AN Thank you everyone for your warm response! This story was a genuine delight to write, because it's every single bit of the happiness and healing we wanted with eyes blue, and then some.


i'm glad to hear everything's going alright in your world. have you…thought more about my suggestion from last time?

Natasha had been perfectly fine with staying at home and keeping house. She loved being able to put the place in order, polishing and cleaning and improving her family's life until her love poured through every panel and dish and window. After so long of not having anything that was hers, she wanted to build something beautiful.

She also liked the time it gave her with Gracia. Natasha had learned that Gracia was a naturally quiet person and hadn't simply been forced into silence by the dangers of the boarding house. They worked to maintain their home without much conversation, but Natasha noticed the life returning to her eyes, bit by bit.

Diane insisted, however, that Natasha couldn't just hide away from society. She needed to step beyond the confines of her home. No longer was it enough to give people on the street a cool wave or a slight smile to the cashier. Natasha had to push herself more and more until she was just as comfortable in the world as everyone else. She had walls, same as Gracia, and it was vital that she not neglect her own development in favor of someone else's.

Diane's first few recommendations had almost made Natasha laugh. She refused the option of joining book groups, running parties, or gossip circles. The idea of returning to scheduled hours of pretend for the sake of other people made her head hurt. But, finally, after ages of searching and wondering and thinking, Diane had come up with one last suggestion.

"You could help with a homeless shelter."

Natasha had straightened at the proposal. Homeless shelter. It reminded her of the days she had spent scavenging the streets. She shifted in her chair, biting back protests.

"Hear me out," Diane said, sensing her resistance and holding up her hands. "There are plenty of types of jobs you could do there. They're always looking for sympathetic faces, but empathetic faces…that's rare. I think you would give people hope, showing them that they can get themselves out of hard situations."

"I couldn't have without Clint," Natasha said flatly. No matter how she looked at it, there was no way Natasha could have found such an amazing home after the boarding house without him. She would have ended up alone and miserable like when she had been kicked out.

"You mean you had to wait until he was ready to leave a life of prostitution?" Diane asked. She asked the question in that flat way she had, her raised eyebrow unimpressed.

"No," Natasha said defensively. "I was ready to leave. I wanted out of there, more than I ever had."

"Okay. So you would have without Clint."

"But I wouldn't have found something so nice after."

"Nope, probably not. If he hadn't helped you, things would have been a whole lot harder. You are a rare, rare success story, Natasha. I'm not denying that. But you are still a success story. If your desire to improve things can help inspire even one person to help themselves, then that's one person whose life has been improved."

Natasha still wasn't convinced.

"Look at it this way," Diane said, scooting forward in her chair. She had a spark in her eye that Natasha was starting to recognize. It was that spark that had made her become a therapist, Natasha thought. "If I were to pop in down there, in my nice work pants and blouse and pearl necklace," she said, swinging a hand at herself, "would anyone listen to me?"

Natasha snorted.

"Right. I kind of ooze a certain vibe. Even if I were to go down there in a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt, and an old jacket, do you think they'd listen to me?"

"They might."

"Right. But the moment I started talking, the moment I started handing out a Debby Do Good attitude and empowerment speeches, they'll turn right away. People only come to therapists if they want to or if they have to. Having my kind of clean, sterilized advice thrown around Harlem or something isn't going to get anyone anywhere. But if they talk to you and they hear their own tough story coming from your lips and then hear how it could evolve into your success story, that'll do a lot more than anything I ever could!"

Natasha sniffed, still reluctant to believe her. "But if they don't want help, then what good am I?"

Diane leaned back in her chair, a soft smile on her face. "I never said they didn't want help, I saidthey didn't want my help. Did you always not want help while you were on the streets?"

Natasha looked out the window and let out a sigh through her nose.

"Give it a thought, Natasha," Diane said. "Just think about it, if nothing else."

She did think about it. She thought about it every day as she took walks and did the dishes and lay in bed. She felt embarrassed when she brought it up to Clint, but he instantly brightened at the mention.

"Work at a shelter?" he asked, tilting his head.

They had gone out to lunch like normal lovely non-damaged people. It was a simple restaurant, but Natasha loved it for its candor. She was also nervous about discussing some of her past's ugliness under its pristine roof.

"Yes. Diane thinks it's a good idea. She…" Natasha sighed and shook her head. It was still very hard for her to admit when she was wrong. "She said that I should get out of the house more, that I should...take care of people that are not mine."

Clint's face spread into a wide smile at her choice of words, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Did she have any in mind?"

"You think this is a good idea?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you're a success story, Natasha. You've done something everyone living on the streets needs to hear about. Do you realize that?"

"Yes," she said awkwardly. The words felt strange, even when she heard it again. She ducked her head, not ready to consider all those hours of terror and hate and fear and desperation a success. The Landlord had not trained her to consider herself a success.

"What's got you worried?"

Natasha shrugged and tore a piece off her roll. She nibbled at it and didn't meet his eye.

Diane and Clint seemed so excited by the idea of her going to help in a homeless shelter. They seemed to think that having evaded a miserable end counted her as something flawless, as someone that needed to be looked up to. And Natasha appreciated them for helping her and for caring about her and trying to understand what she had gone through, but sometimes it was so obvious that they couldn't understand. If they could, then they wouldn't act like she was someone that was genuinely able to help.

The subject of her helping drifted away over the next few days. Natasha kept thinking over it, trying to decide whether her craving for improvement or the hilarity of her gall was stronger.

She couldn't help people. She hadn't helped Clint. She hadn't helped Gracia. She had just trudged beside them as they faced their own problems, or better yet, found people that actually could help them.

And yet there was some part of her that rejected the idea. A little seed had been planted inside her when Clint had reached out his hand and offered her his love, and it had only been watered when Gracia trusted her enough to share a room and keep her safe, and then it had been given sun when Diane smiled at her during every appointment and said she was doing good. They had made her believe with a terrifying certainty that she was worth something.

So, in theory…she could be worth something to so many more people.

yes, i understand it's very different from helping people you're familiar with. i know you're very focused on helping gracia right now. you said you finally got her a tutor?

Progress came in the form of a tall thin tutor that had grown up in Brooklyn. His name was Marcus, his parents were from Trinidad, and he apparently had a scholarship to an Ivy League school. Marcus was shockingly polite, shaking everyone's hands and calling Natasha 'ma'am'.

Gracia had been hesitant to tutor with him even after they met over lunch. Natasha sensed she was reluctant to be alone with this man, but didn't know how to fix things. She didn't know how to assuage fears. Her own method was to lie to herself until they disappeared, buried so deep under denial that they ceased to exist. Clint, however, had a plan.

"Gracia," he said one morning, leaning against the counter so their eyes were level.

She met his gaze, nervous but transfixed, like she couldn't bring herself to turn from his blue, blue eyes.

"Do you want to learn with him?"

She shrugged, noncommittal.

"Are you worried what might happen?"

Gracia dropped her eyes.

Natasha held her breath as Clint spoke to Gracia, afraid of breaking the moment by butting in. Her connection with Gracia had been cast out of pain and desperation, trust forged overnight by sheer need. Clint had been biding his time for the last couple of months, but now it seemed he was ready to make bold strokes.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked. Gracia shifted as if about to leave the counter and escape the conversation. Clint leaned over to meet her eyes again. "Gracia. Would you like someone to stay with you?"

She hesitated, then looked into his face. "You don't have to."

"I know. Do you want me to? I'll stay if you want. Nothing's gonna happen to you, either way."

"Promise?" she whispered.

"I swear."

Gracia nodded and slid off the stool, hurrying to find something lighter.

Clint turned to Natasha, expression a mix of surprise and delight and hope. He melted into her arms, not having the words to express his joy.

That thin strand of trust doubled when Clint sat beside Gracia all through her first lesson, gently warning Marcus back when Gracia became uncomfortable. Natasha returned from the store to find the lesson finished and both men standing on the front porch.

"—hope you understand, she's had it really rough," Clint was saying, shifting aside to let Natasha step through to the door. She stopped beside him, though, quietly joining herself in the conversation.

"I get it. You mentioned she had some issues she was working through, and I'm fine with standing back and giving her space."

"Thank you. I'll call you in a couple days, after she's given her verdict."

Marcus nodded to the both of them and turned to walk down the street.

"He's a good boy," Natasha murmured, leaning into Clint's side. His arm wrapped around her effortlessly, no longer needing to hesitate or ask permission.

"He is. I hope Gracia warms up to him," Clint said, resting his cheek against her hair.

"She wants to learn," Natasha said. "Gracia wants to be normal, but she's also afraid of having to deal with a classroom of other kids."

"When do you have time to talk so much?" Clint grumbled, looking down at her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're at work all day."

"Not today," he pointed out. She smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"That's good," she sighed. "I like spending time with all three of us."

see, it's the fact that you go the extra mile for people that makes me think you'd do so well at the shelter! do you have any clear thoughts on why you're so hesitant?

It took a few days, but Natasha made herself revisit working at a homeless shelter with Clint. She knew he had been waiting for this, letting her broach the subject in her own time so he could deliver the ironclad confidence she needed. And Natasha didn't know if she broached the subject, so much as gently nudged it while curling herself into a tight ball under the bed covers so nothing scary or dangerous could reach her.

"Do you really think I could help people at a shelter?" she whispered.

Even after all this time, the night still proved to be the guard for her doubts. The dark and the late hour seemed to swallow her words, and for a moment Natasha thought that maybe she had imagined saying them, maybe she would keep them locked away safe in her chest where no one could hear or criticize them.

But then Clint let out a slow sigh and asked, "Do you want to do it?"

Natasha closed her eyes, both thankful he had not given her an easy out and yet also annoyed. If she knew what she wanted to do, she would have been asking a different question.

"I'm torn," she confessed.

"What're you worried about?"

"Why…why would anyone listen to me? I've made so many mistakes, I'm still so damaged, I'm not—I'm not—I'm a mess," she said, closing her eyes tight as tears made her choke on the words.

"Hey, look at me."

Natasha refused to turn away from the wall. Clint's hand found her hip, and he rolled her onto her back.

"Tasha, look at me."

She kept her eyes closed for another long moment, then made herself meet his gaze.

"It's okay to be a mess."

Natasha let out a harsh laugh and shook her head. "No it isn't. I'm just pretending to be okay every time I get out of bed. I mean, look at me! I barely know how to function most days, Clint! I'm pretending I know what I'm doing and I'm pretending I know what's best to take care of Gracia, but I don't and I'm terrified I'm messing everything up for me and her! If I don't know what I'm doing, how the hell am I supposed to be there for other people?"

Clint propped himself up on one elbow, and even though she couldn't quite see his face in the dark she could feel his steady blue gaze on her.

"No one is expecting you to be perfect, Natasha."

"I couldn't be perfect if I tried!"

"Natasha," he said, and the steel in his voice made her stop. "You are allowed to be a mess."

She watched him for a long moment. Her hands ached from clenching around the bed covers and her jaw hurt from biting down on the panicky sobs dammed in her throat. They were caught in a smothering silence as Clint stared her down, waiting for further protests. When she spoke, she could only manage one word.

"Why?"

Clint let out a terribly slow breath. He sat upright to face her, and Natasha followed suit. His voice was low and promised to sit there and talk with her all night if that was what it took to convince her of this one fact.

"You had horrible things done to you. No one blames you for what happened or what you did."

"But I'm not—"

"No one gives a damn that you're not like everyone else, and no one expects you to be! You're not okay, not yet, and that's fine. You're still healing, Natasha, you're trying so hard to get to normal and, honestly, sometimes it takes my breath away. All you're obligated to do right now is take care of yourself, but instead you're taking care of me and Gracia and building a home and making us feel loved and that's amazing, Natasha. You don't see it but you've come so far. And people need to see things like this."

"No, Clint, stop. You and Diane keep acting like I'm some sort of miracle, but I couldn't be here without you! I wouldn't have a nice apartment or a fancy therapist! The Landlord wouldn't be on trial and I don't know if I would even have food to eat every day. You keep acting like I'm something special, but it's so obvious to me that I can do nothing for myself."

Clint shook his head, and the little slits of light coming from his blinds showed the torn smile on his face.

"No, you probably wouldn't be here without me. You wouldn't have all these conveniences. But Natasha, it doesn't matter that you wouldn't have these nice expensive things. I mean, look at me," he said, voice catching on the last few words. "I had all the money in the world, and it didnt mean one damn thing. I was just as much of a mess as you, Natasha. It was in a different way, but I swear to you I know what it's like to try and pull yourself out. I know it's hard to fix, I know it's slow to heal. And I know that it's okay."

Natasha pressed her hands to her mouth, hating the fact that she was full on crying now. She looked away from Clint. Seeing all of that hope and love and honesty in his face was almost blinding in the dark. But she trusted him enough to consider his words.

She leaned into Clint's chest and he didn't hesitate to grab her into a tight hug. It took Natasha a few seconds, but she managed to unfold herself enough to wrap her arms around him in return. He stroked her hair as she fought to control her breathing.

"You're very good at this," she whispered.

He laughed and shook his head. "I've been taking pointers from Phil. He's had to go through a lot of this with me."

Natasha closed her eyes and melted into him for a while. Clint was the only person that had told her she was okay.

that's fine, natasha. it's okay to have doubts, everyone's got them. take your time to think about this. back to the topic of gracia, real quick while i remember. you said you've decided you want guardianship, correct? how did your meeting with the new lawyers go?

The lawyers Warwick recommended were neat and efficient. Natasha expected the men to be like Warwick; wrapped in crisp suits and wearing sharp smiles. And at first glance, that was exactly what they were. Their expressions were reserved and professional, holding back their thoughts and plans until they had a full read on the situation. But Natasha looked closer, learning from Clint's trick of gazing into someone's soul.

The lawyers were neat and efficient, yes, but one had a sunny sort of brightness beneath his serious expression, and the other was blind with a cool reserve hiding in his wide smile.

Natasha gave them a firm handshake instead of hanging back and offering a distant nod.

"Miss Romanoff," the blind one said, "my name is Matt Murdock. This is my partner, Foggy Nelson."

"Thank you for helping me. Thank you for helping Gracia," she said. They both softened, just a little bit.

The meeting was gentler than she had thought. Gracia sat between Natasha and Clint, staring at the men across the table as they explained the complexities of the case, how hopeful they were that things would pass with no difficulty. Their warmth was genuine as they directed their comments to Gracia as much as Natasha and Clint.

After a while, Matt turned toward Natasha. "Miss Romanoff, might I have a word with you outside?"

She blinked and glanced at Gracia. The girl gave a brief frown, then smoothed the concern from her face. She still didn't feel comfortable enough to show discontent.

"I'll be right back," Natasha promised, squeezing her hand. Gracia nodded, granting final permission for Natasha to leave.

Matt stood up and held the door open for Natasha. Foggy continued discussing things with Clint and Gracia, wasting no time.

Natasha waited in the office's waiting room, eyes glancing around at the furniture and expensive view. She noticed now that the office of Nelson and Murdock was more welcoming than the sleek leather and dark grey of Warwick's.

Matt led her to his private office, shutting the door quietly behind them. He walked to his desk, his hand tracing the edge of the furniture ever so slightly.

"Miss Romanoff…I didn't want to address this with Gracia in the room, but could you please tell me the full extent of Gracia's abuse while under the employ of Calvin Hughes?"

"Didn't—didn't Warwick tell you?"

"Mr. Warwick gave my partner and I a rough outline. You didn't provide him with many details, did you?"

"No, I guess not," she sighed, looking away. Matt couldn't see her, but she felt certain he saw more of her than even Clint did.

"Here, why don't we sit?" Matt said. He gestured at an armchair in front of his desk as he settled behind the desk. Natasha hesitated, then took a seat. It still didn't feel real. Speaking about the boarding house still felt disobedient, wrong in the most basic way.

"Ah…Gracia was in the boarding house almost three years," Natasha began, straining to find the muted details from when the little girl hadn't mattered to her. "She was put to work like everyone else. The Landlord, he has…had a system. Gracia came in at the bottom and was picked on by the other girls."

"How?"

"Several ways. Positions were so fragile there. One day you could be the strongest of his girls, then the next anyone could pick on you. And once you get knocked down, it's hard to climb back up. A little girl like Gracia…she didn't have a chance on her own."

Natasha let out a shuddery breath as she remembered the torment that had flown around the boarding house. Looking back made her stomach twist. How could she have been hurt so mercilessly by the other girls, and then rationalized doing it to someone else? How could she be made to be so horrible?

"We would do anything to make the weak ones feel less. There was only so much happiness to go around," Natasha explained, the reasoning sounding thin on her tongue. But Matt's expression didn't morph into disgust or contempt, simply remained serious and sad. "Girls called her names, took things from her, pushed or hit her sometimes. Then—"

Natasha held her breath and glanced away. She didn't want to tell him. She did not want to soil Matt's perfectly fine life with something so ugly.

"Then there was the Landlord. Gracia was just a girl so she didn't get it so bad, but he was worse than the other girls. It wasn't often, not unless you got on his bad side, but he would destroy our things, hurt us, take away our privileges. And even though Gracia was only a kid, sometimes he would…sometimes…"

Matt gave her a moment after her voice failed, then shifted and cleared his throat. "And she worked, like you?"

"Every night," Natasha murmured. "We had quotas to meet, money to pay. Gracia was good, she got her money in so the Landlord didn't bother her much, but…the first time I really spoke to her, he was trying to—trying to get her into his room."

Natasha knew how to watch for the little tells and twitches that told a person's mood. But it didn't take an expert like her to see Matt's face close off, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he leaned back. To his credit, he kept his voice level when he spoke.

"When was that?"

"Forever ago," Natasha sighed. "Over a year. She wasn't really important to me, then or even a while after. But she started to hang around, she became one of the few people that spoke to me. And then we stayed together."

"Do you know anything of her situation before she came to the boarding house?"

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head. "Gracia never speaks about her parents."

"Alright. Thank you for your honesty," Matt said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. Anyone seeing him now would never have guessed a few moment ago he had been quietly seething, biting down hate over what had happened to a little girl.

"Thank you for helping us," Natasha whispered as the office door opened, revealing Foggy, Gracia, and Clint. Foggy seemed to have let his formal professionalism go, as he was now practically bouncing as he spoke to Gracia. She wasn't quite speaking back to him, but Natasha thought she was hiding a smile.

Matt nodded at her, expression still so serious. "Of course. We'd be equally responsible if we didn't try to help."


AN I just love getting deeper into Gracia and Natasha's story. Natasha is already well on her way to recovering, but Gracia's a harder thing to grapple with. I want Gracia to flourish and be happy! I want Natasha to be happy! I want Clint and Foggy and Matt to be happy! I just want people to be happy.