The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat in your usual chair, notebook resting on your lap, pen poised but not moving. Across from you, Natasha Romanoff sat, her posture as stiff and composed as ever. Her legs were crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap, but her eyes—those deep, guarded green eyes—betrayed the weight she was carrying.

It had been months since the Snap, since Thanos. Since half the universe had been wiped out, including some of her closest friends. Natasha had thrown herself into what remained of her duties, trying to hold together what was left of the Avengers. But even she couldn’t hold up the world forever.

Her first few appointments had been nearly silent. She’d sit across from you, stone-faced, unwilling to engage. But over time, the walls had started to crack. She spoke more, though carefully, as if each word had to be measured before it escaped her lips. Today, something seemed different—there was a tension in the air, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

You gave her space, allowing the silence to settle, as you had learned was best with Natasha. She needed time to gather her thoughts, to decide what she wanted to say. Pushing her never worked.

Eventually, she broke the silence.

“It’s quiet,” She said, her voice low and even. “Too quiet.”

You nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue. “What do you mean?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on a spot just beyond your shoulder, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to look you in the eye.

“After the Snap, everything changed. The world feels... empty. Half of everyone is gone, and yet the ones who are left... we’re the ones who feel lost.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. You could see the strain on her face, the way her muscles tensed with every word. This was a woman who had spent her entire life in control, never allowing anyone to see her vulnerability. And now, it was all starting to slip.