till forever falls apart

bad timing

"You can't leave her at a hotel."

"I'm not leaving her at a hotel," Natasha huffs, punching the pillow that she was previously laying against before laying down again, "It's a three star place with free breakfast. She's fine."

"She's your mother," Wanda insists, "Or at least, she's Yelena's."

"My mother," Natasha stares at the ceiling, "was murdered by Dreykov. Melina, she's just a woman that raised me for a little while. I'm not going around calling Dreykov my father after he pulled me under his wing in the Red Room because I was the best, am I?"

Wanda's quiet and Natasha intertwines her hands, setting them on her stomach.

"It's been a week," Wanda finally says, "have you and Yelena at least talked about it?"

No, Natasha wants to say. They haven't talked about it. They've barely scratched the surface about this whole Melina thing and it's half because Natasha doesn't want to and half because she knows that she and Yelena are on completely different terms with her. Natasha knows Yelena made up with her and she's more than okay with that (she thinks), but Natasha's never wanted to fully make up with Melina. She doesn't think that she'll ever forgive her and that hatchet was buried years ago.

But now she's here, in New York City, stressing out Natasha and Anya and killing her mood and she's over it.

"Are you going to talk about it?"

"Probably not," Natasha mutters, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't really want to talk about anything.

"Nat, you know I'm not going to force you into anything-"

"Then please stop talking," Natasha mumbles, immediately regretting it when she hears it back. That was harsh, she knows it, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

"I know you are," Wanda responds softly, "you need to talk about this, though."

"I don't need to do anything," Natasha retorts, "I mean, seriously, you just told me that you're not going to force me to do anything."

"And I'm not," Wanda says, huffing after a second, "but Melina's here. And it's clearly affecting you. Or something else is affecting you, but I don't know what that is because you won't talk to me."

Natasha closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to hold back any more snide comments.

It's quiet for a few minutes until finally, the other side of the bed moves and Wanda quietly tells her that she's going to run a load of laundry.

"You're going to have to talk to her at some point," Steve advised, watching as Natasha absentmindedly stirred the sauce they made. Well, Steve made it. Natasha supervised quietly.

"About what?" Natasha inquired, "Like, oh hey, witchy, nice to meet you! I'm Natasha, which you know already, along with all of my trauma."

"Isn't your whole thing being charismatic and charming?" Steve asked, dipping a clean spoon into the sauce and sampling it, "I don't think that this is what the recipe wanted."

"Does it taste like ass again?" Natasha wrinkled her nose, "I swear, you shouldn't be allowed to cook."

"You're deflecting," Steve turned off the stove, "Wanda's nice. That's all I'm saying. You just have to, you know, be a human about it."

"That's a loaded statement, super soldier," Natasha responded, climbing down from the counter she was sitting on and grabbing some chocolate out of the freezer, "Besides, how do you know I'm human? I could be a crazy alien."