Chapter Four

Thursday

"Look what I found!"

Natasha's head came up as Jason's noisy entrance shook her resolve loose. She was sitting on the right edge of her bed, feet nearly on the floor, still wearing a set of Laura's spare pajamas. She'd been staring at the opposite wall with building determination, bracing herself to get up and hop across the room. But the little boy's bang and crash pulled that thought out of her grip.

"Look, look, look!" he cried, running up to her, grass stains decorating his t-shirt and shorts. He pushed a mason jar at her. Natasha took it, peering through, trying to find something more interesting than leaves in there.

"What is it?"

"Look! Turn it!" He pushed at the glass and she obeyed—and spotted a large wolf spider huddled against the bottom.

"That's a pretty big spider," she remarked.

"Yeah," Jason nodded. "I found him in the barn."

"What are you going to do with it?" she wondered. He hesitated, then shrugged.

"I dunno yet."

"You can do a lot of interesting things with a spider." Natasha turned it so she could see it better. "You can put it in the freezer, and then when it's dead you can pin it on a board to display. Or you can feed it grasshoppers or beetles and watch how they kill and eat prey. Or you can even get another spider or a scorpion, and put it in there with him, and see how long they fight before they both die—"

"Nooooo!" he howled. Natasha's attention jerked from the jar to Jason—to see his wide eyes bright with tears and his brow twisted.

"I wanna let him go!" he cried—and groped for the jar.

"Okay, okay," Natasha said hurriedly, handing it back. "That's a good idea, too. That's a really good idea. You do that."

Jason hugged the jar to his chest with both arms, and gave her a pointed, sideways look of betrayal. Something hard and sharp stabbed through her chest.

"Hey…big guy," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, and forcing a small, crooked smile. "You…You know I was only kidding. Right?"

His face scrunched into a frown.

"I was just kidding," she assured him, keeping that smile, and holding his gaze. She straightened up a little. "He'll like it if you let him go. I'll bet he'll even make sure to eat all the annoying bugs, like mosquitos and ticks and stuff, just so they don't bother you."

"Yeah," Jason relaxed his hold on the jar a little bit. "I don't like mosquitos."

"Me neither," Natasha's smile warmed as that sharp shaft in her chest diminished.

"I'm gonna go let him go," Jason declared, and started to the door.

"Okay," Natasha agreed. He stopped and spun on his heel.

"I'm not putting a scorpion in there," he said with loud finality.

"Good plan," she nodded. And he left.

Natasha listened as he hurried down the stairs and padded to the front door. She heard the screen door swing open and slam. Dull thuds as he hopped down the porch steps. Then, he raced around to the side yard, past the garden, toward the big peeling barn, swishing through the tall, lush grass as he went, the jar flashing in the sunlight. Then, he disappeared into the barn.

Natasha blinked. Then, she drew in a slow, careful breath, and glanced down at herself.

She was standing at the window, all her weight on her left foot, her hands braced against the window frame.

Friday

"Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbllllllbbbbbbbbllllbbb…Pish-eew! Pish-eew! Bbbllltthhh…"

Natasha drowsily opened her eyes. She lay partially on her left side, all tucked in up to her neck. Warm, soft morning light flooded the room, and spilled down on that twist rug by her bed. Jason sat there with about twenty Transformers sprawled all over the place, and now seemed to be orchestrating a battle of the ages between Optimus Prime and Megatron.

She lay there in silence for about an hour, watching him. He did all the different voices as the robots roared and he smacked them into each other. He made up countless sound-effects for the weapons and explosions, and got the most excited and made the most noise when he twisted them from car to man, and back again.

"'I have you now, Megatron! You'll never get away this time.' 'That's what you think, Optimus. You'll never catch me! Phhhhh-pew-pew-pew! Wwwwshhhh!"

Natasha pulled the covers up over her mouth to bury her grin, fascinated beyond reason, and unable to look anywhere else.

Finally, Optimus crushed Megatron, sending him crashing to the floor and skidding all the way across the room.

"Hahaha, take that! And stay down!" Jason commanded. Then, he let Optimus fall to the floor with a thump. He hopped up, and darted around the bed.

Natasha frowned, startled…

He opened a closet door, shuffled around with something inside, then raced back around, carrying a junior-sized bow and a quiver with three arrows. And he looked right at her.

"Look what dad said I could have when I'm bigger."

Natasha blushed hard—then almost smirked. When was the last time she had been embarrassed about spying?

"That's pretty cool," she managed, and cleared her throat. "Too big for you now?"

"Yep," he said, setting the end of the bow on the rug and looking it up and down. "Dad says that it's not a good idea to have your weapon be taller than you."

Natasha snorted, and covered her mouth again. Jason obviously didn't get why that was funny, so she straightened and cleared her throat again.

"So what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A Merry Man," he answered instantly. Natasha blinked.

"A what?"

"With Robin Hood," he said. "That's what dad does. He's a Merry Man. He leaves and goes out into Sherlock forest, and he fights the sheriff of Notty-ham."

"Sounds kinda dangerous, don't you think?" she asked, amusement trickling through her.

"Yeah, sometimes he gets hurt if he falls in a trap or the bad guys shoot at him," Jason agreed. "But he's better than they are. He always wins."

Natasha couldn't think of anything to say. Talking about Clint Barton made unpleasant knots behind her heart. So she shifted, and refocused on the weapons.

"Look pretty sturdy to me. You'll have fun learning."

Jason grinned.

"I'm going to be just as good as Dad."

"I bet you will."

Thursday

Natasha sat on the front porch of the farm house in a cushion-covered wicker chair, her bad foot up on an ottoman, the grasshoppers buzzing and the sparrows twittering in the box hedges all around the house, trying to convince herself that she wasn't having an out-of-body experience. It wasn't really working.

She wore harem pants and a ruffly, comfortable floral top, a glass of ice-filled lemonade sat within reach of her right hand. The afternoon sun beamed across the fields, the roof of the barn, and the tops of the trees in the nearby woods. Butterflies danced over the alfalfa, the air smelled like clover and sunbaked grass, and she was pleasantly warm and comfortable, the pain managed down to a dull ache.

During the past few days, in fact, the pain had diminished so much that she only took the painkillers at night—and they knocked her out. As a result, she'd been getting the best sleep of her entire life. She was secretly glad for the drugs for that exact reason. Before they kicked in, every single night, she'd stare at the black ceiling, breaking into a cold sweat, spinning a million terrible scenarios into a weaving worthy of a spider on steroids, wondering who was looking for her, how close they had come, what Barton was doing, what Fury had decided…

But then powerful drowsiness would sweep over and she'd sink into deep, dreamless darkness, and wouldn't wake up until that stupid rooster started bellowing.

Then, every morning, Laura would bring breakfast up to her—and a tray for herself too. She'd sit on a stool and eat as Natasha did, talking about whatever came into her head. This past Sunday morning, Laura had been talking about the trouble she'd had with these poached eggs.

"White vinegar helps it set faster in the pan," Natasha said around a mouthful of toast.

Laura dropped her spoon. It clattered on the floor.

Natasha's head jerked up.

"What?"

Laura stared at her.

"Nothing," Laura said quietly, watching Natasha. "Just…that's the first thing you've said to me."

Natasha stopped breathing, suddenly trapped.

Then, Laura slowly smiled.

"So, you're a chef?"

"Uh…I know a little," Natasha's face went hot.

"What's your favorite thing to cook?" Laura took a bite of her egg.

"Lemon meringue pie," Natasha said, ducking her head. "But I don't get to make it very often."

"We'll have to do that, then," Laura decided. "I've been dying for a good dessert."

Then, with no effort at all, the awkward moment had passed; Natasha's death-grip on her tray eased, and her appetite had revived.

Now, for almost a week, Natasha had found that she could speak a little bit to Laura now, and not feel like something in her chest was constricting like a vise. Laura never asked her about anything important or specific, and so it freed Natasha up to give tips about cooking (a skill she'd been forced to learn and perfect since age twelve), comment about flowers and plumbing, and listen about child-rearing, and being a wife. Some other subjects held just enough familiarity that Natasha could keep up—others threw her out of her depth, but she just fell silent and paid attention, and Laura didn't seem to mind her quiet. In fact, her favorite subject, aside from Jason, was Clint Barton—of course. Through Laura, Natasha learned that they had met in London when her umbrella had blown away and he'd just happened to step up to lend her his. That he loved the woods, he loved camping, he was a night-owl and he enjoyed reading Russian classics but also Mark Twain. He was blunt to fault, and saw moral matters in black and white. And he couldn't wait to have more kids. Natasha had to fight hard to reconcile the image of that man with the one who had so relentlessly chased her across those rooftops.

Until she remembered he was the same man who had lowered his bow.

That Sunday had also been the first day that Laura had helped her down the stairs. At the foot of it, Jason had very helpfully handed her two crutches, and pushed her out the front door. Instantly, she'd scanned the perimeter of the property, her eyesight and hearing sharpening, heightened to detect any kind of movement. She stopped on the top step, holding her breath, calculating the risks of stepping out into the open, trying to recall if she'd heard any planes fly over recently, measuring how far away a shot would have to be taken from those woods in order to hit her and nothing else—

Then, Jason had grabbed her hand, pulled, and nearly knocked her off balance. Laura had caught her, laughing, and had warned Jason that he needed to be more careful. Then, Laura had helped Natasha down the rest of the stairs…

And from then on, all Natasha had been able to concentrate on was keeping up.

The little boy had excitedly given her an extensive tour of the chicken coops, the rose garden, the herb garden, the vegetable garden, the barn, the junk-heap, the pond, and the well. He'd babbled endlessly, needing no encouragement from her except acknowledgement that she was listening. His vivid eyes found hers all the time, and he darted ahead of her only to race back, gesturing feverishly and narrating all the while. After forcing herself to relax and quit searching the horizon, Natasha had relished the feeling of stretching her muscles, breathing fresh air, and challenging herself with these crutches. Just trekking along after this kid had proved a massive workout, and it had worn her out and made her sweat.

Laura had insisted on helping her bathe again that evening after supper—but Natasha had spent supper with a giggling Jason and good-natured Laura at the dinner table, eating pork-chops, green beans and potatoes—and so, all throughout the bath, a sleepy glow had surrounded her, fogging up her brain. She had tried to shake it off…

But she might not have tried as hard as she could have.

Every morning since, Laura had helped her dress and gotten her down the stairs, and Natasha had grabbed her crutches and made the rounds with Jason, checking all the animals and plants and watching him do his little chores. Then, in the afternoon, she had sat on the porch with tea or lemonade that Laura brought, being entertained by Jason as he played in the lawn with six new kittens. Then, they would all go inside, Natasha would cut up and wash the greens while Laura prepared the meat, and then the three of them would sit down to dinner. Soon, Natasha became strong enough she didn't need nearly as much help in the wash-room—and that, especially, made her stand up straighter.

Now, a slow smile lived on her face as her gaze lingered on that giggling little boy lying in the yard, three fluffy kittens on his chest, and three more wading through the grass around his head.

It was so easy to forget that perfect scenes like this were deceptive. That there really was no such place as a safe house. That, even if Barton's intentions tilted in her favor, there were far greater powers in this world than he. He was only a soldat. A mere Merry Man. Not Robin Hood himself.

And the reasons why he had decided not to kill her in that alley lived under her skin like an unnamed poison. They would keep living there until he came back and she could demand some answers.

The screen door squeaked open, and Laura came out with a glass of lemonade of her own. She stepped to the edge of the porch and called out to Jason.

"Hey, buddy! You ready to tell Natalie about her surprise?"

Natasha's thoughts jolted back to the present and she frowned at the other woman.

"Surprise—what surprise?"

Jason hopped up and ran up the stairs, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah," he panted. "I want to tell her."

"What is it?" Natasha wanted to know. She gave him a sideways look. "Are you keeping secrets from me?"

He giggled, covered his mouth with both hands, and nodded.

"Okay, tell her, then!" Laura urged—and Natasha could feel her watching her.

"You get to bake a pie!" Jason burst out. Natasha's eyebrows went up.

"I do?"

"Yep! Lemon meringue," he declared, grabbing his hands together behind his back. "And then there's another surprise."

"And you're not going to tell me?" Natasha pressed, eyes narrowed.

"Nope!" Jason shook his head hard—then laughed out loud. "Okay, yeah. I get to crack the eggs for you! Come on!"

To be continued…