A/N: HERE YA GO! NATASHA!

So, It's hard to keep her in character as well as make her have a sort of panic attack so I hope it's not too bad.


NATASHA ROMANOFF – BLACK WIDOW

PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
All the Avengers feel its effects, some more than others, and while they might try their best to hide the triggers – they're always there and they're always going to show in the end.


Natasha Romanoff wasn't very good at portraying her emotions. She supposed it was to be expected, as she'd learned to be an assassin at the young age of eight and assassins never betrayedtheir emotions.

But, there were times – like now for example – where she wished that she could let others know what she was feeling. Happiness was simple; you just flashed a smile and laughed. Sadness wasn't too hard, especially when you'd spent years perfecting the art of fake crying. But fear... Natasha didn't show fear. She'd long since forgotten how to be scared... or so she thought.

Now, the assassin was petrified – completely and utterly petrified – and she couldn't show it.

It was fire of all things. Why couldn't she be scared of ruthless criminals or atomic bombs? Fire wasn't terrifying. Especially when it was small and contained in a little black box... where it was so completely capable of licking out and starting something big...

No way was Natasha going to admit it. She wasn't going to admit being scared of something so small and contained. Tony would scorn, Clint would give her all the comfort she really didn't want, Thor would probably laugh and Steve and Bruce would hover awkwardly to the side, making the situation even worse than it already was.


Natasha's day had started off fairly simple. She'd woken up at the unearthly hour of four in the morning, followed by a yell at Clint because he'd forgotten to take his arrows out her room (if you must know, he had pretended he was cupid. Natasha had punched him) and she'd very nearly stepped on one. She'd then gotten dressed in her usual black attire, with the tall black boots and gun strapped to her waist. Then, she'd run a brush through her cherry red curls and stalked out to the kitchen.

"Morning sunshine," she was greeted by the nonchalant voice of Tony Stark, causing her to groan in response.

"Since when are you up so early, da Vinci?" she asked coolly, marching over to the coffee machine and flicking it on at the power.

Tony fixed her with a calculating stare and leaned forward on his stool, propping his elbows up on the island bench. "Did Capsicle put you up to that?" he asked suspiciously. "Because I swear-"

"No, he didn't," she cut the billionaire off and grabbed a white mug from the cupboard just above her head before spinning around and fixing him with a glare, the mug dangling from her left pinky.

"Just checking," Tony said with a roll of his eyes. He lifted his own Iron Man mug and took a sip of the dark coffee inside before setting it back down on the smooth marble bench.

Natasha watched him warily for a moment before shrugging and proceeding to prepare her own coffee. She flicked the 'on' switch on the machine and waited for the light hum of the mechanics to alert her of when it was ready. "You know," the assassin began, placing her mug under the machine's nozzle. "Steve's still not totally pleased with you for-"

This time, it was the billionaire who cut her off and not the other way around. His gaze was steely as he spoke and his eyes flashed in a kind of fury which she'd never seen before. "Don't bring that up." He spat, bringing his fist down on the table. "I've had enough of people ganging up on me for that one. I told you, it just slipped out. That was a week ago anyway. Get a life and stop badgering me."

Natasha blinked, slightly shocked. Tony had told them all about Steve's fear of ice, his PTSD, because he'd been 'worried' about the captain. He'd outlined that clearly enough after realizing he'd told everyone, though nobody had believed that he'd been genuinely worried about his comrade, save for perhaps Bruce, because usually he'd get kick of making the others squirm.

The assassin hadn't realised (despite her usual brilliance of reading emotions) that all the ganging up and anger toward him in the past week had really been taking its toll on the billionaire. She noticed for the first time, the heavy bags that resided under his usual lively eyes and the way his shoulders slumped slightly, contrary to his usual straight and proud posture.

"So..." Natasha tried to make conversation without the tiresome issue of apologizing. "You're up early."

He let out a fake laugh. "I'm up late, Spider," he corrected, shooting a glance at a glowing blue clock which hung on the wall just beside the fridge.

Natasha stared at him, eyebrows raised in shock. "Late?" she echoed turning back to the coffee machine as it let out a steady beeping noise, alerting her that her coffee had been prepared.

"Precisely," a British accent rang through the room. "He has been up for forty two hours and counting. He has not slept well since a week ago today."

Tony glared at the space in front of him, silently cursing JARVIS for telling Natasha of his sleeping patterns, something which he'd been trying to prevent ever since she'd put those cameras in his room to monitor him.

Natasha bit back a lecture and settled for moving around the counter and sitting on a stool beside him. They sat drinking their coffee in silence for a while until Clint decided to make himself known.

"Sup, da Vinci!" He called brightly, causing Tony to shoot him an irritated look.

"Why is everyone calling me da Vinci?" He demanded, swiveling around on his stool to face the archer.

Clint shrugged. "I heard Natasha say it," he said. "I was up in the vents." He pointed to a vent above his head and gestured to himself with a smug grin.

Tony glared at him. "Are you saying you heard that whole conversation?" He asked warily, earning an earnest nod from Clint who looked rather proud of himself. The billionaire shot him a dirty look before walking out of the room, his coffee forgotten.

Clint looked at Natasha awkwardly who just shrugged before taking a small sip of her coffee. "Don't ask," she said with a sigh, propping her elbows up on the bench and lacing her hands together.


Natasha didn't remember much of the rest of the day. She and Clint decided to train in the gym with Steve, who'd been murdering another punching bag before they'd decided to intervene. Training tended to take her mind off of other things and despite the exercise and adrenaline, it would calm her down.

Other than that, she didn't remember doing much else.

However, she did remember heading down to one of the living rooms in StarkTowers that evening. It was bucketing with rain outside and the team had decided to hang out by the fire; something that made Natasha's nerves flare up. It had been Steve's idea really. He'd told everyone (aside from Tony, he'd asked Pepper to give him the message) to meet him in the living room on the tenth floor so that they could have some 'bonding time'.

To Natasha's immense surprise, Tony was already there. He was crashed out on the lounge suite with his head lolling off the side and an arm splayed awkwardly behind his back.

She walked briskly toward a smaller couch and settled down on it, trying to fight back a yawn. Steve was there too, sitting right by a pile of logs which Natasha expected were for the fire.

One by one, the other Avengers filed into the room and settled down somewhere. Clint had jogged in just after Natasha, earning a telling off from Steve who'd pointed to Tony rather urgently with his finger against his lips. In the end though, it was Thor who'd woken up the billionaire. He and Bruce had made their way into the room, Bruce talking in his usual quiet tone, when Thor had suddenly let out a large booming laugh.

Tony yawned and his eyes flickered open wearily. "Calm down, Pep," he muttered, covering his face with his arm. Clint and Steve exchanged a look before snickering into their hands, causing Thor and Bruce to raise their eyebrows in confusion at them.

"Tony!" Natasha demanded, shocking the billionaire enough to make him tumble off the couch.

He scowled at her after picking himself off the floor and slumping back on the leather lounge suite in exhaustion. However, Natasha noticed that the bags under his eyes were less prominent now and his eyes had gained a little bit of their usual sparkle back.

Steve placed the wood in the fireplace and picked up a box of matches from beside him. He flicked a match across the side of the box where the flame roared to life, causing Natasha to jump violently in her seat. She gazed transfixed at the flame and swallowed hard, gripping the sides of the couch tightly.

The captain placed the match amidst the wood and lit another. Natasha wanted to tell him to stop and to put out the fire, but she couldn't admit to her fear – no way would she let them see how terrified she was.

"Get her out!"
Young Natalia Romanova was in her bedroom, terror sparking in her features. The flames roared in the hall behind them, coming closer and closer with every waiting moment. She gripped onto her mother, only to be lifted up into her arms.
"Catch her!" Her mother screamed. "Get her out!"

Natasha screamed, her eyes shut tightly in her terror. "Mother!"

Clint rushed to her side, his eyes widening in realisation. "Natasha, listen to me!" he called. "You're okay! You're safe!"

Before the young girl knew what was happening, she was tumbling out the window into the sturdy arms of a man in black. "NO! MUMMY!" She cried, barely registering her tumble and the man who held her.

"Natasha!" Clint gripped her shoulders. "Natasha, calm down!"

Natasha took a deep shuddering breath. "No..." she moaned, her eyes flickering open slightly.

She could feel Steve's hand on her shoulder, he and Bruce whispering in hushed voices. Between the brief moments in which she opened her eyes, she could see Tony still seated on his couch, horror reflected in his eyes.

Thor was standing over her, concern causing a frown to spread across his face. "What's happening?" he asked softly.

"PTSD," Clint said, looking up. "Natasha, listen to me. You're safe, wake up."

Natasha moaned again, attempting to force her eyes open. "I..." she could feel her cheeks heating up in her embarrassment of being caught in such a weak state. She sat up shakily, taking slow deep breaths. "I'm alright... Guess you're not the only one, huh Steve?"

Steve shot her a watery smile. "Guess not."

Everyone looked warily at Tony, expecting him to laugh at her for her PSTD, a gesture which he noticed. He scowled, his eyes darkening a fraction of a degree before he finally snapped. "Oh yeah," he snapped. "I missed my cue. Ha, ha Natasha, you're scared of fire." The sarcasm rolled off his tongue like the water which bucketed from the clouds outside. He stood up and shot them all a look of frustration and sheer anger. "Whatever, I'm leaving."


A/N: Now, I've never suffered PTSD, so I do try and make it seem as realistic as possible. I'm sorry if it sucks. I also realise that Tony might be slightly OOC, but it's all for a reason folks!

PLEASE REVIEW!

Next one is... Bruce! Then Cint, then Tony. (Yeah, Tony's last - I have my reasons :)