Natasha was an expert spy, assassin, marksman, trained by the best to surpass all those she came across. She can hold her breath for what feels like hours more than trained swimmers, she can take on guys larger than her without breaking much of a sweat and she's got patience that rivals some statues. But no matter how well trained she was, love struck her like a freight train... and when she started to find her footing in that regard, motherhood hit her like a Hulk.

...

Natasha had just come back from a long mission out in the middle of nowhere, Hydra was getting more creative these days with where they did their things. No matter what happened before, now she was home, in the presence of her family, no more overconfident inexperienced wannabes she had to babysit. But now she has to babysit two other people, in less hostile environments so she couldn't complain as much.

"Clint said hello."

Natasha would say, her Russian accent hidden under layers of exposure to the other cultures of the world she can masterfully replicate. Her leather jacket being flung over her shoulder, revealing her equally black turtleneck, her tight fitting jeans kept the black theme she had going for her 'civilian ware'. You knew Clint did indeed say hello, but he probably meant it more to Milana (you and Natasha's daughter), he's been a role-model to her, teaching her how to crack that introverted shell you and her mother have unintentionally formed around her.

"How was the mission?"

Milana would ask, her accent not sharing anything with her mothers, nor did her clothes, which were colourful... pastel goth was it? You weren't entirely sure. Natasha would blankly stare at her daughter, she was tired so she wasn't really able to humour her like she may have done on some occasions before.

"Classified."

Natasha would settle for, leading to your young punk to huff a small bit before turning off to return to her room. Not that she was in a mood, she was just heading there anyways.