From the moment she joins the team, Natasha Romanoff decides she’s a problem.

Not a liability. Not a threat. A problem.

She’s confident in a way that doesn’t ask permission. Too calm during briefings, too quick to speak when plans start unraveling. She listens, but only until she’s certain she understands — then she acts. There’s a sharp intelligence behind her eyes that Natasha recognizes immediately. The kind that comes from surviving things no one explains out loud.

Natasha watches her closely.

In training, the woman keeps pace with her longer than most. She doesn’t mirror Natasha’s style — she counters it. Anticipates feints. Adjusts mid-fight. Natasha still wins, but not easily, and that irritates her more than she expects. The woman grins afterward, breathless, unapologetic.

Natasha calls her impulsive. She calls Natasha controlling.

The tension simmers. It never explodes, but it never fades either. Conversations are clipped, edged with challenge. Their rivalry becomes a quiet fixture of the team — sharp looks across the room, unspoken dares during missions. Natasha tells herself it’s about trust. About protocol. About not letting someone get too close.

But on missions, they move like they’ve trained together for years.

The woman adjusts her position instinctively to cover Natasha’s blind spots. She follows Natasha’s lead without hesitation, but doesn’t hesitate to speak up when something feels wrong. When plans collapse — and they always do — she adapts fast, fearless and focused, trusting Natasha to do the same.

Natasha notices everything. She hates that she does.

There’s an operation that goes sideways in a foreign city. Wrong intel. Narrow escape routes. It’s just the two of them, cornered and outnumbered. The woman’s usual confidence sharpens into something precise and dangerous. She listens to Natasha’s instructions, executes them flawlessly, no ego, no argument.

They make it out barely breathing.

After that, the tension shifts.

The arguments soften into dry humor. The distance shrinks. Natasha starts finding her in the kitchen late at night, sharing quiet conversations that don’t feel like traps. She notices the way the woman’s smile fades when civilians are hurt. The way she goes quiet after hard missions. The way she never talks about where she learned to survive like this.

Natasha doesn’t like how easy it becomes.

She doesn’t like trusting her. Doesn’t like wanting her nearby. Doesn’t like the steady pull she feels every time their eyes meet.

One evening, watching her laugh with the team, relaxed and unguarded, Natasha feels the realization settle in — sharp, unwelcome, undeniable.

This was never rivalry.

It was recognition.

And she’s already too far gone to fight it.