With Alexei busy in his office, Natasha has time to search her new room.

She's semi glad to see the maid return her bag earlier despite a huff and a lack of interest in conversing. Regardless, outside of the weapons and coms Alexei and Ivan have given Natasha back most everything else.

The spy has moves on from the room, walking the hallways next in search of 'Riley'. In addition to asking the girl every detail about herself in order to find incriminating evidence on Alexei, Natasha sees her younger self in the foster child.

As long as she doesn't leave the mansion and avoids the rooms Ivan has told her to, she shouldn't set off any alarms. There's enough to explore outside of those spaces anyway.

She takes her time down the staircase and analyzes every detail of the handrail. Its swirls are identical to ones she grew up with in the Red Room. Even the furniture looks the same.

Natasha finds her head spinning over the sound of a little girl crying. Peering behind a wall confirms the voice is not just Natasha's unwelcomed moment of PTSD.

The child is much smaller than Riley, curled up in a small ball on the bottom of the bunk bed.

"Privyet ?" Natasha tests with a soft knock on her half open door.

The girl sits up and wipes her nose, crawling back up against the wall in fear, "What?"

"It's okay, I won't hurt you,' she steps closer once the girl exhales, as soft as she is with the hulk mid mission, 'My name is Natasha. What is yours?"

"Violet?"

Natasha reaches for a tissue from the box left on her plain nightstand, "Are you sure? That sounds more like a question."

The girl nods quietly, her eyes on Natasha's. She sits up while Natasha sits on the ground in front of her;

"Are you okay Miss Violet?"

She nods and accepts the tissue with her breath still a hitching mess, "Yes."

The girl has a large brown bandaid over her finger, caught on the tissue. Natasha huffs through a chuckle and adjusts the sleeves of her own sweater, "Let me help you there. Should I get Miss Olga for you?"

"No," Violet states with a rapid head shake over the mention of the maid supposedly fostering kids- or at least, according to Alexei.

"Why were you crying, sweetheart?" Natasha adjusts the end of her own short braid.

"I hurt my finger," the girl lifts it up to show.

"Oh no! How did that happen?"

"That's none of your business. Don't talk to her, Violet."

Natasha turns to see the pitch black and cold eyes of Riley as she enters aggressively;

"My name is Natasha-."

"I know who you are. I've been listening outside the door."

The spy is aware, "You don't seem to trust me-."

Riley's jaw twists, her eyes narrowing, "Because you came in with Alexei, duh."

"I see. And why don't you like Alexei?"

"I don't have to answer you! Come on Violet!"

The girl has too much fire and Natasha loves it, "If we work together, maybe we can find you both a better home?"

Violet freezes as she's tugged along by Riley who whispers, "Don't listen to her, she's lying."

Violet sniffles, "Are you a foster Miss Natasha?"

Riley rolls her eyes, pulling Violet's smaller hand in closer, "She's an adult. She's not a foster."

Natasha answers quickly in an attempt to reach common ground, "I was an orphan. I was given up to a place that looked a lot like this when I was...very young."

"You got out?" Violet pulls her hand free from young Riley, moving closer to Natasha.

The redhead decides to embrace an opportunity to connect and give the girls some vulnerability when she swings her legs around to face the two of them, "Yes, I got out. How many children are here?"

"It's just us," Riley cuts her off.

"Do you like it here? With the maid?"

Riley crosses her arms, refusing to answer, "What do you think? Aren't you a spy like Alexei?"

"I was,' Natasha nods sincerely, 'I had a bit of a career change. What was your name?"

"I'm Riley."

She smirks despite already knowing, "Nice to meet you Riley. How old are you Violet?"

"I'm five,' Violet holds up her fingers, 'Wait. Am I five Riley?"

The girl laughs with a straight face, "I don't know, when is your birthday?"

"October? Um."

"You have no idea."

"Where are you from?" Natasha asks.

"New Mexico," Riley offers.

"I was born in Russia,' Natasha starts, offering a modified tale, 'I was taken after my parents passed away. I've been in New York for the past few years."

Riley seems to loosen up only after Natasha finishes her story, "I moved here two years ago. Violet showed up 6 month ago. She doesn't know where she's from."

"Yes I do!" The girl pouts.

"I'm sorry! You're right, whatever."

Natasha grins, she loves them already, "And Olga is homeschooling you?"

"No. We have a tutor."

Violet sits as if Riley's sudden willingness to converse means this red headed stranger can be trusted,

"Sit Sis."

Natasha's heart melts over the little one calling Riley 'sis', with a passing thought for her own 'sisters' in the Red Room.

"Fine," The older girl groans, eventually settling on her heels. Natasha can read her every movement. Riley needs to be able to run, stand up easily.

Natasha is determined to get to the bottom of things, even if the girls just made this mission a bit more complicated.

"We got word from Fury with a Nat update-."

Before Clint can finish, Banner's book is shut and his eyeglasses are off as if that'll help him listen more closely.

Thor's popcorn bowl falls, a loud crash echoing off the wall as it falls over a red throw rug.

"Thor!" Bruce snaps, drained of all patience.

"I do apologize."

Clint leans in closer to his makeshift radio, "She lost her com…The morons aren't talking. Something about two kids? Riley Proctor…Damn it! I just lost the signal."

Bruce sighs and rubs aggressively at his forehead, "So after what, three weeks away, she still has nothing-."

Clint motions for quiet and raises the volume on his device.

Bruce covers his mouth, "I can get a better frequency."

Clint gestures, equally fed up, "Just shut up."

Thor chews loudly, pausing only to brush some of his popcorn crumbs over the shoulder of the physicist;

"I beseech you both not to rage."

"I need a minute," Bruce pulls away, quickly disappearing back up the squeaking staircase.

A heart pounding thump hits the ceiling with a second one to follow.

Barton cringes, burying his head in his hands, "He just smashed something."

"Shall I-?"

"Pound on the ceiling and tell him to shut up? No. As long as he's not green-,' Clint pivots, stepping on a crunched beer can and a stack of popcorn, 'god damn it man! You gotta clean up this mess! You're a slob!"

Thor grips Clint's collar when he stands to avoid a fall, "Jane said the same."

"Let go of me!"

"You're welcome," the demigod releases his hold on the archer, "Do you not hear the silence?"

Bruce reappears with an exhale, sitting quietly on the steps as if nothing has just happened between him and the wall.

Thor smiles and sits beside him, patting Banner's back;

"You have returned! Wonderful. Was it a pleasant rage?"

"I didn't rage," Banner bites his fingernail until it splits.

"We heard the smashing."

With a voice above a whisper he snarls aggressively, "I'm going to ask you for the millionth time to stop touching me."

"I am aware you do not wish to be touched. Perhaps a hug?"

"I don't want a hug, Thor! Touch me again I will throw you against the wall!"

"I'm going to the bar, alone!" Clint reaches for his coat seemingly out of nowhere.

Bruce scoffs, "It's not even noon-."

"Got a problem, doc?"

"No. Go ahead; keep poisoning yourself."

Clint's volume rises, "Worry about yourself and your goddamn anger management. It's pissing me off."

"Okay."

"Don't walk away from that! You can't just get up and walk away every time someone calls you out on your bullshit!"

Bruce stumbles down a step over Clint's pull with a bit of green down his neck. He grins nervously on the verge of snapping his friend in half;

"You're going to make me lose it."

"Then lose it! You wanna go? Let's go! Punch me instead of the wall, I could use a good wrestle!"

Banner lowers his eyebrows and holds his head, "You could use a good therapist…"

"I swear if you didn't matter so much to Nat, I'd beat the shit out of you."

"I'm serious,' he glared with a rising volume, 'You act like nothing bothers you. So in order to feel something, anything, you get drunk, pick fights, and find a different girl to screw every other week like a douchebag."

A fist finds its way across Banner's cheek, his head colliding with the wall behind him.

Clint swallows and shakes his sore fist from the punch with teeth grinding together.

The doctor keeps his eyes closed with a limited reaction. He mumbles, "I might've deserved that."

Barton points and gets up into his face, "You have way more issues than I do!"

"Now you're going to enlighten me."

"Damn straight! You're a condescending asshole who needs more fucking therapy than anyone else on the team,' Clint tugs at his jacket with a huff, 'and your self-loathing shit is getting real old!"

Thor turns to look between the twosome, "Are we fighting? I have no quarrel with either of you."

Bruce stands to remove himself from the group, "Clint's just being Clint. We're not fighting-."

Clint laughs nervously, "What? Are you afraid I'll bring out the hulk? I can take him."

"What the hell is wrong with you," he moves toward the wall in an attempt to sneak down the stairs.

"Come on! You won't hurt me. Do it, throw a punch."

"Stop."

"So your other side can give it but you're man enough to take it!"

Thor throws a punch without a warning, leaving Barton shocked.

The demigod shrugs defensively, "I wish for you to stop prodding the doctor immediately!"

Bruce snaps, "Cut it out Thor! You're pissing me off too."

Thor pauses, sad to be rejected by his 'closest companion', "I know not what I've done…?"

Clint lifts a fist, "You wanna keep taking this asshole's side?! Let's go! I'll destroy you instead."

"I accept that challenge."

"Go for it. When you're all torn up and bloody, don't come asking me for stitches," Bruce allows the wrestling twosome to proceed and slips out of the front door.

Natasha preoccupies herself with a game, trying to learn about and break the walls of Riley and Violet. Their current activities consist of leaping from the stairs to decide who can still land on their feet after the fifth.

With Ivan and Alexei busy, she's taking a different approach to the mission. And a bit of a break this afternoon.

Romanoff ignores the glares from 'the help', a strong intuitive distrust for the maid who has consistently tried to put an end to their play. When she tells them to go outside, Natasha is all too happy to oblige.

The gated yard seems safe enough and they're excited to see the snow starting to fall.

"Count Miss Natasha!" Violet calls out excitedly with an eagerness to start another game of hide and seek.

"Alright, relax. Ten, nine, eight…"

She reaches one and drops her hands from her eyes in a symbolic gesture to display honesty in her game. Her eyes open when Violet squeals;

"Stranger danger!"

Riley is already at her side, arms wrapped around the little one on the far side of the lawn.

"Vrach!" Natasha whispers breathlessly, trying to calm the girls, "Riley I need you to go inside for a moment. Quietly."

The girl nods and takes Violet with her.

Natasha pivots back, watching her wavy haired scientist from the opposite end of the fence. She lectures;

"This is reckless."

"I brought you a new com."

"-Less reckless,' she looks up toward the mansion, 'Move to the right a foot."

"What happened to the other one?"

She shrugs with a lie, "Poor reception."

He listens, holding onto a hole through the fence;

"I miss you."

"How did you find me?"

He shrugs, laughing lightly, "I took the rental car out for a drive, heard your voice and got lucky."

She glares with disbelief.

He relents, "Clint wrote the address on a notepad so I stole the notepad."

Natasha shakes her head and brushes off his wool coat, admiring his snow dusted curls;

"Did Fury get my message?"

"Clint has been trying to get a better frequency but yes. Those are the girls?"

"The older one says she's Riley. Alexei gave me the last name of 'Proctor'. The little one is Violet."

He nods, "I got some information on the older one, Riley? That name came through on your transmission. Riley wasn't born in New Mexico but she did live there from only a few months old. She was born in South Korea and then came over with a mother who died almost immediately. Her grandmother passed away two years ago in a car accident. Riley's birth name isn't Proctor. That was her grandmother's, changed after the adoption. What's Violet's story?"

She holds her head, "I have no idea. She likes puppies and the color pink."

Bruce folds to hand the paper he's spent all day working on, "Here's everything I pulled up on Riley."

Natasha scans the page, "Thanks...I need answers. And I'm tired of being here."

Bruce watches her read, "Are you okay?"

Her own tear feels like ice as it slips down her cheek, quick to brush it away, "Yeah. I'm okay."

Natasha clears her throat, looking up once she feels more composed, "What are you doing for your birthday?"

His eyebrows lift over the mention, preferring to forget, "...I'm heading back to the shack to sit and read."

"You look tired."

"If we could get rid of Clint…"

She snorts, "What did he do?"

"He called me condescending today. Can you believe that? They're both so immature! I try to talk and make peace but neither one of them can figure out what I'm saying half the time. Clint just stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language- he can't keep up and drives me…oh."

Natasha tilts her head with a smirk, seeing the metaphorical light bulb go off in Banner's mind,

"Maybe...you can afford to be a bit more patient? You've always worked it out before."

"Well. Yeah. It's just the situation. I can't exactly run off to the lab-."

"And he can't run off to his cabin."

Bruce can't help but accept her remarks, "Okay. You're right."

She talks through her laugh, "I know."

"What do you need, Natasha."

She lifts her shoulders, taking a moment to inhale and commit to memory their minutes out in the snow, "I'm okay. I'm getting by, the girls are helping. Thanks for the intel."

"I promise I'll lay low for the rest of this."

"Keep Clint in line for me," Leaning forward, she rests her chin on one of the holes and offers a wink.

He contorts his mouth with sad eyes, "Be safe, Tasha."

"Happy birthday Vrach ," her fingers find his through the fence holes, laying on top to make whatever contact she can.

"I want to kiss you," he stares longingly.

"I'll be home soon."

Bruce's entry back into the shack is dark due to the late hour. The keys clash as they hit the table.

Banner finds Clint staring blankly on the sofa, holding ice against his head;

"I'm shocked you're not at the bar."

Barton scoffs, "You took the car."

Bruce timidly sits across from the archer in one of the nearby chairs, "Are you okay?"

Clint's head lowers while he adjusts the ice and lifts his mug, "I called Laura- that waitress from Stark's wedding...we've kinda been seeing each other. I guess you knew that…Because Nat tells you everything?"

Bruce has regret in his stare, "Look Clint, I was way out of line."

"Yeah, but. As much as it hurts me to say it, you were right, I have some personal shit I need to deal with. Stuff that beer and a brunette won't fix,' Barton lifts his drink, 'I swapped my usual out for a soda."

Bruce lifts his shoulders apologetically, "If you ever need to talk…"

"That's what Nat's for."

"Right, well,' he forces a laugh, 'I'll try not to sulk so much. Or be as condescending. I'm sorry."

Clint sighs, "A spider called me on her new com while you were out. She said it's your birthday? It all makes sense now. I'd apologize for punching you in the mouth but that felt justified."

Bruce is on the verge of self-deprecating so he nods and bites his tongue. Clint just snickers and cuts Bruce off before he can talk;

"I get hellish on my day too. I turn into a real son of bitch. It's full of trauma and shit…birthdays, holidays right? I shoulda' known something was off when you started swearing."

"I'm sorry you can relate to it," Bruce stops there, a quip in the back of his mind on Clint's persistent moodiness. He chooses not to speak on it.

Clint mumbles, "It's fine. Life goes on."

"Yeah. It does. Where's Thor?"

"Upstairs. He took over your bed so you're on the couch tonight."

"I probably owe him an apology too?"

"Make him waffles, he'll forgive you,' Clint shrugs, 'I'm going to bed. I won't tell Fury about your trip to go see Nat if you buy me a drink tomorrow."

"You got it. I'll buy you a six pack," Bruce nods with a short laugh, tugging at his fingers when he stands and moves into the kitchen to locate his book and pull his device from his pocket with its missed messages.

Tony's video call showcases the cheering threesome; Antonia, Tony and Pepper, offering a happy birthday. Alex makes an appearance as he tries to lick the camera.

His next is from Izabella and her Aunt Svetlana, a prerecorded message as well with an invite to dinner the following evening. Bruce closes his messages after responding to each with a polite 'thanks', hating the attention.

He's tempted to reach out to Jennifer for comfort's sake. He decides against it- there's no need for her to be concerned.

With a deep breath he reminds himself of his afternoon with Natasha, grateful for any minute he gets to spend with his wife during such an odd mission. He lifts a book and his glasses. With a quick snap shut and a change in plans, his reading material is abandoned.

Bruce moves to check the fridge for Thor's preferred breakfast supplies, shaking a half carton of eggs...he'll set an alarm and run out for a restock first thing in the morning. Thor deserves his waffles and Clint deserves his beer...