Baby Widow Romanova

CHAPTER 17

NATASHA'S P.O.V

"So, are you gonna' answer or...?" Tony trailed of while sitting on the chair on the other side of the table.

Natasha raised an eyebrow while staring at the man she had considered her friend, her family, for the last five years. "What do you want?" She questioned him bluntly, still trying to figure out the reason why he was there.

"I don't know," he shrugged, betrayal lingering in his eyes as he stared back at her. "Maybe I just want to understand why you always keep such big secrets, huh?" He answered. "Imagine my surprise when I was told that you had been found with a seven-year-old-"

"She's ten." Natasha had the urge to correct him on her child's age.

She was aware her kid looked a lot younger than a normal ten-year-old, but she didn't need a constant reminder of it. She felt guilty enough of her daughter's upbringing.

"Oh, ten. Excuse me, I didn't know," he spoke in a sarcastic way before his facial features softened a bit. "Natasha, I really want to help you... I even got the old man out-there not to record this conversation, I told him you would be more cooperative..."

Natasha wanted to trust him, but it was hard not to think that it was a lie. When she left, they weren't on good terms, were they?

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" She asked him, carefully searching for the minimal hint that would mean he was lying.

Tony's eyes widened a bit as he answered, "Because I don't want to die, maybe?"

-/-

VERA'S P.O.V

"The eight-year-old redhead sat on a bench in front of the school's entrance, skinny legs swinging on the edge since she wasn't tall enough for her feet to reach the ground.

Most of the days she would walk alone back to the small apartment they had been staying in for the past two months. But that day, she had to wait for Anya, the older widow she had been placed with for the mission.

A high pitched cry got her to turn her face. A small girl had fallen down while playing on the playground. The mother had already rushed to the girl's side, eyes and hands scanning for possible injuries, but only a scratch on the knee was found.

Vera's eyebrows furrowed with sadness, maybe even with a bit of anger, and jealousy, when the woman placed a kiss on her daughter's knee before taking the child in her arms.

She didn't have that at the Academy. No. Instead she had harsh words and punishments. There was no motherly touch. If she fell, she had to get back on her feet and pretend the pain was non-existent. Good widows were made of marble.

She knew what it was to be held when she fell. Melina would always kiss her wounds and cuddle her for longer whenever she was in pain or just scared. She missed all of that and she missed Melina, she wanted to go back to how things were when she lived on the farm.

Vera's green eyes met Anya's brown eyes as the teenager walked closer to her, "Get you backpack, we have to go." Anya urged her, but Vera's gaze shifted to focus again on the mother-daughter duo. "Come on, kid, we really have to leave."

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to have a mom?" She asked out of curiosity; Anya had always answered her questions.

"No." The answer was blunt, and it got the young girl to frown. "Why you ask?" Anya questioned her, crouching in front of her, but all Vera did was shrug. "Okay," the teen sighed, finally realizing what the kid had been observing the whole time. "Our mothers abandoned us. They didn't love us enough to keep us. We meant nothing to them." The dark-haired girl explained with anger, her hands cupping the child's face. "The Red Room is our home, so do not ever ask that question again. Especially not to the General."