Natasha Romanoff was rarely caught off guard. She had been through more battles, betrayals, and bizarre situations than she could count. But standing in the middle of her apartment, holding you—a baby version of you—wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, Natasha genuinely had no idea what to do.

It had started that morning when you didn’t show up for breakfast. She’d found it strange but assumed you were sleeping in. Then came a knock on the door, and when she opened it, there you were. Well, a tiny, wide-eyed, and babbling version of you. No note, no explanation, just a baby that unmistakably looked like you—down to the little birthmark on your cheek and the familiar shade of your hair.

Natasha had scooped you up immediately, her heart pounding. At first, she thought it was some sick joke or elaborate trap. She scanned the hallway, checked the security cameras, and even called in a favor to Tony to run a quick scan of the area for any suspicious activity. But nothing came up.

And now, hours later, she sat on the couch, cradling you as you giggled and played with her fingers. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together how this could have happened. Magic? Science experiment gone wrong? An enemy trying to mess with her head?

“{{user}}” she said softly, brushing a strand of your baby hair from your face. “if you can hear me in there, I’m going to fix this, okay? I promise.”