Chapter 17

Deep breaths, Taylor. Breathe, in…and out…

I inhale deeply as I run my hands through my sweaty, scruffy hair and turn on my heel to pace back across the room. I had blindly walked to a room full of monitors and machines. I did not know what it was; I did not care either.

I hear the door swish open and click shut, and I can hear the padded slow footsteps as another person enters the room.

"I am not going to ask if you are okay." a feminine voice announces.

I nod without looking up from the floor in front of me.

"You are clearly not okay."

I sigh deeply. "Why would I be okay? I just let one of the most wanted criminals in the world run free."

"No," she corrects me, "not running free by any means. She is locked up more than sugar is when Thor is near."

I almost smile as I turn again. "But still, she is not dead, and she should be dead, and I…just…"

"That criminal was also your mother." she points out, and I snap my head up to glare at her. "Not saying that played any role in what happened, but could you really have killed her?"

"She was not my mother." I growl. "She left. She hurt my dad, she hurt me, and she will never be important to me."

"Okay, okay, okay." she says softly. "I wasn't saying that, Taylor, you know I wasn't."

I let out a half sob, half sigh as I pause in my pacing to bury my face in my hands. "I...just…god, Tasha, did I do the right thing?" I beg as the tears start falling.

She walks over and puts her arms around me, and we both slowly sink to the floor. I end up kneeling next to Natasha with my head on her shoulder as she rocks me slightly, letting me cry for the first time since this all started.

"I will never be able to answer that, Taylor. Only you will ever know whether you did the right thing. But you probably did, because I trust you, and I trust your instincts."

My sobs fade into sniffles. "Thanks, Nat. I still wish…"

She nods. "I know. I will not lie; this will haunt you for a long, long time. Some of my kills still keep me up at night."

I groan. "Great. More nightmares."

"At least you're not alone." she points out, and I nod as I lift my head off her shoulder, although I still stay close.

A comfortable silence falls for a few moments as I scrub away the tear trails with the heel of my hand.

"Did you mean what you said?"

"What?"

"During the fight. About…about the 'redhead ex-assassin that is more motherly than you!'"

I freeze and study my shoes. "I…sorry. I mean, if you hate that…or me… we can just pretend I never said that, that would probably be best-"

"Taylor."

"And you don't have to date my dad or anything, I just figured that, you know, since-"

"Taylor."

"And this is gonna be awkward now, why did I say that, idiot-"

"Taylor!"

I blink and click my jaw shut as Natasha exasperatedly hollers my name.

"I have no issue with that. Honestly, I enjoy it. I need it."

I blink again as she smiles and grabs my hand. "Great." I say once my brain is finished lagging. "I mean, you don't have a relationship with my dad, and I probably won't call you mom-"

"At least not in English."

"Right." I smile at the loophole. "But I care, and so…"

She smiles at all the unspoken words and pulls me into a hug. "Of course, tulip."

"Tulip?"

She shrugs. "I needed something in English."

I laugh slightly. "Okay, then. Thank you, spidey."

"Spidey. Really?"

"мать."

"дочь."

I grin as she says that. I just called daughter by a woman I don't utterly despise.

"Let's hope this goes better than my last mother."

"I promise not to have psychotic tendencies."

"You already do."

"Oh, hush."

I stick my tongue out at her.

She stands and offers me a hand. "Come on. We need to make sure the boys haven't crashed the ship."

I grin and take her hand, hoisting myself up and walking over to collect my bow from where I put it on a table. I click the collapse button and clip it to my belt with my guns and knives and fall in step with Natasha as she walks out into the hall.

We laugh and joke about sarcastic comments made or various antics of my dad's as she steers me towards the med bay.

The moment we walk in the door, I'm swarmed by people in white. I sigh but allow myself to be dragged to a hospital bed and checked over.

They poke, they prod, and they ask annoyingly obvious questions, but they stay at least three inches from all my weapons and sharp things, so I tolerate them.

A wound on my arm is stitched and bandaged, cream is given for a burn on the back of my leg, and I'm sent on my way.

Natasha immediately grabs my metal, uninjured arm and drags me down the hall and into a bigger room.

I'm surrounded again by teammates acting a bit like excited puppies, before they realize I might be hurt and back up sheepishly.

I just laugh and guard my left arm slightly as I hug my dad and steal a quick and wraps my arms around Clint for about double the time of a normal hug.

Someone shoves a paper plate loaded with pizza at me, and I hop onto a bed and dig in, eating like I hadn't seen food in a week.

We all explain our numerous injuries, from burns to stitches to sprains, and complement each other on a battle well fought. Everybody likes how I used a weapon that was not mine, and Bruce suggests making sure that everyone at least gets a concealed carry permit, if we don't already have one, and gets basic hand-to-hand and knife training from Nat, Clint, and I.

"So what now?" I ask as I swallow my last bite.

My dad is the only one with his mouth empty, so he answers. "Well, right now Fury and Coulson are clearing our names and getting all the IGUM files back. Then I have to get the legal department on reclaiming the Tower because S.H.I.E.L.D.'s lawyers don't know crap. Then I make sure the Tower hasn't been demolished, rebuild what needs rebuilding, and finish building suits and we all go back to life as normal."

I grimly smirk. "Even our twisted version of normal won't be normal anymore." I point out.

"True." Steve agrees. "I mean, we were fugitives for about a week, then we found out part of the government was corrupted."

My dad rolls his eyes and groan. "Wow. Way to be pessimists, guys. Really nice. My point is, we gather our stuff and our people and we go home and not have to save the world for a while."

"Unlikely." I snort, but I do agree with him.

Home. I can't remember the last time I slept in my own bed.

I have an anniversary to properly celebrate.

Arrows to make, suits to build.

Home sounds good.

But first, I need to go track down a few girls that call themselves my troops.