MUSIC PLAYED THROUGH THE HEADPHONES, blissfully blocking out the sounds of the cars roaring past on the street and the chatter that floated around him.

Peter's hands were tucked firmly into his jeans as he walked the route to the theatre in an almost daze- it had become an increasingly familiar journey over the past few months, a routine that he was unlikely to break in the near future if he had his way. It had all started when he noticed the ballet shoes that were tucked away in the apartment.

It hadn't taken much for Peter to put two and two together to figure out that Natasha danced.

After he made his discovery, once a week Natasha would push back the couch and the coffee table before turning on her music. Peter had seen graceful beings before, but he was in awe of Natasha whenever she twirled around the space and spun almost weightlessly, like it was easy as breathing- she could be calculated, yet graceful and elegant. He loved to watch her when he was curled up in the armchair beside the stereo, the music filling his head and drowning out his thoughts.

Then one day she had held out her hand expectantly, an invitation to join her in their small living room- Natasha claimed that it was to keep his stamina in check, but Peter knew she had noticed how the music seemed to ease the last remaining tension from his body.

It was a nice relaxer for the pair of them. Peter liked the controlled aspects of the movements; it felt good to be in control of his own actions and how his body moved.

At some point, Peter had convinced Natasha to join a ballet class that every few weeks would put on a short show at the local theatre, on one condition- no one watched her. It was a small request, and even though he didn't fully understand the weight or the meaning of it, Peter complied and so did Clint with minimal argument. Though it still didn't stop Peter from wandering down to the theatre for the third time with a small bouquet in his hands that he had picked up on his way.

The theatre was teeming with people despite the show having already begun when he approached the building. Peter's grip tightened on his backpack and he ducked his head while manoeuvring his way through the crowd, slipping down the side street that led to the stage door.

He knocked loudly and tugged off his headphones.

"Who is it?" The usual manager opened the door wide, recognition dawning a beat later as he looked down at Peter. "Oh. Rushman's kid, yeah? Little late tonight, aren't you?" He asked, curious.

Peter shrugged in response, fighting back a wince at the new noises assaulting his ears.

"Can you put this backstage again, please?" He requested politely. "For Natalie Rushman."

"I know the routine kid." The man grumbled, accepting the flowers nonetheless.

"Don't call me that." Peter protested, but the door was already closing so his complaint went unheard. He huffed in annoyance, glancing about a few times before checking the time on his phone. Nodding to himself, Peter wandered further into the side street and ducked out of sight into an alcove, pulling out the suit he had tucked away in his backpack before leaving the apartment.

-

Peter knew someone was watching him.

Despite the cover of darkness that his suit seamlessly blended into, he could feel a set of eyes trained on his every move and it made his skin crawl, being observed without his knowledge- his sense was humming at the back of his neck as a low warning that he wasn't completely alone. Peter fought to stay calm when a voice floated up to him and a woman walked down the street.

"Spiderman?"

"That's me." He chirped, "How can I help?"

Shifting, Peter turned to the voice to get a better look at the civilian; she wore a pressed pantsuit and a black coat that was tied with a belt around her waist. Her hands were hidden in her jacket pockets and Peter's attention was drawn instantly to the identifying outline of a handgun. He stiffened.

"I need someone to walk me home." She explained.

The strange woman's focus had yet to move or stray away from him as she stopped below a lamppost, the light illuminating her face. Peter felt his spider sense buzz in retaliation when he slowly swung down to street level, landing nimbly whilst maintaining a casual distance from the stranger.

He didn't trust her.

"And you want me to walk you?" He asked again, clarifying.

"I would feel much safer." She smiled, though it seemed forced and too sharp on the edges.

Peter hesitated before announcing, "Lead the way then."

Together, they walked down the deserted street. Peter had just been taking a breather from his patrol when she had somehow found him. He kept half of his focus solely on her while they moved through the city, his spider sense thrumming in the back of his head, keeping a level of adrenaline running through his system in case he needed to leave on a moment's notice.

They'd managed to walk a total of two streets before movement out the corner of Peter's eyes caught his attention, though the woman seemed ignorant as she engaged in small talk.

"How are you? How's being a superhero?"

The question struck him as odd. Usually, the word 'superhero' was uttered in awe and amazement but the woman had said it has if the word had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Fine. Thanks." He forced out, "How are you?"

"Work has been a nightmare." She commented, "We had a mishap a few months ago, lost something very important to one of our clients- a mutate."

Peter's stomach lurched the word and coiled tightly. His spider sense suddenly reeled from the abrupt information. No, no, no, no, no. His mind screamed at him, demanding the boy to run as far and as fast as he could and never look back- to just keep running. He stared at the woman, mask still firmly in place or else she'd have been able to see the way his eyes widened in a silent horror when realisation hit him; he almost physically recoiled but held his ground.

"Hydra is very keen on retrieving the product."

"You're Hydra." Peter sucked in a breath.

The air got stuck in his lungs as the woman simply smiled- she moved as if to grab his upper arm, but Peter jolted and twisted away like her touch had burned him. Footsteps echoed and he didn't need to look up to know he was being surrounded- an involuntary memory of the warehouse jumped into Peter's head, making him freeze up. He could still feel the collar digging into his skin.

"Just leave me alone." His voice was strong despite the shake to his hands.

"Sorry. Can't. Now, be a good boy and come home-"

"That is not my home." Peter spat, lips curling so he could bare his teeth at her.

"Isn't it? Everywhere else you're a freak of nature. But at Hydra? At Hydra you are valued."

"By dollar signs." He snarled, disgust settling in the pit of his stomach. Hands balled into fists.

"Same thing." She mused, before nodding behind Peter at what he presumed were other Hydra agents that had circled them. "Well? Take him down. How much trouble can one mutate be? How much trouble can one, lonely, little boy be?" She taunted, eyes glinting as she stared Peter down.

"He's not alone." 

A/N

Peter giving Nat bouquets is adorable and I will take no critiscism on the matter :)

Also, the idea of him dancing actually came from Tom Holland because he danced, and I thought it was really cute to imagine Natasha teaching Peter a few moves.

Don't forget to tell me of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.