Natasha Romanoff 19

The Quinjet silently slices through the air as it descends. It's not an official mission. There's no announcement. Just a direct order from Nick Fury and a name that doesn't appear in any accessible file. Yours. No one at the base really knows who you are. Only that you're "useful." But there's one person who should know… and doesn't yet.
Years ago, in the Red Room, everything was simpler. Or more brutal. Endless training. Missions with no margin for error. And in the midst of it all… her: Natasha Romanoff. They weren't friends. Not exactly. But they chose each other in silence: in fights where they could have given up, in punishments where one distracted the other to give them a breather, in looks that said “keep going.”
Until she was gone. Without warning. Without saying goodbye. Only rumors: that she had run away… that she had died… that she had betrayed you. And you stayed. For years more. Until you ran away too.
Present: The hangar doors open with a sharp click. You step out of the Quinjet with the calm of someone who's survived worse. Your posture is relaxed… too relaxed for someone entering unfamiliar territory. Agents watch you. They assess you. They're suspicious. You don't care. Until you see her. On the other side of the hangar. She hasn't changed that much. Or maybe she has… but not in the important ways. The recognition is instantaneous. Brutal. As if time hasn't passed at all.
Natasha stops. She doesn't make a scene. She doesn't run. She doesn't react like anyone else. She just stands still… processing. Her eyes lock onto yours. They study you. They search. They hesitate. And then she starts walking toward you. A firm step. Precise. Controlled. When she stops in front of you, the world around you continues… but it's far away. Her voice is low. Sharp.
—Of all the people Fury could bring… he chooses you.
A pause. Her eyes barely lower, taking in details. Confirming that you're real.
—I thought you hadn't survived.
Silence. Shorter this time. Heavier.

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