AN Oh man, this chapter is one of my favorites. Now that Natasha's more open and trusting with people, she's far more willing to get to know them. She's also more aware of what other people are thinking and feeling rather than just focusing on herself, which is an exciting sign of progress :D
how have things been with your family?
Natasha had thought she knew the boundaries of her new life. She had thought that they stopped just short of Clint's family, but apparently he thought different.
"You want us to do what with them?" she asked, staring at Clint as he drove the three of them to some fancy restaurant for dinner.
"Meet them," he said, checking his mirrors to change lanes. "I mean, things have mostly settled down now, so I thought it would be a good idea for everyone to meet each other. I think you'd like Barney. He's honest."
And a mess, according to reports given over a midnight haircut. But no one in the car was able to judge.
"What do you expect to happen?" Gracia asked, sounding uncertain.
"Honestly, I dunno. Maybe we'd get lunch or something, go to the park. Whatever you guys want."
"That…doesn't sound bad," Natasha said. She glanced back at Gracia. "Does that sound okay with you?"
"I don't know," she hedged. She looked out the window to avoid meeting his eyes.
"Do you not want to meet them?" Clint pressed, looking at her in the rear view mirror. Gracia sighed in annoyance. Clint had an unerring ability to ask the direct questions they didn't want to answer.
"I don't know, I just…I don't want them to be weird about us."
"Us?"
"And where we come from."
Natasha glanced at Clint, whose expression hadn't changed. Did Barney know about their background?
"He knows the bare facts," Clint acknowledged. "But I swear I'll break the nose of anyone who gives you crap for what you went through, doesn't matter who they are."
"No, you wouldn't," Gracia scoffed. "Warwick would kill you if you did."
Natasha and Clint had filled her in on the details of how Natasha had left the boarding house. She had hung on to every word about buying new clothes, eating breakfast together, and generally establishing a new life for Natasha. Gracia had especially loved hearing how Warwick had given Clint hell for punching the Landlord, second only to the actually punching itself.
"Yeah, but it'd be worth it," Cling said frankly. "If I didn't take care of you guys, what the hell good am I?"
Gracia still snickered in the backseat, but Natasha noticed that her smile lingered.
clint wants you to meet his family, that's great! do you think this is because gracia has finally warmed up to him?
Sometimes, Natasha and Gracia took walks early in the morning. The first time they had done it, Clint had gone on a business trip to Atlantic City. He had kissed Natasha on the cheek and given Gracia a high five (she wasn't comfortable for a hug, yet, but she liked slapping his hand hard enough to make it sting), and then he was off to the airport. Natasha had promised that they would be fine by themselves, and they were. Life continued on as normal, which was a thrilling form of confirmation. They didn't need him to be happy or survive.
The bed felt too big, though. Natasha found it hard to fall asleep as she lay there, acutely aware of the space where Clint should have been. She'd never had a sleeping place that big all to herself before. Either she had slept on a small, single person mattress, or she had shared a bed with at least another person. The extra pillows and blankets and bodies had made her feel a little less alone. Natasha piled up pillows and an extra blanket to fill the space where Clint should have been, and tried to fall asleep.
Natasha woke up early in the morning. She picked out shapes on the ceiling, thinking it was far too quiet without Clint there. The clock said it was almost seven. She sat up in bed and rustled around for some clothes.
"What're you doing?" Gracia asked.
Natasha jumped and turned to find her peeking around the edge of the doorframe. She smiled and finished adjusting her sweater.
"I couldn't sleep. It…it felt empty without Clint here."
Gracia nodded seriously, a slight frown forming on her face. "He fills up the whole house when he's here."
Natasha watched her for a moment, noticing the way Gracia shifted from foot to foot on the cold hardwood floor. She still looked so small in her pajamas, which were nothing more than her requested oversized shirt and baggy sleep pants.
"Are you hungry?" Natasha asked.
Gracia shook her head, but stayed in place.
Natasha glanced toward the window. The morning light was a thin grey, barely sifting through the blinds. The days were yet again getting colder, and sometimes a layer of frost could be found on the windows when she woke up.
"I think I might go for a walk," Natasha told Gracia. "Do you want to come?"
She thought for a moment and nodded. She disappeared from the doorway, then returned fully clothed in record time. Natasha smiled as Gracia sloppily put on a beanie, fighting the oversized sleeves of her sweatshirt. Whereas Natasha loved the practicality of pants and comfortable shoes, Gracia adored baggy clothing. Baggy clothes hadn't existed in the boarding house.
"Where are we walking?" Gracia asked, holding Natasha's banana and muffin as Natasha filled a thermos with hot chocolate.
"I don't know," Natasha said. "Just for a walk. Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"
Gracia hesitated, then grabbed another banana.
They didn't say anything for a few blocks, the two of them eating their simple breakfast and sharing the hot chocolate. Then Natasha asked, "How do you feel your case is going?"
"I don't know," Gracia said, kicking an acorn down the sidewalk. "Warwick said Matt and Foggy were good, though, right?"
"Yes. He wouldn't have sent us to them if they couldn't help."
Gracia nodded. They waited for a bus to pass, then crossed the street.
"If they win the case for us, does that mean I never see my parents again?"
Natasha lowered the thermos from her mouth without taking a drink. She didn't know how to answer that question. She didn't know if she was allowed to answer that question. Natasha had a frightfully unforgiving policy toward people who caused others to suffer. At the same time, she didn't want to make a family at the cost of someone else's.
Even if they had given their little girl to prostitution.
"I…don't know. I don't think we, well, Clint and I, are the ones to decide that. I think it depends on what we ask for in court? We would have to check with Matt and Foggy. Do you…want to see your parents?"
"I don't know," Gracia said with a light shrug. They walked a little farther, and then she said, "Foggy's funny."
Natasha smiled, remembering their last meeting with Nelson and Murdock. After the official business had finished, Foggy had entertained Gracia with tales of his legendary xylophone skills. He had offered her a highly coveted position in the new band he was performing, if she could master the kazoo in time.
"Yes, he is. He's very…happy."
"It's weird, 'cuz Matt seems sad."
Natasha looked at her for a moment. It seemed Gracia had seen through Matt's pleasant veneer just as well as she had. Only, Natasha didn't think of Matt as 'sad'. The suppressed flash of rage he'd shown at hearing the abuse Gracia had gone through was a little too sharp for that.
"I suppose people would say we're sad, too," Natasha pointed out. "He's probably been through a lot and trying to deal, like us."
Gracia made a noncommittal sound and put her hands in her pockets. Natasha finished her banana, already thinking about what she would tell Clint when he called later that day.
"Why is it always quiet in the morning?" Gracia asked.
Natasha scanned the subdued street and shrugged. Other than them, a lone jogger, and a garbage truck, the streets were still.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe because everyone's not quite awake yet."
"You always came home around this time," Gracia told her.
She looked at Gracia again, this time in surprise. Gracia very rarely mentioned the boarding house, but here she had brought it up by herself.
"That's true. But I wouldn't say I was awake when I came back," she said, forcing out a thin smile.
"I don't think I was awake until I came here," Gracia mused. She nibbled on a piece of Natasha's muffin like she hadn't said anything important.
Natasha sighed through her nose. She was always amazed at the way Gracia could talk about such horrible truths like they were nothing. Everyone else was aware their reality was awful and was resentful that they didn't have something better, but Gracia only accepted it as fact. She seemed more confused by having choices than by being forced into prostitution.
But then, Diane had said the same about Natasha. She had been appalled by the facts Natasha listed off like they were nothing. She still had to remind Natasha on occasion that some of the things she thought were normal were wrong.
"Gracia…going back to what you said earlier, do you like living with us? With me and Clint?"
"I guess."
"No, really. If you could choose anywhere, anywhere at all, where would you go?"
"The beach," she said without a pause. "Some place where the fish are right at the shore and you can swim with them. But I only wanna go if you were there."
"Yeah?" Natasha asked, wrapping her arm around Gracia's shoulders.
"Yeah."
"What about Clint?"
Gracia looked at Natasha, eyebrows furrowing. "I thought he'd come with you."
"He's not tied to my hip, Gracia," she teased. "He gets to go wherever he wants."
Gracia ducked her head and mumbled something Natasha couldn't understand. She laughed and squeezed Gracia's shoulders, then put her hands in her pockets.
"The beach, though, huh? Like, somewhere tropical?"
"Yeah. I would like that."
"Me too."
They turned a corner and walked beneath large maple trees. The leaves had already started to turn gold, adding a shock of color to the muted greys and browns of the neighborhood. Natasha kicked at a fallen leaf, smiling slightly as her foot missed and it stayed still.
"Would he not want to come, though?" Gracia asked.
"What?"
"Would Clint not want to come if I went to the beach?" Gracia turned to her, a serious frown on her face.
"What? Of course he would. Did you think I meant—yes, of course he'd want to come."
Gracia nodded, though she looked unconvinced.
Natasha put a hand on her shoulder, drawing the girl's attention again. "If you asked him, he would gladly come."
"Okay," Gracia said. She ran her fingers along the leaves of a shrub and looked down the street.
that's good! that's very good! did you tell clint? great. so, how did the court case last tuesday go?
One of the hardest things about Natasha's new life was having to face the old one. She would have been content to know the Landlord had been arrested and never think of him again, but life was rarely that simple. As Warwick had warned her, court dates would ensue. But Natasha had never considered how difficult it would be to look at the Landlord in the bright lights of the courtroom and see his face clearly for once.
As promised, Gracia spoke in court. She kept her dark eyes fastened on Warwick as he eased her story out, almost whispering how the Landlord had not cared she was a child, that he had sent her out just like the others. Her eyes darted over to Natasha a few times and maybe even the jury once, but never the Landlord himself. Natasha doubted Gracia was steady enough to withstand the sleek arsenic in that man's eyes.
Natasha's palms were sweaty when she was called up, but Warwick gave her a reassuring nod as she settled into her seat. Her testimony felt brittle on her tongue and her skin crawled as everyone stared at her. She closed her eyes. She could do this. Warwick had coached her how to do this. She could get through without her ice.
There had been a strange touch of satisfaction in her chest when she told the court just what the man before her had done. She told them about small bedrooms with no lock, a vicious hierarchy instituted by the Landlord, money extorted with fear of police, pain, and eviction, when she told them of blood, needles, beatings in the back lot for having made something for herself. They wouldn't look her in the eyes as she soldiered on, eyes set, voice low. The jury fidgeted and squirmed as she explained what happened, horrified by truths they could no long turn away from.
Natasha knew before she left the stand that she had struck the Landlord a devastating blow.
Warwick hadn't been lying when he'd said the Landlord would fight her tooth and nail in court, though. She thought she could handle it. After all, she had survived the boarding house. Natasha actually let herself think things were going to be alright for a few moments. Then the Landlord's lawyer, Kilgrave, tore her apart.
It was different from anything she expected. It wasn't some desperate, equally damaged girl hissing insults at her in the dark, it was a fully grown man striding before an audience, laying out twisted facts and false suppositions to make her appear guilty. The jury looked at her with such disgust and pity at the lawyer's words, feeling bad for her and hating her in the same breath.
I thought you said there were dozens of girls in this alleged brothel. Why have only two taken the stand; you and a little girl that seems undyingly loyal to you? I find it very strange that you only sought legal action against Mr. Hughes after you found yourself a backer in Mr. Barton. And you're currently living with him, aren't you? You acknowledged yourself that you were close with Mr. Hughes, did you get bored with him when Mr. Barton came along? You're a very appealing woman, Ms. Romanoff, it's easy to like you when you want someone to. Perhaps Mr. Barton is a little bit more liberal with his affections than Mr. Hughes. Those clothes certainly seem very nice, better than anything a small time, respectable businessman like my client could offer. With all of this evidence before us, it seems very much like you have been enjoying the comforts men can offer you before you get bored and move on to your next victim.
She felt sick. All of the progress she had made in recovering from the nightmare that was living in the boarding house worked against her now. She had no layer of ice that kept her cruel and safe against what everyone else thought. Now the lies and lies and lies that this man slathered onto her skin made it hard for her to breathe.
Natasha tried following Warwick's advice to not become angry, and at first she struggled to respond without lashing out at Kilgrave. Then she felt paralyzed with doubt. It all seemed so damn plausible. She knew women did things like that all the time. She might have even done it, if the circumstances were different.
No, she wouldn't have.
Maybe she might?
A recess was called and she stumbled off the stand, hardly able to breathe as Kilgrave smirked at Warwick and the Landlord sneered as she passed. Warwick instantly appeared at her elbow, escorting her out into the hall.
"Keep it together, girl, keep it together. Don't let them see your tears," he murmured into her ear, hurrying her toward the bathroom. He offered her a handkerchief, and Natasha tried to smother her shaky panting in the fabric.
Warwick pushed open a door and gestured her inside. Natasha was aware enough to hear him order a woman from the room, her hands still wet from the sink. She closed her eyes she broke into hideous, shaky sobs.
"How could he say that," she gasped, hands shaking as she wiped at her face. Kilgrave. It wasn't surprising the Landlord had found a monster in a suit. "How could he—I'm not seducing people to get myself a better life! I didn't sleep with Clint because I knew he had money, I did it because the Landlord made me. I didn't go to the Landlord because I thought he could get me out! I knew he was bad, I knew it from the beginning!"
If anything, the Landlord had seduced her. Natasha had heard the ugly whispers about him before she became one of his girls, and even though she had been cautious at his approach, he had lulled her into feeling safe. He bought her clothes, gave her lovely compliments, and stroked her hair like she was precious. He made her feel like she was special.
And then he had made her feel like she was a slave.
Natasha bit back the words, refusing to detail that particular injustice. She had told Warwick the premise of what had happened, but since he had decided not to use it in court she never handed over the details. There was still so much awful in her life that no one knew.
"I know, Natasha," Warwick said, keeping a hand on her shoulder. She pressed her fist to her mouth in an attempt to stuff the sobbing back.
"I don't know why this is even bothering me," she said, forcing out a fake laugh. She needed to be strong, she needed to show she was capable of making it through the rest of the day. "This shouldn't be bothering me! But he just kept talking and talking, he never shut up! His words got into my head and I couldn't think, they sounded so true! How can the jury believe me if I barely believe me!?"
"We'll be fine. Don't worry about that, I can handle Kilgrave."
"No, I know, I trust you. I just feel so pathetic. I'm harder than this, I dealt with worse for years. Why is this bothering me now?"
"That doesn't matter," Warwick said, looking her head on. His eyes were serious and wide behind his tortoise shell glasses, the sincerity in them shocking her. "It doesn't matter that you've dealt with worse. It's actually really awful that you have, and I hate that man for putting you through this."
He huffed out a sigh and turned away from her. Natasha pressed her hands flat over her mouth as she watched him grab paper towels from the dispenser. It seemed like he needed a few moments, as well.
Warwick handed them to her, seeming to have composed himself. "It's alright Natasha, we prepared for this. I warned you the day you and Clint walked into my office that they would do this. It's obvious, but damn, it is an easy target."
Natasha wiped at her face. She grunted in annoyance when she saw the smudges of black on the paper towel from her makeup. She probably looked a mess.
"Where's Clint?"
"He's still out there with Gracia. I didn't seem him when we left the courtroom."
She nodded, eyes still on the paper towel. "I'm sorry I'm making this hard for you. Me running out probably didn't help."
"No, don't blame yourself for anything. We don't know if anything has happened yet."
"But it didn't help, did it?"
Warwick gave her a long look. "I don't know. The jury could see it as guilt or they could see it as revulsion. We just have to show that you're not the one at fault. It's not going to be hard, Natasha. We have so much evidence, do you realize that? Some of the stuff you told me is awful. It's all awful, but some of it…" Warwick shook his head. "Who would come up with lies like that out of spite?"
Natasha's lips curled in a tight smile as Alexandria's face flashed into her mind. Mean, bitter Alexandria, self-conscious Alexandria, hateful Alexandria. She had fought so hard to ruin Natasha, yet every attempt failed. Even though Natasha's stomach turned at the memory of her hollow, rabid expression, she understood why the girl had hated her so much. Regardless of what had happened, Natasha seemed to win. She always came back, she always found grace, she always found safety. It didn't matter that in reality Natasha had been clinging with bloody fingertips. Her existence defied everything the boarding house threatened.
She was a success story, just like Clint said.
"Here, come here," Warwick said, gesturing her toward the sink. "We've got a few minutes before we need to get back in there. Fix your face, it'll be alright."
Natasha forced herself to take another shaky breath. She had packed a few essentials from her makeup kit on Warwick's advice, just in case something like this happened.
Warwick leaned against the counter as she cleaned up the streaks of mascara and eyeliner on her cheeks. He folded his arms and watched the empty stalls as she worked.
"How do you do this every day?" she asked, eyes focused on her reflection. "I can barely make it through my own case, much less a thousand others. How can you go in to work?"
Warwick sighed through his nose, but when Natasha looked at him he had a slight smile on his face. "It's easy to do stuff when you think it's right. It's not like I'm not bothered—this bothers the hell out of me—but it's a bit better when I know I'm trying to fix things. You get some sharky people like Kilgrave or that nightmare Hogarth from Hell's Kitchen, they're there for the thrill of it. They like the power they have over other people or whatever. And yeah, I get it, it's a rush when you win, but damn, winning shouldn't be for the sake of winning when you're holding people's lives in your hands."
Natasha gave a small laugh as she looked at Warwick, her mascara wand held in the air. "You're not quite the person I thought you were when we first met."
Warwick raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah? And who was that guy?"
"Someone made of granite. I liked that you trusted me and cared enough to help, but I didn't think you liked people that much."
He scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Don't kid yourself, I've got plenty of granite. It's always the first thing people see. Greg's always saying, though, 'Andy, get over yourself and just let people know you like them'. It's a bit of a mess."
"Greg?"
"We've been seeing each other for a while. Moved in together last August."
"And he calls you 'Andy'?" Natasha asked. She wrinkled her nose at Warwick's crisp suit and neat hair. "That's also not the person I thought you were."
"Yeah," he laughed. "It's not the person I thought I was, either. Come on, if you're done we should get back into the courtroom."
AN Guys. Why have we not crossed over the movie world and the Netflix world of the MCU yet? I don't get it. WE HAVE SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES JUST LET US USE THEMMMMMM.