Clint let her keep the sonogram. He gave it to her when she had been released from the Brig. He hadn't even meant for her to see it at all – he had only brought it up in desperation, a low blow delivered in anger and in love to try once and for all to show that she meant something to him. That she meant something and was worth something. She had taken his words completely to heart and, after confessing that she had never been needed before – never thought someone would want her or miss her if she was gone, had made a solemn promise to try and see she was deserving of life. In exchange for her vow to try, and that was all he could ask, he had gifted her the image and any new ones Laura had sent since as a reminder of how needed she was.
In the latest one she had pinned up the baby was sucking its thumb and she would smile every time she looked at the image, its little features picked out by the warm glow of her spider-shaped night light. Clint hadn't been there when she'd opened this particular gift – presumably because he knew there was a good chance it would be launched at his head – but had instead been pleasantly surprised when she smiled a small thank you at breakfast the next day. Staring at the sonogram she thought back to the Brig when he had told her – screamed at her – that she was needed. She had not yet been able to figure out exactly how she was needed. Lying on her bed, looking at the kidney bean-shaped would-be Barton by herself she had confidently figured out she was needed to protect the little thing to make sure what happened to her never happened to another child again, but a part of her – a nagging part she hadn't quite managed to reach yet – one that felt like Christmas lights and her very first chocolate Easter egg, whispered that there was something more. It whispered that she was needed because of everything she was, and everything she had to offer, and maybe, just maybe Barton needed her not a weapon.
Natasha found herself pacing outside Phil Coulson's office. She knew what she wanted to ask and how she was going to say it but the actual doing of it was something she was currently struggling with. Further agitated pacing had already been undertaken in her own quarters when she had thought up the notion, when its appearance in her consciousness had taken her by surprise. The result of having every single second of her life prior to SHIELD filled with orders and threats and tasks meant it was rare for a thought or opinion of her own to enter her head. In the Red Room she hadn't been there to think, or feel, or have an opinion. She had been there to act and do as told without hesitation. Thoughts were dangerous. Even if she had managed to form an emotional response in her head in the brief moments between one form of pain and another wracking her body and sapping all of her energy, it would have been found out and ripped away. They always found out. In the end she had found it safer to feel nothing at all. At least that way they had nothing to take. But since joining SHIELD thoughts and wants had been entering her head with an alarmingly increasing frequency and like an itch that had to be scratched she found herself wanting to chase each and every one of them. And so it was now that this particular idea had brought her to outside her handler's office, hand twitching to knock if only she could muster that last burst of courage to carry out what the new human part of her so desperately wanted to do. Eventually, after a couple of choice words muttered under her breath she knocked firmly on the door and waited for entry.
"Natasha." Coulson said with a note of surprise as he looked up from his desk. "Please. Come in." He gestured her closer, pushing a pile of papers to one side.
Natasha straightened herself, fixing her gaze on a point somewhere near his shoulder.
"What can I do for you Agent Romanoff?" Coulson was intrigued. It was rare for this particular agent to make the first move.
"Permission to leave the base sir." It came out a bit quicker than she had intended and she frowned at her own nervousness.
Coulson looked at her. "Can I ask for some details?"
She shuffled uneasily. This was where things started to get tricky. The thought was coherent in her head but whenever she thought about voicing it, it got stuck somewhere around the back of her throat. Whilst she was pretty confident her thoughts and opinions were wanted here, a lifetime of KGB indoctrination was a hard habit to break, and each new facet of her 3D self had to be tested with caution. Were it not for her tracker – affixed to her permanently for the foreseeable future following her exploits with Commander Hill which led to her latest stint in the Brig – she would have sneaked away for an afternoon without anyone knowing.
"I'd like to go shopping sir. I'd like to get a present for Agent Barton's baby, sir." She said it in a strange mix of conviction and trepidation, still looking somewhere above his head.
Coulson's mouth twitched into a tiny smile and he tampered down his elation. He hadn't seen that coming. He also knew as soon as the words left her mouth he wouldn't refuse her request. Firstly, himself and Natasha were two of only four people who knew about Laura and if he refused his agent would not be able to ask anyone else to go. As much as Fury had warmed to Natasha (Coulson knew he had secretly all but adopted her) the man was too busy to visit Toys R Us – an image which almost made him laugh out loud. Secondly, this moment, right here, was exactly what they had been guiding her towards. The chance to be an autonomous young adult with wants and desires and an existence outside of a mission. The fact that this agent, this Romanova, the one they had had to sedate to drag off the landing pad and spend almost every waking moment of the past year navigating the active minefield that was her mind, had been able to form a bond with another agent after seemingly being welcomed into his family was nothing short of miraculous. To Phil, Natasha coming to him to ask to go to a mall was up there with putting a helicarrier in the sky.
"That's a great idea Natasha. Clint will really like that."
Her shoulders lost some of their tightness.
"I assume," Phil continued "given that you've come to me you are aware that you require an escort when leaving the base?"
"Yes sir." She answered neutrally. She refrained from telling him she was perfectly capable of getting herself to the shops – it was only recently that her good behaviour had gotten her out of having an escort inside the base.
Phil at least had the good grace to make his response sound like she was neither an inconvenience nor a toddler – a talent of his she would grow to respect as the years progressed.
"Permission granted then. Meet you at 4pm."