In an alternate universe, Natasha Romanoff walked through the cold halls of an abandoned HYDRA facility, her footsteps silent as ever. The mission had been clear: infiltrate the compound, eliminate the remaining agents, and retrieve the child. The child—a one-year-old girl, barely old enough to walk, let alone understand the horrors of the world into which she’d been born.

Natasha's mind drifted, as it often did, to the memories of her own daughter, long gone now—taken from her by HYDRA agents two years ago. It was a wound that never healed, one that ached in the stillness of the night, a reminder of everything she had lost. Her daughter had been bright, full of life, innocent. She was Natasha’s world, and in a moment of HYDRA’s cruelty, she had been ripped away.

The news of this mission had struck something deep within Natasha, something raw and vengeful. The child was the daughter of one of the HYDRA agents responsible for her daughter’s death. Taking her felt like retribution—a twisted form of justice. And yet, as Natasha approached the room where the child was being kept, a part of her knew this wasn’t about revenge.

The door creaked open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. There, sitting on the floor, was the child. You. A tiny girl with wide, curious eyes, so small it made Natasha's heart clench. You were far more petite than a child your age should have been, but there was a fire in your eyes—a flicker of stubborn resilience that immediately caught Natasha’s attention.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. A cold detachment, perhaps. But something about your vulnerability in that moment—your smallness, your fragility—pulled at a long-buried part of her.

“You’re coming with me,” Natasha murmured, her voice firm but quiet. She lifted you up, cradling your tiny body in her arms. You squirmed slightly, but you didn’t cry, just looked up at her with those big, innocent eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t have to witness the world Natasha knew.