the-wize-1

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 8 - Purely Coincidence

Chapter Summary: Cat starts classes at Midtown High, where she recognizes a certain someone.

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: This is for everyone wanting more Peter! Let me know if there is something else you want to see too! Updates are slow as I’m on vacation right now but I’ll try to crank out what I can!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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March - One week later - Rosewood Elementary

“You’re gonna be taking classes at the high school?” T.J. said incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Are you a genius or something?” Lance demanded.

“Pretty much,” Cat said. “But I’m still gonna be coming here, only Mr. Radd from the office is driving me to the high school for a couple of classes a day.”

Lance’s eyes were wide. “Whoa.”

To her surprise and slight pleasure, Cat had slotted in well with her table group. T.J. came off as sweet and quiet, but Cat found out that he had his share of eye-rolling and wry side comments. This was especially present during Chelsea’s long rants about the most frivolous inconveniences, like how she found the school’s water fountains “disgusting” and “unseemly” for a person “of her stature.”

Lance had been right about Chelsea. Seriously, the girl thought she was a big deal or something. Most everyone at the school was well-off— Cat didn’t know why Natasha had chosen to enroll her in such a preppy elementary school— but Chelsea’s parents were dripping in wealth, a fact that Chelsea liked to shove in everyone’s faces. They dressed her up like a doll, in frilly, pastel clothes and matching shoes. Coupled with her auburn curls and doe eyes, she looked like a princess. A spoiled, smack-talking, evil-hearted princess.

Every time Chelsea made a Chelsea-like comment, Lance and Cat would lock eyes and exchange a series of silent mocking, which made her presence bearable. Meanwhile, Lance and Cat got along like a house on fire. He was the class troublemaker— a position that Cat both respected and was vying for. However, Cat’s quick wit and cutting remarks balanced them out.

Their table group was located at the furthest corner of the classroom, making it an ideal location for hushed conversations during boring lessons. Currently, Mrs. Reynolds was lecturing the class about negative numbers. The worksheets they’d been given were things Cat could’ve finished in her sleep.

“How are you so smart?” T.J. asked.

Cat tapped her head. “Perfect memory. I can remember stuff like that.” She emphasized the last part of her sentence by snapping.

“That’s not even possible,” Chelsea dismissed. “There’s no such thing as a perfect memory.”

Cat turned on her. “Explain to me how I have one, then.”

“You don’t, obviously.”

“I so do.”

“Don’t!”

“Do!”

“Cat, Chelsea,” Mrs. Reynolds warned from the front of the class, stopping mid-lecture. Half the class turned to look at them. This was a common occurrence. “Are you paying attention?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Reynolds,” Chelsea simpered, widening her eyes innocently. Her entire persona had changed in less than a second. “It won’t happen again.”

“Suck-up,” Cat muttered once Mrs. Reynolds had turned.

“Least I’m not a liar,” Chelsea fired back.

“I’m not a liar. I can prove it.”

“Don’t bother. It’s ridiculous, anyway,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms. “You’re just trying to get attention.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Which high school is it?” T.J. intervened smoothly, like he’d done a hundred times.

“Midtown School of Science and Technology,” Cat replied, throwing Chelsea a smug smile.

Lance perked up. “My sister goes there! It’s a really fancy school.”

“If it’s called a ‘School of Science and Technology’, don’t they only teach science and technology there?” Chelsea asked. “How’re you gonna learn math and social studies? You’ll be so behind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cat retorted scathingly. “Obviously they teach math, too. Just because it’s a science and technology school doesn't mean—”

“GIRLS!” Mrs. Reynolds yelled tiredly from the front of the classroom. “Don’t make me separate you two!”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

March - that day - Midtown High

The boy in her chemistry class was definitely staring at her.

Actually, half the class was staring at her, due to the lovely introduction Mrs. Whatsherface (Cat hadn’t caught her name) was currently giving her.

“Class, this is our new student, Cat. She’s only ten years old and she’s going to be attending Midtown High for the rest of the year. Now, you’re all responsible high schoolers. I expect all of you to welcome her warmly. I don’t want to hear about any mistreatment going on behind my back…”

Cat zoned out. She’d heard a similar speech given in her Algebra and English classes. Here’s the weird freaky-smart fourth-grader, please don’t eat her alive. So she was used to the staring by now. That didn’t mean it had stopped freaking her out. She wasn’t going to lie and say she wasn’t intimidated by the high schoolers. They were so much taller and older than her. They felt like giants. They talked about things that she didn’t know the slightest about.

Some of the nice ones tried to befriend her, but these occasions were more awkward than not. They tended to talk to her like she was their five-year-old cousin at Thanksgiving dinner, which did not make a strong friendship foundation. Cat just stared at them until they backed away slowly. And so the staring continued.

But the boy wasn’t staring at her in the judgemental, why-are-you-here way she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, he looked confused. His brow was wrinkled as if he wasn’t sure which item to order off the menu at a restaurant. His gaze followed her as Mrs. Whatsherface gestured for her to take a seat at the same table as his.

A Filipino kid next to the boy gave her a friendly smile. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Ned.” He glanced at the boy and nudged him.

The boy started. “I’m Peter.”

He looked away then, but Cat was aware of his frequent glances towards her as Mrs. Whatsherface started the lesson. She ignored it, instead focusing on scribbling down notes in the lab notebook as required and writing observations in the worksheet that had been passed out. She had never learned the material before; it was all very interesting. Still, Peter’s staring was getting a lot less subtle.

Cat’s head finally snapped up, returning his gaze with an unblinking stare of her own. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” he said immediately, head falling back down to his work.

When his eyes found its way back to her less than a minute later, she hissed, “What?”

“Sorry,” he repeated, looking away. “I just thought I recognized you.”

As he spoke, Cat thought she might’ve recognized him too.

Ever since she was little, Cat had been able to recall the exact pitch and inflection of any voice she’d ever heard. That statement, and the sound of his voice, triggered something in her memory. The boy’s voice was a lot more subdued and quiet from when she’d heard it last, but her memory had never failed her before. It only took her thirteen and a half seconds to correctly match the voice to the person.

Spider-Man.

Cat had to physically restrain herself from gasping and yelling something out that wouldn’t be appropriate in a school setting. It took an impressive amount of self-control to bite the inside of her cheek, give the boy a weird look and shrug as nothing had happened, and turn back to her work. But instead of writing down the answer to number 5 on the lab worksheet, Cat stared blankly at the page, an internal turmoil whirling inside of her.

She trusted her memory, but she couldn’t help thinking, Seriously? This high schooler, of all people? This is… Spider-Man? No— more accurately— Spider-Boy .

When she’d met him, she’d guessed that he was young, but she hadn’t thought he’d still be in high school. That was… young, right? Or was that normal? Cat thought back to the Avengers she’d met— Hawkeye had for sure been older than a high schooler. He’d looked about the same age as Trevor. Cat knew Natasha was kind of young, which made sense. You couldn’t fight aliens and robots if you had aching bones and stiff knees.

But still— a high schooler? In the grand scheme of things, that was barely older than her. How old were high schoolers again? Fourteen to eighteen?

Cat risked a look up at him. Peter was scribbling on the page, almost done with the problems on the worksheet. He had brown hair with a slight curl to it, and eyes without the slightest hint of malice in them. He wore a crewneck sweatshirt over a collared shirt. He dressed like a stereotypical nerd, but Cat noticed he was built athletically and had a slight, yet muscular figure. Despite this, he didn’t look anything like what she’d expect a superhero to look.

For example, Cat could tell just by looking at Natasha that she was an Avenger. Even out of her Black Widow garb and dressed in civilian clothes, she was strikingly intimidating and gave off an important, self-assured air. Peter looked like any random high schooler. Not even any random high schooler— a high schooler who was made fun of by bullies.

Like a lightbulb turning on, Cat recalled something interesting that had taken place outside of class. She’d been on her way to class, when a preppy-looking boy— Flash, his friends had called him— rolled up in an expensive car, jeering at Peter. They yelled out names at him. One had stood out to Cat— “Penis Parker.” The insult was neither funny nor creative, but it made Flash’s hoard of goonies roar with laughter. Peter had ignored them, but it was clear he was used to this kind of charade.

“Now you’re the one staring at me,” Peter/Spider-Boy said, and Cat realized with a start that she’d been caught.

“Yeah, uh,” Cat stalled, still frazzled by the realization. “I think I recognize you too.”

At this seemingly innocent statement, Peter's eyes widened, and a look of wild panic passed over his face. He started stammering. “Uh— wait, really? That’s, um, that’s so weird.”

He suddenly launched into a coughing fit, bent-double over the table. Ned clapped him on the back, hard. Peter lurched forward and his lab goggles came off. In one swift, fluid motion, he swiped them before they could smash onto the floor. Mrs. Whatsherface hurried over to make sure everything was okay as Peter’s coughing subsided. While this happened, Cat couldn’t help but feel a bit unimpressed with him. Was he really this bad at disguising his reactions? If Cat hadn’t already figured it out by then, she would have certainly been suspicious of his actions.

“Dude,” Ned muttered, “you good?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” Mrs. Whatsherface said, relieved. She looked over his worksheet and smiled at him. “Done already? Keep it up, Peter.”

Peter, Cat thought. The name echoed in her head. Peter Parker.

She knew Spider-Man’s real identity.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Cat was not stalking Peter Parker.

She just happened to be walking in the same direction as him when she saw him leaving campus. And followed him when he turned a corner. And idled on the same street when he stopped to pay a vendor for a hot dog. And… okay, maybe she was stalking Peter Parker.

But Cat was curious. Questions had been springing up in her head all day. Had she gotten it wrong, or was Peter Parker really Spider-Man? And if he was, how did he do it all— manage school and Spider-Man-ing? When Cat wanted to find something out, there was nothing she wouldn’t push out of her path to get to it.

She was careful to stay a few paces behind him, but he seemed to know someone was following him. His strides became longer and hastier, and he frequently cast looks behind his shoulder. He never saw Cat— she was too short to be quickly picked out from the crowded sidewalk, but she could tell he was wary.

Eventually, he stopped. He crossed the street and headed into a library. Cat lingered at the steps of the library for a few moments, waiting to see if he would come out. When it became clear that he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon, she followed him in.

A rush of warmth hit her as she came in through the doors. She hadn’t been in this particular library before. It was small, colorful, and cozy. She did some exploring, wandering the shelves while keeping an eye out for Peter. There were beanbags and bright stuffed animals in the children’s section. A row of computers lined a table. There was a section of tables in the corner of the library. And finally— there!

Spotting a head of brown curls, Cat crouched behind a shelf of books and watched him. He was sitting alone at an isolated table, scribbling in a notebook. Earbuds were hanging from his ears, and his head was bobbing to the beat. There was a laptop open in front of him. Every now and then, he would punch numbers into a calculator. He looked like he was doing his Algebra homework. Not doing any things that screamed, Hey, look! I’m Spider-Man!

Cat looked away, disappointed. Her gaze fell on a small nub of an eraser lying on a table. She got an idea. Palming the eraser, she walked closer to Peter’s table, positioning herself so that she was perpendicularly behind him. The section of tables was mostly empty. There was only a sprinkling of people, none seated near Peter’s table, all so concentrated on their work that they paid her no attention.

Cat rolled the eraser around in her fingers, peering at the boy. Her aim was usually dead-on— she had an uncanny knack for darts. She lined up her arm to her target, and lobbed the eraser at Peter. The eraser had barely left her hand before there was a flash of movement. Cat, expecting it, saw it as if it happened in slow motion.

The calculator dropped onto the table with a clatter. Peter spun around in his chair, almost faster than Cat could comprehend, and caught the eraser inches before it hit his face. His eyes flitted across the room, searching for the thrower. It didn’t take him long to find her. It wasn’t Cat’s intention to hide— and even if it was, there was hardly anything to hide behind. She looked right into his eyes, and saw the suspicion replaced by startled confusion.

She walked up to him. He was a lot taller up close. He looked at her, clearly expecting an explanation for randomly chucking an eraser at his head. She was instantly seized with a bout of anxiety. Perhaps she should have prepared a speech. What was she planning to say to him? She fumbled for the right words. It had to be the right combination of intelligence, humor, and comprehensiveness. She couldn’t mess this up.

“Hi,” she said.

Nailed it.

“Hi,” he responded reflexively.

“I’m Cat. We have the same chem.”

“I know.” He glanced behind him, towards the doors of the library. A frown came over his face. “I’m confused. Did you follow me here?”

“Kind of. Maybe. Well, yes. Nice catch, by the way,” she added.

He held up the eraser. “Did you—”

“I did, yeah.” Now what? “Listen. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispered impulsively, in a volume so low that she could barely hear herself.

Peter seemed to have heard her as clearly as if she’d just shouted it across the room. He jerked away from her like she told him that she had a contagious disease. His mouth opened, then snapped shut with a close. His head snapped from side to side, his eyes darting across the room again, making sure no one had heard.

He leaned in closer, and Cat could tell he was about to deny it. “That’s not—”

“And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind,” she said hastily, talking over him, “because I’m completely sure about it. And you know me, you said yourself you recognize me, because you saved my—”

He made a series of frantic waving motions with his hands, eyes bugged out of his head. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa! SHHHHH!”

In the stillness of the library, his wild movements and volume caused a series of heads to swivel towards them to see what all the fuss was about.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered, and they all collectively turned back.

“Very smooth,” Cat murmured.

He looked around nervously. “We should go somewhere else to talk.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“I like your backpack,” Peter said, once they were both settled into the furthest part of the alley. “It’s very—”

“Ugly and pink. And don’t try to change the subject! It won’t change the fact that I know you’re—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Peter raised his hands up hastily, then lowered his voice. “Could you maybe not say those words out loud?”

“Why? What’s gonna happen? Is a lightning bolt going to strike me out of the sky?” Cat looked up at the clear blue sky and held up her arms, fully expecting this exact scenario to happen.

“What? No! I just don’t want people to know who I am.”

“So you admit it? That you’re…” Cat leaned in closer to him, so that her mouth was inches away from his ear. “Spider-Boy ?”

He sighed in defeat. “Spider-Man.”

“Hardly,” she dismissed, pulling back. “You’re barely older than me.”

“Hey!” Peter protested. “I saved your life.”

Cat felt pleasantly surprised that he’d really remembered her. “You remember?”

“Of course. You were the girl being mugged in an alley by those jerks. You had a cute little beagle.”

“Her name’s Taco.”

“Looks like your eye healed up all right.” His eyes scrunched up. “Didn’t you say you were homeless? How are you in school? And why are you at my school? And why did you follow me?”

“It’s a long story. And it’s purely coincidence, I promise. I’m not, like, a crazy stalker or anything. I was just curious.”

“But you did stalk me to the library,” he pointed out.

“That’s besides the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“The point is, Spider-Boy—”

“Peter,” he interrupted. “Don’t call me that. Call me Peter.”

“Fine, Peter. The point is, I’m awesome and I figured out that you’re…” Cat leaned closer for a second time. Dramatically, she whispered, “ Spider-Man .”

He cocked his head at her. “Right, that. How did you figure it out?”

“Your voice. All high pitched and squeaky. Kind of hard to forget.”

“Hold on.” He put his hands up, stopping her. “You recognized who I was… by my voice?”

“Don’t be too flattered. I’ve remembered every voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Remember that thing I told you about the voice modulator? You should really get on to changing it, because someone super smart like me could figure you out just by hearing your real voice.”

“That’s crazy,” Peter repeated. “This whole thing is crazy. Your memory must be nuts. Is that why you go to Midtown? Are you a child prodigy?”

“I mean, I don’t want to sound too boastful, but… yeah, basically.”

“That’s… kind of awesome.” He shook his head. “But this is so weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of tense silence where they just looked at each other. Cat wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Was there anything going on? She’d nearly revealed Spider-Man’s real identity in a public library, dragged him to an uncomfortable hiding spot, and forced him to admit the truth to her. She felt a little bad about inconveniencing him. But now what? What had she been planning to do after capturing his attention?

“Sorry if this was creepy,” Cat blurted. “Is this creepy?”

“It’s a little creepy,” he confirmed. “But not bad-creepy.” He considered that for a moment. “Also not good-creepy. It’s more of an in-the-middle creepy.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. You know what— let’s just stop saying the word ‘creepy.’”

“Agreed.”

Something shifted about him. He was suddenly wary, nervous. He regarded her carefully. “Hey. You aren’t going to tell anyone about this, right? About me being… you know?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t get why you wanna keep it all a secret. If I were you, I’d swing around and shove it up everyone’s faces.” She widened her eyes at him earnestly. “But if you don’t want me to tell, I won’t tell.”

“You swear? It’s really important to me that you swear.”

Cat held out her pinky. “I not only swear— I pinky swear.”

He linked his pinky with it. “Just to be clear, this means you won’t tell anyone. Not your teacher, not even your closest friends.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Obviously, because that would fall under the definition of ‘anyone.’”

He went on. “Because this is super important—”

“Spider-Boy!” she yelled at him, a little offended. That effectively shut him up. “Are you doubting my promise-keeping abilities?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Well, don’t! I am an excellent promise-keeper.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Okay, I believe you! Just making sure.”

After a moment, Cat asked, “I can’t even tell Taco?”

He thought about it. “You can tell Taco.”

“Yay!” She checked her watch, and her mood did an instant one-eighty. “Oh, crap!”

“What?”

Cat grabbed her backpack from the ground. “Crap!”

“What is it?” Peter asked, now alarmed.

Crapcrapcrapcrap. She’d forgotten about her promise to Natasha to meet her at the apartment after school for her first fighting lesson.

“I have to be somewhere,” she yelled to Peter as she booked it out of that alley. “See you in chem!”

“Okay!” he yelled after her. “This was very weird!”

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Notes: Yay for more Peter and Cat! Let me know if there are other things you want to see! And please continue to like/reblog/comment if you’re enjoying the story so far! They motivate me so so much while I’m writing. Thank you!

[the-wize-1]

New chapter out today! Sorry about being absent… I’m traveling in a foreign country so i literally have such bad service. this chapter was written on trains, buses, hotel rooms etc but for everyone asking for cat/peter reunion it’ll happen this chapter! Out soon!

[the-wize-1]

I’m on vacation right now so updates may not be as consistent for the next few weeks. I’ll try to get one out sometime today and post when I can! Thanks for the patience and support!

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 7 - School

Chapter Summary: Natasha tricks Cat into going to school. Apparently she's some kind of genius.

Chapter Warnings: Talks about kidnapping.

Notes: Thanks for all the support on this story! Please continue to like/reblog/comment (I feel like a Youtuber). Also if there is anything you're interested in seeing in the story, let me know and I'll try to incorporate it!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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Once they arrived at Natasha's apartment, Cat had to try hard to pretend not to be too impressed.

It had to be three times as large as Trevor's place. It was impeccably furnished and decorated, with lush sofas and pristine countertops. To Cat's delight, there were two fancy espresso machines— if you felt like making two cups at the same time, she guessed. The apartment was located in the richer part of the neighborhood. There was a sprawl of shops and diners across the street. It was clear that being an Avenger paid well.

The house had that fresh, new-house smell. She noticed there were no framed pictures in the apartment, or anything that could have revealed who the owner was. There were three bedrooms. In contrast to the rest of the apartment, the bedrooms were furnished very little. One of them was completely empty. The other two only had beds and drawers. One of them had a desk. There was barely anything in the fridge. Natasha only had plastic cups and utensils.

"I only stay here when I'm in the neighborhood," Natasha explained. "It's more of a safehouse. That's why it's so empty."

Cat was okay with the space. She liked having room to move. It was vastly different from Trevor's apartment, which had been cluttered with so many beer bottles that she could hardly walk from one side of a room to the other without stumbling over something.

Natasha gave her a key to the apartment, and told her, "If you lose it, you aren't getting another one."

Cat was allowed to choose a room; she chose the one with the desk. It took her roughly five minutes to unpack. The only things she still carried with her were basic living necessities and her stuffed rabbit, Rufus. She had a diverse collection of clothes, taken from homeless shelters and traded on the street. They fit her oddly, either oversized or undersized, and most of them were ripped or had holes in them.

The ill-fitting clothes didn't escape Natasha's notice. The second day, Cat woke up to find the closet bursting with a plethora of clothes. Leggings, T-shirts, tops, jeans, jackets, coats. She had no idea how Natasha had gotten her size, but all of them fit her perfectly. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of gratitude. She didn't know if she could put it into words. But Natasha didn't bring it up, so neither did she.

As the days went by, Cat noticed new additions to the apartment. New pens and books appeared in her room. Chew toys and dog beds for Taco manifested in the living room. The fridge was always full. Sometimes Taco Bell would be waiting on the table when Cat got back. A couple of those cheesy mugs with funny one-liners sat next to the expensive wine bottles in the cupboards. And lastly, about five different brands of cereal in the pantry, including Fruit Loops. Yet, Natasha never said a word about it.

Despite what Natasha had said about only living there when she was in the neighborhood, she seemed to be at the apartment quite a lot. She was nearly always at the table in the morning, awake before the sun. She would be reading a book or scrolling through her phone, a pot of coffee steaming next to her. She always glared when Cat stole it to pour herself two mugfuls of coffee, muttering something about grubby coffee-addicted children.

Cat appreciated the tranquil peacefulness of the mornings. Back when she lived at Trevor's, mornings were the only time she had to herself. She'd never been great at the whole sleeping thing, either. It wasn't uncommon for her to be up at 3AM drinking coffee. When she'd been homeless, her sleep schedule had been all over the place.

However, Natasha's sleeping schedule seemed even more irregular. She often came back to the apartment at odd hours, or got up at midnight for a jog. Sometimes, they caught each other in the kitchen in the early hours and talked about nothing in particular. Natasha never asked her why she was up so late, or told her to go back to sleep. She did, however, make many comments that hinted at Cat's unhealthy sleeping habits, which Cat was content to ignore. Their conversations had a fair amount of rolling eyes and bickering.

Still, some days Cat walked into the kitchen in the morning and Natasha wasn't there. The woman never left a note or mentioned leaving. She'd come back after a few days. The most she'd been away was two weeks. Cat guessed that she was on some Avenger-related mission. She'd always come back looking a little tired, with bandages over fresh cuts and bruises.

Cat was good on her own. Cash was kept in a hidden drawer in the kitchen. Natasha had shown it to her the first week. She could get in and out of the apartment with her key. Over the next few weeks, she fell into a routine. She spent the days walking around the city, exploring new streets and shops. She took Taco to the park, went to the library to read, and was free to do whatever she pleased.

Overall, life was good. So good, that Cat had to routinely keep reminding herself to not get too comfortable. Still, it was hard when she had all the Fruit Loops and coffee she could ever want, a warm place to sleep, and the constant hunger in her stomach no longer intensified day by day.

But what if this whole plan didn't work out? Cat knew better than to think this was anything but a temporary arrangement. She had learned from making this mistake in various foster homes. One second, things were fine— then all of the sudden, BAM! She was back in the system because they decided she was too troublesome, too mouthy, too much to deal with. She got into too many fights, she was too hyper, she was mean to the other kids— Cat had heard it all. What if the same thing happened with Natasha? The questions lingered in her mind.

The first time Natasha had left for a mission, Cat had explored the entire apartment fully. She'd discovered not one but twenty-three different hiding places loaded with weapons, cash, fake passports, and random assortments. Cat didn't know why she was so surprised when she saw the guns. Of course the Black Widow would want to be protected in her own house. But the guns gave her an idea.

Just in case she had to live on the streets again, she needed something that would protect her. Cat took a gun from one of the hiding places and stashed it in her pillowcase. She'd read about that type of gun in the library and had studied the different diagrams. At night, she practiced taking it apart and putting it back together, then practiced turning the safety on and off. Sometimes she would aim it at nothing in particular, imagining those muggers who'd attacked her on the other end of it. She was reminded of how helpless she felt, how weak.

Briefly, that took her back to Trevor. She shut the memory down quick— she was getting better at that. Gripping the gun tightly, she decided that she never wanted to feel that helpless again.

But simply knowing how to hold the gun wasn't enough. One day, she confronted Natasha at breakfast.

"Teach me how to fight."

Natasha set down her fork. Her expression, as always, was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I want to know how."

"Why do you want to know how?"

Cat didn't want to tell her the real reason why. She was quiet for a long time. "I just do."

Natasha was silent for a long moment. She seemed to see right through her. Cat shifted nervously.

"Okay."

Cat beamed, nearly springing out of her chair in glee. "Really?"

"However, I have two conditions."

Cat sat back down and crossed her arms, not liking the sound of that. "What are they?"

"One, stop stealing my guns."

Cat's heart stuttered in her chest. How the hell did she notice it was gone? There must've been at least thirty guns hidden around the apartment.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not as sneaky as you think you are. The walls are paper-thin. And I'm familiar with what assembling and disassembling a semi-automatic pistol sounds like."

"Okay, fine. Stealing guns— not an option. What about the knives?"

Natasha glared.

"Okay, fine. No knives either." Cat leaned back in the chair. "So what's the second condition?"

A gleam in Natasha's eye made Cat feel wary. "The second condition: If I teach you how to fight, you have to go to school."

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And that was how Cat found herself waiting in front of the principal's office at a brand-new school, smack in the middle of the school year, waiting to be admitted into her first class.

Fun.

Natasha only agreed to teaching Cat how to fight after she completed her first day of school. It would be worth it, Cat reminded herself, when she was being taught how to punch a mugger in the face by the Black Widow herself.

When Cat saw the new backpack Natasha had chosen for her, she'd gotten second thoughts. Currenting lying next to her feet, it was no less hideous than her old one. This one was My Little Pony merchandise, a mortifying pink covered in sparkly bright pony decorations. Cat had an inkling that Natasha had done it on purpose— oh, who was she kidding? She'd definitely done it on purpose.

The room was painted a mild and disgusting shade of yellow. The walls were covered in posters with words. Cat amused herself by reading through them. NO BULLYING. Think big! Your only limit is your mind. One was covered with words like responsibility and respectful and happiness. Barf.

The secretaries' desk sat in front of the principal's office. There were two of them. One looked like she should've retired two decades ago. She moved with an agitating slowness only rivaled by the laziest sloth in the rainforest. She was squinting at her computer, frowning and muttering to herself. Cat was almost certain she was playing solitaire. The other secretary was gossiping on the phone to someone about Terry's latest squash patch and how they all looked like a bunch of deformed potatoes.

Taco hadn't been allowed on campus. She was so used to having her beagle around that without her, Cat felt like some part of her was missing. That, coupled with having to sit still at the chair made her antsy. Cat had never been a patient person. She checked the time on the clock for the second time that same minute. How was it possible that she'd only been waiting seven and a half minutes?

Cat was saved from her boredom by the door beside her chair swinging open. A dark haired boy sauntered in. Cat caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied expression on his face as he made his way to the secretaries' desk and slammed a pink slip of paper down on it with an unnecessary amount of force.

"Jesus!" the gossiping secretary cried.

The secretary playing solitaire showed no sign of acknowledging that anything had happened. She frowned and muttered to herself some more, clicking her mouse.

"Hi, Julie," the boy said.

"Please stop calling me Julie, Lance. I'm Mrs. Schroder."

"But it's your name. Can't I call you by your name?"

"Well it's unprofessional—"

"But I'm not a professional. I'm only a kid."

"That's not the point, Lance. Let me see that." She took the pink paper slip from him. "What've you done this time?" She read it and shook her head. "Take a seat next to Catalina, Lance."

Lance turned around and plopped down next to Cat. He looked at her. His eyes were weirdly bright and blue, a steep contrast to his dark hair.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Cat whispered back, unsure of why they were whispering.

"I haven't seen you before. You must be new."

Cat raised her eyebrows. "Just because you haven't seen me before doesn't mean I'm new. There are loads of people at this school."

"I know everyone here. I've been going here since kindergarten."

"Good for you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "But you are new, right?"

"Yes," Cat admitted.

"I knew it!"

"There's no need to sound so pleased with yourself. It's not like you made a groundbreaking discovery."

"I'm Lance, by the way. I'm in fourth grade." He reached his right hand over. Cat shifted in her seat, awkwardly positioning herself so she could shake his hand. "You're Catalina, right?"

"Just Cat for short. I'm also in fourth grade. Your hand's really cold."

He released her hand, looking a little embarrassed. "They're always that way. I have bad cir-cu-la-tion" he said, sounding the word out slowly. "But my mom always says I should shake people's hands when I meet them. She's weird."

My mom's dead, Cat nearly said, but deemed it a little too heavy for fourth grader conversational topics.

"So why do you listen to her?" she asked instead.

"I don't know. 'Cause she's my mom, I guess." His eyes moved down to the My Little Pony monstrosity. "Nice backpack."

"Not really. I know it's ugly. I didn't choose it."

"Did your mom choose it for you?"

"No," she said shortly. Before he could ask about it, Cat switched tracks quickly. "How'd you get in trouble?"

He grinned mischievously. "I dumped a bucket of paint over Chelsea's head. It got all over her hair. You should've seen her face." He crowed delightfully. "Mrs. Reynolds totally freaked out. It was hilarious."

She huffed, turning away from him. "Jerk."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm not a jerk!"

"Says the guy who poured a bucket of paint over some girl's head for no reason."

"First of all, it was Chelsea Manchester. If you knew that witch, you'd want to pour a bucket of paint over her head too. And it wasn't for no reason!"

"I bet it was for a stupid reason, then."

"It wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

Their argument had risen in volume so that the secretary on the phone snapped, "HEY! You two! Quiet!"

Cat crossed her arms, throwing a skeptical look at him. "What was the reason, then?" she asked, quieter.

"She bet me I wouldn't," Lance said proudly.

Cat rolled her eyes. "See? Stupid reason."

Before Lance could retaliate, the principal's door swung open. He was an unsightly, pudgy man with no neck and squinty eyes, decked out in a full suit that probably didn't fit him as well as he hoped it would.

"Catalina?" he called.

"She likes being called Cat," Lance interjected. "I know that because I talked to her, Mr. Tater Tot."

"Wow," Cat said. "Is your name actually Mr. Tater Tot?"

"No," Mr. Tater Tot said crossly. "It's Mr. Tate. Lance, if you could refrain from passing your bad influence on our new students, I will be with you in a second. Catalina, come on in."

"It's Cat!" Lance called from his seat as Cat followed Mr. Tater Tot inside his office.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

This is a way better punishment than skipping recess," Lance said later, as he was pointing out the bathrooms to her.

Mr. Tater Tot had told Lance that being the welcome wagon for Cat was his punishment for pouring paint over Chelsea Manchester. He also had to write the girl a formal apology letter.

"But it doesn't actually have to be an apology letter," Lance told Cat. "Mr. Tater Tot never actually reads the thing, 'cause he's so busy and all. Supposedly. So basically you can write stuff like I hope you find a dead rat in your cubby the next time we have recess and you're good to go."

"Oh, here's Mrs. Reynold's class," he said, leading her through a door.

The classroom was colorful and full of the same gag-worthy posters she'd seen in the principal's office. Desks were pushed together to create table groups. Mrs. Reynolds was a young twenty-something woman who didn't seem awful at doing her job. Only, she made Cat introduce herself in front of the entire class like they were in kindergarten.

"Say your name and your favorite color," Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her.

Cat told everyone her favorite color was gray. It wasn't, but she thought it was funny because who the hell liked gray, of all colors?

Mrs. Reynolds placed her in the same group as Lance, a boy wearing rectangular glasses, and a seething girl who looked like she'd taken a shower with all her clothes on. Her hair was dripping over the carpet and her skin was tinged blue. She had a delicate face and would've been pretty if she hadn't looked like a Smurf. Cat presumed this was Chelsea Manchester.

The boy wearing glasses looked relieved when Lance and Cat came over. "Oh good, you're back. She's been going on and on."

"You! Look what you did to me!" Chelsea shrieked at Lance. "Mrs. Reynolds! I don't want to sit near him!"

"Get along, you two," Mrs. Reynolds said airily, passing worksheets to everyone.

"That's T.J.," Lance introduced, pointing at the boy with the glasses, "and that's the wicked witch herself."

T.J. waved. "Hi."

"Do not listen to anything he tells you. Lance is a huge loser." Chelsea turned to Lance, shoving the blue sleeve of her white fluffy coat. "This was a beautiful titanium white before! Look what color it is now!"

"Now it's a nice titanium blue," Cat offered.

Chelsea frowned at her. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Mrs. Reynolds hurried over. "Catalina—"

"It's Cat," Lance corrected.

"Right— Cat, would you come over here?" Mrs. Reynolds beckoned her towards a sole desk isolated from the rest of the class, in the farthest corner. There was a small packet sitting on it, as well as a pencil and eraser. "This is just a standard test. You'll be quizzed on math or English. Don't worry if you haven't prepared for it. It's not graded, it's just for me to see where you're at academically. Try to get through as many problems as you can. I'm not expecting you to complete the whole thing, just try your best…"

Cat didn't think she'd have any problem with the test. She had studied to a high school level in the library. Math came easy to her. All it was was memorizing a bunch of rules and applying it to numbers. English was a little harder, but it was similar to math in the sense that it also had a set of rules to memorize.

After Mrs. Reynolds left her to teach the class, Cat quickly scanned the problems on the first page. Sure enough, all the problems on the first page were easy enough that she could do in her head. She flew through them, circling the correct answers. The second page was much of the same.

Cat flipped through the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth pages with little to no difficulty. Surely it couldn't be this easy! She had spent so much time at the library, away from school, she'd forgotten how easy all the elementary school material was. By the time she reached the last page, Mrs. Reynolds still hadn't come to get her.

Cat sneaked a look up. The class was bent over their desks, scribbling on paper. The only sound was the occasional mutter from a student, immediately silenced by Mrs. Reynolds. Was Cat supposed to just… sit there? She flipped through the pages of the test packet again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important that should have been consuming her time.

But she'd finished every single problem. She didn't bother checking her work; she knew she'd done it all correctly. When it came to math, she was like a calculator.

Unsure of what else to do, Cat settled for doodling on the margins of the test. She drew a spider, a pumpkin, a pumpkin eating a spider… She was so focused, she jumped when she heard Mrs. Reynold's voice next to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so silly— I just realized I gave you the wrong test. That's the middle school curriculum. You must've been so confused!" Mrs. Reynolds took the packet from Cat and frowned. Eyebrows climbing up on her forehead, she flipped through the pages and looked back up at Cat again. Then back down at the test. Then—

"Have you finished the packet already?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't show your work," she observed.

"I did it in my head," Cat explained.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Cat thoughtfully. "Hmm."

She hurried away with Cat's test, telling the class she was leaving for a little bit and to behave. Cat sat there for a long time, not knowing what to do and feeling like she did something wrong. The class was beginning to finish whatever it was they were working on. Quiet chatter turned into a clamor of voices.

Mrs. Reynolds burst into the classroom again, the chatter immediately calmed. She told T.J. to pass out another round of worksheets, causing the class to collectively groan. She returned to Cat's isolated corner desk and slid another packet to her and asked her to complete it.

This time, Mrs. Reynolds dragged a chair over and watched as Cat completed the test. Cat found it a little creepy. The test was a little harder than the previous one, but she was still able to finish it without any trouble. After she finished, Mrs. Reynolds left the classroom again and came back. Cat had no idea why Mrs. Reynolds looked so amazed and confused. Teachers were weird.

"Cat, this is incredible," Mrs. Reynolds whispered to her. "You completed a seventh grade level and an eighth grade level standardized test, and you passed both with flying colors."

Oh. No wonder it was so easy. Cat stared blankly at Mrs. Reynolds, who seemed to be waiting for a reaction. What was the big deal? "Um… cool," she said.

"Okay," Mrs. Reynolds said, still looking like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "You can go back to your table group now."

"Don't worry about the test," T.J. told her when she came back. "Everyone did horrible on it."

"Not me," Chelsea sniffed. "I did spectacularly. Mrs. Reynolds told my parents herself."

Lance snorted. "I suppose your parents were the ones who told you that?"

"Why does it matter?" Chelsea asked indignantly.

Lance rolled his eyes.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"How was school?" Natasha called as Cat unlocked the apartment and stormed in. Taco sprung up from the couch and charged into her.

"Horrible. Not you, Taco," Cat mumbled into Taco's fur. "You're wonderful."

Natasha came into the living room, holding the landline. "That's not what your teacher said. She called— apparently you're some kind of genius."

Cat had reached into a box of Fruit Loops and stuffed a handful in her mouth. It took her a long time to chew and swallow. "Well, obviously. I didn't need her to tell me that."

"She says you could take some classes at the high school if you're interested." Natasha waited for an answer. When none came, she pressed, "Well? Are you interested?"

Cat set the box of Fruit Loops down, not liking the steely glint in Natasha's eyes. "If I say I'm not, are you going to refuse to teach me how to fight?"

"The chances of me using that as leverage against you… are very high."

Cat clenched her jaw. "You're evil. And manipulative."

Natasha smirked. "So you're on board?"

"I'm going to be bullied. Relentlessly."

"You are not. High schoolers love ten year old know-it-all geniuses."

"They do not."

"Then it's a good thing you're going to know how to beat some high schoolers up after you learn from the best. Isn't that what you want?"

Cat sighed theatrically, long and drawn-out. "Fiiiiine.”

"Great!" Natasha chirped with uncharacteristic cheer. "I was going to sign you up regardless of your answer."

"Thanks so much for bothering to ask me at all," Cat said sarcastically. She grabbed Taco's leash. "Taco and I are going on a walk. See you never."

"Midtown High!" Natasha called after her retreating form. "You're going to be learning amongst the best and brightest!"

Cat shouted back a not very nice thing. She could hear Natasha's low laugh echo before the door swung shut.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Hmm, who goes to midtown high that we know? Let me know what you think and if you like Cat's friends! See you on thursday!

[the-wize-1]

New thawing the widow chapter out tonight at 5pm PST! Thanks for all the support!

[the-wize-1]

Hey i say this as a fan of your writing but you should either put like those hide resr of post things for your stories so when you incorrectly tag them for other characters people can scroll past them easier

absolutely thanks for letting me know! I normally use my phone for the app and unfortunately I don’t think that’s a feature but I’ll log into my computer and do it rn!

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 6 - Frozen Peas

Chapter Summary: Cat's plan kind of fails (is anyone surprised?)... but it also works out? Things happen and she’s reunited with a certain redheaded assassin.

Chapter Warnings: Talking about a mugging, playful threatening with a knife. This is and will be minor friendly! No smut in this story.

Notes: Nat returns this chapter! But this isn’t the last we see of Peter! Thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented/read so far! Getting notifications really encourages me and I enjoy each and everyone one of them. New chapters will come Monday/Thursday 5PM PST (I’m on time FINALLY). Also idk if I should make a tag list but if so lmk who’s interested! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"That was awesome!" Cat breathed as Spider-Man dropped her and Taco back on the ground. Her heart was still beating fast from the exhilaration. Swinging around New York was similar to riding a roller coaster, albeit a faster, steeper, more dangerous one with significantly less elbow room.

Spider-Man looked around the abandoned streets warily. "Um… are you sure this is where you wanted me to drop you off?"

Cat made sure she had the right dark alley. Granted, all the dark alleys looked generally the same in New York, but she had a great mind for directions. And she was pretty sure she was at the right place. If she squinted, she could spot a few familiar landmarks. And… there! If she could get a little closer, she could just make out the sliver of the door on the side of the wall.

The door of the safehouse.

"This is the one," she confirmed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't think I have any cash on me— wait—" He awkwardly patted himself down for cash, even though Cat couldn't see how any pockets could possibly be hidden in the folds of his spandex. "Yeah, no cash. Sorry."

Cat suddenly had an idea. "Can I have your autograph?"

"What?"

"You know, to sell it," she said unremorsefully. "It might help me make some money. Sorry if that's offensive. I need everything I can get right now."

"Oh, that's really smart. I didn't even think of that. I don't have any paper, do you?"

Cat rummaged around in her backpack. She had a few souvenirs, a mug that was only a little cracked, some pieces of cardboard, and an I-Heart-New-York sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her. Lastly, she pulled out an extra thick sharpie. She'd gotten most of the items in the soup kitchen cupboards, or at homeless shelters.

Spider-Man quickly scribbled his signature on all of them, leaving little sweet but unnecessary notes. "Here you go."

"I'm really grateful for this," she told him.

Before handing the sharpie back, he paused. He stared at her for a long time. "Are you going to be okay?"

She glared at him. "Of course I am!" she said indignantly. "I'm tough, you know."

"I know. You're pretty neat, Cat."

"You're not so bad yourself, Spider-Man."

He awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder, then removed it almost instantly. "Well, just know that if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be around. Just… scream for help, or something." He patted Taco on the head. "Bye, cute beagle." He shot a web up into a ledge of a building. He made a peace sign at her as he yanked himself into the air. "See ya, Cat!"

"Bye!" Cat called after him as he swung out of view.

I'll be okay, she thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She was so not going to be okay.

"Damn," she swore under her breath, jamming her knife in the lock for the eighth time in the dim hopes that it would work that time.

Cat dug it in harder, twisting and turning every which way. She was waiting for the telltale clicks and shifts, but they didn't come. Instead, the knife was met with a stubborn wall that blocked it from moving in further. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, with a sinking heart. They'd changed the locks.

"Damn it!"

Taco barked. Cat liked to imagine she was sharing her frustration.

Frustrated and disappointed, Cat gave up. Plan A was a no-go. She'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Which actually really sucked, because it was freezing. The wind was blowing with a frigid ferocity that night. She tried to yank the knife out of the lock, but it was stuck.

She swore again, tugging at the knife, but it stayed stubbornly stuck. Her grip slipped and she fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard. Oww. She groaned. Taco jumped up and padded over to her, licking her face.

Despite Taco being adorable as always, Cat was miserable. Her hands and face were numb with cold. She could hardly feel her fingertips. She was shivering in her feeble, tightly stretched coat and thin leggings that offered no protection from the cold. She'd been looking forward to the warm, welcoming safehouse, but now even that wasn't an option. The good thing was, the cold did a good job of numbing the pain on her face and ribs. She had long gotten used to the throb of pain.

Cat got to her feet, shaking with exhaustion. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Whether she was getting into the safehouse or not, she sure as hell was getting her knife back.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some warmth into them. She wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife, and raised her left foot to a position over the lock. Taco watched her with a perplexed expression, as if asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Pushing off of her left foot, leaning sideways, she tugged at the knife as hard as she could.

The knife came loose. Cat couldn't regain her balance quickly enough, so she went flying backwards, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crash. She collapsed to the floor with a heap. For a moment, Cat laid there, breathing hard, and felt impossibly tired. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep right there…

Then, she heard something moving behind the door. With a grunt of pain, Cat forced herself to her feet. She held her knife to her side, the slightest sliver of hope in her heart.

The door groaned open.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," Natasha said.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Natasha didn't say a word as she led Cat into the living room, and gestured to the table. Cat took a seat and watched as Natasha took out a bag of dog food from one of the cabinets and poured it into a bowl for Taco. Taco leapt on it eagerly.

"Do you have a dog?" Cat asked out of curiosity.

"No."

"Why do you have dog food?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Cat took that as a good enough answer. Natasha wordlessly passed her a box of Chinese takeout. The smell of it had been filling up the kitchen. Cat dug in the moment she had it in her hands, feeling impossibly luckier and happier than she had in weeks. She ate like she was starving— probably because she was.

Natasha was silent, watching her as she devoured the takeout. Once Cat had eaten almost half of it, she gently tugged it out of Cat's hands.

"Sorry," Cat said immediately, scooting back in her chair. "I didn't mean to eat so much, I just—"

"Relax," Natasha said. "I'll give it back. You don't want to eat too fast or too much, or you'll throw up."

"Right." Cat took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Here."

Natasha passed her a mug of steaming brown liquid. For a moment, Cat got excited, thinking it was coffee. When she took a sip and the taste of hot chocolate slammed into her, she wasn't too disappointed. It was surprisingly good. She was mostly glad Natasha had decided to let her in at all.

Cat wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to let the warmth of the room envelope her in its embrace. She relished in the moment, having a warm place to stay, food, and water. She shivered, remembering that it was only temporary and soon she'd have to be back out in the streets.

Cat couldn't take the silence. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Sometimes," she answered vaguely.

"How did you know I was outside?"

"Like I said, you were making a lot of noise. I didn't think that was possible, considering those walls are about two feet thick."

"You changed your locks," Cat said resentfully.

"It's called a safehouse for a reason," Natasha pointed out. "What would be the point if persistent little orphans like you could break in?"

"I didn't think anyone would be inside."

"And that makes it okay?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"Um… no," Cat said, trying to sound remorseful. "Sorry."

Another bout of silence passed. Cat was trying to think of a way to ask for the takeout back. Her hunger was still rearing its little ugly head inside of her. But Natasha was holding the box just out of arm's reach.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"I said, what happened to your face?" Natasha asked again, this time with an edge to her voice. Her eyes had narrowed.

"And I said," Cat fired back, "nothing."

"I gave you food," Natasha pointed out. Cat eyed the takeout box. "I could've left you out there in the cold. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

Cat bit her lip. That was true. What would be the harm in telling her? Her stomach whined, yearning for the takeout. Still, some part of her didn't want Natasha to know. She stayed silent.

Natasha sensed the shift in her silence. She pushed the takeout box toward Cat, just a little. Cat reached for it, but then Natasha pulled it away. Cat looked up at Natasha with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. No food?

"Answer the question, and you can have it."

Cat scoffed. "That's not going to work on me."

"We'll see," Natasha said with an infuriating amount of certainty.

Cat worked her jaw. She crossed her arms and leaned back, defiant. Natasha stared back with an equal amount of fierceness. Cat's stomach growled painfully. It was loud enough so that even Natasha heard. She raised her eyebrows. Then, the smell of the takeout got to Cat.

"I tripped."

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Fine. I got mugged." Cat lunged for the takeout box.

Natasha held it just out of reach, again. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who mugged you?"

"How do you expect me to know? They weren't keen on doing icebreakers, and there wasn't enough time for me to run a facial recognition program."

"What did they want?"

Cat crossed her arms. "I thought you said I only had to answer one question. This seems like a lot more than one."

Natasha passed the takeout box to her. Cat started eating with a fervor. She was starting to feel a little full, but too full was better than too empty. She'd learned on the streets that she never knew when her next meal was going to be. If overeating to the point of throwing up meant she could spend another night without starving, that was what she was going to do.

Natasha got up and left, then came back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. She watched Cat wolf down the food with a horrified fascination.

"Slow down. You're scaring me."

Cat made a show of chewing for a long time before swallowing. The food in the takeout box was almost gone. She polished off the last bit, feeling satisfied for the first time in weeks. She started on the hot chocolate next, tipping the mug over until the last drop fell into her mouth.

Finally, she settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Natasha passed her the bag of frozen peas.

Cat stared at the bag of frozen peas. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Put it on your face, idiot."

Cat pressed it to the bruise on her face. She winced. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby. So, what did the muggers want?" Natasha repeated.

Cat sighed, long and drawn-out. Natasha had been awfully nice to her. She was lucky to be in a warm room with hot chocolate and takeout instead of shivering out in the cold. The least she could do was provide her with a little information.

"Money. They saw me give, like, twenty dollars to this Girl Scout, but it was pretty much the last of it. I kept telling them I didn't have any more, but you'd be surprised at how dumb they are."

"I'm not. How did you get away?"

Cat grinned. "Oh, funny story, actually. You know that guy, Spider-Man?"

"Sure. We've met a few times."

Cat gaped at her for a moment, having forgotten that Natasha was the Black Widow. She probably had met Spider-Man before. "You have?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's a good fighter. He's a bit of a talker, but a decent guy. We didn't really do the whole 'getting to know you' thing. We were mostly focused on trying to beat the crap out of Steve and his groupies."

Steve… Cat thought. Who was Captain America. Natasha was on a first name basis with Captain America— obviously— which was so cool.

"Yeah, anyway, Spider-Man swooped in and beat up all the muggers and stuck them on the wall. Then he swung me here. I asked him to autograph all my stuff so I could sell it."

"Hmm." Natasha moved the bag of peas from Cat's eye to see the bruise. "How hurt are you?"

Cat's ribs were aching, but she knew they weren't broken. Maybe bruised. It was mostly her face that was hurting, but the frozen peas had done a good job of numbing the area. "I'm fine. My ribs hurt a little, but—"

Without warning, Natasha reached out and prodded her side. Cat yelped, more shock than hurt, and thrust her hands up in front of her to defend herself.

"Jesus! Could you warn me before you do that?"

"Where does it hurt?" Natasha asked unapologetically.

"Just… like, around here."

Cat stayed stiff as Natasha pressed lightly against her ribs, examining them. "They're just bruised," she told her.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You know, I could've told you that if you'd just asked instead of prodding me like some kind of lab rat."

Natasha straightened, looking her in the eye. She had an unnerving habit of doing that. Her piercing eyes were impossible to avoid. "So, tell me. What's your plan?"

"My plan?" Cat echoed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Your plan for living on the streets, finding a job, feeding yourself, making sure you don't die. Unless you don't have one?"

"Of course I have a plan," Cat said, not wanting to admit that she did not, in fact, have any sort of plan. "I'm going to go to homeless shelters and the soup kitchens to get food. And I'm going to get a lot of canned food from pretending to be a Girl Scout. And I'll learn everything I need to know in the library— Don't make that face!"

Natasha's smirk reverted into a suspiciously convincing blank expression. "What face?"

"Like you think I'm some silly little kid who has no idea what she's doing. I'm really good at memorizing things. I could learn everything I need to learn in the library— You're making the face again!"

The second time, Natasha didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Yeah, because it's a crappy plan."

"It's not a crappy plan."

"Really? Then why'd you end up here, of all places?"

"Because I—"

"—had nowhere else to go?" Natasha finished.

She took Cat's sulky silence as an affirmation and plowed on.

"You don't have a consistent source of income. How do you expect to pay for things like new clothes, necessities, or literally anything you need to survive? You're also an easy target because you're young and you barely know how to defend yourself. You got mugged, which I promise will not be the worst situation you'll find yourself in, and you only just scraped by."

"I can defend myself," Cat protested. She thought she did a rather good job of fending herself off against the muggers, considering the circumstances. "I have a knife!" She grabbed it from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Natasha.

What happened next Cat almost couldn't explain in words. It happened so quickly. In one swift motion, Natasha lunged over the table and did something weird and uncomfortable with her arm, twisting and maneuvering it forcefully so that Cat's shoulder slammed down on the table. Cat glanced up, straining her neck, to see that the knife had made its way into Natasha's grip. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Cat could've blinked and missed it.

"What… the hell," she breathed. Also, ow. Her shoulder.

Natasha released her. Cat grabbed her shoulder, wincing. "Just because you have a knife doesn't mean you can defend yourself." She examined the knife distastefully. "This a kitchen knife."

"That wasn't fair," Cat grumbled. "You're the Black Widow. I stood no chance."

"So? You think a bunch of muggers are gonna go easy on you just because you're a little homeless girl? Haven't you've already learned that?"

Cat crossed her arms. "Okay, I get it. My plan is a crappy plan. It's not like you have a better one."

"Of course I do. I'll take you there myself."

All at once, alarm raced through her. Cat's feet slammed onto the ground. She pushed the chair away from the table with a loud screech and stood up. "You're not taking me to CPS."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm not. Sit down."

Cat lowered herself back in the chair cautiously. "Then where are you going to take me?"

"I own an apartment not far away from here. I barely use it, so you could crash there for the time being."

For several moments, Cat couldn't speak. "W-what?"

"What is it with you and making me repeat myself twice?" Natasha groused. "Did you not hear the first time?"

"I heard," Cat snapped, recovering quickly. "Does it have heating?"

"Yes."

"And a plumbing system?"

"Yes."

"And coffee?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course."

"And Fruit Loops?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I could get some Fruit Loops," Natasha offered.

"Thank you," Cat mumbled, staring into the distance. This was impossible, right? There was no way something this good could happen to her. Her attention snapped back to Natasha, who was still staring at her.

"Why are you helping me?" Cat demanded. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Are you always this paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Fair enough," Natasha admitted. "But you just have to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," Cat said.

Something changed in Natasha's expression. Her eyes were faraway, looking into the distance. "You remind me of myself," she said. "I didn't want to rely on anyone either. But sometimes it's better to have people around you, people who are going to catch you when you fall."

Cat thought it was a bunch of bull. The more people she trusted, the more likely they could hurt or betray her.

"Anyway," Natasha continued briskly, abandoning her dreamy-eyed gaze, "you don't have any other choice. You can choose to go back in the streets and inevitably end up starving, poor, and out of options. Or, you could come with me."

"You promise you won't call CPS?"

"Sure."

That wasn't convincing enough for Cat. "I don't believe you."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to swear on a blood oath or something?"

That gave Cat an idea. She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

Natasha looked down at it. "This is hardly a legally binding contract."

"Pinky promise," Cat insisted. "The most unbreakable of promises."

Natasha linked her pinky with Cat's.

Cat nodded importantly. "The deed is done."

Natasha shook her head, bemused. "You're ridiculous."

Cat got to her feet. "So when are we leaving?"

"Slow down there, Turbo." Natasha got up as well and led her to the couch. Taco had noticed and followed them. "You look like you're about to kneel over. When was the last time you slept?"

When was the last time she'd slept? She honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Sleep first. Then we'll go."

"Okay," Cat agreed, too tired to argue. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and everything hurt. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. She laid down on the couch, resting her head on the arm rest. Taco jumped up and laid on her chest. It was a lot more comfortable than the chair she'd been tied to the first time she'd been here.

"Hey," she said with her eyes closed.

Natasha's voice came from a little to her left. "What?"

"Can you teach me how you did that knife thing?"

Cat didn't hear Natasha's response, because she was already drifting off to sleep.

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Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also my asks are open so feel free to drop anything there too!

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 5 - Spidey Saves the Day

Chapter Summary: Being homeless is like... kind of hard. Cat hustles a girl scout and nearly gets mugged. Luckily, there's a red and blue superhero with a high-pitched voice ready to save her.

Chapter Warnings: Mugging, Fighting

Notes: Hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, please reblog and like and share this story if you’re liking it! Also I think I’m going to start adding gifs to hopefully attract more readers. :)) Please don’t repost it anywhere else impersonating me.

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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January - One(ish) month later - Soup kitchen

“What up, Maxine?”

“Hey, Beck,” Cat said.

“Back again?”

“Can’t seem to stay away.”

Beck slid Cat a piping hot bowl of pasta. He winked at her. “Well, for such a flattering compliment, this one’s on the house.”

“How generous,” she commented dryly.

He slapped a buttered slice of bead onto her tray. “My pleasure, little lady.”

Beck was a volunteer at the soup kitchen. He couldn’t have charged Cat for the pasta if he wanted to. Cat had been coming every now and then for about a month, and it was easily the best decision she ever made. Not only did the food taste great— or maybe she was just so hungry she no longer cared— but no one asked any questions, barely anyone decided to strike up a conversation with her, and Taco was allowed to sit on one of the chairs if he was quiet and not disruptive.

Beck had told her he was nineteen, had three sisters and a brother, had been volunteering at the soup kitchen since he was thirteen, and also worked at a local deli. He was in med school, and was going to be a neurosurgeon. He’d asked her questions too, but Cat always had to sidestep them or lie. She liked Beck, but the further away she held him at length, the better it was for the both of them. To him, her name was Maxine Wheeler, her parents died when she was young, and her dog was called Sandwich.

She didn’t know why she felt the need to lie about Taco’s name, but the less he knew, the better.

Cat tugged on Taco’s leash, leading him towards one of the tables in the corner. She’d gotten him a red one, so she could tie him to a lamppost whenever he wasn’t allowed in supermarkets or libraries. She wasn’t concerned that he would run away, but rather that if someone saw a dog without a leash, they might take him away. But if they saw a dog tied to a lamppost, they might think, Hmm, looks like someone tied this dog to a lamp post. That must mean someone owns this dog.

At the beverages station, Cat made herself a cup of coffee. It was easily the most repulsive watery coffee she had ever tasted, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. This turn of phrase applied to her quite literally now. At the end of the day, she’d rather have a cup of disgusting watery coffee than nothing.

She unceremoniously dumped five packets of sugar into her coffee and stirred in a large amount of milk, diluting the bitterness tenfold. She drained half of the cup in a single gulp, the hot liquid scorching her throat.

Cat took a seat at a table and fed Taco the piece of bread on her tray. He gnawed on it aggressively. She felt bad she didn’t have any meat to give him, but then she saw Beck walking over. He had a small plate with a chicken leg and sausages in hand.

“Beck, you’re amazing. I could marry you right now.”

Beck grinned at Taco, who had leapt on the chicken leg almost immediately after seeing it. “I think I might be too old for you.”

“Seriously,” Cat said. “We both appreciate it.”

“Aw, it was no trouble. Just leftovers from breakfast. We would’ve had to throw it away anyhow.”

Cat didn’t know Beck to be the type to waste food, but she was still grateful to him. She gave him a rare, genuine smile as he waved goodbye, heading back to the serving table.

After he was out of sight, Cat turned back to her meal and began to think. She’d had lots of time to do that these past few days, with no one but Beck and Taco to talk to. She saw other kids at the park, of course, but they never came to talk to her. She noticed the looks the mothers gave her, and how they whispered and pointed. She couldn’t blame them— she knew how she must’ve looked to them. Unkempt and shifty, with her backpack holding all of her belongings.

Cash was a problem.

Cat was down to just a handful of twenties, which wouldn’t last her long at all. It was frightening how fast it had all vanished. Money spent on food, warmer clothes, a bigger backpack, supplies at the cheapest convenience store. Money that dwindled away, day after day. Maybe Trevor hadn’t really had that much money in his drawer to begin with, and maybe Cat had just thought that was the case because she was so unused to seeing it.

“Mo’ money mo’ problems” did not apply here.

Less money meant more problems. Significantly more problems.

No more washing her clothes at the laundromats. No more food or supplies. She’d been surviving off the soup kitchen’s meals, but she was careful to travel to several different kitchens in the city so that no one would notice her consistency and call CPS.

The cold was definitely a problem. New York winters were rough, and Cat only had the shabby gray coat she’d gotten from a homeless shelter and a couple of blankets in her bag to brave the cold. She was no longer going to homeless shelters to sleep. She didn’t feel comfortable being so vulnerable amongst a bunch of untrustworthy strangers she barely knew. Who knew if she was going to wake up with half of her possessions stolen?

For that entire week, she’d found less windy spots to bundle herself with coats and blankets, Taco wrapped in them, and eventually drift off to sleep. Sometimes, she hid behind the bookshelves in the library after closing hours, where it was warm and cozy, and fell asleep. But she wasn’t doing that anymore, because one of the librarians had caught her in the morning and chased her off. They were being more careful now.

For the first time, Cat was scared.

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January - Apartment Lobby

Cat was scared, which meant she was desperate. And a desperate Cat was a Cat with great ideas.

Wonderful, amazing, life-saving, great ideas.

For instance: pretending to be a Girl Scout in order to get free unused cans from people’s apartments.

What a great idea, right?

She couldn’t keep going to the soup kitchens every day. It was tiring to travel to another one every day, and if she went too often they might call CPS on her. She’d gotten the Girl Scout idea from seeing one of them walk into an apartment, bags in hand. There was only one problem: Cat didn’t look like a Girl Scout. At all.

Luckily, that sort of problem could be easily fixed. She’d cleaned herself off using sanitary wipes and a shower she’d found in an old gym, switched her dirty clothes out for clean ones, and arranged her hair so that it no longer resembled a rat’s nest.

Now, there was only one thing she needed.

“I’ll give you ten dollars for it.”

The Girl Scout wrinkled her nose at her. “Ew, no! Why would I give you my sash, anyway?”

They were both standing in the lobby of the apartment, close enough to the entrance so that they were out of earshot of the disapproving receptionist. Cat had managed to flag the girl down as she was on her way inside, holding two empty black bags meant to be filled with cans. The apartment had a no pets policy, so she’d had to tie Taco to a pole outside.

The Girl Scout was maybe a little older than Cat, and looked every part like a Little Miss Perfect. She had long, curled dark hair in a ponytail and tiny manicured nails. She was decked out in a crisp Girl Scout uniform, looking like a miniature summer camp cabin leader. Her eyebrows were scrunched up in a permanent tiny frown.

“How about twenty?”

“Are you kidding me? Mom will kill me if I tell her I traded twenty dollars for my sash.”

“You could always tell her you lost it,” Cat suggested, but the girl reacted as if she’d suggested flinging herself into the middle of a roaring fireplace.

“Lost it!?” Miss Perfect all but shrieked. “What makes you think I am the sort of person who just loses my sash? All of my badges are on this thing. Do you see these?” She violently stabbed a finger towards a badge on her sash. “They were earned by sweat, blood, and tears.”

Cat squinted at the shiny little sewn-on patches on her sash. “Yeah, ‘Finding a Daisy In the Woods’ sounds like it took some serious training.”

“Whatever,” Miss Perfect sniffed. “I don’t expect you to understand.” She looked Cat up and down with a snobbish expression. “Where are your parents, little girl?”

You’re not even that much older than me!

“Don’t have any.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Miss Perfect said, unperturbed. “Well, if you need a sash so bad, you should become a Girl Scout, it’s not that hard. They’ll probably give you a sash then, but you probably won’t earn as many badges as me.”

If I was a Girl Scout, you’d bet I’d earn as many badges as you, Cat thought viciously . Probably two, three times as many, and then I’d parade them around just so I could see the stupid look on your stupid smug stupid face.

(What? No, Cat wouldn’t consider herself a competitive person.)

“Well, I don’t want to be a Girl Scout.”

“What?” Miss Perfect asked, aghast. “Why?”

Because I’d rather die than wear one of those tiny matching uniforms, Cat nearly said. Instead, she opted for, “‘Cause I’m homeless.”

She gasped, a manicured hand flying up to her mouth. “What?!”

“Yes, I’m a sad, sad, homeless orphan,” Cat said impatiently. “And you’re supposed to be a friggin’ Girl Scout. Aren’t you guys supposed to be a bunch of walking Mother Teresas or something? Helping people is your whole thing.”

“You’re homeless?” she repeated, like she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea. Her eyes had turned wide and disbelieving. “But you’re my age.”

“It’s a long story, okay? Anyway, that’s why I need your sash. So I can get cans from people who don’t need them.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

Cat stared at her like she was stupid. “Eat the stuff inside. What else would I do with them?”

“That is dishonorable!”

“Not really.” Cat was not getting through to this girl. She needed to go in another way. She thought for a moment. “Think about this.” Which might be pretty difficult for you. “You’re collecting cans from people, right? So where do you think all those cans are gonna go?”

“Well… the food bank, of course.”

“Right, and that’s probably going to go towards people like me, homeless people. So by giving me your sash, it’s basically the same thing, but faster. See?” Miss Perfect didn’t look very convinced, so Cat added, “Plus, you’d get twenty dollars from me. That’s probably enough to buy you two sashes.”

Miss Perfect thought about this for a long time. She was silent for so long that Cat was beginning to think that she was ignoring Cat to see if she’d go away, but then she finally said, “Fine. Fifty dollars and we have a deal.”

She stuck her hand out. Cat didn’t shake it.

“What? No,” Cat groaned. “You are seriously the worst Girl Scout ever.”

“Fifty,” she insisted, “or I walk.”

Clearly, Miss Perfect was watching too many action movies.

“Thirty,” Cat bartered.

“Fifty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

Cat’s hands flew up. “Unbelievable. Do you not know how to barter?”

“Barter?”

“You know! You want one price, I want another. I slowly start raising the price, you slowly start declining until we reach a satisfying consensus.”

Miss Perfect’s frown deepened. “Why would I do that? Then I get less money.”

Un-freaking-believable,

Out of the corner of her eye, Cat noticed their argument had drawn the attention of a few men, lurking in the corner of the lobby. They were dressed darkly, in baggy clothes, and looked very shifty, whispering and laughing to themselves. One or two of them was smoking, filling the lobby with the smell of it. Cat didn’t like the way they were looking at the two of them.

Cat wasn’t going to win this argument, and she really needed to get out of there. However, there was also no freaking way she was about to pay this girl fifty dollars for a little brown piece of fabric with colorful other pieces of fabric on it. She made a show of sighing and rifled through her backpack, opening a small zipper in the lining where she kept her cash. She didn’t like looking in there because it was depressing how little there was now. She stuffed a handful of ones in the center and covered them with a ten and a twenty. Cat held the cash up to her, covering the bills just enough so that it looked enough to be fifty dollars.

Miss Perfect’s eyes widened in awe. She’d probably never been given this much cash to spend in her life. She reached to take it, but Cat held it back from her reach.

“Sash first.”

Miss Perfect crossed her arms. “How do I know you won’t just take it and run?”

“How do I know you won’t just take my money and run?”

“At the same time, then.” She slid her sash off her shoulder and held it out. They exchanged their items.

“Better hide it in your pocket, fast,” Cat suggested, before Miss Perfect could inspect the cash she’d been given for too long. She lowered her voice and darted her eyes at the darkly dressed men purposefully. “You don’t want anyone stealing it. And you’ve gotta tell your mom that you lost the sash or something, so you can’t have her seeing that money.”

“Huh,” Miss Perfect said, surprised by the reasoning of this. “Good idea.”

As Cat had expected, she didn’t bother counting the cash. Rookie. She probably had enough faith in humanity to expect that even scrawny homeless orphans were trustworthy enough not to attempt to scam her out of receiving her money. In a way, Cat envied her.

Cat eyed her bags, thinking of how full her backpack already was. “Hey, uh— you won’t mind if I take those too, do you? I’ll need something to collect the cans with.” She didn’t think Miss Perfect would actually give them to her, but it was worth a shot.

To her surprise, the girl handed them over. Cat was nearly about to say thanks, but then she asked, “This is giving me points, right?”

“Points?” Cat echoed. Is she serious?

“Yeah, like in class. You get good points for doing good things.”

The intelligence of this girl was fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Cat wanted to inspect her under a microscope to see what other miracles her brain might produce. Yet at the same time she wanted to flee in case whatever disease Miss Perfect had might be contagious.

“Yeah, sure, you get ‘points’ for this.”

“Great. Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you, random homeless girl.”

“Likewise,” Cat responded.

She stole a glance at the darkly dressed men in the corner, and saw that they had stopped laughing. Most of them were watching her like hawks. Cat left the building in a hurry, not bothering to say goodbye to the Girl Scout.

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January - Outside

The Girl Scout routine had been a success. Cat had done her best to make herself even more presentable, copying the sensible ponytail Miss Perfect had put her hair in. She washed her face three times in a restroom of a dingy little restaurant and practiced her most sweet, innocent smile in the mirror. It made her facial muscle stiff. She hadn’t smiled that wide in a long time.

It surprised her how many people were willing to give food away. Maybe her smile still had some usefulness. Or maybe it was her young, hopeful face. A lot of people asked if they could pet Taco, so maybe it was that. By the time Cat had collected cans to fill up a bag or so, it was getting dark.

She was hoping to find a quiet place where she and Taco could enjoy a can of cold chicken noodle soup with the single metal spoon that she carried with her, but of course that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

In New York, the air was filled with so much honking, voices, music, and movement that it made it hard to focus at times. But Cat had been living on the streets long enough to sense when someone was following her. She’d see reflections of the same people in glass doors, or hear the same jingling of clothing accessories behind her. Sometimes, she would get a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It was usually nothing but paranoia. The people who followed her usually meant no ill will. Usually, they were just heading towards the same direction she was. But this time, it was different.

Cat had recognized the four men who were walking behind her. Darkly dressed, baggy clothing, mischievous expressions. She’d turned three corners, and they were still a few yards away from her. Close enough so that she could hear their footsteps, clumsily falling on the New York sidewalk. They weren’t laughing or talking. They were silent.

Cat walked faster. She tugged Taco closer to her. Taco seemed to sense that there was trouble. Instead of pitching a fit and plopping down on the sidewalk, the beagle hurried along and matched her pace. Cat inwardly thanked whoever was the god of beagles, because they’d come through for her on this one.

It’s probably nothing. They’re probably a bunch of nice people. Like… really intense but nice dentists who are following me because they’re concerned for my dental health.

Even the voice inside her head sounded ridiculous.

Don’t turn back. If they ask you to stop, keep walking. If they walk faster, you walk faster. If they start running, run like hell. But don’t run yet, in case that makes them run. If they catch you, turn around and punch them in the face like you did to Trevor that one time.

At the word Trevor, a shiver passed through her body. If she had the nerve to actually punch her uncle, she should have the nerve to punch these random guys who may or may not be a bunch of nice dentists. She’d clocked Trevor right in the face. The punch had landed somewhere next to his nose— somewhere squishy. (She preferred not to revisit what happened to her after that had happened.)

No, a punch wouldn’t do it. There were— how many?— about four of them, and one of her. She needed her knife. The kitchen knife she’d stolen from Trevor’s kitchen. She suddenly remembered Natasha’s knife as it sliced through the ropes, and cursed herself for not stealing one of them when she left. The woman had to have at least ten of them, missing one wouldn’t have done her any harm. Pushing the bag of canned goods into the crook of her elbow, Cat reached into her jacket pocket, and with great relief, noted that the kitchen knife she’d stashed in there hadn’t been stolen.

Cat fisted the hand that was holding the bag of canned goods. She could feel her heartbeat all the way throughout her body, thrumming in her ears, ramming against her ribs, pulsing at her wrist.

Cat steeled herself. You’re not scared.

As she told herself this, her grip on Taco’s leash had tightened so that her knuckles were white. She didn’t realize how fast she was walking until she took a glance at Taco and saw his legs moving faster than usual.

Her heart was thumping against her chest.

Cat had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t realized that she’d accidentally wandered into a darker part of New York. She hadn’t been here before, and she certainly had no idea where she was. The narrow streets were gloomy, lit creepily by streetlights. Buildings loomed above her, hiding the moonlight. Even creepier, she could still hear the footsteps. This was not where she wanted to be.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump —

“Hey!” one of the men yelled. “Little girl! Are you lost?”

It wasn’t friendly enough to be convincing. She walked faster. She made up a rhythm in her head that went to the beat of her steps. Maybe if she focused on that hard enough, the footsteps and voices would fade away… But no luck.

“We can help you, if you’re lost!” a different voice called. It was deeper.

“Yeah, just turn back around!”

“Hey! Why’re you in such a hurry, little lady?”

Cat turned her head back, quickly. They were closer than they had been before. “I’m not lost!” she called. “Leave me alone, please.”

There was a sprinkling of laughter.

Cat’s thoughts were flying every which way, her mind was a mess. What was she going to do? It would be dumb to turn around. It would be dumber to stop. But what would happen if she just ignored them? Cat only had time to notice that her footsteps were slowing down before the men moved on her.

It all happened so fast.

She didn’t have time to scream, let alone grab out her kitchen knife and make the decision to stab one of them. One of the men smashed into her, pulling her into an abandoned alleyway. The rest surrounded her. The canned goods crashed to the ground, cans rolling in every which way. The sash was ripped off of her shoulder violently, and it fluttered to the ground.

“Taco!” Cat screamed.

She didn’t know why she was screaming for the beagle when it was her being attacked. Maybe it was easier being worried about someone else’s safety than her own.

“TACO!”

There was more laughter from the men.

“What the hell is she screaming about?” the man with the deep voice rumbled. “Is she hungry?”

“Whaddya lookin’ at me for, man? I don’t freakin’ know anything about kids.”

Cat scrambled to her feet. She had to strain her eyes to see the dark shapes of the four men, all standing above her. She scanned her surroundings, looking for Taco. With an inward sigh of relief, she noticed that the beagle had retreated in a dark shadow. Part of the red leash was lying on the ground, illuminated by the circle of light cast by a street lamp. Cat hoped the muggers wouldn’t notice as well. More so, she prayed that Taco wouldn’t try and bark at the muggers, which would be sweet but unhelpful.

Deep Voice picked up a fallen can of chili from his feet. “Why do you need so much food, Fake Girl Scout? You have so much money.”

“Don’t you recognize us?” another asked. Cat could make out a bright red fedora on his head. It clashed horribly with his hair.

“We saw you give that Girl Scout some money,” chimed Deep Voice.

“It looked like a lot of money,” agreed Red Fedora.

“You got any more in that backpack?”

“How ‘bout you share some of that money with us, huh?”

“There’s no more left.” Cat hated that she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking. She tried to make it sound braver. “Too bad, so sad. So suck it.”

One of the other mens’ smiles turned menacing. “I think she’s lying.”

He was essentially a giant. Every part of his body looked like it had been enlarged and stretched out by some type of machine. His muscles bulged on his neck— which was a weird place to notice muscles bulging, but whatever.

“How about you show us what’s in that backpack of yours, and we’ll see for ourselves?”

It was at that point Cat started screaming. First it was nonsensical yelling, then it turned into cries for help. “HELP! HELP!”

No one came. The only response to her shouts was jeering from the men. She realized that no one was coming. Of course, no one was stupid enough to get in the middle of a mugging with dangerous men in the middle of the night. In no time, her fear morphed into anger, then she was cursing and swearing up a storm at them. She wouldn’t repeat the things she said, because they weren’t very nice things.

It only made them laugh harder.

“My! This one’s got a filthy mouth!”

“It’s getting annoying. Shut her up!”

Cat refused to shut up. She screamed and screamed and screamed, until the giant man clamped his hand over her mouth. It was so large, it covered the entire bottom half of her face. She flailed around in his grip and chomped down on one of his fingers. Giant Hand Man withdrew his hand with a howl of pain.

That seemed to make him mad. Red Fedora threw her against a wall and held her there, which knocked the air out of her so that she stopped yelling for a moment. Her backpack was still hanging onto her shoulders. She heard something in there crunch painfully. Before she could regain control of her breathing, Giant Hand Man reared back and punched her in the stomach. Cat’s head jerked forward as pain exploded where his fist had rammed into her abdomen. The laughter had ceased.

The last man was standing a little further back. “Jeez,” he whispered to Giant Hand Man, “no need to be so rough. She’s just a kid.” His voice was higher than the rest. He seemed younger, and a little uneasy with it all. Cat hadn’t heard Young Guy participate in the taunting and laughing. He was glancing around like he was expecting to be caught any moment.

“She’s a bitch,” Giant Hand Man replied.

Damn right I am. Cat spat right in the Giant Hand’s eye. She cursed at him again.

He recoiled in disgust, wiping the spit off of his face with a roar. “The hell did you just say to me?”

She saw the blow coming but her shoulders were pushed against the wall— she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She struggled helplessly as the man’s hand connected with the right side of her cheek. It stung.

In the darkly lit alley, the Giant Hand Man’s face looked startlingly like Trevor’s. Cat was still. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides, the right side of her face burning.

“Where’s the money?” he demanded.

“I told you, idiot,” Cat snarled through gritted teeth, “there’s no more money.”

“Check her backpack,” Deep Voice suggested.

Giant Hand Man reached for her shoulder, and Cat reacted by kicking him hard in the groin. He collapsed with a strangled groan. Before she could kick Red Fedora in the face and run, both him and Deep Voice secured her arms so that she was pressed against the wall. Deep Voice maneuvered her so that Red Fedora could wrench the backpack from her. He tossed it to Young Guy, who nearly dropped it.

“Dang,” he muttered. “This thing is heavy.”

“Quit messing around and find the money,” Red Fedora snapped.

Young Guy fumbled with the zippers, opening and closing all the pockets and rooting through her stuff. He tossed some of her clothes on the ground as he searched for it.

“Hey!” Cat protested. “Don’t just throw my stuff on the ground! It’s going to get dirty!”

Red Fedora shook her so hard that Cat could nearly feel her brain rattling around in her head. “Shut up!”

Young Guy looked up. “There’s nothing in here.”

“Give me that!”

Red Fedora let go of Cat’s arm rifled through the bag. Deep Voice’s attention had been diverted; his grip on her other arm was starting to loosen. With her right arm free, Cat’s hand dropped to her coat pocket, where her knife was. Giant Hand Man was helping Red Fedora look through her bag, with no success.

“I already told you, dimwits,” Cat said, turning her voice into an indifferent, bored drawl. “There’s nothing in there. Zip. Zilch. Nada.”

Giant Hand Man turned to Red Fedora with an almost laughable sheepishness. “There ain’t nothing’ here, man. We should just go home.”

Red Fedora turned on her. “Don’t lie to me, girl!”

“Hey, listen,” Cat said. She was no longer scared. These were a bunch of silly men whose blows couldn’t hurt her, and she didn’t have anything that they wanted. “You’re in denial. I get it. I’ve been there. But trying to beat up a little girl while your buddies are holding her against the wall ain’t the way to go about it.”

“I know you’ve got more money hidden,” he repeated. “Where is it?”

“Trust me, if I had money to give, I’d sure give it to you. Only, you chose the wrong homeless orphan to terrorize tonight. Facts are, I’m broke, dude. And you’re just pathetic.”

That did it. He viciously backhanded her. The blow made her ears ring and the blood pound in her ears. This time, Cat didn’t stop yelling.

“Okay, fine! You really wanna know where the money is? It’s at the North Pole with Santa’s goddamn reindeers!”

Another punch. It didn’t faze Cat. Her cheek was numb. She had taken worse hits before. She felt herself slipping back into an old routine. Before Red Fedora could strike her again, something weird happened.

“HEY!” a voice called out. It was a high-pitched male voice, coming from above their heads. “That isn’t very nice!”

Thwip! Thwip!

Two strands of a translucent-white material attached themselves to each of Red Fedora’s wrists. Cat saw his face transform from anger to shock, then increasing horror as the white material yanked him upwards into the air.

“Karen,” the same voice said, quieter, “that was your cue to do the thing.”

Cat had extremely good hearing, but even she had to strain her ears in order to hear the sound of a robotic voice going, “My apologies. I wasn’t sure what you meant.”

The voice sighed. “Just do the sedative web thingies.”

“Sedative webs initiated.”

There was another thwip, the noise of something hitting flesh, then Red Fedora’s groaning fell suspiciously silent. Cat’s, and the other three men’s, gazes followed the sound of the groan to see a blue and red figure perched on a balcony about five stories above.

“Howdy, gentlemen,” Spider-Man said pleasantly. He tilted his head towards Cat. “And lady. I just have one question for you all. Why do you need four guys to mug one little girl?”

“It’s Spider-Man!” Giant Hand Man gasped.

“Hey! You know me! Then you should know that I don’t condone mugging people in dark alleys.”

“Wait! Wait, wait— ahhhhhhhhh!”

Giant Hand Man’s screams followed Red Fedora’s as he was yanked up into the air as well. Cat was shocked how easily Spider-Man was able to pull him up, considering how his lean frame compared to Giant Hand Man’s hulking mass of muscle.

“Sedative web!” Spider-Man called as he shot a strand of web towards him, cutting his screaming short. Cat saw Giant Hand Man’s hand fall down to his chest like he had fallen asleep.

“First of all,” Spider-Man continued conversationally, as if nothing strange had happened, “it’s cliche. Like, how many movies have you seen where people get mugged in dark alleys? Second of all— hey, where are you going, man?”

Spider-Man flipped down from his ledge, landing neatly in a stance on the ground. Deep Voice had been dumb enough to try and run away. Young Guy, who’d been trying to do the same thing, froze in his place. Spider-Man shot a web that landed in the middle of Deep Voice’s back and pulled on the strand, yanking the man back so hard that he flew over their heads and crashed into a Dumpster.

“Hey, you trying to leave without even saying goodbye?” asked Spider-Man, making his way towards the Dumpster. “Rude.”

Deep Voice got to his feet. His eyes were panicked. Once he realized that Spider-Man was after him, he changed tactics. With a cry, he started charging at him, fists raised. Spider-Man stopped walking towards him. He awkwardly stood there until Deep Voice was just a couple inches away from making contact before he caught his fist mid-air and flipped him hard on his back, as easy as someone might squash a cockroach. Deep Voice let out a long, drawn-out groan. Spider-Man threw him— yes, threw him — into the air and webbed him to the wall next to Giant Hand Man.

Spider-Man then turned to Young Guy, who already had his hands up. He was shaking like a leaf. “I-I’m a huge fan,” he said.

“Thanks. I appreciate that, man,” Spider-Man said amiably, pointing his web shooters towards his face. “Too bad you’re a huge jerk. Otherwise, we would’ve gotten along great.”

“W-wait!”

Spider-Man paused, humoring him. “What?”

“Um.” Clearly, Young Guy hadn’t expected that to work. His face held a shoot, what do I do now expression. “Please d-don’t hurt me!”

“Why?” Spider-Man’s voice was disgusted. “You were perfectly content to hurt this girl a few seconds ago. Why shouldn’t I give you the same treatment?”

“I didn’t even want to do this! The other guys, they’re my cousins! They made me come with them!” Young Guy babbled. “I didn’t even hurt her!”

“So? You could’ve stopped them. Did you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing. Bye now.” Spider-Man threw him up with the rest of the guys and stuck him to the wall, shooting two more sedative webs up to silence both Young Guy and Deep Voice.

“That’s a neat trick,” Cat commented, clutching Taco to her chest. While the chaos was going on, she’d grabbed him from the shadows to make sure the beagle hadn’t been trampled. Luckily, they were both still in one piece.

“What? Nah, it’s nothing. It’s just a little— thwip! Thwip! Bam!” He made und motions with his web shooters, mimicking the sounds they made.

“Are they completely knocked out?”

“Yep. Probably gonna stay that way for a bit, until the police find them. I left them a nice note, stuck it in that big hairy guy’s beard.”

“That was really cool of you to save my life. Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s what I do. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and all.” His lenses widened as he focused on her. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

A wave of exhaustion crashed over her. She swayed on her feet, nearly toppling over before Spider-Man steadied her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa— yeah, I don’t think so. You look pretty beat up. No offense.”

Cat imagined she looked awful. She could feel her right cheek burning and her left eye beginning to puff up. Her ribs ached from the hit she’d taken from Giant Hand Man. Not only that, but she probably had dark circles around her eyes from lack of sleep, messy hair, and generally looked like a homeless girl who’d lost a fight with a giant.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. It was her motto these days. She set Taco down on the ground and started picking up the fallen canned goods that had rolled away.

Spider-Man joined her on the ground. “Whew,” he said, loading his arms full of cans. He picked up nearly all of them at the same time, lifting them with ease. “Whaddya need all these for?”

“It’s food,” Cat said, picking up the torn Girl Scout sash. She could probably fix it with some duct tape from the soup kitchen. No one would even notice. “So I can eat. Duh.”

“Oh. Wait, are you—”

“Homeless? Orphaned? Pathetic? Yeah.” Cat was getting tired of explaining all this to people. But this was Spider-Man she was talking to, so she’d give him a pass. (She’d have to add a third tally to her mental Avengers I’ve Met list. Maybe her good-for-nothing luck was starting to be a little more good-for-something.) She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little in awe of him. But now that the adrenaline was ebbing away, she was feeling a little too drained and sleepy to properly fangirl.

“Oh, uh,” Spider-Man seemed embarrassed. He slid the armful of cans he was holding into her bag—

“Thanks,” Cat said.

—- and straightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“You sound younger than I thought you would,” Cat interrupted. She really didn’t want to get into the pity zone. “You sound like a kid.”

“What? No!” His voice raised an octave, sounding suspiciously panicky. Then, he not-so-subtly deepened his voice. “I mean— no, of course not. Why would you even think that?”

“Hey.” She raised her hands. “Just an observation, no need to get so defensive.” She tilted her head. “But the fact that you did get defensive makes me think I’m right.”

Spider-Man opened his mouth to realitate, but she talked over him.

“I’m not hating or anything. I think it’s super cool. But you should invest in one of those things— what are they called? Oh! Voice modulators. Yeah, they make your voice sound super weird, like Darth Vader.”

“Huh, I actually tried that once. Didn’t go so well. Which is not me admitting that you’re right, by the way,” he added on quickly.

“You don’t need to. I already know I’m right. But I can play along, if that makes you feel better, Spider-Boy.”

Spider-Man frowned at her. At least, Cat assumed that he was frowning because the mask creased a little in the center of where his eyebrows should be. “It’s Spider-Man.”

“Really? That seems a little misleading, since you’re obviously not a man.”

His shoulders sank a little. “You really think I should go with the voice modulator?”

“Not unless you don’t want people thinking you’re Spider-Boy.” Cat lowered her voice. “Don’t worry, though, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Spider-Man held out the bag full of cans as well as her backpack to her. He’d picked up all the items Young Guy had scattered all over the floor and zipped them shut inside her backpack.

“Thanks,” Cat found herself saying for the third or fourth time.

Spider-Man patted Taco on the head. “Whoa! Cute beagle.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Cat told him. “I think she’s getting full of herself.”

“What’s her name?”

“Taco.”

“That’s adorable!”

“I know. She doesn’t look like a taco, though. I named her that because the first time we met, she tried to steal my taco.”

“Good dog,” Spider-Man crooned at her.

“No,” Cat frowned. “Bad dog. Very bad dog.”

Spider-Man looked at her thoughtfully. “What’s your name?”

Cat nearly told him Maxine, but to her surprise, founding herself telling him her real name.

“It was nice meeting you, Cat. I gotta swing now—” He stopped to snicker at his own joke, then coughed. “Stopping crime and all. But is there somewhere I can drop you off? I know you don’t have, like, a house or anything,” he rushed on hurriedly, “but maybe like a shelter? Or— I don’t know— a warmer place? It’s pretty chilly out here.”

Cat almost declined his generous offer, but at that moment an idea at the back of her mind nudged her. She was cold, hungry, and tired. Collapsing in the middle of the street in this shady neighborhood was not the best of plans. No, she needed a place to stay, preferably a place with food and heaters. It had to be a place that allowed dogs and had food for Taco. But… where?

Suddenly, a light switched on in her brain, and Cat knew exactly where to go.

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Notes: Our favorite redheaded assassin makes her return next chapter! What did you think of the Spider-Man interactions?

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 4 - Friendly Conversation

Chapter Summary: Cat's left alone with this Natasha lady, who's kind of scary but not that much anymore. Awkward conversations commence

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse (not explicitly described)

Notes: Again, incredibly sorry for not updating in like a year. I’ll try to be more consistent. Please reblog/like/comment if you’re enjoying it! Also, you do not have permission to repost this anywhere.

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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To Cat’s surprise, Natasha had readily agreed to let her free from the chair.

“Make sure you stay still,” she’d said.

Probably because the woman was no longer threatening her at gunpoint, she was a lot less threatening. Her demeanor had done a complete one-eighty. Previously, she’d been terrifying and angry, like she had caught Cat doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Now, she was still distant and businesslike, but not an immediate threat to Cat’s life. In fact, she was almost pleasant, as if she hadn’t just been training a gun at her head a few minutes ago.

Now that she had time to study her, Cat realized that the woman was much less physically threatening than she’d originally thought. She was compact and muscular, like a fighter, and shorter than Trevor, but Cat would bet that this woman could take Cat’s uncle out in a heartbeat if she wanted to. She moved with a deadly gracefulness— somehow, her feet didn’t make a single sound against the wooden plants— and with such confidence that it added a few inches to her height.

Cat had come to the conclusion that Natasha wasn’t going to kill her— if that was her plan, she would’ve done it already. Cat still regarded her with a little bit of unease, but since she could be certain that the woman wasn’t randomly going to stab her with one of her very sharp knives, she felt much better about the whole situation.

Cat guessed that she and the Arrow Man— Barton— were definitely spies. They’d mentioned a “mission,” and they were dressed in black leather, which was definitely suspicious. It was sort of surreal and exciting, to be caught up in some sort of movie-like scene. But what had Natasha meant by “get rid of her”? Cat still had to figure that out, and also how to get out of this place as soon as possible.

“So,” Natasha said, as she sliced one of the ropes that bound Cat’s legs to the chair with her knife, “you speak Russian.”

“Yeah, so?” Cat asked defensively. “Doesn’t mean I’m some sort of terrorist.”

“I don’t think you’re a terrorist.”

“Really? Because it kinda seemed like it five minutes ago.”

“We’ve moved past that.” Natasha shrugged. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Most kindergarteners don’t speak Russian.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered up, just in time to catch Cat rolling her eyes. She wasn’t bothering to dignify that with a response. She’d given up on correcting her, even though it should’ve been blatantly obvious that she was much older than some puny kindergartener. She was nearly ten flipping years old, for god’s sake.

“How’d you learn?”

“Why do you wanna know?” Cat asked suspiciously.

“Just making conversation.” Her gaze sharpened, turned more calculating than curious. “Did your parents speak Russian?”

At the mention of her parents, Cat’s guard went up. Her knee involuntarily jerked up, just as Natasha was reaching up with the knife to free her from the wrist restraints. It happened so suddenly, the woman only had just enough time to pull back her arm so that the knife only grazed her knee. It was a shallow cut, but it still stung. Cat was unprepared for how sharp it was. She had to bite her lip hard to suppress the cry of sudden pain.

Natasha frowned up at her. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still? I’m holding a knife.”

Cat was startled by her tone of voice. She knew it was ridiculous, but for a moment it had sounded almost like a mother, scolding a child. It’d been so long since she heard that tone used against her. It made her feel so uncomfortable and squirmy that she didn’t know how to react.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“We’re going to have to put disinfectant on that.” In one smooth motion, the knife sliced away the bonds that held Cat’s wrists together. They were sore. Cat moved them around a little, sighing in relief, immediately jumping up and flopping down onto the sofa instead.

“Thank god. I hate that stupid chair.”

Taco, who had been waiting by the floor, immediately jumped into her lap. He licked her hand excitedly, barking. Cat held back a smile. He had been spectacularly unhelpful throughout the entire interrogation, but now he decided that he actually cared about her? He had completely ignored the fact that Cat was in obvious need of rescue— not that he could do much to help her, but an attempt would’ve been nice. She was sort of mad at him, but knew she wouldn’t be able to stay that way as long as his adorable face stayed that way.

Natasha straightened from where she was crouching and reached towards Cat. There was something in her hand, flashing in the light like metal. Like a knife. Lightning fast, Cat flinched back, her fists raising in front of her face, preparing to ward off an attack.

“Hey, relax,” Natasha said, holding up a faint yellow bottle. It glimmered in the light again. It was labeled DISINFECTANT. “Just trying to help you not get infected and die.”

Cat relaxed a fraction, her fists lowering. “Oh. Okay.”

Natasha’s gaze raked her up and down. “Jumpy, aren’t you?”

Cat scowled at her in the most unladylike way possible. “I most certainly am not . I’m just ADHD. Like, I get hyper and super energetic. You know.”

“Okay.” Natasha managed to sound both skeptical and uninterested.

“And my parents didn’t speak Russian,” Cat rushed on, eager to change the subject. “I’m just a genius, that’s all.”

Self-appointed genius, but she didn’t need to know that.

Natasha tore open the hole in Cat’s leggings a little more to expose the cut. The fabric ripped with startling ease, being so worn and old. The cut didn’t hurt— Cat knew she had a high pain threshold— but she was surprised by how much blood such a small cut could produce. Perhaps she wasn’t a very good clotter.

Natasha dabbed the red away with a white cloth. Cat noticed that sometime during their conversation, she’d pulled out a first aid kit. “A genius, huh?”

“Yep. I can memorize loads of things. Books, maps, the periodic table. My third grade teacher—” Cat threw Natasha a significant glance, as to remind her that she was, in fact, older than a kindergartener. “— didn’t believe me when I told her I could remember it off the top of my head, but I showed that— ow!” She hadn’t been able to hold back her hiss of pain.

As Cat was speaking, Natasha had smeared the disinfectant over the cut on Cat’s knee. It stung like crazy. Cat swore a little, not too much, and she nearly saw Natasha’s lips twitch at the corners. Cat remembered that she wasn’t supposed to say those kinds of words in front of adults. She recalled how Mrs. Barington had sent her to the principal’s office— five times!— when she had.

She waited for the lecture, but all Natasha said was, “I think those words are a little too big for you.”

“Well, I don’t.”

She pressed a Hello Kitty band-aid on the cut. “Suit yourself.”

Cat frowned. “Are these the only kind you have?”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to be making demands. You were the one stealing from me, after all.”

“I was not making demands,” Cat retorted indignantly. “And I was not stealing.” Under her breath, she muttered, “I didn’t actually leave with anything.”

“Because you didn’t have a chance to leave at all,” Natasha pointed out. “Being in the process of stealing is still stealing. Not to mention, you ate all of the peanut butter cookies and I haven’t heard an apology yet.”

Cat glared at her. “I’m sorry,” she said insincerely.

Natasha snorted.

“They were really good, though,” Cat admitted. She looked at the Hello Kitty band-aid, peeking through the hole in her leggings. “Are you sure you don’t have any other band-aids?”

“What exactly do you have against Hello Kitty?”

Cat huffed. “I just think it’s a little undignified.”

“Clint got them at the store. He claims they were the only ones there, although that’s debatable.”

Cat stiffened at that. Clint. She had to be talking about the Arrow Man— Clint… Barton. And the woman’s name was Natasha. Clint Barton and Natasha Someone. The names struck a chord in her memory. She’d read those names before, she was sure of it. It took a couple of seconds, like it usually did, but the memory came to her like she knew it would. It was three years and thirteen days ago, 8:32 a.m. She’d been six. Her father— she pushed aside the twinge in her chest at the thought of him— had been reading the newspaper. He’d always preferred holding the papers rather than checking his phone. The New York Times. She could nearly smell the coffee and bacon in the air, the lemon scent of her mother’s freshly washed hair.

Her father always let her steal his newspaper before he had his coffee so she could read a couple of passages aloud to him.

Look, there’s Iron Man, he’d said, pointing at the wide picture that spanned the entire half of the page, with the Avengers. Cool, huh?

Cat had been more interested in the words. She liked reading. She liked absorbing the information like a sponge. She’d dutifully scanned the passages, all about how the Avengers had saved New York again. There was Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, a couple other mentions, and… Hawkeye and Black Widow.

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.

Cat had never been as good as memorizing faces as she was with words, but she did recall seeing a flash of red hair and that black leather catsuit associated with Black Widow. And Hawkeye’s arrows and black getup were unmistakable. Everything made sense. Everything clicked into place.

What the hell is going on, Cat thought wildly, caught up in a frenzy. Did I really get interrogated by two Avengers?

She was so stupid! It had been so obvious. The arrows, the iconic red hair with the suit, the “secret agent” stuff— how had she not managed to figure it out?

“Oh my god,” she whispered to herself.

“What?”

She remembered that Natasha— who was the Black Widow— was still staring at her. Cat thought back to everything she’d ever learned about the Black Widow. She’d saved New York with the rest of the Avengers, but she was also a spy. An accomplished, deadly, and ruthless assassin. She’d killed dozens of people, probably without even batting an eye. She could probably do a lot more to her uncle Trevor than knock him out. Cat stammered for a little before saying, “Nothing.”

Natasha didn’t look convinced, but also like she didn’t particularly care. She closed the first aid kit and walked away from the room.

“Where are you going?” Cat called after her. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

“Still figuring that out.”

Natasha disappeared around a corner and disappeared into a room.

Cat’s eyes darted around the room. She needed to get out of here. Natasha had been neutral and non-murderous towards her so far, but there was no telling what she’d do to her in order to “get rid of her.” Cat had already found out their secret hideout, she knew their identities, and who knew what other confidential information she might’ve accidentally picked up. That gave them more than enough reason to get rid of her in a not-so-nice way.

They’re the good guys, Cat reminded herself. They wouldn’t kill a kid. That’s ridiculous.

She was being ridiculous. But she’d be safer out in the streets than she was in here.

Cat bit her lip, wondering what Natasha might do if she caught Cat trying to escape. Her backpack was hanging off the edge of the couch, but all of its contents were still scattered across the floor. Taco might bark or protest if she tried to drag him with her while he was dozing. Would Natasha try and tie her up to make sure she didn’t escape.

Cat didn’t have time to make a decision. Natasha was walking out of the room, a chunky laptop in hand. It had a logo emblazoned on the front. An eagle in a circular shape. Natasha set it on the coffee table and began typing furiously. Cat wondered what she was doing. She could’ve been watching funny animal videos, for all she knew, but Natasha didn’t strike her as the funny-animal-watching type. She noticed the woman seemed a lot less dangerous when she was frowning at the computer screen.

Cat swallowed hard. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” she blurted. “Or hurt me, or maim, or anything?”

Now she had Natasha’s full attention. The woman looked annoyed. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Well, I don’t know! You’re the Black Widow! You didn’t have any trouble pointing a gun at my head!”

Natasha paused. This seemed to surprise her. “So you know,” she said.

“Yeah, and that Clint Barton guy is Hawkeye. The arrows pretty much gave it away,” Cat said, not choosing to mention that she’d only figured it out a couple minutes ago.

“Huh. We should really do a better job of hiding our identities.”

“Yeah, you guys kind of suck at that.”

“We weren’t preparing to find a little girl in the safehouse.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you are.”

“I hate to break it to you , but I don’t usually trust people who try to kill me.”

“Would you get over that already? That was twenty minutes ago.” Natasha paused. “Think about this: why would I go through all the trouble of disinfecting a teeny tiny wound on your knee if I had plans to kill you right after? That seems counterproductive.”

“Okay, fine. You’re not going to kill me.” Cat sprang up from the sofa and arched her neck to see the computer screen. “So what are you doing?”

Natasha looked back down at the screen. “Just looking at your files.”

“I have files? What do they say? Can I see?”

“Everyone has a file.” Natasha pulled the laptop away from her view, and Cat pouted a little. “I’m seeing if it matches up with what you’ve told me already.”

“I haven’t told you anything!”

Almost as soon as she said it, Cat remembered that this wasn’t true. She’d basically spilled her entire life story to them. But hopefully she’d been talking so fast that Natasha hadn’t remembered everything.

“And all that ‘file’ stuff is a bunch of bull,” she continued hastily. “Who would even keep, like, official government files on me? I bet it’s not even accurate.”

Natasha clicked a couple times and read from the laptop. “Your name is Catalina Gray. Your birthday is August 19th. You were born in Manhattan Beach, California. You’re an orphan and a runaway. Your social security worker is Kimberly Kingston. Your favorite color is green.” She raised an eyebrow. “Still think it’s not accurate?”

Cat gaped at her. “How did they know my favorite color?”

Natasha smirked. “Lucky guess.”

“That is creepy!”

“Even better— look what I found.”

Natasha turned the screen towards her. It was a pdf of a flyer. A picture of Cat, taken from her second grade school photo, was taking up the majority of the space on the page. Underneath, big red letters spelled out MISSING! The description was: Short blonde girl with brown eyes. Wearing a pink backpack with butterflies. May be carrying a box of fruit loops. If found, contact this number.

“Short,” Cat grumbled. “I am not short. I am an average height for my age. And that’s a terrible photo.”

She had been smiling painfully in it. To be fair, it wasn’t that unflattering of a photo. It just brought back memories that she wished would stay hidden. That day, her mother had made her shower— twice— and sit as she brushed her hair into neat braids and tied them off with small black ribbons. Cat had been dressed in her nicest seafoam green dress and shiny hard shoes, even though they pinched her feet. She had no idea why school picture day was such a big deal to her mother. She tried to explain that the photo would only be a mugshot, so wearing such a flouncy dress and uncomfortable shoes didn’t even matter, but her mother had outright gasped when Cat suggested wearing Converse instead.

Natasha turned the screen back towards her. “The good thing is, now I know what to do with you.”

Cat didn’t like the sound of that. “And what would that be?”

“Send you back to your social security worker. This Kimberly Kingston woman.”

Cat shook her head. She had already started backing away. “I have a better idea. You let me and Taco go back to living on the streets, and you’ll never have to see me again. I won’t breathe a word to anyone, I swear, and if I did no one would believe me anyway. See? Everyone’s happy.”

She grabbed her backpack and started gathering her things from the floor and shoving them in. She leaned down and grabbed a fistful of cash that had fluttered down underneath the sofa. Her hands were shaking again at the possibility of ending up back in the system, which she hated. She was so weak.

Natasha didn’t try to stop her. She just did that silent long judgemental staring thing she did. “Why did you run away?” she asked suddenly.

Cat slowed in her frantic movements. She straightened a little. “It doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely.

“It does if you don’t want me to take you back there.”

Cat worked her jaw. She couldn’t believe that she was here, with an Avenger— not only an Avenger but with the Black Widow herself— having this conversation. It was easy to forget that the woman wasn’t a dangerous assassin, a killing machine, when she was sitting right there, in front of Cat.

“If you take me back, there’s a chance that my uncle will get custody again. And there’s also a chance that I might be in the foster system. And I don’t want either to happen, so living on the streets is my best bet.”

“Your parents died, didn’t they?”

Cat tried and failed to stop herself from wincing. “What does that have to do with anything? I’m not a sad little orphan, okay? I don’t need your pity, or your help.”

“And then you moved to New York, started living with your uncle,” she continued ruthlessly. Cat wanted her to stop. Natasha watched Cat’s reaction like a hawk watching a rabbit. Bluntly, she said, “Your uncle— he hit you, didn’t he?”

Cat’s eyes flashed. “No!”

“I saw the way you flinched,” Natasha said steadily. “I’ve seen that before.”

“You’re wrong. You’re so wrong. It’s not like that at all.”

“You’re too young to be looking out for yourself. You’ve been living on the streets for what, less than a month? Trust me, you’re going to want to be in the foster system later, when you’ve run out of money and supplies. You’re going to need to go to school, get an education—”

“I don’t need to go to school,” Cat interrupted. “I can learn everything I need to know from the library. I can buy Fruit Loops from the grocery store. And I don’t need anyone taking care of me. I have Taco, and Taco has me, and we’re good on our own.”

Natasha shook her head. “Trust me, kid. It’s a rough world out there. You’re going to need everything you can get, and you can’t get it by yourself.”

“No,” Cat insisted stubbornly. “No. A thousand times, a million times no.”

“I’m trying to do a good thing here. You’re going to regret this later on, I promise.”

Cat stood up, all her supplies zipped up in that childish, bright pink backpack. She started towards the door. “Don’t try. Don’t promise. You don’t even know me. You don’t want to help me. And you can’t make me. So I’m leaving now. Thanks for not killing me and all, but I’m going. So bye. I’d say it was nice meeting you, but it was really the opposite, so c’mon, Taco.”

The beagle was still dozing lightly, which was both cute and extremely inconvenient. Cat shook him a little.

“ C’mon, Taco.”

The beagle yawned and blinked his large brown eyes at her. He didn’t budge, even when Cat tried tugging at him. He let himself be dragged over the couch, looking a little bemused. He made no move to stop her from moving him, but also made no move to get up and get the hell out of there.

Cat sighed, trying not to glance up at Natasha. “This is really awkward. He’s usually really obedient.”

“That dog is a ‘she’.”

Cat met Natasha’s eyes, astonished. “Really?” Then she remembered that this was getting the way of her being storming out of the room. She looked back down, trying to nudge Taco into action.

“Let me take you back,” Natasha tried again. “If you’re worried about being placed with a horrible home, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. And I’ll make sure your uncle doesn’t step in a fifty mile radius of you.”

“I told you, I don’t need your help,” Cat said through gritted teeth. “And I don’t understand why you care.”

“Just trying to wipe some of the red out of my ledger.”

“If you really want to do that, then don’t try and stop me.”

Cat couldn’t believe she just said those words— don’t try and stop me— to the Black Widow. It was kind of ironic because if she wanted to, the Black Widow could stop her as easily as lifting a finger. Use one of her electric zappy thingies to zap her senseless or knock her out with a single punch. Maybe the fact that she hadn’t already tried doing so was what made Cat feel so bold.

Taco finally got the hint. Not very impressively, he— wait, she— staggered to a standing position. Blinking her eyes tiredly, she followed at Cat’s heels as Cat finished her very dramatic storming out of the room.

To her disappointment, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to slam the door because it was so damn heavy. Instead, she did a very awkward pull at it until it started grinding against the floor, slowly shutting.

“Need some help with your dramatic exit?” Natasha called from inside.

Cat was straining herself with the effort. “No! I can… do it!”

She came to the door anyway. As she was helping Cat close the door, Cat said, “Thanks for not killing me again. But not-thanks for trying to take me to that Kimberly person. But also, thanks for not stopping me from leaving. And I really am sorry I ate all those cookies. And I hope I never, ever see you again.”

“Ditto,” Natasha responded, voice muffled.

With a final heave, Cat yanked the door back into its place. She was sweating a little. Cat fell back against the wall, chest rising and falling as she breathed heavily.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “That just happened.”

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Notes: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[the-wize-1]

Hi all, I’m so sorry for abandoning this story for so long (like a year oops). But I’m BACK! Posting chapter 4 now and chapter 5 will be up in a few days. So sorry again. Life got busier than I thought

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 3 - The Interrogation

Chapter Summary: Cat is interrogated, which is mildly annoying. And the redheaded lady won't stop pointing a gun at her. Rude. Do they think she's a terrorist or something?

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse flashbacks, guns, swearing.

Notes: Thank you for such a positive response on the last chapter! Please keep reviewing/liking/reblogging if you enjoy! Next chapter is posted Thursday 5PM PST! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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December - Safehouse

The first thing Cat noticed was that she was tied to a chair. It was a really uncomfortable wooden chair, which didn’t make sense because all of the furniture in the room had been cushy and well-made. Did they reserve this chair just for tying people in? What made it more uncomfortable was that her hands were bound behind her back and her legs were each tied to a leg of the wooden chair. Another rope wrapped around her torso, binding her to it completely. She felt helpless, like a trapped fly stuck in a web.

And yet, the most noticeable part of her predicament wasn’t the chair. It was the muzzle of the gun, which was focused right above her left eye, obscuring half her vision.

Cat’s breath quickened. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Her insides were trembling like Jell-O. For a few seconds, fear was so overwhelming that she couldn’t move.

The only thing she could think of was Trevor had a gun, Trevor had a gun. He’d kept next to the liquor cabinet, behind the tequila. That made her think of the time she’d spilled one of his beers on the carpet. She’d realized her mistake before the bottle hit the ground. Trevor had been yelling his head off about a stain. With shaking hands, she’d tried to mop it up but only succeeded in spreading it. That crazy look in his eyes— wild, furious, insane. One second he’d been beside her, the next she was staring at the unfriendly end of a gun. Her entire body had frozen, locked in place. She couldn’t move. She’d thought for sure he’d shoot, and for a moment welcomed the darkness—

Cat squeezed her eyes shut, trying to forget. Except she couldn’t forget. She could never forget. Instead, she pushed the memory away— by now, she was a master of this— and shifted her attention to the voice behind the gun. It was a woman’s voice. Low and raspy.

“...come in, Barton. There’s an intruder in the safehouse.”

The woman seemed to be talking to another person, but as far as Cat could tell, she was the only person in the room. She hadn’t seemed to notice that Cat was awake yet. She stayed very still, heart pounding against her ribcage.

The woman’s voice paused. “Yes, I’m sure, because I’m pointing a gun to her head.” She glanced down, saw that Cat was awake, and muttered something unintelligible in another language, sounding like either Russian or Ukranian. (Cat had learned both one time when she was bored.)

Cat struggled wildly in the chair, trying in vain to escape. She couldn’t, of course. The ropes held strong.

“Rise and shine,” the woman said, bending down so that her piercing green eyes bore into Cat’s own.

Still shaky from the memory of Trevor, Cat hated that her voice trembled when she spoke. “W-what the hell, lady! Why do you have a gun?”

“Don’t move,” the woman ordered with an off-putting calmness.

This was no time to be scared. Cat counted off the beats of her heart as it slowed.

“How can I?” Her voice was even again. “You tied me to a chair. You couldn’t have tied me to one of those nice sofas?”

Taco, she remembered. Where was he? While she spoke, her eyes did a quick scan of the room for him. She was relieved to see him dozing behind a corner, hidden from view. She prayed that he stayed that way, and maybe the woman wouldn’t shoot him. Cat didn’t know what kind of psychopath would shoot such an adorable beagle, but she wasn’t about to take any chances with this woman.

She was clearly dangerous. Dark red hair, intense eyes, prominent features. The way she held the gun told Cat that she likely had shot many things before, perhaps beagles even more adorable than Taco. She was wearing some type of strange black leather catsuit, like spies did in movies.

“Are you a spy?” Cat blurted, then thought, Damn. ADHD impulsivity.

“I ask the questions here.” Her voice now had an edge to it; it was low and threatening. “Now, I’m only going to ask this once. Who do you work for?”

Cat was caught off guard. “Huh?”

The woman rolled her eyes, momentarily losing the edge. “Did I or did I not just say that I was only going to say it once?”

“Okay, no offense, but what’s the point of only saying it once? Is that like, a power move or something? And it seems kind of inconvenient, especially when you insist on asking vague and confusing questions. Those should be asked at least twice!”

The woman shoved her gun into Cat’s head. (Cat fought down a sea of memories. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.) “Answer the question.”

“I don’t work for anyone! I’m ten. Who’s gonna hire me to do anything?”

“How did you get in here?” the woman demanded.

“I— what? I don’t know— I used the door, I guess.”

“It was locked. How did you break in?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

The woman looked at her like she was unbelievably stupid. “Yes. That’s literally what this is. Did the gun and the fact that you’re tied to a chair not make it clear enough?” She leaned in closer. “Do you need me to break a bone to prove it to you?”

Cat leaned as far away as possible. “No! No, please don’t do that!”

“Excellent. So you should have no problem answering the question.”

Cat squirmed uncomfortably. “Uh, well— I wouldn’t say I broke in. I feel like that’s a strong phrase, you know? Kinda makes me look like a criminal…”

The woman’s gun clicked against her head. Involuntarily, Cat flinched. “Talk, or I shoot.”

“Jesus! I picked the damn lock, okay? Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t steal anything— I mean, I did steal some things, but technically I haven’t stolen anything because I haven’t left this place yet, which means that the things I stole— I mean, didn’t steal— are still here. Making them unstolen.”

Cat’s gaze landed on the empty tray of peanut butter chocolate cookies. She felt a stab of guilt. Maybe it was best not to mention that specific part of her breaking and entering. Not that it mattered— the woman looked like she was going to kill her anyhow.

“What did you take?”

“Nothing!”

“You have ten seconds to tell me the truth.” The woman started counting at an alarmingly fast pace. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

“Those aren’t mississippis!” Cat protested.

For a second, the woman paused. “Excuse me?”

“In school, you’ve gotta go, ‘One-mississippi-two-mississippi-three—’”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

Cat caved. “It’s all in the bag!”

“What bag?”

“It’s a hideous pink backpack, covered in stupid butterflies!”

The woman’s arm reached out, and for a second Cat thought she was going to slap her— Operating on instinct, she flinched, hands going up to cover her face, only to be restrained by the ropes binding them to the chair. But the woman hadn’t laid a hand on her. Instead, she’d grabbed Cat’s backpack from the couch behind her. Although, she did frown at Cat’s reaction.

“You mean this one?”

“Yeah,” Cat said, relieved.

The woman stared at it a moment. “You’re right. It is hideous.”

“I didn’t pick it. My uncle did.”

“Your uncle has terrible taste.”

“Thank you— hey!”

The woman was emptying out the contents of the backpack on the floor. All the first aid supplies, snacks, and clothes she’d carefully positioned so that it just fit inside spilled out. Finally, wads and wads of money spilled out from the bottom. Twenties littered the floor. The woman didn’t seem to be finding what she was looking for— what she thought Cat stole.

“I didn’t steal all of that!” Cat said quickly. “Only the food and the rest of the supplies. The clothes, the money are all—”

“Money you stole?” the woman demanded.

Cat instantly backtracked. “No! Well, yes, I stole it— but not from here! I took it from my uncle Trevor’s apartment when I ran away. Trust me, if you knew him, you’d steal his money too.”

“What did you steal from here?”

“Just food, band-aids, water— that’s it, I swear!”

“Let me rephrase myself. What else did you steal from here?”

Suddenly, the door flew open and a man barrelled through the door. He was dressed in a black uniform as well, but it was different from the woman’s. His was a bulky vest, with only one sleeve covering an entire arm. His exposed forearm on his other arm had an armguard. He held a compound bow in his hand, with a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

“Help! Help!” Cat yelled at him. “This crazy lady’s trying to kill me!”

The woman frowned at her. “That’s a little insulting.”

“You know what’s really insulting?” Cat fired back. “Pointing a freaking gun at me!”

The man pointed at her with his bow— Jesus Christ, what was it with today and people pointing dangerous weapons at her— and glanced at the woman. “Please don’t tell me that’s the intruder.”

“Of course it’s the intruder. Why else would she be tied to a chair?”

The arrow man paused. “You’re kidding, right? Natasha— she’s just a kid, barely out of kindergarten. She’d can’t possibly be the target. If anything, she looks like a homeless kid, who accidentally got inside the safehouse. ”

Although she didn’t have the slightest idea what they were talking about, Cat felt a spurt of indignation. Barely out of kindergarten! She knew she was on the smaller side, but why rub it in?

“Just a kid! I’m not just a kid. And what makes you think I can’t be the target? If I wanted to be the target, I would be the target! Only, I’m not the target because I don’t even know what that is!” Then, unable to suppress a dig at his garb, she smirked. “Nice outfit, by the way. Is it Halloween already?”

Arrow Man gaped at her. He turned to Natasha. Cat turned to look at her as well, just in time to see her wiping a faint smirk from her face. “Did I just get insulted by a kindergartener?”

“She’s not just a kindergartener,” Natasha pointed out, face stony once again. “She’s an intruder.”

“I’m an intruder, and I’m not in kindergarten,” Cat interjected. “I’m in the fourth grade.”

“I don’t give a sh—”

“Natasha!” Arrow Man protested. “She’s a kid! You can’t swear in front of a kid.”

“Stop calling me a fucking kid, please,” said Cat.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Arrow Man, who was slack-jawed. “The kid just swore in front of the kid.” Then she told Cat, “You know, people generally stop talking when a gun’s being pointed at them.”

“Right, sorry.” Cat stayed silent for two seconds before piping up again. “Speaking of guns being pointed at heads— can you, like, not? You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Natasha sighed to Arrow Man. “I hate children. Let’s gag her.”

“Then how would we get any intel from her? How did she get in, anyway?”

“Claims that she picked the lock. She’s obviously lying, because we just got the new high-security ones installed.”

Arrow Man coughed, and did a very bad job of pretending he wasn’t avoiding eye contact. His voice had notably raised in pitch. “ Well… ”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Her expression read You idiot. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Not really.”

Her tone sent a shiver down Cat’s spine. “Barton.”

Aha! So his name was Barton. Cat filed that away for future reference. Probably a last name.

He winced. “Okay, so there’s a slight chance that I forgot to—”

Before he finished his sentence, Natasha started cussing him out in a language that Cat recognized as Russian. Violently. And quite graphically. To put it lightly, some of the things she was saying were not PG. She’d lowered her gun, gesturing wildly in the air, but Cat was too open mouthed to even think about making a run for it. The whole thing probably lasted twenty seconds.

“Jesus, Natasha!” Barton gasped once she ran out of air. “There’s a kid right there!”

“So? She can’t understand it.”

Cat scoffed at her. “Shows how much you know. I understood every word you said.”

Barton shot Natasha an I told you so look.

Natasha was more skeptical. “Oh, really? What did I say, then?” she challenged.

Cat repeated it back to her.

Natasha and Barton both stared at her. The woman regained her composure first. “How do you know Russian?” she asked suspiciously.

“I learned it.”

“Why?”

“I was bored.”

They exchanged a look. Neither looked like they believed her.

“If anything, this proves my point,” Natasha told Barton quietly. “Why would a random kid off the street know how to speak Russian if she wasn’t…” She trailed off, exchanging a meaningful expression with him.

A new understanding flooded into his face. “You don’t think she’s…”

“Maybe,” Natasha muttered darkly. “They have been known to take in kids.”

“Wait a second,” Cat said. “Who’s ‘they’? You think I’m a terrorist, or something?”

“Or something.”

Arrow Man regarded Cat thoughtfully. “She’d have to be a pretty amazing actor, if she is what you think she is.”

“But I’m not!” Cat exploded. “I swear I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” Natasha said coolly.

“How can I?” Cat asked desperately. “It’s not like I have a sign hanging above my head that reads ‘Not a Terrorist!’”

“Sounds like a you problem. Whatever it is you’re going to do, you better do it fast. You have two minutes before I decide to kill you.”

Barton leaned into Natasha to whisper, but Cat still caught what he was saying. “You’re not actually going to murder her, right?”

The woman elbowed him hard in the ribs. Cat could tell it was painful because of the way his face twisted. She was a better whisperer, because Cat couldn’t make out what she said in his ear.

Natasha frowned at her. “What are you waiting for? You have a minute and forty seconds now.”

Cat started spilling her entire life story. If there was one thing she was good at, it was talking and talking fast. “My full name is Catalina Gray. I’m ten years old. I’m not a terrorist. I used to live in California but then six months ago I had to move in with my uncle Trevor in New York. And New York is horrible because everyone’s mad all the time, except for Trevor, who was drunk all the time, and that lady Kimberly tried to get me to a foster home, but I was like ‘No way Jose’ and I ran away. And for like a week I was homeless but I think I’m getting better at it. And then yesterday I was looking for a place to sleep and then I found the alley and that’s how I found the door.” She stopped for a breath.

“It was pitch-black outside,” Natasha pointed out. “And the entire wall is painted black. There’s no way you saw it.”

“No, wait, I didn’t! Taco did!”

“A… taco told you where the door was?” Barton asked dubiously. He turned to Natasha and whispered conspiratorially, “Sounds suspicious to me.”

Natasha raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“No, Taco’s my dog!” Cat suddenly had an idea. She called out excitedly, forgetting that there was a woman pointing a gun at her. “And he’s right there! Taco! Taco! C’mere!”

Taco’s head lifted. He bound up excitedly and ran over to Cat, leaping into her lap. He didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

“Aww,” said Arrow Man. “It’s a beagle! I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to elbow him again.

“Yeah, aren’t they adorable?” Cat beamed at him for a moment, recognizing a fellow dog person, before remembering that they were both trying to kill her.

Natasha snapped at her. “The dog’s adorableness is not relevant. How did you get past the door?”

“Right, so after Taco noticed the door, I picked the lock with my knife—”

Natasha glowered darkly at Barton. He made a face at her.

“—the door opened, and I just assumed no one was in here, so I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to take a long around—” She paused. “And you know what? I ate every— single— freaking one of those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and they were delicious.”

“What did you say?” Arrow Man demanded. He seemed to notice the empty tray of cookies. “There’s not a single one of them left?” He turned to Natasha. “Who does that?”

Natasha sighed, finally lowering the gun and jammed it into a holster. “This is ridiculous.”

Cat wondered how long she’d been holding it up for, and how sore her arms must be. Was she even human? Despite this unanswered question tugging at her, she felt like a huge pressure had been lifted off her shoulders. Now that the threat of the gun had drained away, she could feel the tension in her shoulders loosening.

“Does that mean you believe me?”

“It means that the probability that you’re a sad little orphan who just happens to know Russian is higher than the…” She paused. “...other alternative.”

“What Natasha means to say was,” Barton corrected, “she was wrong and I was right, as always, and she’s very sorry and won’t threaten to shoot you ever again.”

“Well, she’s very annoying, so the probability that I might shoot her in the future is actually quite high. Plus, she ate all of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and that’s an offense I’m not sure I can forgive.”

Cat smiled uneasily. “That’s a joke. You’re joking, right?”

“I take peanut butter cookies very seriously.”

“She’s joking,” Barton reassured her, then added under his breath, “Probably.”

“So… can I be untied now? This chair really is uncomfortable.”

Natasha and Barton exchanged a glance, like What are we supposed to do with her?

Cat groaned. “You’re not seriously going to keep me tied here? I already told you, I’m innocent!”

“Except for running away, breaking and entering, and admitting theft,” Natasha said.

“I never admitted to stealing.”

“You did. Several times, but that’s not the point.”

“We still have a mission to finish,” Barton muttered to Natasha.

“There’s only one more target. It’s not crucial. Only one of us needs to go,” Natasha said, straightening. “So one of us can stay behind and get rid of her.”

Get rid of her? What did that mean? Kill her? Sedate her? Throw her in the river? Cat wanted to know. She didn’t voice her questions; she doubted they would answer her anyway. The way they were talking about “missions” and “targets,” it was safe to assume they were either spies for some covert government agency. Which made them a) dangerous, and b) slightly impressive.

Which probably meant that their definition of “getting rid of her” was definitely leaning towards the “killing her” side.

Which was bad. Obviously.

Cat needed an escape plan. Her eyes darted around the perimeter of the room, seeking sharp objects she could use to untie herself. But even if she did manage to do that, how would she escape without them noticing? By the looks of them, both were well trained and had a large number of weapons. She wasn’t even armed. It was hopeless.

Barton and Natasha were too busy staring at each other to notice her looking around for an escape route, seeming to communicate solely through their eyes.

Suddenly, Barton yelled, “Not it!”

Natasha groaned. “The rules of ‘not it’ do not apply here.”

His voice lowered, so that Cat had to really focus in order to hear it. “You know I’m the better choice. We both know long distance isn’t your thing.”

“I can handle myself with a gun.”

“Yeah, but face it, I’m better. I’ve got these babies.” Barton patted the quiver of arrows. “What, are you scared of me leaving you with some kid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not scared of the kid.”

“You totally are, though. You’re scared of the kid.”

“Shut up, moron,” Natasha murmured in Russian, so low that Cat could barely pick it up. “I’m not.”

Barton slipped her a cheeky grin. “Sounds like everything should be fine, then. See you in a bit.”

Natasha grabbed for his wrist. “You can’t just—”

Barton was prepared. He yanked his arm back just in time to escape her grip, dodged the punch she threw at him, and backflipped over the couch. It happened so quickly Cat barely had time to register that it happened until it did. Within seconds, he’d swiped a can of Pringles from the mess left on the floor that Cat’s backpack had made, and was out the door.

Natasha swore angrily after his retreating back, this time in a language Cat didn’t recognize. She could tell she was swearing because of how she said it, though, like the words were something disgusting that she was spitting out.

“Um, hi,” Cat said, in case the woman had forgotten about her.

Natasha’s gaze flitted back to her, but it was so furious that, for a moment, Cat’s words got stuck in her throat.

“Any chance you’ll let me go now?”

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Notes: Thank you to everyone who read this story so far! Please comment or send me an ask if you have any thoughts! Natasha made her first appearance so I’m curious what you think of my portrayal of her! I'm still new to Tumblr so apologies if there are any formatting errors and stuff! Next chapter on Thursday!

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 2 - Street Life

Chapter Summary: Cat has no idea what to do. She's not that great at planning ahead. She meets an annoying boy and a dog tries to steal her tacos. Not cool. She stumbles upon a hidden door.

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse, homelessness.

Notes: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Natasha will make her appearance very soon! Thank you for your patience. If you’re liking it so far, please heart and reblog this story! Happy reading! Next chapter will be posted tomorrow 5PM PST.

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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November - Trevor’s Apartment

Cat was lucky Trevor was a foolish idiot who kept the most of his cash in the drawer beside his bed, or else she would’ve never made the decision to bail.

If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that she wasn’t stepping foot into a foster home again. The second that social services worker, Kimberly Kingston, had turned to make that phone call, Cat hadn’t given it a moment’s thought before leaping into action.

As quietly as she could, she grabbed her school backpack. Unfortunately, it was pink and covered in sparkles and smiling butterflies, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was far from the most dignified way to travel, but the thing was huge and could fit about a million things. The first place she went to was Trevor’s stash.

It was half full, rows of crisp twenties lining the inside. Cat didn’t know how he was able to get so much cash, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She hesitated before reaching in. Her wrist throbbed in memory of the last time Trevor had caught her stealing from his stash. He’d been drunk, of course, and so angry…

Cat pushed the thought away fiercely. A hot, sudden surge of anger rose in her. With a renewed determination, she started stuffing her backpack full of money. She took immense pleasure in swiping every last twenty dollar bill, picturing Trevor’s ugly face when he opened the drawer to get more booze and found a drawer full of nothingness staring back at him.

Working quickly, she grabbed everything she could think of: a few pairs of clothing, toothbrush and toothpaste, along with everything else she owned. Then, she crawled underneath her bed, where she’d stashed Rufus for protection in case Trevor decided to throw him out in a blind drunken rage.

When Cat was six, her parents had given Rufus to her. He’d been a fluffy snow-white stuffed bunny that had been relatively well taken care of. He now sat limp and sad-looking, his fur was more gray than white. It had been a long time since she’d held him in her hands.

For a moment, Cat only stared at the bunny’s glazed eyes, lost in memories. After the death of her family, Cat had done her best to remove any memories of them from her life. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw Rufus away. Suddenly, she felt the familiar sensation of hot tears rising from her throat. She willed them back down. She hadn’t cried since the funeral.

Stop it.

Snapping back into reality, Cat felt a stab of annoyance at herself for losing focus. Why was she even thinking about that? It happened an eternity ago. She could hear noises from the doorway. The social services worker was still on the phone, thank god.

Cat zipped up her backpack. She stood, looking back at the mess of the apartment, taking it all in one last time. She wouldn’t miss it, that was for sure. Trevor’s late poker nights, eating greasy takeout, the entire place smelling like smoke and stale pizza… It was probably the last time she’d ever see it. Her heart soared with glee at this thought.

Cat pushed the window to the fire escape open. Once she had one foot out the window, a thought occurred to her: What if she was threatened by crazy muggers on the street? She’d need a few knives to fend herself off. Without thinking, she rushed back into the kitchen and hastily grabbed two or three sharp ones, stuffing them into her bag.

In an exhilarated daze, Cat took a moment to think about what she was doing.

Was this crazy? Stupid? Impulsive?

All of the above.

Was she going to regret this?

Probably.

Cat scanned the kitchen frantically for anything else she’d need. Surely she was forgetting something. Paper towels? Spoons? Neosporin, for emergencies? God, why were there so many things that people needed?

“Okay, great!” Kingston’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I’ll get back to you on that…”

Panic raced through her. There was no time. Impulsively, she grabbed the box of “Fruity Crisps” and launched herself out the window.

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November - Park

“Why do you have a backpack? There’s no school today.”

“Because,” Cat said, “none of your beeswax.”

“There’s no need to be so rude! My mommy says you should be nice to strangers.”

The first place she’d gone to was the park a good distance away from Trevor’s apartment. At that time of day on a Sunday, it was bustling with children along with their parents playing on the playgrounds. She’d gone straight to the best playground, making a beeline for the swings. It had been fun for the first seven minutes, until the boy came along.

Said boy was currently standing in front of the swings, and had recently started annoying the hell out of her. He was maybe a couple years younger than her. His gelled-back hair, bright polo shirt, and khaki shorts screamed country club brat. He had an unsightly mass of freckles across his face, covering his nose and his cheeks. Cat had taken an automatic disliking of him based on looks alone, but his whiney voice and ugly personality made her hate him more.

“Well, my mommy’s dead, and she didn’t tell me anything about talking to strangers. So I win.”

“Well, mine’s alive, so I win.”

“Whatever.”

The boy sighed. “Will you get off already? It’s my turn now.”

Cat glared at him, gripping the chains of the swing tightly. She kicked her feet in the air for momentum, nearly kicking him in the face. “Actually, since I’m the one on the swing, I’d argue that it’s my turn.”

“No, it isn’t! You’ve been on too long. Get off so I can go.”

Cat kicked up harder, aiming closer to his face this time. “No.”

The boy’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why?”

“Because, no.”

His face was screwing up, mouth twitching. With a prickle of disdain, Cat noticed he was on the verge of tears. “You’re not sharing!”

At his childish rebuke, Cat laughed.

With a determined cry, he charged at her and caught her feet mid-swing. He tugged down, hard. The swing’s chains rocked on the structure. Surprised and caught off guard, Cat lost her grip and nearly tumbled to the ground. She regained her balance, kicking until the boy’s vice like grip came off her foot. Cat was overwhelmed by a wave of anger. Being a brat was one thing, but trying to harm her was another.

He started screaming. “Stop it! Stop it!” The boy burst into angry tears. “MOOOOM!”

A short blond haired woman gossiping with the other moms at the edge of the playground looked up warily. Cat’s internal Karen alarm went wild. What she hated more than spoiled little kids was spoiled little kids with Karen moms.

The woman marched over. “What is it, Tanner?”

Freaking Tanner. Of course his name was Tanner.

“This weird girl won’t get off the swings, even when I asked her nicely! She’s been on forever and won’t share!”

Cat’s eyebrows raised incredulously. At what point did he ask her nicely?

The mom looked at her disapprovingly, and said, in a very condescending tone, “Excuse me, girl, will you get off the swings so my son can swing? This playground is meant for everyone to enjoy.”

The argument had drawn the attention of a couple other moms and a handful of onlookers. Cat’s sneakers skidded on the ground as she slowed to a stop.

“Right now, I’m enjoying it. Your son can enjoy it later, when I’m done. That’s the whole point of taking turns.”

“See? She won’t share!”

“Oh, shut up, Tanner.”

The mom gasped in horror. “Young lady! We do not use words like that! That is extremely inappropriate!”

“Yeah!” the boy echoed, smirking.

“If you think it’s so inappropriate, why’d you name him that?” Cat snapped back.

The mom’s brow furrowed as the insult took a few seconds to register. Her face morphed from shock to anger. “Why, you little…”

Cat’s attention was suddenly diverted. At the edge of her gaze, she spotted a dark blue blazer with matching pants. Kimberly Kingston had spotted her as well. How the fridge had that woman found her so quickly? Was she an FBI agent in disguise?

No, it had to be Cat’s luck. What were the chances, in a city as big as New York, that Kingston could have found her in less than two hours?

She swore, drawing another horrified gasp from the mom, who slapped her hands over her son’s ears.

“Young la—”

“Suck it, Karen!” she yelled, making a run for it.

“Cat, wait!” Kingston shouted. “Just listen—”

Cat didn’t pause to hear her out. She quickly glanced back, seeing the chaos that had ensued. The other moms had varying expressions, a mixture of entertained and perplexed. The mom was still covering her son’s ears, shouting very unladylike obscenities at her. Kimberly Kingston had started running as well, which was— frankly— a more amusing sight than not. Cat was faster, even with the heavy backpack weighing her down; she’d had more practice running away from things. Kimberly Kingston, on the other hand, looked like she’d had one too many donuts recently.

Cat sprinted at a pace she was pretty sure was equal to the speed of light. Kingston had no chance of catching her. Daring another glance back, Cat saw that the woman had slowed to a jog, but was barking orders in her phone and simultaneously shouting at onlookers to “Get that girl!”

Good luck with that, Cat thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

December - One week later - Outside a Taco Bell

“Hey, kid!”

The voice seemed like it was coming from far away. The smell of tacos was what made Cat’s eyes flutter open.

It was dark. A cold gust of night air whooshed by, prickling her skin. Cat realized she was shivering.

It had been roughly a week since her escape from Kingston at the park. Cat didn’t worry about them finding her too much. There was no one who cared about her that much who would initiate a rescue mission to find her. Trevor had only taken her in for the money, after all.

Despite the homeless thing, she felt like she was handling the whole situation pretty well. She spent most of her time exploring all the places she’d never been to, stopping to eat and clean herself up, and generally heading as far away from Trevor’s place as possible, all while trying to avoid Kingston finding her a second time.

However, Cat was worried about one thing. Her stack of money had been slowly diminishing. She’d never realized how expensive certain things were, like healthy food or coffee. Four dollars for a frappuccino at Starbucks? No, thank you. She didn’t dwell on it, preferring to burn that bridge when she came to it.

Libraries, Cat had decided, were her favorite place. They were a safe haven. They were warm, had coffee, and didn’t care if you looked suspicious as long as you were quiet and undisruptive. Cat had spent a whole day going through stacks of books. She’d always had a talent for memorizing. Once she’d read something once, it was rooted in her memory forever. She could skim through a novel and instantly recall all the words in the right order.

Finding places to sleep had been tricky. They were, most of the time, cold and inconvenient and rarely comfortable. The beds at the homeless shelter was all right, but she only stayed for a couple of days so as to not draw suspicion. That day, she’d finally stopped at a Taco Bell, deeming the back wall an acceptable place to sleep for the night. She’d dozed off with her back to the wall, hugging her backpack between her chest and her knees.

“Hey,” the voice said again.

Cat squinted upwards. There was a guy standing before her, holding two tacos and a drink. He looked young. He had a Taco Bell apron on, and a Taco Bell hat. Cat guessed it was safe to assume he was a Taco Bell employee.

“Hi,” she said.

Crap. Was he going to tell her she wasn’t allowed to sleep here? She started to get up, trying to explain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll sleep somewhere else…”

“No, no, it’s not that! You’re fine,” he reassured her.

Thank god, because she didn’t know if she had the strength to walk another ten steps. She sank back down against the wall, blinking her eyes groggily.

“Here.” He held out a taco to her.

It took Cat a moment to register his words. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. They smelled heavenly. She’d been so preoccupied finding a spot to sleep that she’d forgotten to eat. Her stomach grumbled. She reached out to take it, and scarfed it down like she hadn’t eaten in days. Flavors burst in her mouth. It was delicious.

“Whoa! Slow down, there. You don’t want to choke.”

Cat chewed a fraction slower and swallowed. She must’ve looked like a savage. “Thank you,” she said, wishing she had something to wash it down with.

He held out the other taco and the drink. “These are for you, too. You look like you need it.”

Cat reached out to take it, overcome by gratitude. “Wow. Thank you.” Cat downed the soda eagerly, not caring that she looked like a starving wild animal. She looked up at the Taco Bell employee, who looked slightly horrified.

She looked up at him. “Why are you helping me?”

He shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Look—” He crouched down next to her. “What’s your name?”

Cat blurted out the first name that came to mind. “Maxine.”

“Maxine, do you have any parents?”

“No.”

“Are you in the foster system?”

Cat was eternally grateful to him and all, but she didn’t like where this conversation was going. She stood up abruptly.

“Thanks for helping me. I really am grateful. But I have to go now.” She grabbed her backpack, the taco and the drink, and shoved past him.

“Wait!” he called after her. “I’m sorry!”

Once she ran far away enough, she slowed down to a walk, scouring the streets for places to sleep. She couldn’t deny that she felt a little scared, walking in the darkness. Taxi cabs zoomed by around her, making her shiver harder. Her thin coat was doing her no favors.

Cat found an empty alley and crouched down to eat the rest of her taco. Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.

A small, dark blur sprang out from the darkness, lunging towards the taco. Cat yelped in shock, springing back, and lost her grip on it. The blur, which Cat identified as a small dog, grabbed it out of the air and sat on the ground, lowering the taco to the ground to eat it.

“Hey!” Cat yelled. “That’s not yours!”

The dog’s head whipped up in surprise, flinching back.

Cat made a grab for the taco, barely caring that it was covered in dog slobber. She had no plans to eat it, but there was no way in hell some small, annoying dog was getting away with stealing her food. The dog, lightning fast, snatched the taco back from the ground and growled.

“Give it back, you bastard!”

The dog darted between her legs, taco between its teeth. Cat spun back around. He wasn’t running. He had come to a stop by the corner of the alley, watching her. She swore it seemed to be mocking her, which only infuriated her more. The two watched each other intently, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Cat did. She sprinted towards the alley, and the dog ran off again. She turned the corner and saw the dog’s head bobbing up and down as it bounded further and further away. The chase was unfair and pathetic. It continued for a block and a half before Cat realized how dumb it was.

She was chasing after a dog— a dog, for god’s sake— to obtain a taco that she didn’t even buy, that she wasn’t even going to eat.

Dogs have to eat, too, she reasoned. Even homeless ones.

What kind of heartless human being would let a dog starve? Better the dog have the meal, rather than both of them end up with nothing.

Sighing in frustration and mourning the loss of her taco, Cat sank on the steps of a brownstone and bundled her coat tightly around her. Her eyes slid shut, the pull of sleep more longing than ever. She laid her head on her knees and hugged herself, listening to the slowing beat of her heart.

She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, just as a pitiful whine dragged her out of it. She shifted her head slightly to make out the dog sitting in front of the steps, teeth clamped around the taco.

“Jesus,” she muttered, turning back into her elbow. “Go away, evil spawn.”

The dog made another noise.

Cat lifted her head. “What do you want now?”

The dog laid the taco gently at her feet with the gentleness of a mother holding her child for the first time. The taco was soggy, covered in bite marks and dirt, and clearly past the point of inedibility. Despite this, Cat was slightly moved by the action.

“That’s nice. Disgusting, but nice. You may have redeemed yourself.”

She noticed the dog was a beagle. She’d read about beagles in a book about dogs before. Her photographic memory recalled the exact wording: Beagles come in such pleasing colors as lemon, red and white, and tricolor. The Beagle’s fortune is in his adorable face…

The dog nudged the taco towards her with his nose. Gazing at her expectantly, he had the most wide, innocent eyes.

“Fine, so you’re adorable. Get over it.”

… with its big brown or hazel eyes set off by long, houndy ears set low on a broad head. Beagles are loving and lovable, happy, and companionable—all qualities that make them excellent family dogs. No wonder that for years the Beagle has been the most popular hound dog among American pet owners. These are curious, clever, and energetic hounds who require plenty of playtime…

The beagle seemed to be waiting for her to pick the taco up.

Cat wrinkled her nose. “You can’t expect me to eat that. You’ve already gone and covered it in slobber.”

The beagle whined again.

“Okay, whatever. I’m going back to sleep,” she told the dog, feeling a bit silly. “So you can go now.”

She dropped her head, expecting to hear the dog’s footsteps padding away. There was none. She opened one eye warily, to see the dog still sitting next to the taco, having no plans to move away.

Stupid dog.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

December - the next day

When Cat woke up, the beagle hadn’t left, to her surprise and relief. He followed her when she stood up, and Cat made no move to stop him. She felt herself growing increasingly fond of him. Once it became clear that the dog had no plans of ditching her, she decided to name him. After two blocks of walking, she picked the name Taco, in memory of the taco that began their friendship.

That night, as Cat was scouring the streets for a place to sleep, she decided upon a long alleyway. It was windy and cold, and the walls would protect her from it. She’d been planning on sleeping against one of the walls when Taco started barking wildly.

That was the problem with dogs. Sometimes, they were adorable angels obediently listening to orders, and sometimes they were demons straight from hell who wouldn’t stop barking.

Taco was facing the empty side of a wall, jumping and barking like crazy.

“Shut up, shut up, please shut up,” Cat muttered to him, trying to calm him by rubbing his head. “Look, there’s nothing there—”

Cat paused. The lighting was so terrible she could hardly make out her hand in front of her face, and the side of the wall had been painted black, so she hadn’t noticed it at first. But now that her attention was fully focused on it, she noticed it— a barely perceptible outline along the side of the wall, almost like a door. She trailed her fingers along the outline, and sure enough, there was a handle.

She tried it. It was locked, of course. Curious now, she jammed her fingers into the thin crevice in the wall and attempted to pull, but it didn’t work. Taco had stopped barking. She ran and thrust her shoulder into the wall with all her might, like people did in the movies. She immediately regretted it, retreating with a series of curses and “ow ow ow ow ow ow,” cradling her bruised shoulder.

Cat took out the knife she’d stolen from Trevor’s kitchen and recalled a book she’d read on lock picking, just the other day in the library. The knife was slim and short, the perfect size. She jammed the knife into the lock the way the book had told her to, wiggled it until she heard it click in the right places, twisted—

Click.

Amazed and in disbelief that the stupid trick had actually worked , Cat twisted the handle and yanked. The door sprang open. Taco raced inside, abandoning all caution.

Cat stepped inside cautiously. It was dark, cold, and there didn’t seem to be anyone inside. She fumbled around for a light, found it, and flicked it up. She was greeted with a shocking surprise. The inside was well-lit, extremely tidy, and whoever had decorated it had excellent taste. There was a couch along with a modern-looking TV, a kitchen, and a hallway that led to a bedroom.

Cat knew now what Taco had found so bark-worthy. The delicious aroma of a pile of peanut butter cookies, lying on the counter of the kitchen. Taco was reaching with his paws toward the counter, trying to reach it. Cat felt the same way. She was starving. (Now, she always felt like she was starving.)

She didn’t need any prompting. She threw her backpack on the couch as if she’d lived there all her life, raced to the counter, and stuffed a cookie in her mouth. It was a bit hard and cold, but amazing. The proportions of salty peanut butter to sweet chocolate was perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Cat told Taco, through a mouthful of peanut butter cookie, feeling like the cruelest dog owner in the world as she swallowed. “You can’t have these. They have chocolate in them.”

That same day, she’d made Taco wait outside the library as she memorized as many books on beagles as she possibly could. There were a lot of things dogs couldn’t eat. No raisins, coconut oil, alcohol, and most of all, no chocolate.

Suddenly having an idea, Cat rummaged through the fridge and found a jar of peanut butter. She let Taco lick a good amount out of the jar before she closed it.

A horrifying thought smashed into her. If there were peanut butter cookies plated on the counter, surely someone must’ve baked them. Which meant that someone had lived there, recently. Judging by the temperature, the person hadn’t baked them in the last hour, which probably meant they were coming back soon. And based off the fact that the room was hidden behind a secret door of a filthy alleyway, whoever lived there probably hadn’t intended anyone to find it. All signs pointed to Get out of here, fast, before something horrible happens and you die!

Cat bit her lip as she thought about this, looking around the room. She hadn’t been in a place this clean since… well, since she’d lived at her old house in California. There was electricity, food, a place to sleep, and probably a good amount of other things she could scrounge up. This place like this probably had clean water, band-aids, and a bunch of stuff she could really use.

She made a plan. She wouldn’t stay there long, because it was obviously a horrible idea. But she’d get food for her and Taco, grab any other useful things she found, and then get the hell out of there. She debated the ethics of stealing, but reasoned that it was too good of an opportunity to let slip by.

Cat rifled through the fridge first, relieved to find a great deal of pre-cooked meals and some chicken for Taco. She found a few and heated them, trying to follow the instructions on the box the best she could. While that was happening, she grabbed the plate of cookies and stuffed them in her mouth— because seriously, they were so good— while searching through the place for any other items they might need.

Surprisingly she found quite a few medical supplies— bandages, Neosporin, and a bunch of anti-whatevers she couldn’t pronounce. Along with that, some nail clippers(hers were getting long), wipes, more toothpaste, and band-aids. In the kitchen, she found a variety of energy bars, snacks, and was especially delighted to find three boxes of Lucky Charms. She took one of them.

By then she’d finished the plateful of cookies, only feeling slightly guilty because, once again, they were seriously so delicious . She was still hungry enough to finish one of the reheated meals. Afterwards, having satisfied her hunger and filled her backpack to brim with supplies, she was ready to go.

Taco was gently snoring, head resting on his paws, after eating all the chicken. He looked so serene that Cat felt like it would be a crime to wake him up.

She realized that she felt really tired, too. All that food had made her sleepy. And she hadn’t slept in… she’d lost count of the hours. If she and Taco ventured back outside, they’d have to sleep in the cold, wet alleyway, she reasoned, slowly convincing herself. And the couch in front of the TV looked so soft and inviting…

What harm could it do if she just took a little nap? Who cared if someone found her? She was a kid, there was no way they’d hurt a little kid… With those thoughts in mind, she all but collapsed on the couch and passed out.

When she woke up, someone was holding a gun to her head.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Notes: I think we can all guess who’s holding that gun! Natasha makes her appearance in the next chapter! Sorry for not being consistent… I’ll stick to my schedule from now on. Next chapter posted tomorrow! Please like and reblog if you’re enjoying it! See you soon! Thanks!

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 1 - Ding Dong

Chapter Summary: Kimberly Kingston, a social services worker, is determined to have a meeting with Trevor Gray. Instead, she meets his sarcastic ten-year-old niece.

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse.

Notes: Hey there! This is my first chapter of a new series following Natasha Romanoff accidentally becoming the guardian of a sarcastic but endearing 10 year old girl. Formatting might be off as I’m not used to Tumblr. Please let me know what you think!! Happy reading! Chapter 2 will come Thursday at 5PM PST.

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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November - Trevor’s Apartment

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Kimberly Kingston rang the doorbell for the third time.

“Mr. Gray! I know you’re in there! Open up, please!”

She was dressed sharply, in a navy blazer and matching slacks. Her tidy appearance was a stark contrast to the rickety old apartment, which was in ruins. The walls were peeling and stained, the carpet was shaggy, and it smelled strongly of smoke. On the way up, she’d passed several drunks. Throughout these five visits, she had added several notes to her official-looking clipboard.

Kimberly rapped on the door three times impatiently, tapping her foot. She was not usually an impatient woman, but she had visited the apartment three times, each time with no success in meeting Mr. Gray. He had sounded agreeable on the phone, but proved to be frustrating and unreliable. The first time, she had waited twenty minutes before getting an answer. Mr. Gray had called and said that he’d been out of town. The second time, his excuse was that he’d forgotten he had a poker game. The third time, he had simply locked the door and refused to answer until she left.

This time, he wasn’t getting away with it.

Trevor Gray had been made the legal guardian of his niece, Catalina, six months prior.

The girl’s parents had died in a gruesome car crash when she had been only eight. She’d initially been placed in the foster system, cycling through a variety of different families before they located her distant uncle, Trevor Gray, who agreed to take her in. Mr. Gray lived in New York, a drastically different environment than California, where the girl had previously lived with her parents.

Poor girl, Kimberly had thought. She’d gone through so much.

The first few months, social services had paid them a few visits to see how she was settling in, and each visit had raised no suspicion. However, a few months later, a concerned neighbor called in, suspecting domestic violence. The kind old lady who lived a room away had told Kimberly that she frequently heard shouting coming from Mr. Gray’s residence, accompanied by sounds of violence. After a quick round of interviews, this story was confirmed by a handful of neighbors around the area.

Catalina Gray’s teachers at school had told Kimberly she was clearly an intelligent student, but didn’t try in classes. She frequently got into fights at school, which was troubling. One teacher had reported seeing bruises on the girl in class, but when questioned, the girl had refused to explain why.

“Mr. Gray!”

Kimberly raised her hand to knock again but was halted by the door aggressively swinging open.

Kimberly, who had been expecting a malicious older man, was surprised to see a young, fair-haired girl standing in the doorway, nursing a mug of coffee that dwarfed her hand. The girl had wide, innocent brown eyes and soft features, reminding Kimberly of an angel.

Then the girl scowled at her. “Jesus, lady, could you be any louder?”

The visual of an angel immediately dissipated. The girl looked like she’d just gotten out of bed— messy hair, drooping eyes, wearing only a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms. With the coffee, the annoyance in her voice, and the bedragged appearance, she looked startlingly adult and not at all like a ten year old girl. Kimberly could only blink, momentarily wordless.

She quickly gathered herself, giving her a friendly smile. “Hello! I apologize for the noise. You must be Catalina.”

“Uh-huh.” The girl leaned against the doorframe, looking decidedly unimpressed. “Who’re you?”

“My name is Kimberly Kingston. I’m a social services worker.”

“Uh-huh. And you wanna speak to Trevor?”

The girl called her uncle by his first name. As inconspicuous as she could, Kimberly made a note on her notepad. “Yes, I’d like to ask your uncle some questions. Is he home?”

“Sure is. If you wanna talk to him you’d better wait till noon. He passed out drunk about twelve hours ago, dead as a rock. I think that’s the saying, anyway.”

Kimberly frowned and made another note.

The girl took a long drag from her coffee and made a face, which Kimberly might’ve found amusing, had she not been so dumbfounded.

“I suppose I should invite you in,” Catalina said after a while. She stepped further inside, looking at her expectantly.

“Oh!” Kimberly peered inside, noticing Trevor Gray, who was indeed passed out on the couch, beer in hand. “Are you sure your uncle wouldn’t mind?”

Catalina made her way to the couch. She waved a hand in front of his face. Her expression was unreadable as she glanced up.

“Like I said, dead as a rock.”

Kimberly stepped inside the apartment, briefly wondering if she was following protocol by doing so. She took it as an opportunity to observe the apartment. It was in worse shape than the outside. There were dirty dishes piled on every surface, old clothes strewn across the floors. Kimberly took note that Mr. Gray smoked. There was a pile of cigarettes sitting in an ashtray. Empty beer bottles littered the corners and the table.

The girl was watching her like a hawk. Her eyes, so dark and strangely intelligent, were following her as Kimberly paused by certain objects and scribbled in her clipboard. She had finished her mug of coffee and had set it in the sink.

“Why are you taking so many notes?”

“I’m just jotting down some observations. It helps me remember.”

“You want some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“What about cereal? We have Fruity Pebbles. Well, they’re actually the cheap ripoff version. ‘Fruity Crisps’. Tastes the same, though.”

Kimberly smiled. She was reminded of her sister’s kid, who also tended to jump from question to question with no transition. “I’ve already had breakfast, thanks.”

Catalina shrugged and yanked open the fridge. Kimberly glanced at the contents inside and noted that it was nearly empty. It was mainly composed of cans of beer, takeout, and energy drinks. There was no milk.

The girl seemed to come to this conclusion as well. She glanced up, surveying the kitchen. Her gaze drew Kimberly’s to an empty gallon of milk, sitting by the TV.

“Looks like we’re out of milk, too. Bummer.” Catalina looked at Kimberly seriously. “By the way, you should never use water instead of milk in your cereal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kimberly watched her shake the cereal from the box into a relatively clean bowl. The girl was oddly graceful, having none of the careless clumsiness that kids around her age had. She grabbed a spoon and plopped down at the kitchen table, clearing it from scattered Bud Light cans.

Catalina sighed. “Are you just gonna stand there or what?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you’re a social worker. Social workers ask questions. So, go on. I know you wanna.”

“Well, all right.” Kimberly suppressed a smile. She took a seat across from her. “Catalina—”

“I go by Cat. Catalina’s stupid.”

“Okay, Cat. How do you like living here?”

The girl shoved cereal in her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in years. “S’alright,” she said around a mouthful of Fruity Pebbles. “School sucks.”

“How so?”

“All the kids hate me ‘cause I’m a Know-It-All, which is fine because most of them are dimwitted little jerks that I don’t wanna be friends with anyway. All the teachers hate me because of that one time I punched that little guy Moose. Ironic name, huh? Yeah, so I was like— pow! Right in the nose! He cried like a baby, of course, but no one ever blames the little guy, even when they’re the ones starting it. Oh yeah, so the principal hates me because I keep doing stuff like that, and then he has to fill out more paperwork. The only person who doesn’t hate me is the janitor...”

She suddenly looked down to where Kimberly was scribbling furiously. She caught a glimpse of the words on the page.

“You spelled ‘troublesome’ wrong. Thanks, by the way. I love being analyzed by random people I’ve just met.”

Kimberly quickly pulled the clipboard up from the table, away from view. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about you, sweetheart. I was just describing the situation you’re in as ‘troublesome.’”

Cat didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.”

“I can see you’re a very intelligent girl, Cat. Sometimes intelligent children need an outlet for their creativity.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘You’re a freak.’" Cat paused. “Sorry. Was that mean? Sometimes I say mean things. I have ADHD. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Sometimes I start talking and I just can’t stop. That’s why you’ve gotta stop me sometimes, when I’m talking. ‘Cause I just go on and on and on. See, I’m doing it again.”

Kimberly nodded. This conversation was getting off-topic. She searched for a way to get back to talking about Trevor Gray. “Does your uncle give you medication for your ADHD?”

“No.” Cat’s eyebrow wrinkled. “It’s not like it’s a disease, right? Do I need pills or something?”

“No, you certainly don’t. Does your uncle ever drink?”

Cat laughed like this was the most hilarious thing in the world.

“Okay, obviously he drinks. What does he usually drink?”

“Mostly beer. Bud Light, Budweiser, Natural Light. He keeps the hard stuff in there.” Cat nodded to the cupboard above the stove. “Rum, tequila, the goods.”

Her questions were becoming a lot less subtle. Cat seemed almost pleased to unveil the truth about Trevor Gray’s horrid parenting, so Kimberly pressed on. “How often does he get drunk?”

“He’s only sober fifty percent of the time. I’d hate to see his liver.”

“Have you ever been scared of him when he’s drunk?”

Cat froze. Her hands, which had been fiddling with her spoon, went still. She glared at Kimberly like she’d just been insulted. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” Kimberly said steadily. She was looking at Cat’s eyes, which had turned from playful to defensive.

“Okay, good.”

“Has your uncle ever harmed you intentionally?”

Cat chewed her cereal slowly. Kimberly watched her closely, aware that she’d hit a nerve. “No,” she said calmly.

“Really?”

“Really,” Cat snapped, voice hard. “Back off, okay?” Her voice softened, and her eyes grew regretful. “Sorry. I was being mean again.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

Kimberly was suddenly struck by how much Cat looked like her sister’s kid. Justin had the same guilty look on his face after he knew he’d done something wrong. It shouldn’t have been surprising because the two were about the same age. But Cat’s way of talking and acting had been much closer to an adult’s than a kid’s. For a few minutes, Kimberly had forgotten she was talking to a girl who was decades younger than she was.

She could tell Cat’s walls were up from the last two questions. She was scraping the bottom of the cereal bowl, not making eye contact. Kimberly took this as a cue to stop. She grabbed her clipboard.

“Okay, I think we’re done here.”

She started to stand up, but Cat stopped her.

“Wait.”

She was staring at Kimberly, eyes thoughtful.

“We haven’t had a visit from social services in months. What brings you here now?”

Kimberly wrestled with the idea of telling her the truth. She sat down again, holding eye contact. “Cat, we know that your uncle has been abusing you. Now, I realize it’s a strong word—”

“Am I going to go to one of those— what do you call them— foster families?” Cat interrupted.

“I’m going to be honest with you here. It’s a very likely possibility.”

There was a shift in her expression. “No,” Cat said firmly. “I don’t want to live with strangers.”

“It won’t be as bad as it sounds. We’ll give you to a nice, loving family who we’ll have checked thoroughly to make sure they are trustworthy—”

“Yeah, you guys did such a great job with Trevor, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry, sweetie. There’s really no other option. From what I’ve discovered, this is not a safe environment for you to be in. Frankly, your uncle is far from the ideal guardian.”

“I don’t care. I’m not being shipped off again.”

“Cat, just—”

Kimberly’s phone buzzed in her pocket. “Ugh!” She checked it. EMERGENCY , the text read in all-caps. PICK UP YOUR PHONE.

“Hold on,” she said. “I’ll be right back. Stay right here, okay? I just need to step outside...”

She spent a brief five minutes on the phone with admin, said something about needing to get back to a case she was on, and came back into the apartment.

There was no sign of a fair-haired girl. Kimberly searched the apartment and called her name, certain that the girl must be hiding somewhere or doing something equally childish.

And then she noticed that the girl’s closet had been ransacked, and so had the kitchen. The box of Fruity Pebbles was nowhere in sight. A window was cracked open, a light breeze flowing through.

Kimberly pinched her nose, fighting the urge to scream. It was obvious what had happened.

Ten feet away, she heard the sounds of someone throwing up. Trevor Gray started when he saw her. He swore at her, demanding who she was and how she got into his apartment. Stumbling a little, he looked around wildly like he expected an entire fleet of police to show up.

“Wha’ th’ hell’s goin’ on?”

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[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow | Natasha Romanoff Series

Summary: Catalina Gray is ten, has a genius IQ, a rather unhealthy coffee addiction, and is somewhat excellent at running away from her problems. Exhibit A: on the run from CPS after months of being under the legal guardianship of her abusive uncle. One day, she breaks into a strange hidden safehouse. It turns out to belong to none other than the Black Widow herself, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings: Each chapter will have their own warnings, but it is minor friendly!

Updates: Updates will come weekly each Monday/Thursday at 5PM PST!

MASTERLIST:

Chapter 1: Ding Dong

Chapter 2: Street Life

Chapter 3: Interrogation

Chapter 4: A Friendly Conversation

Chapter 5: Spidey Saves the Day

Chapter 6: Frozen Peas

Chapter 7: School

Chapter 8: Purely Coincidence

More to come!

ONESHOTS:

More to come!