"IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO CALL IN SICK TO S.H.I.E.L.D., I FEEL LIKE THAT'S NOT A THING."

Natasha rolled her eyes as Terran helped her zip up the back of her tight black dress, his mouth filled with hairpins. Clint usually helped her get ready, and she was in no position to trust Terran anywhere near her, but the older man had to stall for them at HQ and Tensley went with him for reinforcement, which left her and Terran alone, the man insisting that they go over their backstory. With nothing left to do, she decided to assert dominance, exuding the alluring, yet uninterested demeanor she would need for their excursion, forcing Terran into his place.

Of course, because he was himself, he was less intimidated by her and more focused on staying alive, helping her with her hair as a way to calm himself down, biting down hard enough to break some of the pins.

"You really don't understand how anything works, do you?" she asked, and he made a sound in the back of his throat, furrowing his brow.

"I know how regular stuff works, I'm a grown man, and an elementary school teacher, I'm just not made for this secret spy thing," he said, catching sight of her quirked eyebrow in the mirror, "Okay, so maybe I was made for it, but I get to choose who I am now."

Natasha didn't say anything to that, but he caught the way her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly and the edges of her lips twitched downward, and he realized that she was confused. It wasn't the kind of confused where she didn't know, it was that she didn't understand, but he was a smart man and knew better than to ask.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and ran a hand over the side of her dress to feel the velvet over his fingers, because he had found very early on in his life that he liked feeling different textures, his senses acute enough to discern between them and if he needed to grab her in the dark, he'd be able to tell which person was her. Of course, he should have known better.

He shouted as Natasha grabbed his hand, crushing it between her own, smaller hand before twisting his arm around and pinning it behind his back, shoving him against the wall, his head colliding painfully against the plaster, the room shaking under the sharp shift.

"What are you-" she demanded sharply, but he called out, beating her to the punch.

"I like feeling the textures, I needed to figure out what it felt like, I didn't mean to!" he called, and he could have thrown her off easily, could have pulled out of her hold, but he knew he had crossed a line accidentally, he didn't need to dig himself a deeper hole.

Natasha didn't believe him, obviously, only shoving him harder into the wall and he gritted his teeth, spitting out the rest of his response. "I moved here and everything was so different, the clothes were all the same as they were back then, and I can feel everything a lot more than most can, so I wanted to feel the velvet, 'cause then if we needed to escape, I could grab you and go."

Natasha held him in place for far too long, and he had to fight against the urge to break free and protect his hand, instead sticking it out until she, finally, let him go, letting him fall to the ground, cradling his hurt hand which was turning a sickly purple, bruising all over.

She looked down at him for a moment before sighing and walking out of the room without a word. Terran tried not to shout after her or show how upset he was-he could feel a spark of anger in his chest, which he rarely felt as he rarely felt anything at all-instead just choosing to pull his long legs up to his chest, trying not to focus on his throbbing hand.

Then Natasha was walking back inside with a bag of ice, holding it out towards him. He didn't raise his eyes up to look at her, instead just taking the bag and placing it over his hand, wincing painfully as he tried to breathe.

"I'm the same way," she said after a few moments, still standing over him, "I was, at least. I was desensitized from it very early on."

Then, after nearly two minutes of silence, she added, "I'm sorry."

He raised his head to look at her then, blue eyes meeting green, and he must have looked truly pathetic because she sighed then, moving to sit down on the bed, still over him, keeping the power, but not standing so high.

"Are you still going on the mission?" she asked, and he looked towards the clock on the wall, then towards his hand.

He shrugged. "I don't know if I should have this checked out, but maybe it'll add to my character."

Natasha took a deep, steadying breath. "Define 'character.'"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I might not be a full-time agent, but I'm not incompetent, I do exactly what you do. They ask me a question about my hand, I'll tell them whatever'll get me through the door."

She nodded. "Good."

He sighed, pushing himself up, holding onto his ice pack as he shoed the door open, making his way to his own room to get ready. He pulled the ice pack away to stare at his hand, frowning as he sighed; she had broken it.

He continued to sigh as he got dressed, taking more time with the buttons than usual. "This blows."

º º º

"I'm glad I brought my nice clothes," he said as they made their way towards the bar, Natasha holding onto his arm in the event that someone saw them before they entered.

The sky was dark and the streets dimly lit, and the cold of the air felt nice against his skin, his heart racing and stomach twisting as he tried to remind himself that this was just like every other mission he had gone on before.

"I'm scared," he said to her, and she squeezed his arm comfortingly, and he would have believed it to be her if not for the shy smile she gave him as soon as he turned to look at her.

"I hate that I know you're lying when you're nice to me," he grumbled, and she gave him a small, amused sound for his troubles, a corner of her lip tugging up ever so slightly.

The two made their way towards the stairs leading slightly downwards towards the hidden bar that Tensley had directed them to. Terran would call it a speakeasy, but he had been lectured too many times by a certain someone who had once frequented them to be able to call it that with a clear conscience.

The two hovered by the entrance, looking inside, surprised by the large number of people inside that were all fairly well dressed within the same vein as Natasha. Terran himself was wearing a suit jacket and nice pants, which was what many of the men inside were wearing.

"Remember," Natasha said, so softly that no one but Terran could have heard him, "He's not going to compromise himself and come out. If anything, we'll just catch some of his buddies, so...stay calm."

With that, she squeezed his arm again, batting her eyelashes prettily up at him as he gave him a parting smile before sauntering off towards the bar towards the side, Terran deciding to head towards the darker corner in hopes of striking up conversation with the folk that wouldn't be as pleased with their lives.

He made his way over, weaving through groups of people, towering just high enough above the crowd to be able to scour the crowd, giving polite smiles to drunk women who did double takes when they caught sight of his towering size.

He sighed as he moved to take a seat on the sticky barstool in the shadows in the corner, giving him view of the entire room, including Natasha who was ordering herself a drink, looking around to catch the eye of one of their targets.

Tensley hadn't given them anything in way of true blue references as to what they looked like, but Terran knew he was meant to catch the attention of the man with a star running from the top of his right eyebrow to the left side of his mouth.

He waved over the bartender, giving him a pursed lipped smile as he motioned towards the man next to him without another thought, ordering the same thing he would be having. He never went out to drink, but he had seen enough movies to know that it was a perfect way to strike up conversation.

"What's your deal?" the man next to him asked, and Terran turned to look over and find a man who looked far younger than he was to expect, but it was too late to back down now.

He shrugged, looking around the room to avoid making eye contact. "Same as you, I guess."

The man looked to be about his age-the age he looked anyways-with a sharply angled face and the ghost of stubble, wrapped up in a brown leather coat. He didn't seem like the same sort that was in the bar, but he wasn't the one to decide.

The two fell back into silence, Terran staring down his glass as he tried to listen in on conversations, having difficulty discerning between voices and conversations, allowing his gaze to drift over to Natasha who was starting to make eyes towards a man on the other corner on the opposite side of the bar.

He shifted, keeping an eye on her as he continued to look around the room, raising an eyebrow when a man who had been sitting at a table stormed off towards their side of the bar, coming to rest on the right side of the man that Terran had briefly spoken to.

"Whatever they're having," the man spat, motioning over towards Terran and the other man.

The two wound up sharing a look, and Terran coughed, glancing down at his drink before taking a deep breath; this guy would probably know something, and he had to take a risk if he wanted to go home.

Nodding towards the younger man, Terran made his way towards the older man, sitting himself down on the stool to the man's right, settling in and sighing softly, minding his own business for the time being, twiddling his right fingers over his glass, resting his left hand out in front of him, since it was broken and a mild inconvenience.

The man took notice, doing a double take when he caught sight of it. "What happened to you?"

His thick Russian accent had chills running up and down Terran's spine, but he tried not to show it, looking over towards the man who was motioning towards his broken hand with his left hand. It was the briefest of flashes, but it was enough of a movement for his jacket sleeve to ride up, showing a branding similar to the one he had seen on the flag.

Terran hadn't used this accent in years, yet he slipped into it like he used it on the daily. "It is a long story."

The man seemed surprised by his accent, and it took him longer to school his features than it took Terran, which he was counting on; he could overpower this conversation easily, he would be just fine.

"Where you from?" the man asked, still suspicious but more open, and Terran inwardly grinned; this would be too easy.

"Stalingrad," he said smoothly, and he could feel a deep shift in his chest at the sound of himself saying the name with the voice he hadn't used in years; it was a spiritual experience he had never wished to experience again.

"Isn't it Volgograd now?" the man from earlier called out, leaning forward to quirk an eyebrow at the both of them, and, in unison, Terran and the man scoffed and waved their hands dismissively towards him.

It was Volgograd now. It was Volgograd when he was born, he wasn't that old; he was older than he looked, but he wasn't that old. But it was Stalingrad to the people who trained him, and it was Stalingrad to the people they were looking to find, and it was Stalingrad to this man, so he was going to sound like a communist in a capitalist society and he was going to just accept it. Besides, he was still in Russia before the collapse of the Soviet Union.

"It should be," the man declared, looking towards his comrades-Terran inwardly snickered at his accidental political connection-that were seated at the table he had just left, "Tradition should have never changed. We were strong nation."

"Why are you here, then?" Terran asked, motioning towards the bar, "And not home?"

"Why you here?" the man countered, narrowing his eyes, and Terran turned his attention back to his hand.

"Times have changed. We have to adapt," he said, and with a deep breath, he picked up his glass with his broken hand and took a drink, slamming it back down onto the bar.

His hand was truly starting to hurt, he should probably get it checked out with a S.H.I.E.L.D. medic.

The man seemed to scrutinize him for a moment before murmuring. "What if I said there is a way?"

Terran leaned forward, a sly smile playing on his lips. "I'm listening."

º º º

Terran wished he could've written everything down, yet there he was, listening to a man tell him vague plans about changing the world, doing best what HYDRA was unable to. Because they were HYDRA, they were something new and different, and that made them all that worse.

S.H.I.E.L.D. knew how to deal with HYDRA, but they would have no idea how to deal with whatever these people were.

"But how would you do it?" he asked, vaguely aware of all the drinks he had been forced to down in order to maintain the solidarity with the man, whose name he learned to be Nikita.

The man he had originally spoken to was openly watching and listening in on them, but Terran didn't say anything, hardly glancing over towards him; whomever he was, he just hoped that he could be of use in some way.

"We are developing devices," Nikita began, his words slurred due to how many drinks he had pilfered the entire way through, and Terran really hoped that someone else would be picking up this tab, "These-these weapons...they will change everything. The very fabric of this world."

Terran tried to determine whether this man was just drunk enough to tell him the truth or too drunk to tell him anything of value, just nodding and pretending to be interested as he tried to think.

Then he remembered Natasha.

While Nikita stared down into his glass in search of the secrets of the universe, Terran dialed back into Natasha, finding more and more use for the serum's effects. Of course, they weren't as perfect as hers, but they were more than enough.

He heard her giggle and say, in the same accent he was using that sounded so much more real for her, "Truly? You believe you can do that?"

"Yes," the man practically purred, and Terran's stomach twisted in discomfort at the sound of his grating accent, "Why don't we talk more away from here?"

"Oh, I don't know," Natasha drawled, and Terran turned his head then, because she was playing coy and he wanted to see what she could do.

He watched as the man towered over her-most people did, she wasn't even five foot-sliding a hand around her waist, groping her obscenely, and Terran watched carefully. Natasha pretended to brush it off, but he saw her shift of discomfort.

"I do not think that is a good idea," she said carefully, and Terran could hear the layer of truth behind the playful lie.

He knew what the training and missions of the Black Widow Ops entailed. He knew of their training, what they were taught to do, what they underwent to make sure that any and all methods could be used to complete their mission. He knew sexuality was merely a tool, never something to truly consider, and disassociation was key.

She was one of their best, no doubt about it. If he wasn't in tune to catch lies, he wouldn't have ever guessed she was doing anything but telling the truth, playing hard to get rather than truly trying to pull away.

"You just haven't met someone like me," the man said, his hold on her tightening, and Terran clenched his jaw in disgust, "This is just human nature. You have felt a want, a desire, have you not?"

"Yes," Natasha admitted, and Terran caught it.

Caught the way she twitched, the tic he had caught onto when she told Clint that there was ice cream in the freezer when she knew there wasn't.

This was more than just the mission, more than her simply not being interested in him, and he knew the lengths she was willing to go, but Terran wasn't about to let her be whisked away and forced to do something she never wanted to.

Even a weapon had limits.

"Then let's go," the man said, and Natasha tried to pull away, unable to try too hard for fear of blowing her cover, which shocked Terran more than he was expecting, and only furthered his need to get to her; she didn't want to go.

"I do not-" she began, trying to brush him off, but then he was pulling her away, and she let out a frightened yelp, obviously trying to gain others' attention, but Terran was already there.

He didn't know when he stood and started making his way over to the couple, but he was by her side before her full scream could even be let out, and he tugged her away, barely having to work to fight against the grip of the shorter man.

"Let's go," he said lowly, and Natasha whirled around to glare at him, trying to pull away from him as well, but he shook his head, guiding her out.

"Wait-" she tried, desperately trying to go back, but he wasn't having it.

"We are going," he said, forcing himself to stay in character, "I said only look. No touching."

And it was settled. There was no getting out of that, no way to play it off, and Natasha was forced to abandon the mission, the two walking out without another word, Natasha casting a sad look over to the man who was glaring holes into Terran's back.

Perfect.

Of course, it wasn't perfect for Natasha who pushed him away once the two were safe out of the bar.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed, her accent still thick and prominent, and he stared down at her, feeling nothing at all.

"You didn't want to go with him," he said, keeping his accent in the event she knew something he didn't.

"He was just about to tell me, you ruined this mission!" she cried, and he realized she wasn't trying to keep her accent, she simply devolved into it when she was upset.

Of course, the first true emotion she would show him was frustration.

"This wasn't sanctioned, this was us, you didn't have to-" he tried, and she grabbed his wrist, and he felt a pang of worry that she might break his wrist on purpose rather than accident.

"Do not tell me what to do. I am more than aware of what I can and can't and should and shouldn't do. We learned nothing," she said, glaring up at him, and he realized she was holding herself back from squeezing too hard.

He sighed. Of course, being an agent her entire life, she would need to find some form of control, and of course, he just had to take it away. Even when he was trying to do good, he always found some way to ruin it for everyone.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "But you shouldn't have to compromise yourself for a mission."

"Women can enjoy sex, Sweets, get over yourself" she snapped, storming off.

He sighed, turning to stare at the ground, knowing fully well that she could hear him as he murmured, "Why are you using an argument that doesn't apply to you?"

º º º

The two returned home to find Clint waiting for them, Tensley already asleep. Natasha immediately made her way over to talk to him, and Terran made a start to join, but one look from Clint let him know it was better if he just went to his room.

He sighed as he climbed into bed, favoring his hand which was starting to hurt greatly, and he wondered if anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would be willing to patch him up, even if he did go behind the Director's back; doctors had to help people regardless of who they were, so maybe he was in the clear with that.

The minute he hit the pillows, he felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him and he struggled to stay awake as he reached for his phone, calling his first contact and pressing the phone against his ear, feeling his eyes begin to droop.

"Hey," Janelle greeted after the second ring, "You're still awake?"

He glanced towards the clock and winced, seeing it was past midnight. "Shit, sorry, I didn't realize that it was so late."

"No, it's okay, I figured this was important, are you okay?" she asked, and he sighed, because this wasn't important, and leave it to him to hurt yet another person in his life.

"My hand is broken and I blew a mission because Natasha was willing to sleep with a dude even though she didn't want to, and now she's mad, and I had to talk to a communist today, and I'm just not having a good time," he sighed, turning to he was lying on his stomach, favoring his broken hand.

"You can leave at any time," Janelle reminded him, but he sighed, shaking his head.

"I really can't," he mumbled, lifting his head when he heard a knock on his door, "Come in!"

"Do you want me to talk to them?" Janelle asked, and he snorted, turning to lie on his back, freezing when he caught sight of Natasha standing in the doorway.

"Natasha's here," he said into the phone, and he didn't know why he wanted Janelle to know that, but now she did.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, and he nodded, motioning for her to come inside.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you," Janelle said, having heard Natasha's voice from the other end.

"Love you too," he murmured, watching Natasha as she closed the door carefully, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

He pulled his legs up to let her sit closer, but she reached out and grabbed them, and he tensed up and she pulled away quickly, wincing at his reaction. He carefully spread his legs out again, his feet poking out of the blanket and Natasha let out a short huff at the sight, a tight smile playing on her lips.

She poked his foot for a moment, probably forgetting that he wasn't Clint, before sighing, "I'm sorry. About your hand and the mission. You were just trying to take care of me and I reacted poorly."

"It's okay," he started, but she glared at him and he bit his tongue.

She softened instantly, sighing as she looked down at her hands. "Clint and I never have an extraction plan during missions, because we both are willing to do whatever it takes for a mission. Clint told me you were different, and I knew that going in, but I don't feel comfortable with your existence."

"Thank you?" he said, trying to lighten the mood, confused as to why she was opening up at all to him, and she must have caught onto that.

"You are the only person who can come close to understanding the life I live, but you're so different..." she trailed off, unable to speak more than she already have, and he could see how painful it was for her to say everything.

He sighed. Of course she wasn't comfortable, he acted like he had every emotion in the world, and while she had learned how to hide it, he had forced himself to act like he could feel. She could truly feel, yet he couldn't, and therein lied the true irony.

"We're a lot more alike than you think," he said, leaning forward, forcing her to look him in the eye, "I just need you to trust me. And I know that's hard, I know. But I'm with you. There's no double crossing, there's nothing I'm hiding. It's just me."

She took a deep breath. "I promise nothing."

He tried to smile. "I'm not asking you to. I just want you to be open enough to try and trust me. I'll do the rest."

She tried to smile then. It was the briefest of smiles and didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was her truly trying. And that was all he asked for.

She motioned towards his hand. "I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did," he said, raising it weakly, "But for very different reasons. You thought I was gonna hurt you, you wouldn't let me. You expect me to be mad about it?"

She shrugged. "Yes."

He smirked. "We've been through a lot worse, wouldn't you say."

She laughed then. Just the briefest of huffs, but it was genuine. It was a start.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 09.09.18 )

I do so much research and do so much tweaking of timelines like legit the entire Black Widow serum concept and all that confuses me, but we're just gonna go with it ya'll.

Also, I wanted to emphasize the accents, because the two had changed a lot to run away from their pasts, so bringing them back would be jarring for them, more Terran than Natasha.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!