Chapter 1

Natasha Romanoff was perceptive. Her job required so, her training had made her so.

It had been only 6 days since she'd joined Coulson's team on the plane and, while for most people that wouldn't be nearly enough to make an accurate reading of someone, she already knew how to handle everyone. She'd picked the tiny, seemingly unimportant, bits of information everyone tends to ignore, had assessed them from a distance, looked for facial cues, body language, routines and was extremely confident, if she wanted, she knew exactly how to manipulate each member of the team, how to make them tick. It wasn't for just any reason she was considered the best spy, master of manipulation, seduction and stealth. She would infiltrate, retrieve any information from anywhere and anyone and leave, most times without anyone figuring out what had happened and, on occasion, when necessary, killing without leaving a trail. She was feared, she was a legend and she knew it. She, who could in a split second go from being the innocent, almost childlike, Yelena Belova, to being the skilled dominatrix, Ebon Flame. She, who could go from being the brilliant, assertive lawyer, Natalie Rushman, to being the dedicated, playful kindergarten teacher, Laura Matthers, to being the deathly Black Widow. She, who could in less than a breath be anyone in the world… and then nothing – detached, cold, unreadable, impenetrable, unafraid and terrifying for her impressive threshold of pain, for her stillness. On some rare occasions, of required social interaction, on her real life, that actually represents about 5% of her existence, she got to be Natasha Romanoff, someone she doesn't know, someone she isn't sure she can define as 'herself' – it's hard to tell, not because the name is nothing but a similar form of her real name, but because she doesn't quite remember a time when she had the opportunity to just be. She can't tell if Natasha is truly who she is or if she just picks pieces from every persona she's acted and mixes them into one. For that reason it's easier for her, it's less tiring, to detach and remain impassive and seemingly threatening than having to do the effort to switch and become yet another person she isn't sure is real, someone who will only add to her identity confusion. So it's been 6 days on the bus and she's kept her distance, doing what she does best – assessing, gathering data. She doesn't categorize it as spying – these are her allies after all – but, instead, as remaining neutral and at the ready for anything. Yes, that's something else she's learned from a young age – never to truly trust anyone, not even her allies… especially her allies. She knows very well where her loyalties lie – she fights for the good guys, it has been that way for the longest time, but past experiences dug deep and for her, to survive means to suspect. During these 6 days Natasha Romanoff observed, looked for suspicious demeanor and learned everyone on this bus; everyday she adds more to her assessment, confirming it, and every day she grows increasingly intrigued by one particular agent, Skye. Natasha calls it intrigued for the lack of a better description because even if she's mastered every little emotion to the tiniest micro expression, even if she can act anything, convince anyone she's finding supreme pleasure in the most excruciating torture, that she's helplessly in love with a target who means absolutely nothing, she still doesn't understand the true meaning of most feelings and emotions, particularly those who are mostly abstract, with no clear lines – she's practically never felt them 'herself', she can't recognize them and name them easily. Or maybe, for her own sake, it's just easier to convince herself she can't. Maybe it's how she's learned to cope.

"Hey, we're about to have dinner. Care to join us?" Natasha heard Skye asking her. Truth be told, she'd heard her approaching, but decided to remain unmoving on the couch.

"Thank you. I think I'll just grab something later if I'm hungry," she offered politely, compiling a small smile in retribution to what she knew had been a mix of kindness and curiosity. Skye had been trying to get information from her, anything. It was amusing.

"Oh…" Disappointment, Natasha read. "Okay then."

The spy expected the young woman to just retreat, instead she went around the couch and sat right next to her, completely at ease, feet propped up and lively, daring smile. There was a reason, after all, why she found Skye intriguing – the brunette was unpredictable and persistent, most importantly she had this raw fierceness about her that Natasha knew could only come from a past of sheer struggle. In some odd way, there was a hint of familiarity in Skye's eyes, not that she'd interpreted it in this particular way just yet.

"I thought you were going to have dinner," Natasha stated, smiling slightly but not bothering to look at the other agent. Instead she let her head fall back to rest on the couch and closed her eyes.

"Right. No. Jemma's not even decided what she's going to prepare tonight," Skye told her, shrugging. "I just really wanted your company."

Natasha opened her eyes. She wasn't frowning. In fact, her face, as usual, showed nothing except what she wanted to show, but the truth was… she was frowning internally. She turned her head to the left, still in apparent mellow relaxation, and looked at Skye, who stared.

"My company or the code access to my full, unclassified, personal files?" she asked, slightly playfully, raising a suspicious eyebrow that was in fact sure of the girl's intent.

Skye slouched and huffed. "Spies are no fun!" she proclaimed in annoyance.

Natasha laughed, finally lifting her head and straightening herself. "So you admit it?"

"Like I could hide it from you anyway…" Skye shrugged. "Besides, now I can ask you why is it that you don't want us to know anything about you."

Boldness.

"Not anything. You know my name and what I do for a living."

"And yet I'm only sure of one of those two."

Natasha smiled. "What is it you wanted to know about me?" she offered. It didn't mean she would give it to her, but at least she could amuse herself if she fed the curiosity just enough.

"Really?" the brunette asked beaming. It was adorable, honestly and Natasha could only give her credit for not cowering before her as most people did. It made her feel something within her, as if she actually wanted to engage, as if she was…a little herself. "You mean I can ask ANY thing?" Skye asked suspiciously but gleaming, still. She immediately kneeled on the couch facing the red haired spy, as if something undeniably exciting was about to transpire.

Natasha gave her a curt nod, her smile reaching her eyes. Perhaps she would indulge the young woman. Perhaps.

"Where were you born?" Skye asked tentatively.

"In Russia, Stalingrad. It is now known as Volgograd, though," Natasha offered promptly. "But you already knew that." She added when Skye nodded and didn't offer a comment. She looked more pleased than surprised.

"I had to verify you were actually planning on being honest here," she said simply, already trying to decide what to ask next.

Her innocence, her genuineness was remarkable in Natasha's eyes.

"Okay, uhm, how old are you?" the brown eyed woman asked slowly as if she was still trying to decide if that was the question she wanted to ask.

"32," Natasha replied, turning her body completely in order to sit facing the younger woman, fully interested in learning Skye better, in learning her reactions and somewhat comic facial expressions.

Skye looked at her with suspicion, staring at her green, now warm and entertained eyes, before she finally spoke. "How old are you, really? Because you do look young and wicked beautiful, but Stalingrad seized to exist in 1961. That makes you AT LEAST 53. There's no way you're 53."

"Looks like you did your homework," Natasha praised. Not everyone was perceptive enough to catch that detail, although she already knew Skye wouldn't fall into that category of people.

"Just some research based on what I had, which isn't much anyway."

Natasha nodded.

"So, how old are you?" Skye pressed, not really bothering with politeness regarding age asking.

"Let's just say I'm old."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Come on! I already know you're either an alien or at least you have some kind of power to stay young, I'm not asking which it is or what it is that causes this, just the age!" she protested. "Please?" she begged, mustering her best puppy face.

Natasha shook her head, smiling mischievously.

"Please, please? I'll do anything you want!"

Natasha laughed whole heartedly, surprising even herself. She finally nodded, "No more questions though," she imposed.

"Urgh…" Skye slouched, rolling her eyes. "Fiiine…"

"I'm 89."

Skye's eyes shot open so fast and so wide, Natasha actually thought they would pop out. "Holy shit!" the young woman let out, her mouth hanging open. "You've gotta be the oldest woman alive to still be having sex!" she said in all her seriousness, as if she was truly impressed.

Natasha chuckled.

Chuckled.

Natasha never chuckled unless she was impersonating. Then again, she didn't usually come across people like Skye. She didn't even have a life, let alone someone who actually made her feel less of a black hole.

"How do you know I'm still having sex?" Natasha asked just for amusement.

"Aren't you?" Skye blushed. "I mean… look at you? Who wouldn't want to… ya know…"

Natasha bit her lower lip slowly, holding Skye's gaze with her own, enjoying herself, knowing she was causing the young brunette to squirm. The young woman was already beet red and Natasha couldn't be more in her new favorite element, making people… well, Skye, uncomfortable in a positive, entertaining way.

"Okay, hum… anyway…" Skye coughed, finally breaking eye contact with Natasha. "I, uh…" she stuttered as she got up from the couch unnaturally, nearly tripping all over herself in the process. "I'm going to… help Jemma," she said, glancing quickly at the red haired woman while pointing at a random point in the living room area of the plane. "With dinner," she added barely whispering.

"Mm mmm," Natasha hummed. "I might join you after all," she decided. The spy figured maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to start mingling. If not for anything else, then at least to enjoy Skye.

Enjoy… she mused.