Chapter Text
Natasha picks Peter up from school in one of Tony’s cars. It’s therapy day. He gets in and they’re on the freeway before he speaks—she can tell it’s been a rough day. His eyes are closed and he’s leaning against the window, backpack between his knees. The AC is blasting but it still feels stuffy inside the car.
“I think I’m done with therapy,” Peter says.
“You seem to be sleeping better.”
“I don’t want to talk about my feelings today.”
Nat isn’t exactly an open book herself—her fifteen minutes of silence in the shrink’s office hangs at the forefront of her mind—so it’s her impulse to be sympathetic. Last Friday Peter was in the tower’s common quarters by 2 AM, but the week before that he didn’t show up at all and claimed he slept through the night. Progress isn’t linear and the vigilante gig is hardcore. Nat doesn’t blame him for having insomnia—or nightmares. No one does. They all just want him to be healthy.
“It’s an hour of your time,” she says.
“I said I don’t want to, Nat!”
Silence. He rarely raises his voice, never at her. Natasha keeps her eyes on the road.
“Did something happen at school?”
Peter barks a low, harsh laugh. “What part of I don’t want to talk about my feelings isn’t clear?”
“Peter—”
“I said I can’t, Nat.” It’s a snarl. “Not today. Please.”
She exits the freeway and pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop. Peter follows her inside and they get hot chocolate and pastries, sit in a seat by the window. The appointment begins at 3:45 and it’s pushing 3:30, but she’s not going to make him go. Not when he’s like this.
“What happened?” she asks, sipping the cocoa.
“Stupid teenage bullshit.”
“Tell me.”
“Why? What good would that do?”
She makes a noncommittal noise in her throat and doesn’t answer.
“You do realize I have to actively lie in therapy?” Peter says suddenly. “Like, what makes you think I have a dangerous job? I just go to school and deal with bullies and do my homework. No big deal! Sure I have trouble sleeping but that can’t possibly be because my ex-girlfriend’s dad dropped a parking garage on my head. No, it’s just your average high school experience. Lies, lies, lies!”
“You can talk to Tony about superhero stuff.” Nat doesn’t know how to make this better, doesn’t think she can. “You can talk to me.”
“I’m done with therapy, Nat. I mean it.”
He expects her to argue. She doesn’t. “Okay.”
“You mean it?”
“We’ll figure something else out.”
“It’s not like I’m going to kill myself. I’m stable.”
“If you’re having a breakdown on patrol you don’t need to kill yourself. The bad guys will do it for you.”
“Then I’d be with my parents!” His laugh is hollow, empty. “Then I’d be with Ben. Would that be so bad?”
She thinks about that, lets the heaviness of the sentiment sit between them. “If you believe in an afterlife.”
“I want to.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I want to tell Ben I’m sorry.”
“He knows, Peter.”
“I got him killed.”
“Sometimes bad things happen.”
“Why?” His eyes are distraught. “I shouldn’t have gone out that night. I should’ve told Ben when I’d be back. If I were a good kid, he’d still be alive, and there’s no fixing that in therapy because you can’t change the past.”
“Is that what keeps you up?”
“A lot of things keep me up. What keeps you up?”
How to answer? Nat can close her eyes and click through corpses—bodies that fell to her hand, her guns. Most were guilty but all of them? She fought for Russia and now she has American citizenship, but she’ll never grow out of the mindset that handlers determine targets and it’s her duty to comply. It doesn’t matter if it’s Dreykov or Fury giving the order—a kill is a kill.
How does she explain that to a vigilante who protects the little guy?
“I’m not a good person,” she tells Peter.
“Yes, you are, Nat.”
She thinks about all those who begged for their lives before she killed them—it never stopped her. Mercy was conditioned out during her Red Room training and if she gets a file, she’ll drop a body. Sometimes she wonders what little girls think about when they’re not handcuffed to beds and slaughtering each other in rings. Last week she passed the toy section in Target while picking up hot chocolate and hesitated, thought about walking down the row. Looking for something for Cassie, maybe, or an action figure to add to Peter’s A-Team. She couldn’t do it. She doesn’t want to be weak and childhood confounds her. She never had one.
“I’d like to be good.” It’s a quiet admission, a knife to the gut. “How do you do it, Peter?”
“I care. I love. A lot of the time, I lose.”
“Love is for children.”
“You don’t love?”
“I’m a psychopath.”
“And yet here you are. Driving me to therapy multiple times a week. Buying me hot chocolate and a donut when I ditch. Psychopaths don’t do that.”
“If you had a puppy, I’d slit its throat. If I get bored, I’ll set a monument on fire.” No need to bring up the third part of the homicidal trinity. “Peter, I drive you to therapy because you’re part of the team. I don’t feel emotions like you do. This is transactional because we need you at the top of your game.”
“Teach me psychopathy. Teach me how to stop feeling.”
“No.”
“I don’t want to feel.”
“I don’t think that I can help you, Peter,” Natasha says, but she has an idea. It’s worth a shot.
###
They sit at the kitchen table in Avenger’s tower, Peter’s action figures spread between them. Peter’s filming with his StarkPhone. Nat examines each figurine with care before turning to the camera. She smiles, a smile she hopes is a dangerous smile, and Peter gives her a thumbs up.
“I never thought I would be a part of a team,” she says. “We fought together in New York, and then we waged a civil war. We broke a part and now we’re attempting to come back together. In the spirit of unity, I thought I’d do this challenge.”
“I’d better be on your A-Team,” Tony says from the doorway. When she told him she was doing this he laughed, but he’s not laughing now—he wants Peter to continue therapy, she thinks, even though Peter has to lie about his identity. Tony’s worried about the kid. They all are. He’s had some close calls during patrol this week and it’s not like he’s taking care of himself. His grades are slipping too, May noted when Natasha called to say they were skipping today’s therapy appointment. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. A minuses and Bs instead of As. It’s not like Peter and Nat doesn’t know how to help…so she’s doing this.
“I chose you during the schism, didn’t I?” She centers the Iron Man figurine. “That doesn’t mean Cap doesn’t make the cut, Tony. Can you keep the squabbles to a minimum?”
“His best friend killed my mom and then they beat me up for being mad!”
Natasha places the Captain America figurine next to the Iron Man figurine. “Any thoughts, Peter?”
“If you think I’m touching that, you’re crazy.”
“There’s no way to make it better,” Tony says mulishly. “But sure, let’s move the Rogues in. Let a traitor on your A-team, Nat. Who cares?”
“Bruce and Thor,” Nat continues, arranging the action figures. “Wanda. Vision.”
“No Sam!” Peter cheers. “No Sam! No Sam! No Sam!”
“Sam.”
“So everyone’s on your A-team, then?” Peter asks. “You’re pulling a Cap?”
Nat didn’t realize until he says it that she wants this team to come back together. After losing Yelena, the fake parents the Red Room gave her…she found comfort in the Avengers, in the home Tony provided, in the hope they were fighting for something bigger than themselves. Sure, it’s not like a team of superheroes can prevent catastrophe—but they can avenge it, and vengeance can soothe any sting.
“I’ll leave off Clint,” she offers. “He can make his own A-team.”
“Who are you leaving him?”
“No one. Maybe he has some old contacts in SHIELD. Otherwise he’s on his own.”
“Brutal,” Tony says. “What’d he do?”
“Ate the other half of my sub while it was in the fridge. Let him rot.”
“Any closing statement?” Peter asks.
Nat moves the Spiderman figurine next to the Black Widow. “Think you can handle being team captain?”
“Shut up.”
“Give it a few years.”
Peter’s grinning. “You’re just trying to make me feel better for failing therapy.”
She is—but it’s not like he has to go and say it. “What’s our next mission, Spiderman?”
“Shut up,” he says again, but now he’s laughing. “You’re so nice to me. Why are you so nice to me?”
“I threatened to kill your puppy earlier.”
“And set a monument on fire. Don’t worry. I’ll still be your team captain.”
“The A-team.” Nat gestures at the action figures. “Avengers, assemble. Clint, you have no one and nothing. Here’s our team, Spiderman. What do we do now?”
Our team, she says, and she hopes Tony and Peter know what she means. The civil war wasn’t the end—it was Peter’s beginning. He’s defeated the vulture and low-level Queens thugs and who knows what’s next? Whatever he faces, he won’t be alone—that she’s sure of. That’s why she did this challenge, isn’t it? The team needs Peter, and Peter needs the team. Sure, maybe he’d be fine as a lone vigilante—but he doesn’t have to be alone. None of them do.
“We do the right thing, even if it isn’t the easy thing,” Peter says. “Always.”
“Well, I tried,” Nat says immediately. She knocks her figurine over. “I quit.”
“We do the wrong thing if it’s the easy thing?”
“There we go. Back in.”
They look at the action figures.
“What a team,” Tony says. “Let’s build it.”