Natasha stood in the garden room of her new home, steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands as she watched the sun set over the Sussex Downs. She'd been here just over a week. Hiding weapons and planning escape routes with the practiced ease of someone who'd been on the run for the better part of her life.
She wondered if this would be the last time. If maybe, finally, she'd be able to stay here and retire. She liked West Sussex. She liked the foggy mornings and the safety of isolation.
Her house was bordered on three sides by dense clusters of trees and nothing but rolling greens stretched in front of the little house just beyond the road. Should anyone decide to track her down, she would see them coming with enough time to escape. She'd already done the math.
They're coming for you.
But she'd been here over a week and no one had come for her yet. Even Steve had gone off the grid after leaving Wakanda. She'd sent him encoded messages in case he needed her but refrained from actively tracking him down. He didn't want to be found and she understood the feeling.
Over the course of a few weeks Steve had lost the two people he loved most in the world for the second time in his life. He needed time to grieve and he needed time to heal.
Natasha had some grieving of her own to do. She'd never aspired to have much in her life beyond a chance at redemption. She never thought she'd have friends or family. And still in the end, despite all she'd done to try and keep them together, she'd lost the few people she'd come closest to calling family.
And wasn't that the Red Room's legacy? Wasn't that the joke behind her title?
She'd been marked for loneliness from the very beginning. Whatever place she managed to carve for herself in the world was only temporary. She had no place. At the end of the day, the Red Room had taken away every possible tool she could use to bring herself closer to another human being and there was nothing she could do to repair the damage. She would know. She'd tried for years.
Black Widow with your deadliest sting. Who could survive you?
Some nights there were dreams. Of blue eyes and dark curls and soft lips whispering her name in the deepest baritone. Of an auburn-haired little girl whose face she couldn't quite place. Of dances in the wee hours of the morning and strong arms holding the pieces of her together.
Brief flashes of of a life that was at once familiar and foreign.
Natasha always woke up feeling hollow. Like something important had been carved out of her body and the emptiness left behind was consuming her bit by bit. Logically, she knew her dreams were just dreams. Psychology was one of her few areas of expertise and she wasn't above self-diagnosing.
But at four in the morning when that feeling of 'How did I get here?' and 'What am I doing?' crowded her senses with enough force to choke, she couldn't find it in herself to be logical. She resented waking up. She resented being ripped away from that scrap of happiness she had left even if it wasn't real.
The sun dipped into the horizon and her cat meowed to get her attention. Natasha cast the briefest glance his way.
"Fine," she spoke to the grey-haired Basil, turning for the kitchen. "I don't know how you can eat so much anyway."
Natasha grabbed the bag of cat kibble from underneath the sink and scooped a helping into his plate. She'd found him on the side of the road on her drive over and picked him up on a whim. Something about its grey fur and blue eyes sparked an immediate affection.
She sat on the floor with her jean-clad legs pulled to her chest once she'd put the bag away and watched him eat. "I'm thinking about dying my hair blonde," she continued. "Or honey brown. I'll decide tomorrow for sure." She propped her chin up on her knees. "And I'm going to need a hobby if I don't want to end up shooting myself in the face and saving Ross the trouble."
Basil meowed.
"You're right," she replied. "He deserves all the trouble he can get."
She was quiet again for a long moment, listening to Basil's quiet munching and purring. The house's previous owners had been avid apiculturists and the empty hive boxes were still standing in the front yard. She didn't want to take them down but perhaps they could be put to use.
"What do you think happens to queen bees if they're taken away from the rest of the hive?" she asked Basil. "Death, right?"
She toyed with the possibility until she felt Basil's nose nudging her calf through her jeans. She released her legs and scooped him up into her arms.
"I don't know how to do this," she informed him. "Retirement. Pet ownership." Basil meowed again. "You're going to have to be patient with me if you want this to work out. Can you manage?"
But of course there was no reply.
Natasha released him a few minutes later to begin her nightly routine. "Come on."
She checked the doors and windows the same way she did every night, with Basil close on her heels. Double checked her weapons in their designated hiding places while he nosed at her hands. Triple checked the strategically placed motion sensors and security cameras with him pawing at her laptop's keyboard.
"You're very demanding," she told him, gently nudging him away.
Almost an hour later he followed her into bed. Natasha watched him on the pillow next to her until her eyes grew tired and her lids grew heavy. No men in kevlar came to put a bullet in her head that night. No friends called to check in. She was alone.
But there were dreams of sprawling beaches and snowy mountains, and when she turned on her side, she could've sworn she heard the distant sound of a violin lulling her to sleep.