A month was spent in the same manner as the first day. I occupied myself with books and exploring the house, and my mother ignored me as much as physically possible. She did not speak to me unless I asked her a question first, and, even then, her answers were vague and short. Her face was, as always, emotionless, but every now and then I would delight myself with noticing a small upwards tweak of her lip or a single gentle tear threatening to fall from her eye. They were small signs of actual human emotion, but as I began to expect them, they turned into the only thing that brought joy to my mostly eventless days. The tweak of the lip never reached a full smile, of course, nor did the tear ever fall, but they were the sort of things that most people would not notice, the sort of thing most people would not be waiting for, they were a sign that my mother cared, or so I would try to convince myself of every night before bed. I am, after all, still an optimist. There was something about those micro emotions that still boggled my mind, however. They showed a sadness so deep... they made me realize that I barely knew anything about my mother, and they made me wonder about her past. How could someone as beautiful and life-full as she seemed to be, have eyes that seemed so heavy with unshed tears?

That morning Natasha seemed uncharacteristically restless. She looked at her phone every little while, and she moved around the house trying to keep herself busy. She tried to give the appearance of normality but I noticed the absence of her usually stoic, calm demeanor.

"Are you okay?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Never mind.." I sighed, flustered by her constant need to hide her emotions.

She then searched my face with her eyes, in a strange way. A different way. It was almost as if she was looking at me, yet searching for someone else. Whether she found that person or not, I would not find out, because right at that moment her phone rang, and she picked it up with a sense of urgency.

"Is he okay?... yes."

There was a long pause. She began to look relieved, but then her eyes widened for a fraction of a second and she began to look worried again.

"Don't tell him you called me... say that you sent me in a top secret mission and cannot compromise my location..."

"I don't know Fury you are the one that suggested things should go the way they did, its too late to turn back now."

I noticed how she stressed the word suggest, and that she was speaking to the director. Who could it be that she was so worried about, yet refused to speak with?

She continued to glance at me as she spoke, and, after a quick goodby, she hung up, and stormed into the room that she always kept locked.

I could not stop myself from being curious. Why was she so secretive. I would give anything for just a simple hint, a clue to who she is as a person, who she was.

She did not come out of the room until nighttime, so I was forced to distract myself all day. I would usually have followed her, to any other room, but not that one. It was, I suppose, a sort of unspoken rule. She never said that I could not go in, but, no matter how much I wanted a glimpse at her private life, I would not dare intrude into her room.

Sorry I have taken so long to write another chapter, but school just started again and that has kept me both, incredibly busy, and uninspired. I hope that you enjoy the chapter, and please review. Who do you think Natasha was talking about on the phone?

I will try to update at least once a week from now on. Thank you and bye.