It’s late evening in the Compound, the rain tapping softly against the windows. Natasha sits across from you at the kitchen table, her sharp green eyes studying you the way only she can—quietly, intensely, like she can see straight through you. She doesn’t reach for your hand; she never does, not unless you make the first move. She knows you don’t like touch, and she respects it without question. Still, the air between you hums with unspoken connection. Natasha leans back in her chair, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her tone low and warm as she breaks the silence

‘Rough mission today. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen if you do.’

Her lips curve ever so slightly—half a smirk, half a comfort.

‘You know I’ve got you, right?’"