Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100

Warnings for child abuse, abandonment, talk of genocide, with some talk of threats of sexual assault, and child neglect.

Harbor

Clarke Griffin knew that there was a difference between "safe" and familiar. She knew that there was a difference. She was familiar with the Ark people. Familiar with the Azgeda. Familiar with the Mountain Men. But she had never been safe with any of them. Not ever.

But she was safe with Natasha Romanoff. With all of her soulmates-her romantic partner soulmates, her familial soulmates, ally soulmates, her friends and chosen family.

But especially, she was safe with Natasha.

She knew that.

It still struck her as a shock at how she had come to realize this.

When Natasha had arrived with the rest of the Avengers at the Ice Nation, and Natasha had reached her hand out below the tree, where Clarke lurked in the branches, and offered her hand out, and offered her words of safety and love, Clarke had lost all control and had come down from the tree and had taken Natasha's hand, eyes never tearing away from Natasha's eyes.

The whole time, she had been under Natasha's spell.

The whole time, she had known what safety felt like.

That had been true safety.

Not familiarity-not a deceitful sense of familiar home with razor-sharp knives of verbal, physical and mental abuse.

Safety. Actual safety.

A safe harbor.

Clarke had stood in front of Natasha, stunned as she had been completely enraptured by Natasha's lull.

Natasha had lured Clarke into the quinjet and when all the Avengers had been brought into the jet and the jet had closed up and they had taken off, leaving the land of the Azgeda, of Canada, and headed to North America.

When Clarke had gotten settled into SHIELD base, had gotten her own room, and at one time even threatened Natasha one night-she had realized that she could not faze Natasha in any way.

Clarke had growled at Natasha. Had threatened to force herself on Natasha, which was repulsive and entirely reprehensible at best. But especially if she had said that to Natasha.

But Natasha? She hadn't even budged. She had been fearless with Clarke.

And Natasha had made it clear that the decision was up to Clarke, entirely. That she would have to make her choice. That was her choice, without question.

And Clarke had understood that that statement had meant so much more than just a physical relationship.

Natasha had been talking about Clarke trusting her with everything.

With her pain, her grief, her trauma, her passions, her interests, her sadness, her joys.

All of it.

And that had been one of the parts that had scared Clarke the most. To open up. To be vulnerable. To anyone.

But especially to Natasha.

But Natasha had nonetheless made it clear that the choice was Clarke's.

And unfortunately, Clarke understood that she knew what her choice was. She wasn't sure that there even was a choice here, even if Natasha was giving her all the options.

To deny a relationship Natasha? When she realized that Natasha was everything, yeah, that was a laugh. No. She didn't have a choice and she knew that.

Safety wasn't the same as familiarity.

Natasha Romanoff was not familiar to Clarke, or she hadn't been ever since she had first seen the older woman on the various screens around the world as the world praised her as a hero when she had joined the Avengers, but she WAS something very, very different from that.

She was a safe harbor. She always would be.

And Clarke knew that.

Only a few days after that confrontation between Clarke and Natasha, when Clarke had threatened the unforgivable, Clarke knew that she had made her decision and knew the only way she could redeem herself in her own eyes.

Only Natasha's forgiveness mattered, but Clarke could only think of one way to live with herself.

To go to Natasha's quarters, kneel down in front of that goddess, bury her face in Natasha's lap and confess everything. Tell her every single horrid deed she had committed, tell her of every single horror committed against her, every dark and leering thought she had ever had against anyone, including Natasha.

That would be the only way to redeem herself, as far as Clarke was could see. If Natasha forgave her? Then great. If not? Clarke would never come near Natasha again. Not a healthy ultimatum, but at that point in time, Clarke didn't know how to be healthy with Natasha.

So Clarke would tell Natasha everything. Open up. Give all her vulnerability and its bleeding entirety to Natasha so that the goddess could feast on the offerings at her alter.

She had left her room, a few days after that night, her intense, non-human hearing picking up that everyone was still asleep, and had crept through the dark halls, eyes usually sky-blue, now black, glinting in the darkness as she could see in the pitch blackness, perfectly.

Her inhuman speed and agility made it impossible for those who were not Thor to hear her, and Clarke distinctly heard Thor's deep snoring.

She knew that Natasha was awake. Not just because of her intense inhuman hearing that allowed her to hear everything the other residents of the building were doing, but because Natasha had informed her that she usually had on and off sleep hours.

She had more or less been trained within the confines of the Red Room, and trained to keep a very strict sleep schedule.

As a result, Natasha's internal clock had just gotten used to having odd hours during the night.

Clarke arrived at Natasha's room and hesitantly raised her right fist and knocked it against Natasha's door.

After a few seconds, Clarke heard shuffling in the room, heard Natasha come to the door, and open it up.

Natasha backed up from the door as she saw Clarke there.

"Clarke," Natasha said, smiling, "To what do I owe this visit?"

Clarke swallowed and hesitated. As always, she found herself at a loss for words when she was around Natasha.

Natasha nodded, as usual, as if she knew what Clarke was thinking, without Clarke saying a thing.

"You can come in, if you want," Natasha said, backing up into the room and allowing Clarke to come into the room. The doors closed behind Clarke.

Natasha went to the foot of the bed and sat down on it, up against the stack of pillows that she had been using as a back for herself, to steady her back against, picking the book up from the bed that she had been reading, and looked at Clarke expectantly.

"What is it, Clarke?" Natasha asked, green eyes gleaming with intensity, but shining with a knowledge that told Clarke that she had an idea of where this was going.

Clarke swallowed and forced herself forward.

She could do this.

She had told herself that she would do the right thing, for herself, for Natasha.

Natasha was her safe harbor. She was her salvation. And while Clarke had no right to put that on Natasha, she knew that she couldn't do anything else.

Natasha was irresistible. That she knew for sure.

Clarke took a breath as she took another couple of steps towards the bed, forcing herself forward.

She knew that she needed to do this.

Natasha was her safe haven. She was paradise and a goddess.

And Clarke knew that what she had to do now.

She had to give herself to this goddess. Completely.

She knew a relationship and worship was about more than just physical submission.

She needed to submit her emotions and vulnerabilities to Natasha as well.

Clarke took a weak step forward.

She would have to tell Natasha all of it.

What Clarke had felt when she had seen her daddy get floated right in front of her, finding out her adoptive mother had been the one to betray her daddy to Thelonius Jaha, and what it had felt like, being locked up in the skybox for six whole years, isolated since five years old, till she had been eleven years old and had snapped and had broken out of the skybox, and had started feeding on the other delinquents, draining them of their blood.

And how it had felt when that same adoptive mother, Abby Griffin-the woman who was supposed to be there for Clarke, had rejected her after that, even though Clarke only lost control of her instincts because of what Abby had done-what had led to Clarke being isolated for years.

And how it felt to live in the wild, fearing her soulmates would never accept her, and how she felt when she had had to pull that lever and had had to wipe out all of the Mountain Men. How horrid she had felt. How much like she had felt like an abomination when she had done that.

And how she had felt when she had lived alone those two years in the forest before the Azgeda had found her and had taken her, and how she had felt when the Azgeda had tortured her all those years, till Natasha and the Avengers had arrived in the Ice Nation, in Canada.

With Natasha's green eyes fixated on Clarke, Clarke found herself at a loss for words, as always.

Here she was, ready to bear her soul to Natasha, and she found herself unable to bring forth the words she so desperately wanted to tell the older woman.

She looked away at the calm, but focused look she was given by Natasha. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

She wasn't worthy.

Unable to find the words to spring forth, she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that she was worthy of doing before Natasha, and went forward, then kneeling down before Natasha, placing her head in Natasha's lap, putting herself completely at Natasha's mercy.

Because she couldn't do anything else.

"Forgive me," Was all Clarke could say. What else could she say?

She was unworthy. That was why she needed to beg forgiveness.

Clarke closed her eyes, afraid of seeing disappointment or discomfort on Natasha's face.

But she gasped when she heard Natasha chuckle above her.

She felt a gentle hand touch her hair and gently stroke her hair.

Clarke opened up her eyes and looked up at Natasha.

Natasha was smiling down at her, her smile wide and playful.

"What am I forgiving you for, malen'kiy?"Natasha asked, voice sultry.

Clarke shook her head against Natasha's lap. "Forgive me," she repeated, "For I can't say what I want to say in front of you. I'm not…I'm not worthy of you."

That was just the short version of how she felt.

She was unworthy of Natasha's love, of Natasha's majesty, of her divinity, of her entirety.

She was basically just unworthy of Natasha. That was all.

Clarke froze when she felt Natasha's hand tighten around the back of her neck.

She glanced up at Natasha, startled at the hardened look in Natasha's eyes.

"Do not say that again," Natasha said, voice low and firm, "You are not unworthy of love. Or of me."

Clarke stared up at Natasha, "The two are interchangeable to me," Clarke said, unable to think of anything else to say, "You and love. There's no difference to me."

Natasha sighed, smiling sadly, stroking Clarke's forehead softly. "Never say that you're unworthy, my love. Never."

Clarke closed her eyes again. She said nothing.

But she knew she was right. She would not go against her goddess's commands, because how could she?

But she knew she was not worthy.

This woman was her safe haven. Her goddess. Her safe harbor.

She would obey her goddess. She could not tell Natasha what she wanted to tell her.

But her goddess would get at least one thing that she was entitled to.

And that was Clarke's absolute and unwavering submission.

Because while it was not nearly what Natasha deserved, it was the most Clarke could do at the moment, for her deity.

Of her holy one.

Just be silent in submission at the altar of her goddess.

It was not even close to what she should offer to the one who had become her safe harbor, her everything, her religion.

But it was the only thing she had available right now, and so, because it was Natasha, everything that Clarke had, belonged to the older woman; to Clarke's queen.