HEY GUYS! Sorry for the long wait ;) I hope you'll like this!

In which: Natalia still has some of Natasha's memories, and Clint's an idiot.

Without further ado...


When they got to Natasha's floor, he absolutely expected Natalia to start getting curious. Because, entering the apartment, Natasha's "photowall" was proudly on display.

Natasha was a fan of photography. She always had her camera with her, ready to snap the perfect shot. Whether they're just chilling next to the fireplace drinking wine and playing never have I ever, or on a mission. Also, she had the habit of editing her photos herself, developing them herself, and sticking them on the wall facing the elevator in her living room.

He knew that it just indicated how much of a softie Nat really was, and how much she cared for the team, but she had just shrugged when he asked, and said that she liked to immortalize her memories because she doesn't know when she'll be wiped again. That had chilled him to the core at the time.

Now, baby Nat was staring at the wall in awe. Oh, shoot. How will he be able to explain Natasha to her?

"Wow," she breathed out, wonder evident in her eyes. She wheeled herself forward, Clint staying rooted in place.

He was fucking frozen in fear.

"Who's that?" She asked, pointing at Natasha's smiling face.

She didn't have a lot of photos of herself, but there was that selfie she took with Clint after a successful mission in Bora Bora. They had taken two days off afterward, chilled on the beach, and eventually took that photo.

They were both in their swimming suits, Natasha in a stunning blue bikini and Clint in purple shorts. They were leaning against each other, Clint's arm wrapped protectively around Natasha's shoulders. Those were happier, simpler times before they met their batshit crazy teammates, and one of them decided to fucking shrink his partner into a 5-year-old.

"That's… uh. That's Natasha." He deadpanned, not knowing how to elaborate further.

"Oh. Who's Natasha?" She looked up at him with her big, green eyes, and he swallowed with difficulty.

He figured that if he told her that she was Natasha herself, Natalia would freak the fuck out. She would think he's a liar, and hell, he would understand.

He would think the same.

He knew that the technology and the year would probably not surprise her. The Red Room was a secluded place to live. Natasha told him once how she didn't even know what year it was until she started going out on missions. Dates and time were relative in the Red Room, she had said.

If you could count time, you would start to realize it was a prison, not a school, she had said.

He didn't have any problem believing her.

"She's… My best friend." He had decided not to lie. What was the point? "She's away right now, on a mission, but she would've loved meeting you."

Natalia smiled. "She seems nice," she whispered quietly, a strange look on her face. "Do you speak Russian because of her? I can tell you're American."

Clint's jaw almost fell. She was so sharp for a child, it was almost shocking. But he understood that logic and spy shit like that was taught at a young age in that assassin school of hers.

"Yeah, she's Russian too. That's why you guys would've gotten along great."

Natalia only smiled.

He wheeled her to Nat's bedroom, and carefully lifted her and put her on the bed. She didn't wince, but he could feel her tense. She was clearly in pain. But he knew that it was drilled in her head that a response to pain meant severe punishment.

"Do you need more painkillers?" He asked carefully, adjusting the pillows around her. He already knew her answer, but what the heck, he could always try, right?

She shook her head fervently. He had tried, at least. Oh, well.

"Okay, then. Goodnight, Nat."

She seemed reluctant, especially when Clint made his way to the door.

She didn't hold him back though.

He finally smiled sadly at her and closed the door on his way out. He left her alone, plunged in thick darkness and thicker blankets.

She shifted uneasily, trying to get comfortable without the iron handcuffs digging into her hand, splitting the thin skin around her wrist.

She chose to look around her instead. The bedroom she was in was classy, a modern style to it. She decided that whoever they are, these people were rich. And they were also lying.

The bullshit they fed her was just that- bullshit. She didn't believe for a minute that she managed to 'get out' of the Red Room. This must be a test, of sorts. No one can get out of the Red Room. Countless had tried; she knew that. She had heard the guards mutter and gossip amongst themselves during their evening rounds when they thought she was sleeping.

She had mastered the art of deception at a surprisingly young age- she was fairly certain she was seven, though she looked younger. Maybe four or five, to an outsider, a target. Her stature always had people underestimating her. She didn't mind. She loved the shock, quickly followed by the terror when they realized their mistake. Those people who were playing with her head were soon to follow.

Yes, this must be a test. She should've eliminated the targets by now. They all seemed to be wrapped around her little finger already. She was fairly certain that a tiny smile would turn them into putty in her hands. Then, she would snap their necks.

She wasn't so sure she could take them all on, though. A few of them looked ripped- they obviously exercised a lot, and the hammer she saw laying on the coffee table made alarm bells sound in her brain. They were fighters, but so was she. If this was really a test, then she would be coming back victorious. Maybe it would spare her a beating for a night or two.

Either that or… something else happened. Something stranger. She didn't miss the flash of sadness in Clint's eyes when she mentioned his redheaded friend.

She also didn't miss the almost exact resemblance between herself and the older woman. That just cannot be a coincidence. It was too much. The long wavy red hair, the barely visible freckles, the lopsided smile, the invisible scar running from her left temple to her ear.

Natalia had the same scar.

She didn't know how or what the hell happened exactly, but she was positive that her and "Natasha" were the exact same person. Clint -if that was even his real name- didn't try to hide it all that much either. He literally told her that the older woman was Russian and that she was an 'agent'.

She also noticed the flat tv in the living room, cars she's never seen before when she looked out of the window, and of course, the AI that spoke with her through the walls of the house.

She was pretty sure she wasn't in the 30s anymore.

A trip to the future did seem a bit farfetched. A youth serum seemed way more appropriate. She has heard of technology like that. Apparently, it was used on the Winter Soldier, the man who was to become her mentor in a couple of years.

But then, a question presented itself. Why the hell was she a child again?

She couldn't bring herself to trust anyone in this household. She shouldn't trust anyone in this household. She had to stay alert, at least until she figures all of this shit out, she told herself.

That was proving to be increasingly difficult though, with her eyelids drooping. Before she knew it, she was drifting into an uneasy sleep.

She found herself surrounded by snow, and her first instinct was to bring her arms around herself in an unconscious move to stay warm. Hypothermia was not pleasant.

What surprised her, though, was the fact that she was wearing warm clothes. Clothes made for being out in the snow. Skiing attire. The Red Room would only supply them with shorts and tank tops, and let them loose in the white expanse, pushing them to use their senses to find their way back. Most of them never did. Natalia was one of the few who succeeded.

So, needless to say, she was shocked. She also noticed that she was taller, somehow. What the actual…

She looked around her, and by some miracle, she noticed a wooden cabin just behind her. Funny… She hadn't seen that before, yet the sense of familiarity was over whelming.

She carefully approached the cabin and tried to look inside through a window, but it was frosted over. The only thing she saw was Natasha.

She did a double take, stumbling back in surprise. That… was supposed to be her reflection. Why did she see Clint's 'best friend'?

"Hey, Nat!" She heard a voice call her name, (or Natasha's, probably) and she turned to see Clint waving at her, a few feet away. He had a snowboard in his arms, and another by his feet. "You comin' or what?"

She felt herself nod, not completely in control anymore, and made her way to Clint, who gave her the snowboard, pulling his snow goggles over his face.

She did the same, a small smile gracing her lips, but Natalia's heart was hammering with panic. She's never snowboarded in her life before.

She felt like slipping down a snow-covered hill while being chased by wolves was not considered a sport.

She didn't exactly understand what was happening, but Natalia was pretty sure that her 'youth serum' theory was just proved to be correct- by her own mind, nonetheless.

It pained her to admit it, but she was elated. She has never been able to rely on her own memories before since they were tampered with on a daily basis. Her head was definitely not dependable.

So having a memory replay in a dream was… well, a dream come true, as ironic as that sounded.

The rest of the group, the people whom she met at the tower, materialized beside them suddenly -or they've been there from the beginning, and she didn't notice. It was very hard to pinpoint.

The mad scientist who blasted her in the chest, the doctor, the patriotic American, the teenager, and Barbie-man. They were all there.

They were all smiling at her, too, some with skis, other with snowboards, like Clint and herself.

So, it was true. They were friends before. What the hell happened then? Were they all Russian spies? Was she infiltrated?

"You ready to kick our asses, like always, Romanoff?"

Romanoff… That was an Americanized version of her last name. That made her uneasy, and… Kind of relieved, at the same time. So, she tried to fit in with them by changing her name, but not completely. That meant she wasn't undercover.

Then, Stark spit out a joke in his low, rumbling voice, she felt herself laugh alongside the team, and thought she was definitely not infiltrated. She genuinely liked them, she liked being amongst them. She felt like she belonged, standing there in the snow, warm, comfortable and happy, a striking opposition to previous, similar situations involving snow she's been in.

She felt right.

Before she knew it, it was morning. And she was hurting. Clint's painkillers apparently had completely worn off. The pain of Stark's blast was fully manifesting, feeling like fire crawling in her veins and arteries and choking her heart from the inside.

She gasped soundlessly, her hand going up to grip her chest, and she could only think of one thing.

'Clint.'

Clint was still snoring when Jarvis' alarmed voice woke him up. Clint has known for a while now that Jarvis can, and does feel emotions, but hearing such worry seeping in the AI's voice set Clint's senses on fire.

"Mr. Barton," the AI half-yelled, and Clint was up in a second.

"Is she okay?" He asked, looking up at the ceiling for a half a second, before hopping out of bed and pulling on some pants.

"No-"

Clint was already in the elevator, frantically pushing the button to Nat's floor.

"She seems to be in pain, Sir," the AI continued seamlessly, and Clint silently thanked Stark for incorporating Jarvis in all of the Tower.

"Wake up Bruce for me, will ya? Tell him we need that anti-inflammatory cream Nat always uses."

"Yes, Sir," Jarvis replied, almost relieved that Clint had a plan.

His best friend had a lot of pain episodes like that, usually after being shot or injured, since she didn't take morphine.

She would wake him up with blood-curling screams, and he would immediately apply said cream to the wound. It was almost magical, its soothing proprieties taking effect in a few minutes.

Bruce had developed it for her, a few months back.

They were still a new team, but they were tight. They've never been on a mission together, but Clint was pretty sure that they would be able to hold their own just fine if shit did hit the fan.

The elevator doors opened, and soon enough, Clint was sprinting towards Nat's room. The silence in the dark apartment was oppressive, and he mentally kicked himself for leaving her alone during the night. How could he have forgotten? How could he leave her alone with a gaping hole in her chest?

He burst into her bedroom, and found her in bed, writhing in pain, her hand gripping her blood-stained shirt.

Oh, the blood. Its scent made Clint gag. It was everywhere. He was surprised she was still awake, after losing that much. It looked like a pint or two to him.

He mentally added 'change the sheets' to his to-do list, and carefully approached Nat. He knew that help was not something Red Room recruits were allowed, and that was probably why Natalia wasn't screaming, like her older counterpart would do when the pain became too much.

The child was just gritting her teeth, her tears streaming down her face, mixing with the blood on her pillow.

When she saw him, she uttered a weak 'Clint,' and he could swear he heard Natasha.

His heart almost jumped out of his chest in horror, when her grip on her chest tightened, then slacked, and her eyes fluttered shut.


Excuse the typos I make. This is completely unbetaed. Is anyone interested in getting the chapters before anyone else? Hit me up in my PM's!

Next up: Natalia properly recovers and receives a visit from our favorite spider kid.

See ya next time! Reviews warm my heart and make me write a shit-ton faster :3