Chapter 1

Natasha couldn't wait to get back to her own bed. Today had been one of those days where it made a person wish they had never left it that morning. Natasha rarely allowed herself the luxury of such an attitude. She had been through worse, she could handle it. It wasn't even hard to handle it. Not really.

The toll it took was mostly an emotional one. The physical threat had been minimal, tech outside of what certain government agencies could comfortably deal with, but nothing in the face of Tony Stark's gadgets. None ever held up to that.

They had been called in, Natasha, Clint, and Steve. Tony had been working behind the scenes, of course. Bruce had been helping, she was almost certain. The three that had been called in were being used to rein in this episode's bad guy once Tony (and/or Bruce) got a lock on each of their tech pieces and made them into very bulky, very ugly art.

Recognizing that they had little chance once their weapons were de-weaponized, they put up surprisingly little resistance.

No, physical demands were very little today. The fact that the ring leader had been a woman who had holed up in an elementary school had taken the difficulty level through the roof. She had, correctly, assumed that taking refuge in a place with so many potential victims would slow the process significantly. No one was going to risk barging into an unknown situation, to apprehend an unstable criminal, surrounded, not only by potential victims, but young children potential victims.

They had managed to resolve the situation with only seven people in the hospital: two teachers trying to protect their students, a janitor, two older boys who had tried to gang up on the woman, a girl who had gotten in the way, and a young boy who had a severe asthma attack. The worst injury between them was one broken rib and one concussion. Some scrapes and bruises, a sprain, a pulled muscle here and there, but there had been no casualties.

All in all, it was a win. The damage was all the emotional toll, of knowing that, had they not managed to settle things the way they had, any injuries or deaths were on them. As easily as it had gone, it could so easily have gone wrong. And if it had, it was children that were going to suffer.

It was always worse when it was children.

Clint had taken off already, headed to his farm to see his children and wife. These always hit too close to home for him. Natasha had sent her love, telling him to squeeze them extra tight and give them each an extra kiss from their Auntie Tasha.

Clint had tried to just bring her home with him. It had been tempting but Natasha knew what she really needed. Time to "recharge." Clint had tried to convince her she could do that on the way, or once they got to the farm. He knew how relaxing she found his little strip of land.

He did not know that what her needing to "recharge" meant, was taking those meds she swiped religiously from Shield medical to induce a drop.

It wasn't that she couldn't drop, per se. She most certainly could. Most subs could drop, hell, most had to. The meds she stocked up on whenever she saw had a clear shot at them were more to help switches balance out when they decided to settle into a Sub life. Or to help Subs who had suffered some sort of trauma while in a drop or relating to a drop.

A drop was supposed to be about safety, keeping a Sub calm and protecting them from things that threatened to overwhelm them. When that was threatened, whether due to a solo drop (dropping alone, being left alone at some point in the middle of a drop, or having to fight one's way out of a drop), some form of mistreatment during the drop (abuse: physical, mental, emotional, sexual or neglect) or even just a severe trauma drop. Any drop that the Sub doesn't control happening really, although that only happens in extreme cases.

So, no, Natasha isn't taking them meds because of any of those things (although she has experienced all of those things). She does it so that she can control when she drops, how long she drops for, and ensure that she can come up from the drop on her own with minimal lasting damage. Drops are meant to be supervised, from helping a Sub down in a calm caring manner, to encouraging them to stay down as long as they need, all the way to when they are able to safely come back up, finding their way back to their own mind.

Drops are different for every Sub, and depending on the kind of drop, present differently. The more extreme result in some degree of loss of consciousness, ranging from the barely- asleep stage where they may still be conscious of what happens around them, just unable to interact themselves, to borderline catatonic. The more routine drops may just result in a slight increase of submissive behavior, allowing themselves to defer to others, Doms in particular.

Again, Natasha in intimately acquainted with the entire gamut.

Doms are the most helpful to a Sub in need of dropping or in the midst of a drop. Anyone can handle a Sub in drop, but Doms are equipped with almost an extra sense of what the Sub needs and when. Subs, Switches, and any of the other minority designations may notice the signs, but Doms can feel it. Not just for any stranger on the street, but one that has formed a bond with a Sub will often times know they need to drop before even the Sub does.

Natasha has that bond with several Doms. Unfortunately, they are missing one very specific piece of the puzzle that is the Black Widow. None of the know she is a Sub.

It's not like there is a special marker that tells everyone you meet what your designation in life is. But usually, observing people for more than a couple of meetings tells you everything you need to know. Natasha has been specially trained (conditioned) not to give anyone that power over her.

The Red Room trained them to be expert spies, the perfect assassins. And being ruled by such things as Dom or Sub instincts didn't play into that well. So they were removed entirely. A very painful process to experience.

Natasha had shaken a lot of her training. The killing, while the ability remained, had been stopped long ago. She regained her compassion for human life. Her lack of trust, not allowing people close enough to even know her name, disappeared with Clint. Although that was less due to her own desire to let it go and more with Clint's desire to smash through her carefully crafted walls with so little finesse the Hulk would be proud.

But being without designation, keeping that one little piece of herself under lock and key, that wasn't even an option to undo. She had gone through the process of locking it away once. She was determined to never let it out again. That was what made her good at her job. She would as good as give up her position on the team if she ever let that last little bit slip free.

So she never would.

Natasha laid her pill and water bottle out on the night stand. She had changed into softer lounge clothes from her Widow uniform, and after wiping herself down of whatever grit and grime had accumulated throughout the struggle today, was ready to crawl into her bed and turn of for 2-4 hours, like her chosen dosage of drop medication promised.

She laid her head down, grabbed her drop pillow from under the bed (a body pillow she could fold in half around her top half, making it feel like she was laying between someone's legs with her head in someone's lap), molded it around her, leaned over to take her meds, then settled in.

Her last thought as the world went black is how much she better the pillow would be if it were warm...