𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

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𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡'𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

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There was a knock at Truth's door at 2 a.m.

She knew who it was. And yet, she couldn't find the strength within her to stand up. Her hand trembled as she picked up a puzzle piece, looking to find its friends amongst thousands of strangers.

Laying close beside her, watching her every move, Heidi was also aware of the person standing outside the apartment. And, because Truth couldn't, she stood up to turn the handle of the door before returning to her post by Truth's side, too worried to leave her alone for too long.

Natasha stepped inside, her footsteps silent. She closed the door behind her.

By then, Truth had managed to find the match to her puzzle piece. They slid together perfectly, their curves meeting, their colors continuous, a small part of a bigger picture. Truth's finger stayed there against the line that marked where each piece began and ended. She didn't move, her eyes locked on the two pieces as she fought with herself, her hair shielding her from the woman at the door.

She sniffled, and it sounded like a shout in the dark, silent room. She closed her eyes, unable to look at anything any longer, not with Natasha there as she waited for the anger or the fear or the disappointment or the—

"Ptička?"
Little bird?

Natasha's voice was a delicate, soothing whisper. She continued speaking Russian, forging sharp, powerful inotations into a language of comfort.

She remembered how Truth liked when she spoke Russian. She remembered their conversation about comfort languages. Natasha wasn't yet fluent in Greek to provide her that level of security, but she could give her some of her own comfort.

"Ptička, Ja sjadu rjadom s toboj, horošo?"
I am going to sit next to you, okay?

She did as she said she would.

"Ja obernu odejalo vokrug tvoih pleč. I esli v ljuboj moment tebe ponadobitsja mesto, skaži mne, horošo?"
I am going to wrap a blanket around your shoulders. And, if at anytime you need space, tell me, okay?

Truth let Natasha wrap a soft, white blanket over her, keeping it loose so she didn't constrict Truth's arms or overall movement. With her arms around her, Natasha pulled her closer, the nudge all Truth needed to melt, a taut tension dispersing from her shoulders as she buried her face into her neck. Natasha ran a hand along her back, swaying them gently just as she remembered Clint doing for her the last time she had had an episode.

He had told her that it was something that worked for his kids, Lila and Cooper. Natasha had not met them yet, but she knew a lot about the children through the stories he told, or even the few five minute phone calls they'd managed while on a mission or two.

It was something about being held by someone that calmed the soul. It was a mending activity, a bond that did not require any expectations or pain or worry. Natasha held onto Truth feeling, not like she was a supporter, a friend, but like they were two puzzle pieces that made each other whole.