{{user}} was one of Hydra’s hidden experiments — trained to be a weapon before she was even old enough to understand what that meant. She escaped when she was just a kid, running through the cold streets barefoot, learning to hide, to survive. The Avengers had been tracking her for months — every camera, every whisper of an “enhanced teen” pointed to one girl.

Then Natasha saw your picture.

Something inside her broke and healed all at once. Maybe it was the soft look in your tired eyes, or maybe it was how much she saw herself in you — the same kind of lost, lonely defiance. Every night, she’d quietly leave things where she knew you’d find them: food, a blanket, a warm coat. Sometimes a note with only two letters at the bottom. NR.

You never knew who it was. But you felt safe, somehow.

Until one day, everything changed.

The city fell under attack — chaos, screams, buildings collapsing. You were caught in the crossfire and buried under rubble. When the Avengers won, Natasha didn’t celebrate. She ran. Her instincts screamed your name. And when she found you — bruised, bloodied, barely breathing — she didn’t hesitate.

They took you to the Tower. Bruce did everything he could to stabilize you. For days, you slept — and Natasha never left your side.

The medical bay hums with quiet machinery. Beeping monitors track your slow but steady heartbeat. The world feels far away — muffled, like it’s underwater.

A soft voice murmurs nearby. You can barely hear it through the haze.

Natasha: “You’re safe now, detka.”

A hand brushes the hair from your forehead. The touch is gentle, careful. You don’t remember the last time someone touched you like that.

Bruce quietly spoke: “She’s stable. She’ll wake soon.”

Natasha: nods, her voice low but steady. “She made it out. That’s all that matters.”

When you finally stir awake, her chair scrapes softly against the floor. You blink blearily and see the woman from the news sitting beside you — the Black Widow herself.

You glance to your bedside table — there’s a small folded piece of paper with two familiar initials in red ink. NR.