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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 9 months

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So cold 🏔️

Summary: You - a rookie agent on their first mission - are sent out with none other than The Natasha Romanov. But what was supposed to be an easy job, suitable for your first timer status, quickly goes awry when Hydra agents unexpectedly ambush the two of you at your safe house.

You barely get away, always following the steady lead of your experienced partner, even when the path she chooses is icy and unforgiving. Can you keep up, or will you be left behind?

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x Reader

(I did not use any specifying descriptions for body type, skin colour, gender etc. so feel free to imagine whatver you like. Also, in case some descriptive word did escape my notice, please feel free to point it out and I will find a more neutral alternative)

Warnings: 18+, depictions of violence, use of weaponry (guns etc.), environmental extremes (snow storm, ice), detailed near death experience (almost freezing to death), angst, Natasha being a cryptic drama queen

Word count: 6.2k

Author's note: Hi there, long time no see lol. This is my entry for @the-slumberparty's "Christmas in July" challenge! All in the spirit of bringing some nice tropes and themes from the winter season into the heat of summer 🌨️ My chosen prompt/trope is 'Cuddling for warmth' with Natasha Romanov 🖤

I hope you enjoy 🥰💖

...

“Keep going!” Natasha shouted in front of you, her head slightly tilted to the side as she spoke, so the wind wouldn't carry the words away before they reached your ears. “It's not much longer now, agent!”

You weren't cut out for this. You had massively misjudged your own abilities and it was coming back to bite you in the ass now.

She was wearing her usual attire, the thin suit not suited for this weather any better than your own tactical gear.

Your winter clothes were still back at the not-so-safe house you had to abandon after Hydra had invaded the space in search for you and the assassin still trudging ahead of you. Someone must've tipped them off that you were coming and they decided to nip the threat – aka you and Natasha – in the bud.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, toes and fingers frozen from the icy winds. Snowflakes whipped around you, the cold ice crystals biting at your exposed skin. It felt like being poked with dozens of sharp needles.

Natasha and you barely escaped the awaiting Hydra agents and you did so only because of the seasoned assassin's quick wit and ability to improvise in any situation.

She had efficiently taken out the brunt of the attackers, pried a set of car keys from the pockets of a fallen agent and then shouted at you to follow her.

The two of you left, legs pumping and heads ducked as bullets shredded the bark of the pine trees surrounding the property.

The red-head was quick to spot the vehicle, or rather one of the vehicles, their enemy used to get to the secluded house and with a flick of her finger unlocked the correct car. The black, windowless van gave a short 'beep' and flashed its lights and you headed for it without hesitation.

How you went from being in a realtively safe vehicle to stumbling through the ice cold tundra of Svalbard?

Well, your attackers swiftly started the pursuit of you and your red-headed partner, so as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you ditched the car in a mostly hidden location and continued your escape on foot, this way they had no way of tracking you via the car.

So off you went, further away from what little civilization there was in the first place and out into the uncharted terrain of the arctic archipelago.

Your frozen fingers failed to hold the loaded hand gun you had kept at the ready and you cursed when it fell into the snow. You stiff body protested as you tried to bend down to pick the weapon up, frozen limbs making it hard to remain balanced. All it took for you to topple head first into the snow was a strong gust of wind.

The icy snow bit at your skin, the cold seeping through your clothes and settling deep in your bones. You whimpered pathetically, uncoordinated limbs flailing in the snow as you tried to regain your footing.

It was so cold. The wind didn't stop blowing, the snow didn't stop falling from the sky, the usually cheerful ice crystals now glinting with murderous intent as they settled down on your shaking form.

It was summer. You didn't even know it could get this cold somewhere in the middle of summer.

But out here, on this cluster of islands in the middle of the sea, surrounded by looming mountains and sparse plant life, the cold temperatures seemed to be at home. The glittering peaks rose around you, the snow covered stone giants looking down at you like sentient beings silently awaiting your demise.

A violent shiver ripped through your body and you picked up your heavy head to look at the darkening sky. Soon it would be night and the temperatures would keep plummeting.

The thought of freezing to death in this no mans land jolted your body into motion. Along with the terrifying discovery that you couldn't spot your partner anywhere.

Adrenaline poured into your system, forcing your limbs to move. You scrambled to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you as you stared ahead but could not see any sign of Natasha.

Your gun was long forgotten, left behind thoughtlessly as you hurried through the snow, your frantic gaze sweeping from left to right.

The storm kept sweeping up the settled snow around you and the added snowflakes swirling down from above clouded your vision further, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to see the red-head, had she waited-

Maybe she didn't realise you fell. Maybe... Maybe you laid there longer than you think, motionless in the cold snow, and she didn't notice as she kept trudging along without you.

Panic spread through your chest, a sharp, stinging sensation that expanded to your stomach and made you jittery.

All caution thrown to the wind, you hurried ahead and called out.

“Hello? Agent Romanoff? Hello!”

Your voice briefly echoed around you before the strong winds carried it away, like a sentence written with ink washed away in water.

Tears gathered in your eyes and your throat closed up.

“Please! I'm here! Where are you?”

What if she was gone and you truly were alone? Would the weather get you first, or would Hydra sniff out your trail and kill you?

You should've just accepted a desk job. When SHIELD hired you, it was to join their army of secretive pencil pushers, not to become an agent in action. But as you underwent the mandatory training every single agent had to go through – whether they would see active duty or not – your skills had quickly gotten you a few recommendations and before you knew it, you had been bumped up from a desk job to a field agent.

Just like that.

And now you were forced to accept the consequences of a decision that wasn't even fully yours. You would pay with your life because someone thought you'd make a good field agent and decided your path for you.

You really should've insisted on your original placement. Safe and sound behind a desk, uncovering and hiding away state secrets and ending secret wars all with the push of a few buttons.

You dropped to the snowy ground again, your numb legs felled by a hidden obstacle that blocked your foot and sent you to your knees. Your hands hurt terribly when they made contact with the cold ground, but you didn't dare lift them lest you fall even further. You didn't think you'd be able to get up again.

“Natasha, help-” you shouted out weakly, your arms threatening to buckle beneath you. “I don't want to die.”

Tears flooded your eyes, the salty liquid drawing cold paths along your face and gathering at the tip of your nose before dropping to the cold ground.

Just as you were about to give up, your arms folding and knees slipping, a strong hand roughly grabbed your upper arm.

You let out a scream, your body raising whatever strenght you had left to struggle weakly against the sudden assault, when the flushed face of Agent Romanoff appeared in your vision.

“Agent!” she snapped, bending down fully to grab your other arm and hoist you to your feet.

Your struggle seized immediately and relief flooded through you at the sight of her. Your hands reached out, stiff fingers holding onto her arms with all your might. She was your life line and you wouldn't dare to let her go.

She was saying something, you could hear it, words said in an urgent, but controlled tone. You saw her lips moving, the scowl she wore as she stared at you. But you didn't understand any of it. You just stood there, clutching her arms and staring at her face with wide eyes.

“We have to move!” the woman snapped eventually. She pried your hands off her arms and moved next to you. She hooked one arm around your middle, while the other grabbed one of yours and slung it over her shoulder.

You weren't much help in your state of shock, your body slow and clumsy as she did her best to drag you along, regrettably leaving wide trails in the snow behind you. If you were lucky, the falling snow would cover your tracks before anyone could follow you.

The two of you kept going for what felt like ages until eventually, Natasha stopped in a thicket of bushes and trees. She gently lowered you down, leaning your trembling body against a tree trunk and then hurried away from you.

“Wait!” you called out, the thought of her leaving you again shaking you out of your stupor. You tried to push away from the trunk, to get to your feet and follow her, but your body gave out and you helplessly slumped back agains the rough bark.

Natasha didn't stop. She walked a few more steps before stopping and crouching on the ground. You could see her hands digging through the snow, her pale skin beginning to turn blue due to the cold.

A few moments later the red-head got up again, hands latched to something on the floor. She gave a violent pull, using all her strength, leaning her body into the motion and then, with a loud, tortured creak, a trap door opened in the ground.

She flung it open, the heavy metal thumping against the snow covered ground, and turned around to retrieve you from where she left you leaning against the tree.

“Come on, we're almost there,” she said, her voice still steady, though you thought you could hear a smidge of concern in her tone.

The assassin dragged you towards the bunker, your feet tripping over air as you clumsily moved along.

The trap door looked like a hungry maw as it greeted you surrounded by the blinding white of the snow, the sight of it sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the icy cold still surrounding you.

“Focus, there are stairs. I can't carry you down,” Natasha said firmly and you did your best to straighten up your slumped body draped over her much more steady form.

She led you down the first step, your clumsy feet slowly following her example, even if only just.

The two of you made your way further down until you reached the bottom of the stairs. It was a good thing too, because you were ready to keel over.

“Here, hold this,” the levelheaded red-head said as she lifted your arm from around her shoulders, leaned you against the bunker wall and pressed a flashlight into your numb hands. Your frozen fingers barely managed to curl around the object before she let go of it and then hurried up the stairs.

As you stood there, shaky legs hardly supoorting your own weight, a numbing sensation took the place of the ever biting cold. The loud 'thunk' of the trap door falling shut barely stirred you, the only thought that occurred was that you should stop feeling so numb with cold now that the wind and ice had been locked out.

But the numbed prickling sensation spreading all over your body made it feel like you were still left out in the storm where the ever creeping fingers of death slowly close around your heart, squeezing it in its icy hold.

“Hey, hey! Eyes on me, agent,” Natasha snapped, a light pop to your cheek startling your eyes open again. You hadn't even noticed they'd closed.

The red-head blew out a long breath as your unfocused gaze slowly zeroed in on her. She eyed you for a long moment before turning to the metal door that was inlaid into the cement wall at the bottom of the stairs. Her pale hands grasped the heavy wheel attached to the door and turned it with all her might until it began turning with a defeaning screech.

You didn't have the energy to actually jerk at the unpleasant sound, your muscles so drained they'd even stopped their violent trembling. You didn't think that was a good thing. Didn't muscles tremble as a way to warm up your body?

The door swung open with another tortured sound and Natasha disappeared inside right after plucking the flashlight from your grasp. You swayed in place, body threatening to fold the longer you stood in the dark.

A few long moments passed and you were starting to grow restless at Natasha's absence. Taking a determined – and horribly misjudged – step forward, you immediately began to crumple to the floor in a decidedly unelegant way and with a hoarse squeak, followed by the loud 'thump' of your body hitting the cement floor.

Strangely enough, there wasn't really a sensation of pain, merely a dulled throb in your knees and elbows.

A light humming sound started to pick up around you just as you found yourself lying on the floor, the flickering of the overhead lights hurting your tired eyes.

Natasha must've found the generator. Or whatever else was used to power this ancient bunker.

You heard the quiet sounds of her light steps growing louder and eventually a cursed “Great!” uttered by her. “Can't leave you alone for a single second. How the hell did you pass your field training...”

She looped her arms underneath yours and began dragging your limp form into the bunker. Your wet clothes left a streak across the bleak floor.

“ 'm tired,” you mumbled, your thoughts swimming aimlessly around your cottony head.

“You're not allowed to sleep. That's an order from your superior Agent,” Natasha barked through clenched teeth.

She heaved your heavy body onto something soft – well, not exactly soft, but definitely softer than the unforgiving floor – and rolled you around until you laid on your back and stared up at the grey ceiling.

“We gotta get you out of your wet clothes. They will cool you down and that's the last thing we need right now,” Natasha informed you, her hand briefly touching your frozen cheek before wandering lower and working on quickly removing your layers of wet clothes.

You tried to help as best as you could, straining to lift limbs and shift left or right so she could slip off various items of clohting until you were left in your sports bra and panties. They too were slightly damp, but you were glad Natasha had decided to grant you your modesty. Not that you could have protested if she had wanted to take the last of your coverage as well.

The red-head had talked to you the entire time, keeping your mind engaged and awake. She was still talking now, her voice much more soothing than before, the tense edge gone from her rich baritone.

Some feeling was slowly coming back to your extremeties and you finally noticed how warm it was in the small underground room – and how cold you were in comparison.

Sharp, stinging pain started to needle at every inch of your skin and you had absolutely no control over the tears that rose unbidden to your eyes, barely brimming along your waterline before spilling over with a weak sob rattling in your hollow chest.

“I wan' go home,” you slurred, tears running down your temples and into your hairline.

“Hey, it's alright. You'll go home, don't worry. I'll make sure of it,” Natasha's voice soothed you.

You were so occupied with crying and suddenly fearing for your life that you didn't notice the red-head had dressed down to her underwear as well and was now climbing onto what seemed to be a sturdy, wall-mounted cot jutting out from the bleak cement walls.

The mattress dipped beneath her body as she climbed on, shuffling carefully on her knees and using her hands to roll you a little further towards the wall.

The movement jostling your body made you aware of the sublte tremble that overtook your muscles once more as you laid on the firm cot. Tears were still trickling down your face and your breathing came in shaky stutters. There were so many things you wanted to say, last words and farewells for Natasha to deliver to your loved ones, but nothing but chocked crying and shuddery breaths made it past you ice-cold lips.

“I'm going to get you warmed up. I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable with this, but I don't know how else to help you,” Natasha explained evenly.

She had shuffled down to lie next to you, her front pressed againt the curve of your spine. You felt the faint vibration of her voice against you trembling back. Your core muscles had begun to shake violently now, the cooled down flesh trying to preserve body heat with a desperate last measure.

“Come here,” the older woman muttered behind you, wrapping her arm around you and pulling your bodies flush together. Her bent legs fit perfectly against your own, her thighs slotted up against the underside of yours and her scarred knees firmly lodged in place in the soft backside of your own.

She reached out to pull the thin blanket over your bodies, carefully making sure that it covered you from your neck down to your frozen toes that still felt concerningly numb.

“S-so c-co- cold,” you mumbled, your tired eyes falling shut as you instinctively nestled back against Natasha's warm body as much as you could in your delirious, weakened state.

“Shh, you'll be warmer soon. Just stay with me, rookie,” the red-head soothed, her hand resting on your soft belly making the smallest of circling motions to calm you.

The touch was so soft, your frozen body almost didn't register it as you sniffled through the gradually slowing tears wetting your cold face.

“ 'wan home,” you tiredly slurred again, your mind getting slow and foggy as you laid tucked up against Natasha, your trembling muscles shaking the mattress.

Bone deep exhaustion was creeping in, the emotional and physical shock of the day's events dragging you under at last, drowning your conscience in thick darkness.

“-Ookie. Wake up.”

Silence.

“-gotta wake up.”

A murmur.

“Can you hear me?”

Your eyes fluttered open for a moment, blurry vision hardly able to focus on your surroundings. The only thing your sluggish mind registered was the glaring light brightening up the space you found yourself in.

“There we go. Come on, keep those eyes open.”

There was a light tap to your cheek. A warm hand settled on the skin and popped against it a couple of times until your eyes opened once more.

“Hey, look at me.”

It took you a moment to figure out what was going on. Your eyes settled on a familiar red-head who stood in front of the cot you were curled up on in nothing but your practical underwear.

Natasha was in the same state of undress, her hair in a mussed up bun. A few strands fell in her eyes when she bent over to stare down at you with observant green eyes.

“Mmh... wha'?” you mumbled, eyes blearily blinking up at the woman who scanned your face carefully.

Your cheek itched and you instinctively reached up, heavy arm fighting against exhausted muscles to scratch the itch.

“You can move, that's good,” Natasha observed and straightened back up. “Stay awake. You need to eat and drink.”

It took you a moment to understand her words and then the dramatic position you had found yourself in not long ago filtered back into your foggy thoughts.

The ice and the snow, the freezing winds tearing at your clothes. You'd fallen, unable to get back up from the frozen ground... After that, flashes of the red-head's face, her hands on your trembling body, dragging you, undressing you, holding you.

“You- you saved me,” you uttered quietly, the words clearer now that you became fully conscious.

Natasha stopped in her tracks. She had already turned her back on you, walking off towards the other end of the room, but your quiet voice made her halt. She glanced at you over her shoulder.

“Yes, I did,” she said evenly and continued her path. “You're welcome.”

You stared after her for a moment, watching as she strode across the cement floor, the glaring ceiling lights throwing her shadow on the ground, until it became too hard to keep your eyes open and you surrendered to the pull of your heavy lids.

“Didn't I tell you to keep your eyes open, rookie. I was under the impression you were good at following orders,” Natasha's voice came from right in front of you, startling your tired eyes open again.

“Sorry. I'm tired,” you mumbled and rubbed your eyes before maneuvering an arm under your body and pressing up into a more upright position. It was hard on your tired muscles and Natasha saw you straining.

She set the bowls she was holding onto the floor and reached out to hoist you into a sitting position with your back leaning against the cool wall behind you. Then she grabbed the bowls and handed you one before climbing into the bed beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you.

“Eat,” Natasha ordered curtly. She didn't shy away from physical contact despite her distant behaviour, quite the opposite. She settled close to you, her side pressed against yours. She was warmer than you, but not noticably so.

It made you realise that, for the first time since you and your partner had fled your safe house at the edge of the sleepy town, you weren't cold. You weren't shaking, your limbs weren't growing numb or stinging from the biting cold.

“Thank you,” you said quietly after having a mouthful of the hot broth steaming in the tin bowl. “For the food and... you know.”

“You're welcome. Now eat. I didn't go through all the trouble of dragging your frozen ass through the tundra just so you die of malnutrition,” the red-head said, nudging your side with her elbow without looking up from the bowl of broth she made and continued eating.

Somehow her answer didn't feel genuine, but then again, saving lives was more or less her job, so maybe she didn't expect any big displays of grattitude.

You tried to shrug it off and silently finished your food. It was tiring, holding the bowl and bringing the spoon to your lips for every bite. The ordeal in the cold had sucked every bit of energy from your body and now that you weren't actively freezing to death or delirious it hit you like a train.

You came incredibly close to losing your life. The realisation was humbling and terrifying and it filled you with so much grattitude towards your mission partner. If it wasn't for her experience in the field, her quick thinking and acting, you would be dead. Not frozen to death in the stormy tundra, no. You would've died with a bullet in your back the moment you were ambushed if it wasn't for Natasha.

Your shaky hands set the empty bowl down in your lap and you raised your gaze, properly studying the space you were in for the first time. It was a bunker, practical, bare, down to the point.

Cement floors and walls, several bunk beds jutting out from the walls, a small nook that held old kitchen appliances, a rickety set of chairs and a table. Several filing cabinets stood pushed up against the far wall to your right.

“Where are we?” you asked, hoping to keep your spiraling thoughts about your fragile existence at bay as well as wanting to fill the eerie quiet surrounding you.

“A bunker,” Natasha supplied very unhelpfully. She pushed up from the cot, pulling the blanket off her body and tucking it back around yours before taking your bowl from your lap and bringing it with her to the kitchen space.

“I.. I can see that. I know I'm a rookie, but I'm not that clueless,” you replied, somewhat irritated at her curt responses.

You thanked her for saving you and for the food. You were trying to make conversation. Why was she being so dismissive? You didn't do anything wrong.

“You almost died out in the cold if it wasn't for me. Not to mention that you lost your firearm. I'd say you're fairly clueless,” Natasha pointed out, her voice still infuriatingly even. As if she didn't care, as if you were nothing but an inconvenience for her.

You clenched your jaw, anger bubbling up beneath your skin. She wasn't being fair. You didn't ask for this. Someone made the decision for you, telling you you'd be better off as a field agent rather than wasting your talents behind a desk. None of this was your fault.

“I- This-” you started, chest puffed out and hands weakly clutching at your blanket.

“Think before you speak,” Natasha commented, leisurely washing the bowls and spoons you had used.

That did it. Your eyes bore into her back, a snarl twisting your features.

Shoving – well, in your state it was more a weak flopping of limbs – the blanket away from your body, you somehow managed to maneuver yourself to the edge of the cot and began to get up.

“Stop it! I- I didn't ask for any of this. This is my first time in the field, a decision that was made for me. They kept telling me I shouldn't waste my skills on a desk job and I was stupid enough to believe them! And look where it got me. I almost died! I could've been dead. Shot, stabbed, tortured by Hydra agents, frozen to death in the snow like some unloved pet left by an owner! It's not my fault things went sideways and I can't be blamed for not knowing better either, so stop acting like I'm some dumbass who purposely makes things difficult for you, you- urgh”

The moment you tried to push yourself up into a standing position to march over to the seemingly indifferent red-head your legs gave out beneath you. You vision swam, head pounding as your heart pumped desperately in your chest to supply your brain with enough oxygen and keep you from passing out.

Natasha was by your side in the blink of an eye. Your knees barely got the chance to touch the floor before she caught you, hands shoved under your arms to keep you from slamming into the cement floor like a sack of potatoes.

She gave a sigh, muttering something under her breath as she heaved your floppy body back onto the mattress and moved you onto your side. She drew the blanket back over your exposed body and then gripped your chin between her index and thumb.

Your vision was still a little blurry, thoughts scrambled from the sudden collapse that you probably should have anticipated considering your current state.

“Stay in bed, rookie. You're gonna get yourself killed if you keep this up,” Natasha reprimanded.

Assumingly having found what she was looking for, the red-head released your face and settled it back on the pillow.

You watched her groggily, eyes following her shape as she retrieved something from a squeaky cupboard and returned to you. It was a water bottle by the looks of it. You couldn't read the label.

Natasha opened the bottle with a swift twist of the cap and then reached behind your neck to prop your head up enough so you could drink from the bottle she held to your lips.

When she deemed that you had had enough, she pulled the bottle away and put your head back on the pillow.

You were too embarassed to speak, ashamed of your outburst and your collapse. Once again, she had to help you. You really were clueless. Not that it could be expected otherwise, seeing as this was your first mission. And it immediately went awry.

Natasha didn't say anything else either. She merely climbed back up onto the mattress, carefully climbing over your lax body and settling close behind, once again molding your two forms together.

After a while of tense silence, you let out a sigh.

“Sorry.”

Natasha merely hummed at your apology.

You began wracking your brain for more words to say, something to convince the woman that you never meant to make things difficult for her, but that you simply didn't know any better. Before any of those half-bakes sentences can make it past your lips though, Natasha begins to speak.

“It's an old soviet bunker. I know it from my days with Dreykov.”

It took you a moment to place her words, not expecting the sudden change of topic.

So that's where you were. An old soviet bunker. You could only thank the stars that it was Natasha Romanov who you had been sent out with. Anyone else might not have had this knowledge and you would've ended up dead in the snow.

“Okay... How- How did you know it was deserted?” you asked hesitantly.

“I didn't.” Natasha replied bluntly, shifting behind you to press closer. You knew it was only to keep your body temperature up and steady after the hypothermia, but you couldn't help but take comfort from the action.

“But- What would you have done if there were people here? Armed people?” you wondered, images of bloody scenes flashing before your eyes. You shuddered, head dipping down and body nestling back against Natasha's firm one.

“I would've killed them.”

That gave you a pause.

“You- you would've... of course you would,” you stuttered and then gave up with a huff. You didn't know what you expected.

“You're my responsibilty, rookie. I don't like to see colleagues dying on the job,´not if I can help it,” Natasha said. She lifted the arm she'd kept on her hip over your waist, settling her hand on your soft tummy just the way she had done when she climbed onto the cot last time. “Especially not sweet ones like you.”

Your stomach squeezed strangely at the unexpected compliment, a giddy kind of feeling bubbling up in your overtired mind.

“What? I'm not- not sweet,” you deflected, flustered and confused. She was being so steely before and now she complimented you out of nowhere.

“You are. And green behind the ears like no other,” Natasha said matter of factly, causing you to pout a little.

Yes, you didn't have experience, but according to your trainers and superiors you had at least some skill, otherwise they wouldn't have sent you out in the field. Still something you deeply regretted not turning down.

“I usually don't take new recruits on missions. I either work alone or have an experienced agent of my choosing with me. Most of the time Barton, if he's available,” the woman added.

You frowned. Was she regretting this mission? Regretting that she had given it a try to go out on a job with someone less experienced and steady?

“But... why did they send me with you then? They should know you don't work with noobs like me and reagrding your stature in the Agency... Well, I'd like to think they respect your wishes,” you mumbled.

“Oh, they do. I asked for you as my partner. It would've been an uneventful solo mission, so taking you to show you the ropes seemed sensible,” the red-head revealed.

Her words made you stop. She'd requested you as her partner when she could've easily done this by herself without any complications? You didn't get it.

The Black Widow, a former KGB agent and most feared assassin, wasn't known for such niceties. What could have possibly made her think you were worth her time?

Thankfully, Natasha didn't let your thoughts spiral too far.

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on you during your training that the field wasn't your place. You are good, yes. In a controlled environment. But out here, away from shooting ranges and bullet-proof vests? You hesitate. You think too much and it will get you killed. So I made sure that wouldn't happen and that, after all this, you can go back and start that desk job you applied for,” she concluded.

There were countless questions swirling through your head, each one fighting to be ask first.

“Does that make me less?” was the question spilling forth before any of the others.

Natasha sighed. She shifted behind you, legs pressing closer to yours.

“Some would think so. But it doesn't,” she said. For a moment you thought that was it, but after a short silence the red-head kept going.

“There's a reason we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Every job needs doing, no matter how inconsequential it might seem. If not for cleaners and refuse collectors, who would keep our streets and public spaces clean? They are just as fundamentally important to our life in society as any politician or police officer. The same goes for you. We need people out in the field, but without the people behind the desks, directing them, gathering information, finding new sources and uncovering secrets, they would be lost.”

Her words stunned you. They came unexpected. You thought highly of Natasha Romanov, but she always seemed untouchable, so above everything else. It surprised you that she had such on open view of the world. So many active duty agents that you had met in your short time at Shield constantly frowned upon and made jokes about their stationary colleagues who sat behind desks, organised meetings and collected information.

“That... That's a very nice way of looking at things,” you replied eventually.

Once more the red-head only gave a hum. It made you feel like you had overstayed your welcome by asking questions she had to obligation to answer. Then again, she did say she chose you to come on a mission with her, so...

Yes, so what? What was her reasoning for that? She said she knew you weren't fit for the job when she saw you at training. But what does that mean? Why didn't she just report her opinion to someone in charge and spared you all this hassle? Why did she care at all?

“Why me? Why do you care what happens to me?” you blurted out, unable to hold back the burning question that plagued your mind.

“I see a lot and I hear a lot,” Natasha replied cryptically, before continuing in clearer terms. “It is part of the profession. And sometimes, when I see something, I decide that I want to see more. To know more, hear more, learn more. And when I saw you, well, I wanted to do exactly that. To follow the intrigue and see what hid behind it.”

“But I'm not very intrigung, am I?” you deflected nervously.

“Hm, to me you are. You're sweet. Would be a shame for you to be gone before I ever got the chance to have a proper conversation with you, don't you think?”

You found it strange that they were sending you with the Black Widow on your very first mission. It was even stranger that besides a stake out here and there, much of your time was spent with her in close quarters doing not much of anything. Well, before things went sideways, anyway.

It couldn't be that the woman behind you chose you simply for selfish reasons? To get to know you and watch you up close?

'I'm going mad' you thought to yourself, your still sluggish head unable to wrap around the truth that was slowly being revealed piece by piece.

A squeeze around your middle brought you back to the present moment.

“Don't worry you pretty little head about it, rookie. I already contacted Fury when you were sleeping. The communication systems down here are outdated, but I made it work. They are sending an extraction team for us and backup to sniff out where Hydra is hiding. Soon, we'll be back and then you have all the time in the world to figure this out,” Natasha said, the slightest bit of a teasig undertone to her voice.

“Until then, sleep. You need it and I need you to make a full recovery,” she added at last.

You wanted to say more, protest that you weren't tired and wanted to figure out what she was so intriguingly hinting at, but your body agreed with Natasha's statement.

A shuddered jawn tumbled out of your mouth and you could already feel your eyes fluttering shut despite your efforts to keep them open.

A soft humming sound came from behind you, helping you drift off to sleep until the last thing you remembered was a rough hand softly stroking your skin until you fell asleep.

...

There we go! A little late, but I managed after all! Cuddling for warmth is such a weakness of mine, especially when it is with my favourite Agent and Partner in crime Natasha Romanov 😌😇 I'd let her cuddle me day and night. I'm very squishy and soft, so perfect for snuggling! 🥺🥰

I really appreciate being allowed to submit this late 😅😳 and I hope you enjoy this angsty detour into the icy, nothern territories that, even in summer, are cold and unforgiving ❄️🤍

#natasha romanov #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov fic #angst #smidge of fluff #hurt/comfort #cuddling for warmth #delicious cliché #oneshot #writing challenge #christmas in july #navy and roo's sleepover

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