of punishment to just hold him one more time, one more second. But even if she admitted that she’d get punished with no compensation. The compensation was her speaking out.

Their relationship was cut by people who used them like puppets. Their hearts ripped out and put back all wrong.

She felt no regret for their relationship, she only felt regret for not fighting harder for it. That feeling of regret was only sinking in now. Regret that she could never see him again. Regret she didn’t notice the feeling soon enough so they had more time. Regret for not trying to run away from the empires that chained them. Now as she let him go and watched him leave with a straight face, she felt that.

Leaving him was wrong. Letting him go felt wrong. It hurt. Hurt so much. And even though she showed no emotion anymore and nor did he, she knew he felt the same and he knew how she felt.

It killed her more than she thought anything ever would.

________________________________

One Year later

2001, Red Room

She thought she had erased all evidence of that night.

That night they had promised each other never to speak of. That night they had promised each other they wouldn't even whisper about. That night they had promised each other no one would ever know what they had done.

She had clearly not kept her end of the promise, for now she held a small child in her arms. At first, upon finding out after weeks of illness, she had regretted not using protection or not being conscious enough to even think of it. But now, she felt nothing but love for the tiny human in her arms, swaddled in a pale brown blanket. Making quiet, quiet mewling sounds, even though she had just been born. The child wasn't crying, and if she weren't so grateful for it, she would have been worried.

A girl, only a few minutes old. She had light blonde hair, like one of the fathers (she had wished for chestnut or red, but it was fine, the color suited her), and light blue eyes so large it seemed that if they were any bigger, she would have turned into a cyclops. She had her button nose and thin mouth. Her cheeks were slightly smaller than they should be, and her body was smaller than that of an average child. She weighed only a few pounds, and Natasha involuntarily laughed to herself because she had gained thirty during the pregnancy. She was beautiful.

Galina Romanov.

Her mind realized it instantly, and she smiled, but only to herself. She allowed herself these few moments of bliss with the child. To be near and radiate her love. She would make sure she was loved. Krasnaya came to mind, and she involuntarily pictured him kneeling beside her, touching the child's delicate face, their daughter. Smiling his soft, wide smile as the tiny baby grasped his finger just as she had grasped hers when she offered her a finger.

The fantasy shattered as the Director burst into the room and ruined the moment. She was furious. And, credit to the child, she didn't raise her voice when she entered, but continued mewling even louder, expressing her displeasure.

"Избавиться от этого." (Get rid of it.) she demanded sharply, expecting immediate obedience. She raised a defiant gaze and held the child closer to her chest. They had already discussed this, and she had refused to take the abortifacients. With her slightly enhanced body, it wouldn't have worked anyway. Everyone had agreed to let her carry the child to term, but she had been injected with Captain America's DNA and trained very hard, and she had not been exempt from punishment. And yet, despite the pitiful state of her body, the child growing inside her had been too stubborn to die. She was proud of her, even if she was unborn and made her weak.

She had never felt so weak.

"Я не буду" (I will not.) she said simply. The Director flushed with anger. She must have thought she would kill her child. But if Natalia's—no, Natasha's—behavior these past nine months of disobedience was any indication, then she was a fool if she thought she wouldn't defend this child with her life.

"Вы не можете заботиться о ребенке и продолжать обучение в качестве Черной Вдовы. Я не позволю этому позору всех наших стандартов бродить среди нас. Убей это." (You cannot take care of a child and continue your training as Black Widow. I will not let this disgrace of all our standards roam among us. Kill it.) she spoke quickly and desperately. Anger seeped into her voice, and she had never in her life seen the Director act so emotionally. She glared at her angrily, which only amplified the anger in the room.

"Нет" (No.) Natasha said quietly, looking at the child. Galya cried even harder because of the negative atmosphere in the room, and she involuntarily felt angry at the Director for causing her child distress.

"Мадам" (Madam.) the Doctor spoke meekly. The Director threw a vicious glance at his hunched figure, making him hunch even more. She had to admit he had balls. And even though he had wanted to dissect the unborn child, he had supported her pregnancy. She had tried to avoid him, but he had become her personal obstetrician. Now she looked at the disgusting doctor pleadingly, but he wasn't looking at her. Only at his notes, trying to avoid their Director's murderous gaze. "Это первый ребенок трех усиленных людей. Это может сделать удивительного солдата, если её правильно воспитать. Также мы можем обусловить её при рождении, это никогда не было сделано раньше, так как нам никогда не приходилось сталкиваться с этой ... проблемой." (This is the first child of three enhanced individuals. It could make an amazing soldier if nurtured properly. Also, we can condition her at birth; this has never been done before as we have never had to deal with this... issue.) he objected on her behalf. She looked at the Director, who was apparently reluctantly considering it.

"Хорошо" (Fine.) she agreed angrily and reluctantly. No doubt she was mentally planning an intensive training regimen. Planning how to break her child before Galya could turn into something else. Something defiant. She hated her gratitude; it was awful, but at least her child was alive. The doctor's smile was disgusting. "Но вы должны натренировать её, Наталья. Она не несет ответственности ни за кого. Я хочу обновления каждые две недели. Ваше обучение увеличится, это также жесткость. Если я недовольна её темпом, она будет уволена. Вам разрешается один месяц материнства, и тогда это начнется." (But you are to train her, Natalia. She is no one else’s responsibility. I want updates every two weeks. Your training will increase in rigidness as well. If I am dissatisfied with her pace, she shall be terminated. You are allowed one month of maternity leave, and then it will begin.) She left quickly this time, instantly composing herself as she exited the crude examination room.

Natasha sighed in relief.

________________________________

Four Years Later.

2005, The Red Room.

Galina was smarter than most children her age.

Natasha was incredibly proud of her. She didn't hide her pride in her, always whispering praises in the presence of others, because praise for a small child was not a tool but an encouragement, and she would talk quietly with Galina when they were alone in their room.

She had practically learned Russian, French, and German right away. However, when she was with her in their room, they spoke English, just to feel the spirit of Krasnaya. She knew that if he were here, if he knew about their daughter, he would support them. He would be happy and proud of their family. Sometimes it made her heart ache, and Natasha wondered if Galina would ever want to meet her father.

Galina adored reading. In most subjects, including math and science, she was performing at a first-grade level, which was incredible for a child her age, so literate. She wasn't even supposed to be reading yet; she was supposed to be learning the alphabet. She had learned to crawl at two and started walking like a fish to water. The doctors were pleased with the rapid progress, but the Director didn't care.

Natasha loved telling her stories. All kinds of stories. Stories that Galina didn't understand but loved anyway. She told her stories about her father and how she had loved him in the dark night in their room. She told her stories about all her silly antics, and Galina would giggle softly and gently, her smile so bright. She loved to see her smile, just as she loved to see Krasnaya smile. But she couldn't help but smile herself every time Galina did.

Her little Galya.

"Mama?" she asked her one day after a training session. Galina always watched her train. She followed her graceful movements, observing her. She was always watching her, to know what she would do when she grew up. She taught her how to fight, without actually fighting. She had told the Director that she would start fighting for real when she was five, the age when children could usually already walk and run without stumbling.

Natasha hated the fact that Galya had to watch her fight, even if Galya didn't understand the meaning of violence; she didn't want it to affect her life at such a young age.

"Yes, Galya?" she asked in return, a slight smile appearing on her face. They were in her room, so it was okay. Galya asked a lot of questions, but mostly to her, when they were alone in the room. Galya had learned that she was looked down upon, and she hardly ever questioned the doctors and trainers, but Natasha encouraged her to ask questions. She seemed to have inherited her curiosity, and she didn't want to extinguish that clever spark while she could still nurture it.

"Why can't I talk when you're dancing?" she asked in her childish, gentle voice. Natasha looked at her sadly. She thought she was dancing?

"You're almost like a dancer."

She couldn't suppress her smile. Galya was truly her father's daughter. She loved Galya even more when she spoke and did things just like her father. She loved Galya, but it hurt a little, but that was okay. It was like a little piece of Krasnaya was with her when she was with Galya.

"Because I need to concentrate. I can't concentrate when I'm distracted by a cute little spider." She tickled her, making Galya laugh. She smiled. She called her her little spider because when she had read a book about spiders and found the page with the Black Widow spider classification, that page seemed to interest her more than any other. She knew Natasha was called the Black Widow, and it had melted her heart, and when Galya asked if there was a little bit of spider in Natasha, she had laughed.

"But you are graceful like one, Mama."

"Then, I suppose you will be my little spider."

For now, everything was fine. With Galya, it was always fine. Just like with Krasnaya.

"I love you, Galya," she said quietly.

"I love you too, Mama," Galya replied immediately, snuggling into the spot where she had just been sitting. She held Galya close to her chest and kissed the top of her head.

For now, everything was alright.

A week later, it wasn't.

The Director barged into their room; she didn't even notice her stand up from the desk, and Galya, who had been reading next to her at the foot of the bed on the floor, looked up at her. Galya looked scared, not yet having learned to restrain her emotions, and she wished Galya would never have to learn. Wished her daughter could express her thoughts and act freely. Like normal children.

The Director glared angrily at Galya, but then a sly, sinister smile appeared on her face. A creepy sense of déjà vu washed over Natasha, and by the time she realized what was about to happen, it was too late. The Director herself crossed the room in a few strides and lifted Galya from the floor before Natasha could say or do anything. Before she could lunge and try to get the child back, trainers grabbed her by the arms as the Director walked out the door. She fought with her hands, her feet, and ran, but she couldn't fight off all the trainers and could only watch through the straps as Galya got further and further away.

Galya didn't make a sound. She didn't speak, didn't scream, didn't cry. She was proud of Galya for her bravery, and when—not if—she got her back, she would praise Galya for it. She would love Galya for it. Love her for who she was. But her heart broke when she heard the slightest voice.

"Mama?" it came, quiet and scared, and the echo lingered in her heart longer than it did in the hallway. Galya was frightened. She was supposed to protect her.

"Мы переезжаем её" (We are relocating her.) They simply told Natasha. They forced her to stay down, and it only made her struggle harder to reach her daughter.

"I am her mother," she said fiercely in English. Defending her child, who was no longer nearby. She needed her. She wouldn't let her go. Not like Krasnaya. She would fight for this love because she understood now. Understood that she had to fight for love. And she wasn't going to watch her child be taken from her without putting up a proper fight.

"That is not important," they replied in English as well. She felt the anger flare in her heart. They had such a strong accent that she hit one of them just as Galya disappeared from view. She didn't stop hitting even after she was gone.

Her vow became a promise.

________________________________

Galya did not like the new place they had brought her to.

It was darker and dirtier than where she had been with her mother. And her mother wasn't here. It was scary without her because the people who weren't her were very mean. They didn't smile at her, even when she smiled at them. And the ones who did smile at her, but weren't Mama, only smiled when they hurt her with knives and scalpels, and when she was strapped to a metal table with an annoying light flooding only her part of the room in the middle. She didn't like those smiles; they weren't as safe as her mother's smiles.

She wanted her mother.

Somehow, she knew she would never see her again. Or at least, not for a very long time. Somehow, she knew this made her sad. Sadness was an emotion, and Mama said emotions were only allowed in their room, with her. But they weren't in the room, and Galya didn't like being sad. It made her feel bad, and Mama always helped her feel better when she was sad.

But this time, Galya was very sad because they weren't in the room. She didn't know if she could wait until she was alone with Mama again. The new mean people were just as mean as the old ones, but she felt lonely because Mama wasn't here with these new mean people. When she was lonely, she was still sad, but much more. When Mama was with her, she never felt lonely, even when Mama couldn't talk to her, or she couldn't talk to Mama. She still made Galya happy.

Somehow, she understood that she shouldn't cry.

The old mean people didn't like it when she made noise or showed emotions. Crying and laughing were both, and they got very angry with her when she did, so she tried not to cry or laugh. These new people probably also didn't like it when she made noise or showed emotions. Her eyes stung, but she didn't cry. She didn't even sniffle. Maybe if she was very good, she would see Mama sooner.

So she would be extra good. For Mama.

She was led into a room with white walls and a white floor. It wasn't like Mama's room because there was no window with a latch, and the walls in their room were grey and had books. This room had almost nothing in it. There was a mat and a battered metal bedside table with no drawers. The door wasn't wooden like Mama's, but metal and looked heavy. Like a cell door. There was also a toilet in a closet. But there was also a cot, and someone was lying on the cot.

That someone was not her mother.

A man with a metal arm, long brown hair, and blue eyes lifted his head when the new mean people shoved Galya inside. The man looked worn out, his face was empty, but it didn't look as mean as everyone else's. And it didn't look as kind as Mama's. It looked... indifferent, uncaring. That was better than snarling and leering, so Galya considered it a blessing. They stared at each other for a while, not breaking eye contact. Her wide eyes met his empty, indifferent gaze.

They didn't say anything. The man didn't speak to her when he turned over, and Galya didn't say anything to him because Mama had told Galya not to talk to strangers. Galya carefully crept further into the room, trying not to make loud movements because sometimes the mean people didn't like it when she made noise or moved. She went to the opposite end of the room, into the corner away from the man. She didn't take her eyes off him. Mama always told Galya to be alert and watch for any danger when she wasn't around. Mama told her to always watch for any threat or unknown, especially in a new environment. Never take her eyes off them.

Right now, this man wasn't a threat, but he was an unknown. And he was in a new environment. So Galya didn't take her eyes off him for a second.

They sat like that for several hours, until the lights went out with a loud, resonant click. As if many lamps had gone out at once. The sound echoed in Galya's ears longer than it actually lasted. The man just turned over and went to sleep.

Galya did not.

She wanted her mother.

She allowed herself to cry in the darkness, where the absence of light hid her tears. She didn't sniffle or make any sounds. She made sure the tears were absorbed by her shirt and didn't fall on the floor.

She missed her mother so much.

When the lights came back on, a long time later, the man came back on too. He sat up on the bed and looked at Galya again, this time with a hint of surprise on his face.

Galya was tired. She felt heavy and sluggish. She thinks she might have fallen asleep when she blinked for too long, but she didn't want to sleep without Mama. Mama meant she was safe, and here she wasn't safe. She hadn't moved from her spot the entire time the lights were off. But by then, the tears had erased all traces from her face. Or at least, she hoped so.

The mean people came back, and the man with the metal arm stood up and followed them, even though he wasn't told to. One of them stayed behind and grabbed Galya roughly by her right arm. The arm twisted strangely, and it hurt quite a bit, but Galya didn't dare complain. She was led to a window that was a bit grimy, and it looked into an almost dark, windowless room. There were several fence-like structures, resembling cages, forming a circle, and a flimsy door made of the same material with a chain lock. Galya was told to watch as the man with the metal arm fought twenty people at once.

It was like Mama's dancing... only there was more blood.

________________________________

One Years Later

2006

Natasha was on a mission.

It wasn't one assigned by the Red Room. Now, when she was sent out, she was no longer allowed to do so with anyone else. That was fine, because she preferred it that way. It was how it should have been from the start, but things had gone wrong once, and her heart had been torn out not once, but twice. Now, solo assignments were good. It made it easier for her to search for the child. She had no teammates to pester her with questions about her whereabouts.

And her mission was not for the Red Room. Her loyalty to that place had become as fragile as a scrap of paper. Her mission was to keep the promise to find her daughter. Perhaps even the father, but the daughter was the main priority. If Krasnaya were here, he would drop everything and sacrifice anything to help, she knew.

The Director had said that wherever Galya was sent, she had been terminated for not being good enough. It enraged her because Galya was more than good enough. She was everything. She didn't believe that nonsense for a second. Galya was too stubborn to die. She knew firsthand how self-possessed her daughter was, even when everyone despised Galya, focusing only on her positive energy. Galya seemed capable of doing anything with a little bit of constant support and praise. And she was proud of that and felt relief because she couldn't show just how proud she was of her daughter.

She was all she needed, and Natasha would be damned if she failed her now. When Galya would need her most in her five years of life – she would be five years old.

The Director also hadn't told Natasha where her daughter had been sent, and that didn't stop Natasha. The world was vast, and she wouldn't stop until she had scoured every inch of it to find her daughter.

Red Room was built on lies and death.

Sometimes, during the one year Galya had been gone, she wondered if she had done the right thing by carrying the child to term, by allowing the Captain America DNA to be injected into her, instead of getting an abortion. She didn't regret having Galya while she was with her, but at the same time, she did. Especially when she smiled at her. She had brought an innocent child into the world under terrible circumstances and conditions.

Conditions that would break her more than anything else in this world, conditions more terrible than death.

But Galya didn't know that. She knew that people were actually kind, that they helped others and had families of their own. Galya probably thought the quiet, mean smirks were normal, and that Natasha was the one who was different. It was heartbreaking.

She wondered if Galya missed her, or even remembered her at all. God, how Natasha missed her. How she missed Krasnaya. She wanted to hold her close, hold her tight and never let go again. To focus all her love for her into their tiny little world, where there was no room for such emotions beneath all the blood flooding them. To shield her from the evil, even if it surrounded Galya at every turn. She covered her eyes when people died, even though she was the one pulling the trigger.

Would she become a killer? Natasha didn't like that thought at all. Galya was too pure to kill. Too curious to do it without hesitation. Or did she just think killing was normal? Hurting others was just part of life.

She was in Venezuela, hacking into various databases of HYDRA and other smaller underground groups that might have her child. The Director must have handed her off to one of their allies, or maybe just dumped her on the street somewhere far away.

She found absolutely nothing.

Again.

She wasn't going to give up.

She never gave up. This was all just part of the fight.

She closed the laptop and exited the private office, which once held one person and now held a corpse, to head for the elevator.

"Hold the elevator!" said another man. She didn't move as he, slightly out of breath, slipped inside.

"Thanks," he muttered sarcastically as they began their descent. The only sound was the awful elevator music, which was starting to grate on her. She was already in a bad mood from the hassle in this place. When the elevator reached the twentieth floor, he spoke again.

"So what's a killer beauty like you doing in a place like this?" he asked in a quiet, mocking voice. It was almost irritating, if not for the hint of seriousness. Natasha glanced at him but wasn't surprised. It was Hawkeye, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. It would be foolish not to know who he was. She wasn't surprised by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s presence here; they had been hunting her for years.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked quietly. No mockery in her voice. Only quiet promises and threats. Even if Hawkeye was notorious in the spy underworld for his sniper skills, Natasha was fairly certain the Black Widow could overpower him in close combat. And would, if he tried to run. Snipers usually weren't as fast as her.

"No." Hmm, that was new. She allowed a note of mild surprise to linger in her mind. Usually by this time, they'd have gone for the throat. If he wasn't going to, she would within the next 30 seconds. So he'd better hurry, because she really didn't want to take the stairs because of a corpse in the elevator.

"You'd be saving a lot more people," she shrugged. If he didn't kill her now, that would be on his conscience. She could kill countless more people on missions that didn't even exist. And on the mission she was constantly on until she found her daughter.

Anything for Galya.

"That's what my boss said. I agree, but I might make a different call if you tell me what's on that drive in your pocket," he said, and she shifted slightly but remained silent. He glanced at her sideways. As if she would really let this man get himself killed when there were such important things at stake. And that disk wasn't for the Red Room. "Something tells me that's not what you were supposed to get." He was good; this might be interesting. They remained silent for the rest of the ride.

The elevator dinged and released them on the ground floor, and he said one more thing.

"Whatever you're looking for, I'm willing to help," he said and discreetly slipped a piece of paper into her pocket. She froze for a second but didn't show it. What was his game? Probably something to trap her. Either that, or he was crazy. Whatever it was, she'd be an idiot to take that offer.

She discarded it, memorizing it first.

________________________________

The Soldier and the child did not speak for weeks.

Not when the Soldier was taken out for a mission. Not when the child was taken out for testing. Not when they trained together. Not when they ate in the same room. Not when the lights went out, and they were both awake.

Doctor Moreau. That was Galya's doctor's name. He told her his name the day after she saw the man with the metal arm dance—though they called it fighting. No one had ever told Galya their names before.

He was not a good man.

He cut Galya open and stuck needles in her. He hurt her and shocked her. Galya did not like having to go to him. The lab table was cold, colder than the one her mother had been on, and the needles made her head hurt and her stomach feel sick. They had never done that before.

But what Galya disliked the most was that he pronounced her name wrong. With an American accent that was supposed to sound German. It was awful and left a bad taste. Afterwards, he just called her Gwendolyn. A strange name. Galya did not like it.

But she never liked German anyway, so maybe she was biased.

Helen, however, she liked. Helen Stacy was Doctor Moreau's colleague and said her name just like Mama did.

Galya.

She liked it when Helen checked on her because Helen brought Galya books and let Galya talk to her if she had questions about math. Helen didn't strap her to the table or yell at her for making noise.

She smiled like Mama did, but a little differently, so Galya didn't ask about the no-emotions rule that seemed to be common sense here. But Helen never got angry when she was a little happy, because sometimes Helen got a little happy too (but sometimes she got sad, and Galya would gently hold her hand, like Mama did when Galya was sad, and Helen would get happy on her face again, but Galya could see Helen was sad deep down. But that was okay, because Galya was sad deep down too). She said Galya was smart and that it was okay to be happy because not many people were nice to her.

She spoke to her in English, like Mama.

She liked Helen Stacy.

________________________________

Now, there was a certain routine.

Galya could expect things, like at least a little bit of training with the Soldier and a little bit of testing with Helen. Sometimes, the testing with Helen was replaced with testing from Doctor Moreau in the dark lab, and his training was cut short so she could spend more time with Doctor Moreau. But she didn't like Doctor Moreau very much.

Between training and testing, she would get food, and after the afternoon session, she would get food again, but this time in the room with the Soldier, and then they had a little time before the lights went out.

When she returned to the room with the Soldier after training, as she did every day, they were told to eat. There was stale bread, porridge, and water – just like every other meal. Sometimes Galya couldn't eat because of the needles, and today was a day Doctor Moreau had replaced Helen. But today was a bit worse than all the others (and sometimes it happened, but it was happening much more often now) and Galya felt so sick she didn't want to eat. But when she didn't eat quickly, or at all, her food was taken away and not returned until the next meal – and then it was disgusting and slimy because it was the same food. She would be left hungry when the nausea passed, and the hunger pangs were not something she was very fond of. They hurt a lot, even though no one was hitting or punching her, and sometimes she could do nothing but lie there and listen to her stomach ask for food – and when that happened, the pain got even stronger.

On the fifth time she didn't eat, the man with the metal arm stood up from his cot. Whenever they were in the room, the man never got up from his cot. Only when they needed to leave, enter, or to get the food they left by the door – but sometimes, when Galya wasn't too tired, she would bring it, because it was nice. He took his plate and went back to his cot to eat. Galya didn't move because her stomach hurt so much she didn't even flinch. The man watched her; Galya's eyes were closed, but she could still feel his gaze. She heard some shuffling, and Galya's eyes flew open. Galya watched with wide eyes as the man grabbed Galya's food and, instead of going to his cot, sat in front of her and started eating. Well, at least the food wouldn't go to waste, and she wouldn't get slimy porridge and completely stale bread. But the man just finished the porridge, leaving the water and bread. He cut the bread in half and gave it back to Galya with empty eyes, and Galya noticed a flash of expectation.

Galina looked at the food and shook her head. The man nudged the water towards her, and Galina closed her eyes. Stale bread usually wasn't an order, but right now its smell seemed particularly sharp, and it angered Galina's stomach even more.

"Open your eyes, kid," he said in English. His voice sounded rough and almost demanding, but there was a slight softness to it that only Helen and Mama had. Galina understood him and was in complete shock. Few people here spoke English. She opened her eyes, and the nasty bread was still in front of her.

"I... c-can't..." she stammered out in English, and the man sighed and closed his eyes for a minute, as if trying to collect himself. Which was also weird, because everyone else let themselves get angry at Galya, except for Helen and Mama, but they never got angry at Galya.

"I know, but you have to," he said and kept his hand outstretched with the food, and after a while, Galina took it and took a bite. Then she drank some water (it felt a little better when she drank it slowly), but she was too slow. When the goons came back, they took the bread and the half-drunk glass of water from her. The man returned to his cot, and Galya returned to her mat to wait for the lights to go out.

When the lights finally went out, the man tossed the second half of the bread at Galya, and it landed on the mat near her head.

By morning, Galya had finished it.

________________________________

A Year Later

2007, HYDRA Base

In a year, Gwendolyn and the man had grown closer.

She had also figured some things out. Like Helen said, she was smart. This place (the one she was in now) was called HYDRA. The man with the metal arm, who slept near her and helped her a little when she was sick, was known as the Winter Soldier. And, by rumor, they called Gwendolyn "his kid" or "his daughter" behind their backs. Gwendolyn had heard, but the Winter Soldier didn't seem to understand. Though she didn't understand that.

But she had learned something else (though no one said it, Gwendolyn just guessed): the Winter Soldier did not like being called 'the Winter Soldier.'

When Gwendolyn asked what to call him, the Soldier just looked at her with confusion. As if no one had ever asked him that before.

"You can call me Gwendolyn or Galina," she whispered one night in the dark. "But you don't like being called the Winter Soldier." She knew the Soldier had heard her by the way he tensed.

The Soldier didn't call her by a name for a long time, so Gwendolyn didn't call him by a name either (because she didn't like that either). They never properly addressed each other, but somehow, it was perfectly fine.

Finally, she was allowed to keep books in the room. Helen had fought for it, and she was very happy. She was only allowed one book in the room, and she could read in the room with the Soldier after meals or with Helen when she was checking her tests, but Gwendolyn sometimes had to read books in the dark after the lights went out, and sometimes, if she stayed up too late, the Soldier had to take the book away and send her to sleep.

Gwendolyn read them constantly and as much as she could whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Sometimes the Soldier would glance at her with a sort of curiosity, trying to be sneaky. Gwendolyn caught him every time. On those occasions, she would get up, sit next to the Soldier, and read the book to him in a whisper by his cot, translating it into English no matter what language it was in. He seemed more relaxed when people spoke English. But that was only with Gwendolyn; no one besides Helen and Doctor Moreau knew English, and Doctor Moreau didn't like speaking English, and she didn't think the Soldier knew Helen, or else maybe he would have had his own book too.

The Soldier went out more often than Gwendolyn, like outside (the one Gwendolyn was never allowed to see but always read about). They said he went on missions. But every time he came back, he was confused and didn't recognize her for a few hours—apparently that was a long time—before he did recognize her, and even after that, he didn't talk to Gwendolyn.

"Gwen," the Soldier said one day, and Gwendolyn looked up. He said it with an American accent, even though he could pronounce 'Galina' in Russian perfectly fine. She liked his American accent; it was calm and soft. "Easier than the full name." It took a second to realize it was her own name. Just said shorter. Which was pretty cool.

Gwen.

She liked it.

It was nice. The Soldier didn't smile very often, and when he did, it was only in the room. The smile was small and almost unnoticeable, but it was genuine and happy, and Gwendolyn noticed it every time he smiled. She liked it. But not like she liked books and questions. She liked it like she liked Helen and Mama.

Gwen decided she liked the Soldier, too.

________________________________

One Year Later

2008, HYDRA Base

The Soldier started acting strange when he came back from missions.

It was like any other mission, only this time, he wasn't prepared. Usually, the Soldier had to get prepared before a mission, but lately, he hadn't been. To get prepared, he was taken to a room, and he would come back for just a minute to get something, but Gwen could see the Soldier wasn't feeling well... the Soldier.

But lately, they hadn't been doing that as often. Gwen was facing the backlash of that choice.

When the Soldier came back, he didn't go to his cot or pat Gwen's head as he passed by.

Gwen was reading a book to get his attention. The Soldier paced around the room, muttering in all sorts of languages Gwen knew and didn't know, and walked right past her as if she didn't exist.

When he wasn't pacing, he shouted at the door, which happened after the lights were out. Sometimes he even hit the door. He never stayed in his cot or ate, even when food was brought, and Gwen was being good and eating hers. He still slept when the lights went out, and Gwen tried to sleep.

It became a habit, ruining all the nice moments in Gwen's life between training and tests with Doctor Moreau, and now it was becoming more regular. Gwen did not like it at all. She didn't see Helen often anymore, and the Soldier was acting... scary.

When the Soldier muttered, Gwen couldn't focus on her book. When the Soldier paced, Gwen lost her appetite. When the Soldier shouted, Gwen couldn't sleep. When the Soldier didn't sleep, Gwen had to train extra hard the next day (even though sometimes she was more tired than the Soldier was).

The Soldier stayed longer because he was given fewer missions because he shouted so much. Gwen doesn't like that she wants to send the Soldier on a mission, but just a little one (one that wouldn't make it worse). Just so she could get some sleep.

Just for a little while.

Gwen wanted to help the Soldier, but every time he started pacing, hitting the door, or shouting, Gwen froze. All her thoughts left her, and all her emotions started flooding her body, which was bad on its own, but all the emotions flooding in were bad and scary and made her crazy and sad at the same time, and she really didn't like these feelings because they didn't make her happy. She couldn't move. She was like paralyzed, like the thing Doctor Moreau used when Gwen moved too much on the cold table to make her stop. Except there was no fluid or needles, and she wasn't in pain, just scared. Gwen hated it more than when Doctor Moreau froze her.

They never took the Soldier's weapons away.

When she finally realized that, he started shooting the door with his heavy guns. The door was bulletproof. The gunshots hurt Gwen's ears because they were so loud and close, and the smoke made her eyes fill with tears she wasn't allowed to shed, and she coughed hard when the bullets ran out.

"Please stop," Gwen whimpered. The Soldier turned to her sharply with a wild look in his eyes and approached in a way that scared Gwen. Foreboding was the right word. She had never felt such terror seeing anything in the Soldier's eyes besides indifference. This emotion was wild, panicked, and almost insane. The Soldier grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up.

"You can't trust them. You can't trust any of them. You can't even trust yourself," he hissed, and Gwen whimpered again. She didn't know if it was from the grip being too tight or the frightening voice, but when she was thrown back, she felt herself shaking with uncontrollable fear.

What did he mean?

She didn't talk anymore when the Soldier yelled or shot at the door. She never talked around the Soldier again. Not during training, not during meals. Especially when he was silent. Gwen didn't want to ruin everything. She just needed the quiet and peace to last as long as possible.

Gwen convinced herself it was the gunshot smoke making her cry. And only when it was dark did she let the tears fall, pretending they weren't there.

She knew it was a lie.

"Let me out, you son of a bitch! Let me out and get me out of this hole! There's nothing in here worth a damn cent! Do you fucking hear me?! Just put a bullet in my head!" the Soldier screamed, and Gwen cried, even though there was no smoke, and it wasn't dark, and today was very bad.

"Please, no," Gwen said quietly, and the Soldier turned to her. His eyes were wild, and Gwen was scared. The Soldier looked even more frightened, pulled out a gun, and aimed it at Gwen.

Everything stopped.

They stared at each other. Like on the first day they met. Gwen was scared and sad because her Mama was gone, and now she was scared and sad because the Soldier was gone too. She hiccuped, and the Soldier didn't move the gun from Gwen's temple.

Not even when the guards poured in. He only took the gun away when he was dragged out, but Gwen didn't move. She kept crying, and the Soldier's frightened eyes watched her as if he were trying to grasp something but couldn't hold on.

Gwen never saw the Soldier again.

________________________________

It was a bad, stupid, and insane idea.

Probably the worst decision of her life.

And she didn't care. She usually wasn't this cavalier about impulsive decisions, but it had been three years since she'd seen Galya, and it felt like an eternity.

No one in the Red Room was going to help her because they considered Galya a disgrace. The Director wasn't helping; she was the one who took Galya and then lied about her being dead. She had no outside contacts and didn't even know where Krasnaya was. S.H.I.E.L.D. really could help. If not them, Clint Barton had genuinely offered her his help.

Anything for Galya.

She told herself that and, with a stony expression, walked into the café and took a seat next to Clint at the end of the bar. She was just going to talk to him, check if it was a trap or a trick. Check if he was genuinely offering her help with no questions asked (which was suspicious, but she was out of options). He smirked and set the menu aside.

"I won't tell you what we're trying to find," she said immediately. He didn't seem surprised, and she was almost pleased it was so quick and casual.

"Wow, fast worker!" he said, noting it had only been three days. She was desperate. "I thought you'd be more loyal to your 'cause' or something," he teased her, and she looked at him and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I never had a choice," she said honestly, quickly ending that line of conversation. "But I know people don't give things away for free." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, trying to throw him off. Now it was his turn to shrug casually.

"Call it a hunch, but I think you're one of the good ones," he laughed, and she was a little stunned by the accusation. "Crazy, right?" Uh, yeah, it was. Who in their right mind would call the Black Widow, a highly skilled assassin who killed without issue, nice? "But you're right, I'll help you and keep your little hunt off the books if you come to the other side." There it was. The catch, but…

Join S.H.I.E.L.D.? Was he insane?

There were so many reasons to say no. Saying yes wasn't even a thought. Not for a second. But… she was more loyal to Galya than she was to the shit the Red Room had planned for her.

And then she thought of Galya, when she finally found her. That she would have a mother who didn't kill the good guys. A place that wasn't so scary and creepy to live. A mother who would help people and show her the kindness in the world, despite all the darkness and vileness running through it.

Natasha decided it was time to press Fuck it.

Anything for Galya.

________________________________

A Few Months Later

2008

Helen was not HYDRA.

Gwen found this out when Helen was running towards a near-futuristic plane. Like the ones from her fantasy books. Like in that book, Divergent, but also like the previous one. She didn't like the last book very much; it was a bit disappointing.

She was put on the plane, and Helen carried Gwen out of the complex like a sack of potatoes. A man with thinning hair ushered her inside, barking orders to everyone but her, and gently placing a hand on her back as he guided her onto the plane. She looked back to ask where Helen was, but as if by magic, Helen had vanished too.

Gwen never saw her again, and somehow she had a premonition. Every time she was about to lose someone, she just… knew. She hated that feeling more than anything else.

She wanted to ignore it, to say it was wrong, and that she would come back, like Mama and the Soldier. Even as she was in denial, the moment Helen Stacy stepped off the plane, she knew she would never see her again.

Mama. The Soldier. Now Helen.

3 out of 3. That was 100%.

Gwen was not stupid.

She knew that was all… all she had.

She had lost it all.

She felt more alone than ever. Even when an organization called 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' took her, as she found out two hours into the flight (thanks to eavesdropping and, oh yeah, their bird logo. Was it an eagle?). It was another hour before the man with thinning hair, who they called Coulson (not like in HYDRA, where there was only a metal table and she was chained to it), came to her room/cell. She wasn't allowed to leave, and she'd never had her own room before, so it was probably a cell.

Coulson opened the door and looked at her as he gestured for her to follow him to another room. But this one was darker, with hexagonal patterns on the wall and a metal table, but this time with two chairs. They sat on opposite sides of the table.

Coulson looked too excited for an interrogation (because that's what this was, right? Because he was from HYDRA), and a strange smile played on his face. Not like Mama's, the Soldier's, or Helen's, but not like the doctors' either. His smile said he knew he was hiding something, but it wasn't as creepy as the ones at the HYDRA base. Gwen deemed it barely acceptable for a smile.

"Hi, I'm Phil," Coulson said, sounding slightly excited. As if he was nervous, which was weird because usually Gwen was the one nervous talking to adults of unknown origin. "I'm excited. Never talked to a child soldier before." Gwen didn't reply, only nodded. Was 'child soldier' supposed to be something important in S.H.I.E.L.D.? Gwen had never been important to anyone. At least, as far as she knew. Phil seemed to freeze, not getting a response. "Do you speak English?" Phil asked, tilting his head like Gwen sometimes did when asking Helen questions. She decided to remain silent and nodded. "Great. Are you ready?" No one had ever asked you that before. She nodded once, afraid of wrong answers. Because sometimes wrong answers got her punished. "Okay, I'm going to ask you a few questions." Gwen nodded again, short and clipped.

They began.

"Let's start with your name," Phil said, getting comfortable and seeming to let his guard down, but the tension in his hands and shoulders gave him away (was this a test?). Phil shuffled papers and brought a pen to a lined yellow notepad.

"I'm... Gwendolyn," she said slowly.

"Last name?" Gwen immediately shook her head. Phil nodded and wrote it down. (Was he lying? But these people seemed like the kind who could see through her lies.) "Age?" Phil asked hopefully. Gwen had to think for a second.

"Six" she mumbled. Her voice was uncertain. Mostly because Helen had told her that two months ago. She doesn't know how she remembered, but Gwen remembers a lot of things she shouldn't. The number changed sometime in July, but it changed every year anyway.

"Are you sure?" Gwen shrugged.

"That's what Helen said two months ago..." she reported slowly, and her voice must have caught her off guard because at a higher volume it sounded raspy. She had barely used it after the Soldier left and Helen started replacing Doctor Moreau, not the other way around.

"You're awfully compliant," Phil said skeptically, looking at her as he wrote that down too. Gwen nodded but didn't answer. Helen had handed her over to Phil, so Helen trusted him. Gwen wouldn't trust Phil, but she owed it to Helen to answer the questions honestly.

"Were you raised in HYDRA?" Gwen nodded after a second; she barely remembered being raised by her mother. "To be a soldier?" Nod again. "Do you know how to fight?" Shrugged. She had trained with the Soldier, and when the Soldier left, she kept training, but with meaner people who didn't pull their punches like the Soldier sometimes did. They just beat her up.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need a verbal answer," Phil said in an almost apologetic tone. It threw Gwen off. No one she had just met had ever been this polite to her. Why was Phil being so polite? Did he want something? But if he wanted something, why not beat it out of Gwen? Why ask her all these questions politely instead of forcefully?

Despite all the questions, it was quite pleasant not having to suffer to answer them. It was... nice.

"A little," she replied in a stunned but calm voice. She didn't want to let her guard down, as she was in a new environment and Phil was an unknown.

"Okay, it's fine if you don't know, but why did HYDRA take you?" Phil asked, getting even more polite. It was really strange, but she could see it was an awkward topic for Phil. Gwen answered as best she could, because Phil was being so nice.

"I'm not sure… but I think I know what they… were going to do with me." Phil leaned forward, non-verbally urging her to continue. "They experimented on me, gave me… or at least tried to give me powers. Though, I guess it didn't work." Coulson leaned back, looking at her face thoughtfully. Gwen fidgeted nervously in her chair. A long silence fell; Phil didn't write anything in his notebook and didn't speak, and Gwen wasn't allowed to speak. Until Phil finally spoke.

"Okay, I think I know who to call."

_______________________________

Gwen hated her General.

Phil had been very polite, but the person he handed her over to was not. Phil said they were different from HYDRA, but they did the same things. They were exactly the same as HYDRA. And Gwen hated it.

Phil had said General Skip would help her find better housing. He promised to take her to Helen's husband, George, and he would take her in. But Phil had lied to her; his politeness had been deceptive. Skip did not mean her well and certainly did not want to give her to George Stacy.

As soon as Phil left, the room with General Skip took on an atmosphere of predatory searching, and Gwen did not like it one bit.

"So, Gwendolyn." he said in a saccharine-sweet tone. A tone that wasn't sweet at all. "Do you understand the term immigration?" Gwen just nodded, taking a few steps back and lowering her head. "Speak, soldier!" The fake sweetness was gone from Skip's voice. It was aggressive and made Gwen stand at attention, hands behind her back, spine straight, head raised, just like in HYDRA. Skip had a pearly-white smile, unlike the rough yellow-green ones of the HYDRA instructors. But it was just as creepy as theirs.

"When people not born in the country, who are not citizens, come," she summarized monotonously, and Skip looked right down. Though, unlike Phil, he had a creepy, slightly unhinged look.

"Yes, and your father lives in America, of which you are not a citizen. Do you know what that makes you?" he asked and leaned into her ear until she froze from Skip's hot breath tingling her neck. "It makes you an immigrant," he said in a voice that sounded disgusting. Gwen didn't see what was wrong with that. Skip stood up. "Usually, you need to get a visa, but since you're a minor and have no supporting documents, say, a birth certificate, you'll have to do it differently," Skip said, and Gwen didn't dare speak, afraid of angering a superior. "Usually, the government takes you in as a prisoner of war, but you're also a mutant…"

"I'm not a mutant, sir. I was..." Gwen's timid correction was cut off by a harsh, sharp look.

"You will not speak out of turn. You are a child soldier. And you are a mutant. A disgusting one at that. You will serve in the US male special forces, getting a temporary visa every year as compensation, to go to school for nine months a year," General Skip whispered bitterly. "This will not be public; I don't need S.H.I.E.L.D., but this opportunity is too good to pass up," he muttered, almost to himself, but too loudly. Gwen flinched slightly.

General Skip stared directly into her eyes and spoke in a voice Gwen didn't dare disobey. "Do you understand?"

Gwen only nodded.

________________________________

Wade had seen a lot of shit in his life.

Growing up in an abusive household, he wasn't exactly a peach himself. His mother beat him and locked him in a closet when she wasn't doing drugs, and his uncle groped him whenever she didn't care—which was all the fucking time. School was no refuge. Everyone knew Wade was being abused: the teachers, the kids, hell, even Stick Joe, the guy from the gas station six miles out of town, knew what was happening in the Wilson house almost every night. No one gave a damn, and Wade didn't give a single fuck either.

He carried that attitude with him when he dropped out for the army. He didn't get a diploma, wasn't smart enough, and he couldn't have cared less. He had a sense of humor, a twisted and fucked-up one, but in any situation, no matter how bad, he could find a joke (even the most controversial kind). There was no place for that in the Canadian Army, and it found no place when he was transferred to the US Army Special Forces.

Somehow, he ended up in this position. He had no fucking clue how he'd managed it, and he also had no idea who the hell thought it was a good idea, but here he was.

Yeah, Wade had seen and been through a lot of messed-up situations. But none were as twisted and perverse as Gwendolyn (though she asked to be called Gwen) Stacy.

Yeah, Gwendolyn Stacy was the epitome of a whole-ass human soul. Her entire existence was created for complete and utter shit. This poor kid wasn't going to achieve anything in life because some bastard decided to fuck in the wrong place without any protection, and then stuck her in a tight cell where she'd be tortured by those running it.

Now he was responsible for her. (What was a girl even doing in a male, fuckin', Special Forces unit?!)

Skinny, small, scrawny, with light blonde hair and eyes that were too big for her face. She was seven, looked about four, and had the bearing of at least a seventeen-year-old who'd always kept her mouth shut (good survival skills, kid, you might just make it). Wade didn't want to remember her age or her name; he never remembered anyone from any unit he served in (and he was transferred often), but Gwen Stacy, the seven-year-old sun-child, was imprinted in his memory. He stared dumbly at the kid, and she just widened her eyes in return.

She was a fucking kid. What the hell was she doing here? With Wade, who carried guns and swords that, as he'd stated, were never on safety (he had no time for that shit). Wade, who swore too much to be legal. Wade, who had no clue what a fucking childhood was supposed to be like. No, actually, he did know. It was supposed to be a white picket fence, two siblings, and a golden retriever. Stacy's life was more like iron bars, corpses, and vicious fighting dogs. Though the kid somehow managed to turn any fighting dog into a perfect pet with just one look (even though she said she preferred cats). Magic puppy child. What the hell was she doing near people who had killed so many. Actual murderers and pedophiles. The kid looked like she couldn't hurt a fly.

Wade's gaze slid to the girl's wrists, where the marks of a whip and angry, purple handprints were visible, and he didn't look away until she hid them under her too-long sleeves, because she was a known little bitch, so Wade gave her a sardonic smile. The kid stared at the smile for a second, as if analyzing it, and then gave a small, shy one back. Wade blinked. What in the fuck nuggets...

They wanted Wade to train her. They told him she'd stay for the summer and go to a school in New York in the fall. And honestly, that was just awful. Let the kid make friends, build a life, deal with all that shit, and then come back and pretend she didn't have any scars. Just come visit Uncle Wade. Which, you know, wasn't supposed to be a traumatic experience but a pleasant pastime, you know, with chess and all that (he didn't know how to play Sudoku, let alone chess. Maybe checkers?).

Basically, he'd been made a babysitter, and again, who the fuck thought that was a good idea? He'd kill the bastard who did it, because this sweet, innocent child had no place here, mutant or not. Apparently not, Stacy had no abilities besides her charming Barbie eyes (she really did look like a Barbie, blonde and blue-eyed) and her brains, just impossibly smart. Like, she could probably solve a medium-level Sudoku.

Well, whatever. Let's fucking do this. Corrupting children? Well, never done it before, but let's give it a shot.

The kid didn't talk for the first week. Wade was only given three extra meal bars for all seven days. What the fuck, a kid needed more. Especially if she was a mutant. Which was weird, because she never showed any signs of being a mutant.

Wade gave her all three and said go on, dig in. If the kid needed more, he'd give her some of his share. But the kid never asked, and seemed perfectly fine. He later found out the kid had made hers last for two whole weeks. Like a little mouse. Cute, but still, what the fuck?! (look at those survival skills, the kid really should teach a class)

"I'm not a mutant," were the first words she said, and Wade looked at her. She was looking down, and her voice was quiet and raspy. It suited her, yet it also really didn't. "I don't have any abilities." She rubbed her hands around her wrists.

"Okay," said Wade. He believed the kid. Way more than he believed the dickhead General.

The kid laughed. He must have said that out loud. Like, cool dude, thanks for not judging me.

"No problem."

Wade took her on missions. No matter how dirty. Gwen didn't flinch at killing. Gwen didn't react at all. She'd just look at the bloody bodies and shoot them in the head. She was like fucking Hawkeye. She never needed a second shot... ever.

It was disturbing.

Her hand couldn't even reach the trigger on its own. She had to shoot with both, because they were so small. This kid, like a kitten, was the embodiment of all cute animals in human form.

"I don't like killing," she mumbled one night, lying on the floor. She hadn't even asked why she didn't get a fucking cot, just a fucking blanket and a mat. Though she seemed comfortable enough there. Wade never offered anything; if the kid wanted something, she had to ask for it, which wasn't that bad, little brats did it all the time. Thing was, Gwen was not a little brat. Not a single ounce of sass or complaints. She never asked for anything... ever.

"Then don't," Wade replied. The kid seemed to like blunt answers and jokes, and Wade was a master of those. She never needed anything sugarcoated, because the world was shit, and the kid knew it. So, despite not liking kids, he liked this one.

"They get angry when I don't," Gwen said sadly.

"I'll kill them. You just knock 'em down," Wade offered. He didn't know why; the kid should learn to do her own dirty work, but on the other hand, she was just a kid.

"How do you not kill?" Gwen asked, sitting up on her elbows, cradling her head. Wade let out a noisy breath. This was wrong. Gwen shouldn't be learning how not to kill.

"I'll show you." He picked the kid up like the kitten she was (i.e., by the scruff of her neck, by her thick hoodie) and took her to the shooting range. He didn't give a damn that it was two in the morning; they weren't sleeping anyway.

The kid was fucking smart. She got everything instantly. Wade never had to repeat himself. And every time Wade praised her, she'd smile her wide, sunny smile at him. It was like looking into UV rays. Blinding, this kid was trying to blind him.

So he'll say it again and can't emphasize it enough:

What the fuck?!

________________________________

A Few Years Later

2012

Natasha was an Avenger.

First, she had become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, feeding them as many Red Room secrets as she could. As a reward for that, she became Clint's partner on most missions. Thanks to her skills and abilities, she quickly became one of Fury's most reliable agents.

Her first thought was what Galya would think once she joined a team of heroes. Would she be happy? Would she be angry? Would she have to fight Galya if she was still with the enemy organization? Would she even recognize her as Galya?

She would be eleven now, and she would never forget her birthday. She must look different. Natasha would have to try even harder. But… would Galya even want to listen to her stories when she was older? She would have so many more interesting stories to tell Galya, not just about Krasnaya, who was still missing, but about her missions with Clint and her interactions with Fury. And finally, about her adventures with the Avengers.

Maybe even the Avengers could help. Clint had mentioned it in private after Loki's attack, and she said she would think about it. Clint, to his credit, hadn't given anything away. Not until she was ready. He hadn't told anyone, not even when they entered the tower with Stark, Rogers (who was one of Galya's fathers, but Natasha was hesitant to bring that up), and Banner. Not even a hint. But she understood his point; Stark could literally hack anything in seconds, and he had so many backdoors Natasha couldn't even count them. Banner was smart and could run DNA scans. Steve, well, he was always a soldier, he would definitely help, Thor too, she knew.

But… she just couldn't bring herself to tell them. Stark and Banner asked too many questions, and Thor and Steve looked at her like a kicked puppy if she didn't confide in them. Clint understood, because he was also a spy who needed to keep parts of his past hidden, whatever they were. He had been covering for her these past few years. He never gave anything away and went with her on almost every mission, just to help.

And not just regarding her mission, but other things too.

He told jokes; she never laughed. He tried to compliment her; she hit him every time. He tried to get her to open up; she didn't even flinch.

He had every right not to help her. Not to trust her. And then he went and introduced her to his secret family, which only Fury knew about. He surprised her in every way possible, and she might not love him like she loved Krasnaya, but she loved him like family nonetheless. He was like an annoying and sensitive brother, and Natasha desperately hoped Galya would meet him someday. He would be such a good uncle and role model, and she knew Clint would love her daughter too.

That's when she started doing little things. Like making too much hot cocoa when she was up at night, or accidentally spilling glitter into the ventilation so it would spread all over Fury's office, or just rolling her eyes when he told a joke instead of reprimanding him.

In her defense, they were really bad jokes, and she refused to laugh at dad jokes.

"Why did you tell me about your family?" she asked quietly in Stark's living room. No one else was there, but the atmosphere was one of privacy and respect. He looked up from his comic book (what the hell, man, you have kids).

"I trust you, Nat," he said simply, and it was a gut punch. And okay, fine, somewhere deep down, she trusted him too. But she hadn't even told him about Krasnaya and Galya and that Steve was also Galya's father. And he had given her so much. She felt indebted, and he understood it was stupid and that he expected nothing from her, but that's what feelings were.

"Galya," she said, and he looked confused but sensed it was serious, so he put the comic down. He had always been good at reading her, just as she was him. "I'm looking for Galya Romanov. She's my... my daughter," she said almost in a whisper, feeling like she wasn't speaking at all, but looking up and seeing Clint staring intently at her, she didn't meet his eyes and looked away. She hadn't spoken Galya's name aloud in years, and it felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders while also being gut-punched with sadness and regret over and over. "She... she was taken when she was four... they told me she died, but..." Clint dropped the book, crossed the distance in two steps, and hugged her. She allowed him to, even hugging him back slightly, but didn't let the tears fall. The next part was said even quieter, and she held him tighter.

"They lied."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - I trusted you

2018, New York

"So, I'm sure you're wondering how I ended up in this position."

"Kinda," Fury replied flatly, looking at the girl covered in silly string, spray paint, and glitter. Frankly, it didn't even surprise him at this point. But, knowing Gwen Stacy for a long time, he just knew things would happen with her that would definitely surprise him; much more than this.

"Nicholas, as my good friend says, 'when you hit rock bottom, you can trace the cause to one big wrong decision that messed it all up,'" Gwen said almost profoundly, jabbing a thin finger in the air as she quoted the silly, yet truthful, quote that looked ridiculous coming from her glittery mask.

"Is this rock bottom?" Fury raised an eyebrow indifferently. He expected a bit more... blood. No, actually, he expected much more blood. Yeah, a boat or two somewhere. Maybe a few fingers or corpses. Oh, and a bunch of fire.

"Physically, not really. Socially, huh?" He heard the smile in her voice as she waved a hand vaguely. She seemed to be gesturing even more animatedly today. "Did you need me?" she asked, ignoring the way Fury was looking at her like he demanded answers, changing the subject. If he had questions, and he did, he wasn't voicing them. Aloud. Though Stacy knew what questions he wanted to ask. She was a little shit like that.

"Get in and try not to get glitter everywhere," Fury said, not even pointing to his car as he got into the driver's seat. She hesitated before getting into the passenger seat next to him, fidgeting a bit despite Fury's request not to dirty the sleek black BMW.

"Do we have a mission?" she chirped, a little louder than necessary, and Fury raised an eyebrow again. Usually, this kid never had any hang-ups about missions with the Avengers. No matter what, even if they (except for Parker, he just hated her) treated her like shit or she'd just been hit by a train. If she was free, she showed up.

"What's up, kid? You're never usually shy," Fury smirked. Gwen only hesitated for a second, which should have been a warning sign, since the kid had no filter between her brain and her mouth.

"Usually, I have nothing to be shy about," she said honestly, as if noticing it herself. Fury snorted at how casually she said it, buckling the kid into the passenger seat. Though he really didn't want glitter everywhere. It drew a surprised, yet amused laugh from him. Only a slight smile played on Fury's face, and he was sure Stacy noticed but didn't comment. Gwen was so weird, commenting on every little thing that didn't matter, and it was annoying. But it was nice that she knew some little things were rare and just quietly enjoyed them.

Stacy needed more nice little things in her life, but Fury would never admit he thought so.

"Yeah, because there's nothing embarrassing about a black and white spandex suit with pink accents and turquoise pointe shoes," Fury replied without malice, just a note of amusement in his voice. Gwen feigned offense.

"Wow, I'm offended. You know what? No, I'm fucking proud of my glitter," Gwen declared, and the bone-deep exhaustion of the last four days immediately settled back over her. She hadn't slept or eaten in two days. She was tired, and he could feel it. He could also feel the gnawing in her stomach, but she was suppressing the growling until she got somewhere the noise could be drowned out. She knew Fury would notice in the near-silent, almost soundproof car. Gwen shuffled her feet on the car's rubber mat, smearing glitter and tinsel. "Do you really need me today?" The whine in the kid's voice was tired. It almost made Fury pull over, but only because it seeped into his tone and made him let the kid off the hook because of the voice.

"Depends on what happened," Fury replied casually, shrugging. He meant, obviously, the new paint job on her suit. Gwen snorted quietly, leaning against the window and propping her head up with her hand, looking not at Fury but out the window.

"Fall asleep for 15 minutes..." Gwen muttered uncertainly. Fury wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that, but it made him let out a short, cheerful laugh. Gwen owlishly turned her head at the sound before realizing her words wouldn't get her out of trouble, just make her look even dumber. Then she sulked again, resuming her previous pose, and snorted even louder.

"Yeah, kid, you're not getting out of this one," he said with a playful smirk, even though he didn't need to say it, just wanted to get on her nerves. Gwen whined in response and squirmed in her seat. Looking like a kid but also trying to find a comfortable position for her entire body. She didn't complain further; she was too old to complain.

You're too old to cry.

They finally reached the Tower, Gwen dragging her glitter-covered feet, a trail of silly string following her, and Fury was 89 percent sure she was doing it on purpose. The moment she walked into the briefing, Fury almost regretted not telling her she was free to go this time. But the team needed her for this mission (for all these missions), even if they didn't know it. Even if Gwen didn't know it and was just here to be a little shit. Fury wasn't going to let glitter get in the way of saving the damn world (again). Even as Sam and Clint fell over, laughing and crying, and Parker covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, and Gwen hunched in on herself a little before straightening back up.

"I don't even know what to say!" Sam laughed hysterically, nearly crying. Stacy still hadn't taken her mask off, but she hunched slightly again before straightening up. "There's too much to say!" she blurted out, and Fury notices everyone who isn't holding back laughter is glaring daggers at him (namely Romanoff and Rogers).

"Because I can actually pull it off," Gwen retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms as if pleased with herself. Fury had to give the kid credit, she had backbone. But he wasn't out of the woods yet; in fact, this was just the beginning.

"You think this is some kind of joke?" Romanoff asked snidely, and Fury noticed Gwen roll her eyes under the mask. As if everything she did got a reprimand from the older spider-themed superheroine. It probably did, because Romanoff held Stacy to a higher standard, especially now that she knew about her child.

"Yeah, a bunch of punks pranked me. Bet I look hilarious," Gwen replied (as if she wasn't a punk herself), but without defiance (as she should have), just with curiosity and a dose of sarcasm, which seemed to mark her as young enough to get away with it (frankly, she was probably the only kid who could get away with it. Or maybe Parker. That spider duo used to be hated by the entire Queens PD.). Hell, she'd never be old enough not to get away with it, given her lifestyle. She was something between a child and a very mature 19-year-old. There was no in-between, and Fury felt it would be like that until she was 70.

"How did a crowd of kids manage to prank you?" Steve asked, confused, walking over to Gwen and stopping a few feet away as if the kid were a soldier and he the disappointed commander. And no matter how much Rogers wanted that, it wasn't happening as long as this kid had her own blacklist/people-I-have-to-deal-with list. "You didn't notice?" He crossed his arms; Gwen mirrored the movement but hunched a bit more than Rogers, slouching. It was a very good question, though; Stacy's senses were much sharper than even a super-soldier's; she must have noticed them.

"I fell asleep," she sighed. That's what happened; she passed out from exhaustion because she couldn't find a decent place to sleep for three days, Matt was out of town, and Wade was being Wade, but in Canada. She couldn't crash on Weasel's couch at the bar without raising suspicion, since she'd been there all last week. Because Weasel was a fucking snitch and would sell Gwen out to Wade if he found out she was homeless because she missed the rent on her storage container. And Weasel was also a glorified coward, don't get him wrong, he owed her for jobs, but the second you even growled in his general direction, he gave up everything he knew in a heartbeat.

"On the job?" Tony snorted derisively, and Gwen snorted slightly. It wasn't entirely her fault. Her 'job' didn't really stop or have hours, it just happened (as Gwen so eloquently put it). Not like the Avengers'. Try protecting a city, keeping a day job, and being hunted by literally everyone in this fucking world 24/7, Stark. You have the fucking option to sleep; it's your choice not to take care of yourself. Gwen didn't have the fucking time to take care of herself (which should be a problem, but she was fine). It was just a luxury she couldn't afford, mentally or financially.

But who needs health when you have energy drinks and painkillers.

Health... so dumb.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Gwen snapped, defensive, perhaps a bit sharper than she intended. That should have been another warning sign, which Fury so graciously ignored. "And if you think this glitter and tinsel isn't gender-conforming or something, then you're a bunch of conservative assholes who need to get with the times and wake up." Poor Cap must be so confused right now. But honestly, that outburst (which was completely misplaced for many reasons) should have clued them in that something was wrong with Gwen.

But they were here, still ignoring the fact that something was up with this kid.

"It's more of an age thing, but sure, pick your poison," Tony replied, shrugging, unlike most of the Avengers, completely unbothered by the remark. Natasha wasn't either, but she didn't like it. "But hey, if you like the glitter, then own it." Gwen nodded affirmatively. As if satisfied with the answer.

"Thank you," she said, wanting to end the conversation. But Rogers apparently had other plans. It made the kid even more irritated and sharp as he continued to scold Gwen. Again.

"Soldiers are supposed to wear attire appropriate to the terrain they're fighting in. It's important and shows how seriously you take your job..." Rogers was digging his own grave now. Well, it was nice knowing him. He really should have let Stark finish; he seemed to get the hints.

"Okay, let me stop you right there," Gwen said, cutting off the good Captain in the most unnecessarily sharp tone. Gesturing again after each statement. "First of all: I am not a soldier. I don't like being told what to do because I'm a teenager, and all that rebellious crap. Second: I don't care what I said, it's just a word, it's not gonna kill your kittens. And finally: I take it as a personal insult if you think I take this," she pointed at the Avengers, "seriously. It's not my thing, and honestly, I'm horrified you'd even suggest it." Gwen finished and walked right past Rogers to the window to sit on the ledge. Romanoff tensed a bit, probably rethinking her decision to recruit her, but it was too late. Despite everything Gwen said, and maybe partly true, Stacy did sometimes take her work seriously. It wasn't a walk in the park for her either. "So, without further interruptions, let's get this over with because my stuff has a hot date with the dry cleaners. Glitter is really fucking itchy."

Fury didn't know how to respond to that.

________________________________

For a kid covered in glitter and silly string, she did a damn good job.

She cleared out the trash like usual. Maybe even better, because even the robots seemed to underestimate a 5 foot 5 person in spandex and glitter. Much faster than usual, honestly. Stacy must have really wanted a shower or something, and Fury couldn't blame her. Though she could still kick their asses. But it was only near the end of the fight that Fury finally noticed.

Amidst the swinging, kicking, punching, lasers, and bullets, the kid was getting sluggish, much faster than usual (and Stacy, along with Parker, was usually the last to get sluggish in a fight, seeming to have an inhuman reserve of energy). Lazily switching her webs with heavy limbs and swinging higher to avoid fighting targets of concern, only saving civilians. This time, she didn't bother much with the robots that weren't doing anything, sometimes even completely vaulting over pods containing them if an Avenger was close enough to handle it. She aimed to knock robots off their feet when they bothered civilians, instead of actually engaging them in hand-to-hand combat in a way that would permanently disable them, not just knock them out of the fight. It worked, and she did her job, it was just abnormal for her to take them out like that. Usually, she corralled them and fought them all almost simultaneously.

By the time they got back to the Avengers Tower, most of the glitter had flaked off her, leaving a sparkling battlefield where she'd fought or vaulted, stuck in the cracks and dents she'd left in the robots. The kid looked almost winded, but she was still managing to stand straight, and her breathing sounded almost normal, but her chest was moving too fast, and her movements were jerky and slow. It took Fury a minute to realize Spider-Woman was tired. When he did, it nearly bowled him over with shock, because while post-battle fatigue was completely normal, the kid usually didn't get winded, let alone show it. She usually had a seemingly endless supply of stamina for it (along with an endless supply of facts about cutting-edge STEM methods and achievements he was sure even Stark didn't know, and pointless questions that somehow popped into her head at the most inopportune moments, i.e., when she was trying to focus or sleep).

"Mission successful, but..." a stern voice somehow ignored the kid, who was slumped in her chair the entire debrief, but finally the large holographic heads turned towards Spider-Woman, and the kid was too out of it to notice all the heads turning her way (Parker had been watching her almost the entire report, excitement plain in his eyes). She probably figured she wasn't under threat since she wasn't being immediately beaten up. She let her guard down (which, however, never actually happened, and now Fury was starting to get a little worried, but would never admit it), just enough to flinch upon hearing her codename.

"We reviewed the footage and your attire..." They really shouldn't have said that. Everyone knew she looked like some fucking fairy princess had thrown up on her and tossed her into a glitter pit. Fury winced at the noticeable bits of glitter still on the girl, which seemed to amplify the sparkle even more in the conference room light. "It is far from exemplary. While we may reluctantly tolerate your thoughtless disregard for rules out of our respect for your Director, this is a blatant disrespect to our entire status," he said sharply, letting his voice pour out the poorly disguised insult. Fury thought he saw Gwen flinch slightly as the voice got a little louder.

"You should be grateful we haven't arrested you and sent you to the Raft or even the Icebox. You operate outside Fury's jurisdiction, with no explanations, and ones like you are always considered on the wrong side of the law," said another council member, as if Stacy wasn't human enough (which was quite unfair, as that only seemed to apply to Stacy and not Parker. Mostly because Tony wouldn't let a bad word be said about Peter) to be considered a person (though Fury wasn't entirely sure himself). That got a rise out of Gwen, and the others winced. Gwen really had a thing about mutant rights (though she never defended herself, always others), but Fury didn't think the Avengers knew that. At least they were empathetic enough to understand the council had crossed a line.

"Then why haven't you? If I'm so much trouble, why not send me away?" she growled with such venom it even took Romanoff by surprise. Her voice was deadly and frightening, and she stated that they had boldly crossed a line. The council wisely chose not to respond, and Stark quickly put things on autopilot and ended the call—but that seemed to be all he could do before Gwen broke the spell. "That's what I thought." She crossed her arms, and all the tension and malice that had been building around her and spreading through the room seemed to evaporate in an instant. Fury breathed quietly, as did the other Avengers. Sure, the council members had crossed a line, even the Avengers noticed. But what the hell was that?! Gwen didn't seem to notice the unasked question or care to answer, slumping further in her chair and undoubtedly pouting under her mask.

"What's the Icebox?" Sam asked after a moment, poor guy. Gwen, however, didn't answer, just portraying childish upset in her mask.

"It's a place where mutants and Inhumans are sent if they commit illegal acts," Natasha forced out. That was putting it mildly; the place was a veritable hellhole with the most hardened psychopaths—no place for a kid. But it was just the thing a person who wasn't a mutant or otherwise in the know needed to know.

"I'm surprised they threatened the kid with that. That's harsh," Tony says with thoughtful honesty, side-eyeing Peter, who flinched slightly, but Fury caught the slight worry (Fury was plenty worried too. The hell were they threatening Stacy with prison for now?). Natasha studies the kid for a second, contemplating her mood and motives. Trying to figure out what's going on in her head. Well, good luck to her, because even Fury couldn't crack that code.

"Why didn't they just say the Raft? Isn't that what they use for us?" Sam asked, confused, clearly missing the hint to shut up. Yeah, the Avengers had mutants, the Raft was under US government jurisdiction, and the Icebox was a UN thing that was much worse and posed a much bigger threat than the Raft itself.

"They didn't threaten me with the Raft because they don't have..." Gwen trailed off, not loud enough for everyone to hear, but they heard anyway. Natasha managed to look surprised; she must have figured something out Fury hadn't expected. Gwen straightened up slightly as all eyes turned to her. "They don't have power dampeners there. Enhancements aren't considered a mutation because it's... muscle reconstruction... in my case..." Gwen trailed off, as if she didn't want to answer the rest of the question, but she was already in too deep; everyone was waiting for her to finish. "My DNA mutated too, and I got powers. If you're enhanced, your DNA doesn't change," she said, pointing at Steve and shrugging. She was going to say it completely differently; it was probably censored, and what she would have said before might have given a lot away.

Damn her vigilance.

"They take your powers?" Clint asked, sounding slightly surprised. But Fury knew Clint wasn't surprised they took powers; he was surprised by the threat to take a kid's powers. Barton might not be a mutant, but he knows a mutant's well-being is tied to their powers too. Especially a child's.

"It's not that bad. Just a bit nauseating because I'm not... all fine." Gwen cuts herself off, unwilling to share the good parts. Even after over six months of working together (though they weren't very productive months in terms of personal connection between the Avengers and Stacy). Fury sighed.

"Take off the mask, kid," Fury ordered, tired of trying to read the kid in the mask and gauge her feelings. Gwen sighed and took it off without argument, but Fury could see she didn't want to. He immediately regretted asking the kid to do it.

Now, looking at Stacy's unmasked face, Fury regretted taking her on this mission at all. She looked like shit, to put it mildly. Her face was gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten properly in a long time. Dark, almost black bags under her eyes, like she hadn't slept all month. She was trying to wet her chapped, dry lips to hide the awkward display of her exhaustion. What was keeping this kid upright?

"Well, that was all good. I gotta go," Gwen said with feigned cheerfulness in her voice and headed for the elevator, trying not to look at the Avengers for fear their temporary stupor would evaporate before she could leave.

Unfortunately for her, it did. Steve intercepted her before she could take the last five steps. Everyone felt some relief that he managed to stop Gwen rather than having to dodge or weave around her, which she would have done if she weren't so tired. Peter let out a quiet sigh of relief off to the side; he was clearly worried about Stacy, despite the apparent animosity between them (though they used to be a duo in Queens before Spider-Woman disappeared for a few months). Gwen sighed as if she'd expected this, but still looked a bit surprised when Rogers moved his hand as Gwen tilted her head to look at her target. "That means I, well, you know, gotta go. Like, leave," Gwen explained, trying to get the man to move, ready to go around him just once.

"Yeah, and that means I'm not letting you. Like, stay," Steve retorted sharply, and if Gwen wasn't surprised before, she was definitely surprised now. Captain America was sassily persuading her to stay. It was enough to make her freeze and look at the old man with wide, kitten-like eyes.

"Why?" she asked with childish curiosity, only tilting her head slightly. Like a toddler asking why the sky is blue or how birds fly. That voice shouldn't go with those tired eyes.

"How long has it been since you slept?" Steve asked in his commander voice, and to his credit, he wasn't visibly shocked by the contrast in Stacy's appearance since she walked in. It was like he thought Gwen would only respond to that, which, yikes, was harsh. And no, she would probably respond to that voice last, if at all.

"I told you I got pranked because I was sleeping," Gwen furrowed her brows as if not understanding why Steve was asking this. Steve mirrored her look, pausing for a second before answering.

"Because you passed out," Bruce interjected suddenly. His calm voice seemed to lend an air of order and professionalism to the conversation that Gwen couldn't just erase. Gwen whipped her head around to face the doctor.

"I didn't 'pass out.' I just wanted to sleep," Gwen retorted. "It was on purpose. Fully and completely on purpose." She snorted and crossed her arms like a child.

"Yeah, sure, kid," Tony snorted disbelievingly. "You seriously need sleep, and I can hear it." He looked the kid over and scrunched his nose. And if Stark said a kid needed sleep, she probably needed a week of it. "And a bath," he added, and Fury involuntarily agreed. Gwen glared at him, but there was no heat in it.

"And some food," Bruce supplied helpfully. Or not so helpfully, because panic flashed in Gwen's eyes for some reason. Banner didn't seem to notice as he continued, "Just rest, why don't you..."

"Bye," Gwen said, backing towards the window, opening it, and jumping out. Which she probably would have done sooner if she hadn't been too tired to notice it.

The Avengers sighed.

________________________________

A Few Years Ago

James 'Bucky' Barnes was fucking Krasnaya.

The man she loved and had been searching for was Steve Rogers's best friend (whom she had also grown to love during their time together). And now Steve was asking her to try and find him. Because he'd gotten a lead on the Winter Soldier, just as Natasha had suspected and had originally asked for his help with. But then they learned the Soldier's identity, and now Steve was asking her to make a different choice and not kill him. As if she was ever going to kill him.

So she agreed, because she wasn't sure she was ready to confess her feelings. She wasn't ready to tell Steve about the Red Room and HYDRA. She wasn't ready to tell Steve about their child, whose father he also was. Hell, she wasn't even sure she was ready to tell Krasn-Bucky.

She was angry. Angry at Steve for making her do this, even if she wanted to anyway. Angry at Clint for not letting her talk it out. Angry at Krasn-no, Barnes, for leaving her alone with their daughter, even if they'd had no choice and he hadn't known.

Their daughter.

Even in that bunker, she looked him straight in the eyes, and he stared at her like he'd seen a ghost. Trying to remember her as they held guns to each other's temples. He wouldn't remember, even if he promised, and Natasha was angry he'd forgotten that promise too. Steve was standing not far from her, trying to coax him to lower the gun, saying she was a friend, as if they'd never known each other, but it wasn't working.

His gaze was locked on her, and only her, yet also clinging to Steve (Huh? Natasha didn't really hope that Bucky and Steve also loved each other, but there was still hope). A painful memory trying to break free and awaken, to remember who she was. She could see him trying to hold onto a memory of her. She knew she and Steve felt familiar to him. That frantic look, clouded with confusion. As if he needed confirmation.

She rolled her eyes, put her gun away, and walked towards him. Steve fell silent, and she quickly closed the distance, almost running. Feelings, emotions, and pain made her run faster, and she wasn't sure if she was crying, but she didn't care right now. She was running towards her love, her family. The family she had built in hell. The family she never stopped searching for. The family she loved and lost. It would all come back, gradually. This was just proof her hope hadn't been for nothing.

He didn't shoot her. He wouldn't shoot. He couldn't shoot. He pulled the trigger as she approached, but his eyes held panic, as if he wasn't ready for what she was about to do. He didn't know what to do. He froze. He didn't shoot when she kissed him long and hard.

"Natalia," he said. Her answer was confirmed when she didn't correct him. "Natasha," he said, and she smirked against his lips. Cementing the confirmation, he returned the kiss, though much more gently.

"Finally remember?" she asked, pulling away from each other. "I thought I was unforgettable," she said sarcastically. He smiled in a way that made her heart melt. She had missed that smile.

"You are," he said and looked at her before the smile turned into a frown. She raised an eyebrow. "I have to go," he said, starting to pull away, but she gripped his hands tighter. She couldn't let him go again. Not in this cruel world.

"No... you can't," she said, almost desperately, not knowing how to tell him. She thought he was dead, then learned he wasn't, and went into submission to find him now. But now that she was here, and he was looking at her. Pleading for a reason to stay. She gave him one. "We have a daughter."

She heard Steve gasp (because he must have been utterly bewildered watching this entire exchange between two assassins). Barnes didn't know what to say, standing frozen and silent. She knew immediately that he understood immediately. "And she's your daughter too," Natasha said, glancing at Steve.

She had a lot of explaining to do.

________________________________

2018, New York

More often than not, Fury was dragging the kid along by the scruff of her neck.

It wasn't an alarming fact, but it was a strange observation. The kid let herself be dragged, as if she didn't want to go but didn't care; and given her small size (about Peter's), it didn't seem that difficult. By now it was normal for them, though the first time he did it, the Avengers had frozen in stunned silence for a minute. I mean, who wouldn't be surprised to see the esteemed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. dragging a punk teenager in spandex to an Avengers mission? (Peter didn't count. Tony brought Peter himself back during the Germany fight. But he was still surprised there was another person with abilities like Peter's, though not overly so, since he'd heard about Spider-Woman later.)