Are you Real?

Shadows of Reality

The morning light spills softly into the room, draping everything—the tangled sheets, the pillows tossed aside in last night's passion—in a warm, golden hue. It feels as if the fall sun itself is playing a part in your story, silently witnessing the love that filled this space just hours ago. As you slowly awaken, you feel Natasha's hand resting on your stomach, her fingers tracing gentle, loving circles.

She's already awake, watching over you with eyes so full of love they seem to wrap you up in warmth. "Good morning, my Detka," she whispers, her voice a tender melody that fills the room. Her hand brushes a stray lock of hair from your face before she leans in and kisses your forehead softly, pulling you closer into her embrace, but the intimate moment doesn't last long.

Natasha's phone buzzes, breaking the spell, almost if they knew you two had just woken up. With a sigh, heavy with reluctance, she picks it up. Her face changes as she reads the message; "They're considering Marina for an Op," Natasha tells you, her voice lined with worry. "I don't fully trust her. Her past with the Red Room... it's too tangled, too risky with potential betrayals."

You nod, feeling the protective shield rise in her words, not just towards her team but towards you and the little family you are building. "What will you do?" you ask, your voice soft but firm.

She is sure when she answers, her hand squeezing over your bump as if to reassure both you and your unborn child. "I need to make sure she's really with us before I let her into anything this sensitive. I can't risk our safety, or yours," she says.

Her promise seals with a kiss, her lips pressing against yours in a vow that speaks louder than words. "You and our little one are my priority. Always," she murmurs, and you believe every word.

As you shift to face her, her hands move to cradle your back, her touch soothing away any lingering fears. Her presence, the steady rhythm of her heart, calms you more than anything else could. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you don't need words—the love and promises are there, spoken in every look, every touch. "I trust you," you whisper, tracing her jawline gently. "And I know you'll do what's best for us."

As the morning progresses, the weight of the day's responsibilities begins to pull at Natasha. She reluctantly disentangles herself from your embrace, her touch lingering as if trying to memorize the feel of you. With a deep breath, she prepares herself for the day ahead, each movement deliberate, bracing for the uncertainty that Marina's situation brings.

You watch her dress, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor as she switches from the gentle lover to the decisive leader. Catching your gaze, she strides back to you. Her movements are swift, purposeful. She cups your face in her hands, her gaze intense and searching. "I'll be back before you know it," she promises, her voice soft yet firm. Then, she gives you a searing kiss, passionate and promising, a fervent affirmation of her return. It's a kiss that speaks of her love and commitment, leaving you breathless and reassured.

She pulls back, her eyes locking onto yours for a heartbeat longer, embedding that moment of connection deep within you both. Then, with a final, tender look, she turns and leaves. As the door closes, leaving a hushed silence behind, the emptiness of the room seems magnified without Natasha's presence. The urge to follow her is strong, but the cool morning air and the lingering warmth of your shared bed hold you back momentarily. Wrapped in thoughts and the sheets, you finally decide to rise, pulling on a cozy sweater against the chill that has seeped into the cabin.

Walking into the kitchen, you're greeted by the crisp, vivid imagery of fall through the windows—leaves in shades of fiery red and burnt orange flutter gently in the breeze. The peaceful scene outside contrasts sharply with the restless current of your thoughts. You fill the kettle and set it on the stove, its gradual rumble a comforting background as you lean against the counter, your hand resting protectively over your growing belly.