WITH NOTHING YET TO DO AND CLINT OUT WITH ARABELLA, IT WAS JUST TERRAN AND NATASHA IN THE APARTMENT. They had spent a good portion of their day at S.H.I.E.L.D., going over the hit-list and figuring out the best course of action and which lead to follow, but at the end of it all, they had to wait for more information that was supposed to be gathered by Milo and the select few that Fury had vetted and was positive were clean.

"You're not too comfortable with letting so many people being in charge with your mission, are you?" Terran asked, the two going over the files in their apartment, for no other reason than Natasha wanted to make sure that they weren't wasting time.

"No, I'm not," she admitted, glaring down at the files in front of her, "There's no telling if they're going to be leading us right, if they know what they're doing, or if they're not trying to sabotage us, I don't understand why Fury won't just give us full control."

"Because I'm inexperienced and there's way too much at stake for us to just go in without any plan the way you and Clint usually do," he pointed out, and the redhead sighed, nodding, because that was exactly it right there.

The two went back to reading, but neither of them were all that invested, Natasha resigned to her fate, despite not being happy about it, tossing the file in her lap to the side, crossing her arms and sliding down on her side of the couch, her legs pulled towards her while Terran's were spread out, bracketing her.

Not half a minute later, he did the exact same, sighing as he hit his fist against the couch lightly, glancing towards the fridge. "Do we have anything to eat tonight?"

"I was planning on not eating," Natasha said, shaking her head, "We haven't been able to get food yet and with Clint gone, I figured I wouldn't have to eat. I forget you have to eat sometimes."

"Yeah, well, I do, and it's unhealthy for you to skip meals," he said, sighing as he stood up, stretching before reaching down to pick her up, though she rose to her feet before he could get to her.

"What are you planning?" she asked, stretching as well, rolling her neck before looking around.

"Let's get dinner," he said, heading to his room to grab his wallet, "It's nothing big, I just want to eat out."

She hummed, following him to his room, calling after him. "Where do you expect to eat?"

"I don't know," he called, swiping his wallet and jacket from the desk before popping back out, pulling his phone out of his pocket, "Let's just find someplace, you know? Be spontaneous, it'll be fun. You ready?"

She sighed, nodding as she looked down at her simple shirt and leggings. "Let me just grab my knives and I'll be fine."

"Don't bring them," he said, near a whine, "We're just gonna get some food, there's nothing to be worried about."

"Better safe than sorry," she argued, reaching into her room and slipping her knife into her calf strap and bra holster, "I know when to use these, Sweets."

He sighed heavily as they made their way out of the apartment, locking the door behind them and making their way down the stairs. "I know you know when to use them, I just wish you'd realize that you don't need them all the time."

She didn't say anything to that, and he didn't expect her to. The two simply stayed silent as they stepped out of the apartment complex and out into the chilly D.C. air, not as cold as it was in the winter, but still nipping at their skin, threatening to grow colder.

"Let's take a walk," he said, motioning for her hand, and she nodded, moving to fall into stride.

She didn't take his hand.

The two made their way around for some time, looking around for some place that seemed to be serving something edible and non-deadly, though Terran found himself turning to look up towards the sky and the top of buildings to look around, Natasha being the one to keep an eye out.

He also liked to point out little signs for them to read and, at first, she ignored them entirely, but over time she found herself engaging him more and more until they were both searching around for signs to find and point out to the other, Terran always laughing and lighting up whenever Natasha pointed out one that could be taken in a very different direction than how it was initially intended.

"You're terrible," he gasped, ushering her past a small store with a sign advertising something bigger and longer than the original, the woman smirking madly at the sign, "Let's go before you get arrested."

The two finally decided upon a hole-in-the-wall Thai place, Natasha shocking everyone in the room by speaking to the owners in their native language after hearing them speaking to each other, and Terran couldn't help but smile proudly down at her, despite not having much pull to feel proud of her; there was no helping it, he just did.

The two were seated in the corner of the nearly empty one room by the window, Natasha facing the door and looking towards it past her menu, and he was expecting her to tell him to not look now, but there was someone following them.

But she didn't. Instead, she told him what she was going to be ordering and he did the same, and soon the two had absolutely nothing to talk about, simply looking around the room and out the window, often catching the other's gaze before looking away.

Finally, Terran couldn't take it anymore. "How many languages can you speak?"

She shrugged at that, her hands folded in her lap. "It depends on what you define as 'speak.' Can I hold a simple conversation or can I convince someone that I'm born and raised or an immigrant?"

He sighed, shaking his head, giving her a wry smile. "It's never easy with you, huh?"

He expected her to be upset with him. To tell him that he should just back off and stop criticizing the aspects of her that she couldn't change, even though that wasn't what he was doing, but she didn't do that, because she knew how to control her emotions.

Or, perhaps, she just didn't find any offense in it at all.

"We would have a problem if it was," she pointed out, and he smiled, because she did have a point; she was a spy, she had to make sure she couldn't be easily figured out.

There was a reason she was so suspicious of him.

Or had been, to be more accurate, and Terran couldn't help but sit back and stare, because he didn't realize how far he had come. They had gone from her putting up a facade and trying to keep him appeased to not even bothering to humor him to agreeing to get dinner with him and being comfortable enough to tangle their legs together on a couch and letting him touch her wrist, and he never expected they would get this far.

He didn't expect to care so much about it. He didn't expect to feel his heart skip a beat when he could hardly feel anything at all.

Their food arrived not long after that, and the two were given a short reprieve to simply eat in silence, Terran knowing fully well that Natasha didn't like to talk while she was eating unless she had to-Clint told him that she could when it came to certain people, but when she was with him, they ate in silence-so he decided to force his mouth shut.

As he ate, he glanced out the window momentarily, looking back when he saw movement from the corner of his eye, catching just as Natasha shoved a piece of his food into her mouth, smiling smugly, and he scoffed, a challenging glint in his eye as he reached over and swiped a piece of her food, fighting off her fork when she tried to hit his away.

"No," she laughed, giving him the barest hint of a smile as she continued to fight his fork away as he continued to try and steal her food, "I stole one piece, that's disproportionate."

"Just because you use big words doesn't make you any less wrong," he argued, pointing his fork towards her sharply, some of her food speared on the prongs, and gaped at her, wholly offended, when she surged forward and wrapped her lips around it, pulling the food into her mouth.

"I hate you," he whispered, and she smiled at him, and it was so close to a real smile, it was so close, there was just so much of the smug taunting smile that made it different, but he was going to take it, because that was the closest to a real smile he would probably ever see from her.

"You love me," she taunted, and that wasn't genuine, not by a long shot, but he couldn't help but agree with her there, at least to some extent.

"Yeah..." he sighed, dropping his chin onto his hand, elbow propped up onto the table, and Natasha immediately averted her gaze, trying not to show how caught off guard she was.

Then again, she wasn't that caught off guard; she was a trained assassin, not much got past her, especially not when it slept a few feet away and was constantly glued to her side whenever possible.

The two fell back into a silence until the check came to them without request, which meant it was time to leave, Terran dropping his cash down without another word, not letting Natasha argue-she was proud, but not proud enough to want to toss her money when there was an opportunity to just let him pay for her.

She couldn't help but think, watching as he chatted with the owner for a little bit, as was customary for him, that she would miss him when he left. She would be glad to be rid of this mission and Constantin, but she would have to admit that it would be strange to not have him around, and that she wouldn't be wholly happy nor indifferent to his heading back home.

"Let's take a walk," he said, motioning for her hand, the two stepping out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

Taking a deep breath, she took his hand.

The two made their way back to the apartment, her small hand held in his own large one, and she found that, despite the size of his hand, didn't squeeze it too hard or hold it possessively, trying to suffocate her the way most men would, wanting to assert their dominance and let her know exactly where her place was.

He saw her as an equal. Probably one of the only few people who could truly see from his point of view, even if it was so much taller than her own was.

Their hands didn't fit perfectly together, but that didn't mean they weren't a nice fit. It took some wiggling, but that was what was so great about it: she was willing to take the time to make it fit, rather than just casting it aside.

The two made their way up the stairs, but instead of stopping at their floor, Terran continued all the way up, Natasha trying to keep up with his long strides up the stairs, all the way to the roof top door, pushing it open and propping it slightly with the brick that was left to do exactly that.

"See?" he offered, placing his hands on his hips and taking a deep breath, the weather different up there rather than on the ground, "You didn't need the knives after all."

She scoffed, following him as he moved to sit near the ledge, his legs dangling over the edge without feeling the risk of his falling. Because she was so short, she opted to sit farther back than the edge, and he did the same, thinking that it would ease her mind.

Maybe it had, but she wouldn't admit it.

"For someone who preaches about trusting, I doubt you've told anyone what you've gone through," she pointed out, leaning back on her hands, her palms digging into the gravel, same as Terran's.

He laughed shortly at that, though it was clear that he wasn't the same as how he normally showed himself to be, struggling more to smile, looking up towards the stars. "I mean, there are some people who lived it with me. And Clint knows. That's about it."

"I don't need to be told what it was you went through before your training was shut down, we've all heard the stories," she said, "But no one knows what you've gone through. No one knew you survived."

"Well, I don't blame them, everyone else died. I nearly did, and I'm surprised that I'm still able to hold on to whatever the serum had given me," he said, and he was smiling slightly, but there was a strain, "I have to thank the X-Men for that. I'm surprised they don't hate me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, and she was genuinely surprised at the idea of an entire group of people, especially mutants the like of Charles Xavier, hating Terran.

He sighed, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, his chin dropped onto his hands, and if he just leaned forward a little more, he would tumble headfirst off the top of the building and to the ground.

"I didn't just get that you don't trust people from looking at you, you know, we're all built off experience," he began, and she listened intently as he continued to speak.

"They had been the ones to help me and they took me back, fixed me up, kept me stable. I went to classes, but I didn't fight with them, I wasn't a mutant and they didn't want to risk it; they also didn't really trust me, I wasn't one of them, and even though Xavier initially wanted the school to be for mutants and non-mutants, there had to be some line," he pointed out, leaning even more forward before changing his mind, leaning back onto his elbows, the backs of his forearms digging into the gravel.

"And I always wanted to help them fight, you know? They were the heroes and I was stuck not helping, and I didn't think that was all that fair. I mean, I didn't really have much to offer in terms of abilities and the training that I did have was for hand to hand combat and murdering people, but I wanted to help. So I did something stupid."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. "There's this one teacher they have there. Ruth Dakin-Summers. Her husband's Cyclops, you know the one. But the both of us were at the mansion while the various teams were out on missions and I was stuck with all of the kids who weren't ready to go out yet, but I was older than most that were on teams.

"And I was so mad, you know? Because I knew how to fight, just not the way they wanted, and I wasn't allowed to train with them because my abilities weren't suited to theirs, and I was so mad, because I wanted to be a hero, even if I didn't have any reason to be one.

"But they wouldn't let me and I was mad and I was messing around in Hank's office to try and find a mission that I could go on or a problem I could fix to prove that I could be a hero. That was when I found a folder that I thought was information collected on an enemy.

"I figured that this was my chance when I saw all the weapons that Hank had made that were placed in the folder, and everything that I saw made me sure that they were planning an attack and I thought that I was doing everything right when I went to go to the surveillance cameras placed around by Hank to make sure, and I thought I saw them launching an attack, so I sent a counterattack. But there was no attack in the first place.

"I nearly started a war and killed thousands of people. It was up to everyone else but me to make sure no one got hurt because of a stupid mistake I made. But people did get hurt, from both sides, and it was all because of me. Because I decided that I was gonna be a hero whether they wanted me to or not."

Natasha didn't tell him that it wasn't his fault. She didn't try to justify it for him, to tell him that he was young and stupid and shouldn't blame himself, because while he was young and stupid and should have known better, he was still to blame. It just didn't mean he was a bad person.

"So that's why you're such a pacifist," she said, knocking their feet together, "Because you did something stupid?"

"No," he scoffed, "But partly. No, it was everything I learned after. It was the lectures and visiting everyone in the hospital, and getting beat up and screamed at by them, it was everything. It was growing up and realizing that it wouldn't do me any good to try and help people in ways that I couldn't. It would be better to help people in ways that I could."

Natasha sighed, nodding to herself. "It seems to be working for you."

"Yeah," he said, nodding in agreement, "It took me this long, but I'm glad I figured myself out."

That got to her. She looked at him then, taking in his words. He was younger than her, yet he acted as if he was late to understanding who he truly was, yet there she was herself, still trying to understand. There were aspects she did understand, she understood most, she compartmentalized and prioritized and thoroughly analyzed herself for years, she knew who she was, but that didn't mean she was finished understanding, yet there Terran was, acting as if she had figured it out before him.

He must have seen it on her face as he added, "I didn't mean it like that. There are people who're dying of old age still trying to figure out who they are, trust me, you're not failing."

"I don't understand you," she sighed, shaking her head, "You're supposed to be exactly like me."

"Well, I don't know about that, but we are similar," he said, moving so he was almost leaning on his side, one leg propped up onto the ledge, the other still hanging, "What's on your mind?"

She didn't want to tell him. She wasn't going to tell him. She hadn't told anyone except Clint, and that was because he was Clint, she trusted him more than she trusted herself, and that was truly something to value, and she owed him her entire life, he was her life partner, no matter if he had Tensley. She wasn't about to tell him more to prove that there was no salvaging her.

"I'll tell you my name if you tell me."

He said it so softly it was almost taken by the wind, but she had heard it, and she turned her attention back to him, her eyes focusing, and he held her gaze, looking deep in her eyes, letting her know that he was serious, and maybe it was those eyes that made her willing to tell him, maybe it was the reminder that they were more similar than she thought they were. Maybe it was because of his next words.

"Only two people know my real name."

It wasn't the same as never telling anyone, but the fact of the matter was that it wasn't hard to discern who those two people were from their time in the hospital, and if Terran's outward personality was any indication, he had known more than enough people in his lifetime to tell, yet he had only decided on two to hold onto a name he wanted nothing more than to forget.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"What's your secret?" he countered, and she sighed, feeling her stomach toss and turn.

She turned her attention away from him, wringing her hands together. She knew she didn't have to tell him. He would be fine with her not saying, he just wouldn't tell her his name, and she could live with that. Yet there was something gnawing at her, telling her to tell him, and it took her some time to realize why.

She wanted to trust him. He had trusted her the entire time he had been there, and she wanted to trust him. Because no matter how distrusting she was, she wanted to believe in people again. That would never happen, there was no way. But she could trust him.

"You know about what they do to us when we graduate," she began, and Terran nodded, his expression perfectly neutral, "And frankly, I don't care. I'm not a monster because of it. I'm a monster for many other things."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "You know what we had to do in order to complete our missions, you saw it at the bar and, frankly, I don't care, because it gets the job done and I don't care."

He nodded. "No one's shaming you for anything."

"But I honestly don't care," she said, trying to find the right words, "I can't-I don't want to have sex, I find no appeal, no attraction, I can go through the motions and I can act, but I feel nothing, and I don't-after what was done to me, I don't-"

"You aren't asexual because of the circumstances that befell you, I'm pretty sure the others who trained alongside you can experience sexual attraction," he interrupted, stopping her dead in her tracks, "And I'm not going to let you convince yourself that you're some monster just because you can't feel sexual attraction."

"Clint said the exact same thing, but it's not as if you can deny the fact that-" she argued, but he cut her off again.

"The fact that what? That they used you? That they forced you to do all those things? That they ruined any chance of you trusting people and not being on edge, because I'm not denying that, it all happened, and I'm sorry it happened, but that has nothing to do with you not being sexually attracted to people, and there's nothing wrong with you for it," he cried, and it while Natasha wanted to fight him, she found that she didn't want to.

She wanted to fight him, because she didn't want to get her hopes up and readily accept that he was right, no matter how much she wanted him to be.

Because she didn't want to believe that there was a part of her that wasn't warped and broken and burned. She couldn't believe that there was any part of her that was even worth salvaging or caring for, any part of her that wasn't meant to destroy. She couldn't separate herself from a mission, there was hardly even a person within the machine.

"What if you're wrong?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"What if I'm not?" he countered, and she sighed, shaking her head, saying nothing.

"Did Clint explain it to you?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. He also asked Stark about it, so he explained it, but he doesn't know. You're the only other one who does, and you said the exact same thing," she said, crossing her arms, and she didn't know what she was trying to achieve at that point.

"What were you expecting?" he asked, genuinely curious, and she sighed again; it seemed they would both be sighing plenty that night.

"For you to tell me that it was because of the Red Room, that I am broken and I would be normal if I wasn't such a monster, but you're always too nice," she said, and he frowned, grabbing her wrist at that, not enough to hurt, but enough to catch her attention.

"I'm not saying this because I'm nice," he said, and his voice was barely above a whisper, terrifying in the night, "I'm saying it because I'm right."

"I don't understand," she whispered, distress so evident in her eyes, her words taking on more meanings than he could count.

"Trust me, you don't have to. You don't need to understand how every muscle in your body works to be able to move," he pointed out, and she let out a short laugh then, not even smiling, nodding as she pulled her wrist out of his grip which he chose to go slack.

The two fell into a silence for a long moment, maybe minutes passed, maybe hours. Just the sounds of the night giving them company, hardly even sitting close together anymore.

"What's your real name?" she asked, rubbing at the wrist he had held in his hand.

"Matvey Stepanov. Terran because it was the first name that came to mind. Sweets because that was what one of the nurses would call me when I wouldn't tell her my name."

Natasha turned to look at him, feeling a smile playing on her lips, not trying too hard to hide it. "Matvey Stepanov?"

A smile played on his lips as well, an eyebrow raising as he inclined his head. "Natalia Romanova?"

She held his gaze, taking in his blue eyes illuminated by the glow of the city before them, then darting down to his lips that she had kissed so many times, but never as herself.

But she could. She wasn't simply the Black Widow or Natalia Romanova or all the names she had throughout the years. She was Natasha Romanoff. Despite all that she was, all who she was, she could still be a person. Maybe one day she could fully believe that.

"Explain why I want to kiss you if I don't want to sleep with you," she demanded, though her tone wasn't harsh, almost pleading, though she would never admit to having done so, simply because Natasha Romanoff never begged. Neither did Natalia Romanova.

"Romantic attraction isn't the same as sexual attraction, it's like how you can date someone of your gender and one different than yours, but you only want to have sex with people of your same gender," he said immediately, holding her gaze, and if she had looked away, she would have missed the smug satisfaction that glinted in his eyes and tugged at the corner of his lips.

She continued to stare at him, processing his words, and she hated how she had never asked Clint this question, because she had never felt romantic attraction to anyone around her until now, yet there he was, and she didn't understand him at all. But Stark had explained this to her, so there was some evidence; a poor excuse to justify her already accepting his words.

Terran smirked down at her, watching the conflict play in her expression, her guard now down. "So are you gonna kiss me?"

It was about time she shut him up.

Terran hummed as she moved to kneel, him propped up on one arm, though now moving to sit up, forcing her to adjust to his height, her hands raised to either side of his head, clutched by his ears, and even as she kissed him, there was always her at the ready to fight, but then he raised a hand to her hair and she let him tangle his fingers in without so much as a pause, only tilting her head, hardly needing to breathe.

When they finally did, he had her pulled close at an odd angle, but an arm was wrapped around her waist and her hair was mussed, and his was probably no better, their eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed, but Terran couldn't help but stare.

He stared into her eyes, and all he saw was Natasha. He hadn't kissed someone else, someone who didn't care about him, only to get it over with. He had kissed her because she wanted to, and there was no one else there but her.

"God," he groaned, his chest constricting so tightly, and his brain couldn't even tell him how he was feeling, only that he was feeling so much.

What a first.

They stayed up on the roof for hours, alternating between kissing to whispering softly, neither wanting to descend from the rooftop where the weather was different and the stars were hidden and the wind kept their voices secret to the rest of the world.

"I don't understand you," she sighed, seated in his lap with her head resting against his chest, the two looking out towards the city.

"Yeah, but you love it, Romanoff," he teased, adjusting his hold on her to make sure she didn't fall.

She felt a smile play on her lips. A soft, warm, gentle smile that she would never let him see, turned only towards the city that would never look over to see or care, made by someone that was sure she would never be able to trust another person.

Maybe she couldn't trust Terran. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she wanted to. Maybe she wanted to trust all the people in her life, and all it took was her forcing herself to try. Easier said than done, but it could be done. Maybe.

She nestled deeper in his hold, sighing contentedly, and she rolled her eyes when he shifted, leaning forward so he could rest his chin on the top of her head, which was already too short for him to reach, even when she was on his lap.

Then the door opened, followed by a very familiar voice. "If you two are making out, I'm calling the police."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 11.15.18 )

I want ya'll to know that Terran didn't fix her or whatever, like she had the asexual talk with Clint before and it's not as if she's gonna go trusting everyone now that she trusts him, she still has trouble trusting him, but she really wants to try, so I hope that I got that across, this isn't a quick fix, they're both still works in progress, but they're making a conscious effort and she really wants to try, but he's not the first person she trusted, Clint was a lot of her firsts.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!