A/N: ok had a few technical difficulties uploading this the first time, sorry about that!
This fic was spawned because of my misunderstanding of Loki the first time i saw avengers. and thus this idea was born, and then spiraled out of control inside my head for nearly 2 years. I've been working on it on and off for a while and finally i have a couple of chapters ready to post, though i can't make any promises for how regularly they'll be updated (college and all that joy). otherwise, enjoy, review, and favorite!
The first time Natasha saw her was on the playground.
She parked her car along the side of the street and proceeded to walk the remaining few blocks to the school. The air was cool and crisp with the coming fall, and the leaves on the trees that lined the sidewalk were already starting to fade from green to yellow. Despite the pleasant weather, the small suburban neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday afternoon.
'Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakoff's daughter, Sao Paulo, the hospital file? Barton told me everything.'
Loki's words echoed through her head again, and Natasha tried to ignore the knot twisting in her stomach. It'd been over a month since Thor had returned with his brother to Asgard – in chains and a gag no less – but of all the horror and destruction Loki had caused, it was those words that haunted her most at night.
Natasha knew she shouldn't be here. As far as anyone back at headquarters knew, she was running an errand upstate. If they found out she was AWOL, there'd certainly be consequences, but this was something she had to do herself, something she had to see with her own eyes in order to sleep soundly at night. Well, as soundly as she ever slept.
The school playground came into view as she rounded the corner. It was relatively small, consisting of a few swings, a basketball court, a jungle gym, and a particularly worn out merry-go-round. There were a few children there today, running around, playing and yelling, while their mothers kept watchful eyes on them as they talked and sipped coffee from colorful mugs.
Natasha watched them through the high chain-link fence that partially surrounded the playground, a cool breeze blowing her short locks back out of her face. Looping her fingers through the metal links, she scanned through the faces of the children climbing up and down the jungle gym. It didn't take her long to find her. She really wasn't that hard to spot. She was the spitting image of her parents, with Natasha's fiery hair and Clint's steel grey-blue eyes. Her daughter, her Anya.
Natasha did the math in her head. Anya would be about six now. Far from the baby she was last time Natasha had seen her. She watched as Anya followed another girl down a slide, shrieking with laughter, her orange curls flowing behind her. Chasing after the girl, Anya disappeared behind the jungle gym and from Natasha's hungry gaze.
Natasha craned her neck a little to try and regain sight of her daughter, but was unsuccessful. Leave, her mind ordered, before you compromise yourself or worse, her. She had done what she had come here to do, to assure herself that no harm had come to her daughter in the aftermath of Loki's attack. She should have been satisfied, but every fiber of her being urged her to get closer, to see more of her daughter. For once, she ignored her better sense.
Letting go of the fence, Natasha walked around the edge to the playground until she came to an empty bench and sat down. She stayed a respectable distance from the children as to not alarm their parents, but close enough that she could watch them play without obstruction.
Natasha took her cell phone out of her pocket and pretended to text someone. She should have brought a book or something with her, anything to make her look a little more inconspicuous. Over the top of her phone, she watched Anya as she moved across the jungle gym to a set of monkey bars.
Gripping the first bar tight, Anya swung across to the next, only to loose her momentum and hang there for a moment before giving up and dropping to the ground. Looking back up at the bars high above her head, Anya screwed up her face in concentration in a way Natasha recognized all too well as Clint's.
A pang shot through Natasha's chest. Her job made it completely impractical for her to want to have kids, but it didn't mean she didn't think about it sometimes. About leaving SHIELD one day, settling down, living that all American apple pie kinda life people seemed so keen on. About sleeping late and waking to find Clint by her side, both of them safe and sound and not in immediate danger for once in their lives. She'd be lying if she said it didn't sound a bit appealing.
And then Sao Paulo happened. As usual, their relatively simple mission had gone sideways. It was almost expected, nothing she couldn't handle. Clint faking his own death? Not so much. When he turned up almost two days later, very much alive, she'd already brutally taken out half of the drug cartel they'd been sent to dismantle, including the leader, Drakoff's, daughter. It was a blood bath, a prominent blotch of red on even her crimson ledger.
When she confronted Clint later, she was a mess, caught somewhere between wanting to kill him for his deception and just being relieved that he was actually alive. Anger quickly turned to passion, and six weeks later found Natasha with a horrible case of not-food-poisoning and a positive pregnancy test.
The news was a shock to them both. Suddenly Natasha was faced with a choice. Maternity leave wasn't uncommon in SHIELD, though admittedly more so for field agents. It was one of the few ways out of the organization that didn't include a pine box six feet under or being locked up for the rest of your natural life.
The most logical thing to do would have been to terminate the pregnancy. Clint told her that he'd support her decision either way, but despite it all, Natasha couldn't bring herself to do it. They informed only those who absolutely needed to know - Fury, Coulson, Hill - and Natasha was confined to the helicarrier doing desk work. When she was no longer able to conceal her condition, Natasha left on administrative leave, though the official story was that she was sent deep undercover in Kiev.
Anya Marie was born four months later. Clint was out on a training exercise with new recruits and missed it all, but rushed to the hospital when the news finally reached him. For two solid hours, they were a family. Natasha cradled Anya in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to her in Russian while Clint played with Anya's tiny hands, smiling every time they wrapped tightly around his finger.
It was a perfect moment interrupted only by the entrance of the social worker. Natasha and Clint exchanged knowing glances, and Natasha pressed one last kiss to her daughter's forehead before passing her to Clint, who handed her over to the worker. Natasha managed to hold back her tears until after the woman left. Clint tried to keep it together for her sake, but she knew it hurt him too. He'd always wanted kids more than her. But with their lifestyle it just wasn't possible.
Natasha located Anya again, this time awkwardly running amongst a pack of slightly older boys who were playing soccer. Despite her obvious disadvantages, Anya tried her hardest to keep up with them, her little legs kicking blindly at the ball whenever it got within her reach.
Natasha wasn't mother material, she knew that. She didn't drive a minivan or know how to make a sick child feel better. She didn't go to PTA meetings or help coach little league games. She knew five different ways to take down a full grown man with a spatula, but couldn't for the life of her make decent pancakes for breakfast.
She jumped a little when the phone in her hand actually did vibrate with a new message. She looked down at it, finally taking her eyes off of Anya.
Where are you? It was from Clint.
Out, she replied simply.
She hadn't told him she had come, hadn't told him that she'd been secretly keeping tabs on their daughter for years, though he probably already knew. There may be secrets in every relationship, but they were harder to keep when you're partner was a government trained spy. She felt bad for not cluing him in; he would have died to come, but after everything that happened to him with Loki she wasn't sure if it was the best idea.
Her thoughts were interrupted when something bumped lightly against her leg. Natasha looked down to see the soccer ball the children had been playing with sitting at her feet. She looked up again only to find Anya running right towards her.
"Sorry," the little girl said, bending down to pick up the ball.
For a moment, Natasha couldn't remember how to speak. The last time she had been this close to her daughter had been the day she gave her up for adoption. Part of her wanted to reach out, to gently touch Anya's cheek, as if to make sure this was real. She shut that part down immediately.
"It's no problem," Natasha finally managed.
Ball wrapped in her tiny arms, Anya looked up at her clinically for a moment, her stare shockingly similar to her mother's.
"You have red hair, just like me," her daughter grinned.
Natasha almost laughed. "Yeah I do."
"My mommy calls me her ginger snap because of it," Anya giggled.
Natasha gave a weak smile, but she felt like she had just been punched in the stomach; her chest aching, her lungs screaming for air, it was as if she could actually feel her heart breaking. Natasha may have given her life, but she wasn't her mother. To Anya, she was just some stranger at the park.
"Anya," a brunette woman called from across the playground, her son beside her. "Anya, it's time to go."
Anya looked over her shoulder. "That's my mom, I've got to go," she said and quickly ran off, without so much a second glance at Natasha.
Natasha gave a little wave as she watched her daughter run from her and into the arms of another woman.
Giving her up hadn't even been the hardest part. They were spies; a kid shouldn't be raised in that kind of environment. Natasha would know. She was speaking from experience. The hardest part was giving away all the possibilities that keeping her would have entitled. Any chance of ever having that normal life that she convinced herself she didn't really want left the moment she handed her baby over to that social worker six years ago.
The woman hugged Anya to her gently before looking back at Natasha warily. Even from across the yard, Natasha could see the woman's eyes grow wider as she no doubtedly noticed the similarities between her and Anya.
Natasha only bowed her head and looked down, trying to indicate that she meant no harm to the little family.
Finally looking away from Natasha, the woman led her son and Anya out of the park and toward home. After they were out of sight, Natasha allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek before she bitterly wiped it from her eyes.
She looked down at her phone to find another message from Clint.
How is she?
She paused. Of course he knew. She took a shaky breath before typing back.
She's just fine.