Summary: Natasha is the typical badass, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding kind of woman. She falls in love with a woman who is everything she's not: soft, big hearted and gentle.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Natasha swerved her bike around the corner and into the garage. She briefly glanced back to check that she hadn't given old Jeff a heart attack by tearing him from his sleep and, convinced she'd managed to avoid frightening her favourite security guard to death, she raced around the corners of the dark complex.
It was well past 2 am so the Triskelion was practically empty, giving her the freedom to be as reckless as she desired. Natasha pushed her bike to its top speed and then some until the engine could take it no more. The thick smell of burning rubber on the hard ground filled her nostrils as she skidded round a tight corner, cutting so close to a supporting pillar that the rough concrete grazed her hand as she passed.
Her entire body was buzzing with adrenaline by the time she finally swung into her spot between 2 cars - Fury and Hill's, the only two people crazy enough to still be around at this time. She noted with smug satisfaction, and no shortage of relief, that she had just managed to avoid clipping Fury's mirror while parking (if coming to a sudden stop less than a centimetre away from the wall can be called parking). Brave as she was, Natasha had no desire to upset her boss by damaging his new car.
She leapt off the bike and headed upstairs to the Director's office, mind wandering as she walked. Where others celebrated peace time, Natasha found it exhausting. After all she'd seen, it was impossible to believe that this lull in activity was not just the calm before a terrible storm. With no enemies to fight she was creating them in the shadows, setting herself permanently on edge.
As such, when Natasha arrived outside Fury's office and found an unconscious body stretched out on the sofa she assumed the worst. Knife in hand, regrettably only a few inches but carrying anything more tended to attract attention out in public, she slowly crossed the darkened room for a closer inspection.
Confusion clouded her mind at what she saw. There were no signs to indicate that you were a threat. Your skin was free of marks that one would expect from someone who had fought, lost and been subdued. There were no cuffs around your wrists. No reason to believe you were a danger in any way.
Your light summer dress had ridden up around your thighs, the soft fabric bunching up beneath you and revealing smooth flesh which begged to be caressed. Loose strands of hair had fallen across your face as you slept - yes, you were sleeping, not unconscious. You looked so gentle and carefree. You couldn't be an agent, not with edges so soft.
Driven by an urge she could not explain, Natasha reached down and brushed the hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered open and went wide in panic, the cool metal of the blade in your periphery understandably alarming, before your fear mellowed as if you recognised her and knew she wouldn't hurt you. It was an odd reaction, one Natasha did not receive often.
