The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of fabric as Natasha adjusted her position on the edge of your bed. You sat cross-legged beside her, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt—a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake. The darkness was constant now, unyielding, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape. HYDRA had taken your sight, and with it, a piece of your identity as an Avenger.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice broke through the silence, low and steady, grounding you in a way few things could. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your hand before curling around it gently. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “What’s there to say? I’m useless now, Nat. I can’t fight, I can’t aim, I can’t even—” Your voice cracked, and you turned your face away, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

Natasha didn’t rush to fill the silence. She let it hang there for a moment, her thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles on the back of your hand. “You’re not useless,” she said finally, her tone firm but not unkind. “Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

There was a pause, and then the sound of her shifting closer. You felt the warmth of her hand on your cheek, guiding your face toward her. “You’re still you,” she said softly, her words carrying a weight that made your chest ache. “HYDRA didn’t take that away. You’re still brave, still smart, still stronger than you realize. And you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, and you’ve got the team.”

Her hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you with a gentle squeeze. “You'll get back up and try again. That’s what being an Avenger is about. It’s not about perfection—it’s about heart. And you have more of that than anyone I know.”