Covert Affair | Natasha Romanoff

Chapter 60: Cheer Up Buttercup

As Jenna stirred from her restless sleep, she found herself enveloped in the warm embrace of Natasha's arms. For a moment, the remnants of her nightmare lingered, casting a shadow over her consciousness. But as she blinked away the last traces of sleep, she felt Natasha's comforting presence grounding her in the present moment.

"Hey," Natasha murmured softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Jenna's face. "How are you feeling?"

Jenna forced a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Better, I think" she replied, her voice still tinged with weariness.

Natasha studied Jenna's face, noting the faint lines of tension that creased her brow. Something was off, she could tell. Jenna's usual spark was dimmed, replaced by a distant look in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Natasha pressed gently, her concern evident in her tone.

Jenna nodded, though her gaze seemed to drift past Natasha, lost in some far-off place. "Yeah, I'm fine" she said, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears.

Natasha didn't push further, knowing that Jenna needed time to process what she was going through. Instead, she silently resolved to stay by Jenna's side.

As they went about their morning routine, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Jenna moved through the motions mechanically, her actions lacking their usual vigor and purpose. It was as if she were operating on autopilot, her mind elsewhere even as her body went through the motions. Natasha watched with a heavy heart, knowing that Jenna was struggling beneath the surface. 

Throughout the day, Natasha remained by Jenna's side, offering a reassuring touch or a supportive word whenever she sensed Jenna faltering. 

In the soft light of the morning sun filtering through the windows of the kitchen of the compound, the clatter of pans and the sizzle of cooking filled the air as Jenna went through the motions of preparing breakfast. Crackling eggs, the aroma of toasting bread, and the occasional rustle of ingredients being shuffled around on the countertop formed a backdrop to her silent struggle.

With a distant expression etched upon her face, Jenna plated the food, arranging it with a precision born more out of habit than conscious thought. Yet, as she sat down at the table, her gaze fixed upon the meal before her, her mind seemed to wander to distant places, far removed from the present reality.

Her fork traced aimless patterns in the food, pushing it around the plate without purpose. Each motion seemed to lack intent, as if she were going through the motions without truly being present. The rest of the team began to trickle into the kitchen, drawn by the enticing aroma of food wafting through the air. Sam, Steve, Wanda, Pietro, and Tony entered one by one, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

Their usual banter and camaraderie were noticeably absent as they took their seats around the table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern as they glanced at Jenna. Each member of the team could sense that something was amiss.

Sam exchanged a worried glance with Steve, who furrowed his brow in silent contemplation. Wanda and Pietro shared a knowing look.  But as they opened their mouths to voice their concerns, Natasha's steely gaze silenced them all. A silent warning that dared them to pry into matters. And so, they ate their breakfast in silence, the only sound the gentle clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional rustle of fabric as they shifted in their seats. 

Natasha observed Jenna, her eyes soft with concern. Without a word, she reached out and plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl beside her. Holding it delicately between her fingers, she offered it to Jenna with a gentle smile. Jenna blinked, her gaze flickering briefly to the fruit held out before her. For a moment, she seemed lost in uncertainty, as if unsure how to respond to the simple gesture of care. But then, slowly, tentatively, she reached out and accepted the offering, her fingers curling around the fruit with a hesitant grip.