A/N: Oh how I wished Natasha had tried to lift Mjölnir.
Disclaimer: If i owned it, you'd know it.
Natasha had never been worthy. Of anything, really. That's what she decided. So when they egged her on, she shook her head. What was the point of reaffirming what she knew by heart?
"Come on, Nat," Bruce urged, "Since when have you ever backed down from a challenge?"
She shot him a look, filled of liquor and love and crushed ice. Finally she sighed, rolled her neck and cracked her knuckles.
"I never have," she announced, rising to her feet, "Not yet, anyway."
And she strode over to the other side of the table and wrapped her lithe fingers around Mjölnir's handle. It was then she realized how small she was. She knew she was muscular; she could feel the muscles between her shoulder blades tensing as she prepared herself, and the ones running through her arm bunched and released over and over. But her hand, compared to everyone else's, compared to Thor's hammer, was small. So small. She gripped tight, felt her back clench, gritted her teeth behind closed lips, and lifted, her eyes squeezed shut
And suddenly the room went silent. What had she done wrong?
"Oh. My. God." she heard. And, slowly, just a crack at first, she opened her eyes again.
It fit her hand like a glove, balanced perfectly within her calloused, manicured hand. They eyed her, awe glittering their faces. She glanced over at Bruce again, the wonder-filled smile sending her heart pounding into overdrive. Then her eyes wandered to Thor, who nodded approvingly at her.
"Looks like somebody is certainly worthy of ruling Asgard," he announced, more to himself than to the other occupants. She jutted her chin up, puffing out her chest with the surge of pride building from her bicep through her body.
Yeah, she thought, maybe I'm worthy of something after all.
"And that, boys," she shot back, swinging the hammer once before placing it back on the table, "Is how it's done."