102 Family

As per her request, the library at Avengers Tower was vacated so that no one could disturb her. She exhaled slowly as she tried to stabilise her inner turmoil. She wasn’t avoiding people; she was digging up ghosts from her past. She didn’t want the others to interfere, even if they were with good intentions.

Natasha reached forward and opened the slim, matte-black laptop sitting in front of her. The screen flickered to life, and with it, the weight in her chest returned. Rows upon rows of encrypted folders containing Hydra’s history that were salvaged from Zola’s digital archive were now meticulously catalogued and restructured by JARVIS, with help from Bruce. They’d even colour-coded them, like someone thought making them visually neat would soften the content.

The files were sorted by continent first, then by country, and then by project or subject matter. America. Russia. Germany. Syria. Argentina. Some folders spanned decades; others, mere months. Hydra’s reach had been long, and its poison ran deep.

Her fingers hovered over the touchpad for a moment before she scrolled down until she found the folder marked "Soviet Union."

Click.

Subfolders appeared instantly, each labelled with names she knew too well, KGB Operations, Psychological Warfare, Asset Control, and finally… Red Room.

Her jaw tensed.

Click.

The files opened like old wounds.

There were memos documenting transactions in people. Reports on conditioning techniques. Scientific studies on obedience under chemical influence. It was all so methodical. So... proud. As if these monsters thought they were publishing academic research instead of shredding lives.

Her eyes narrowed as she skimmed through a file titled “Operation: Firebird”, noting its date—three months after Budapest.

Too close to be a coincidence.

She clicked into it. A brief memo from a Hydra operative embedded in SHIELD, addressed to a Russian handler, discussing the “preservation of key assets” and “technical data extraction from compromised facilities in Hungary.” They didn’t mention Drekov by name, but they didn’t need to.

Her hands tightened into fists.

She’d bombed that building herself. She’d watched it collapse in a fireball. She’d walked away thinking the Red Room had died with it, thinking she’d finally closed that chapter. That the sins of her past were buried under rubble and smoke.

But she wasn’t so sure, ever. Drekov and the Red Room were a slippery organisation. And with Hydra’s help, they could have survived. Hydra had fingers in everything that SHIELD did. If they had salvaged even a fraction of the Red Room’s infrastructure, then maybe the nightmare had never ended. Maybe it had just evolved, gone deeper underground.

She scrolled faster, scanning for any sign or any trace that the program had been restarted or relocated.

In the end… she found nothing.

No hidden projects. No resurrection attempts. No covert alliances. After the bombing in Budapest, it appeared the Red Room had been truly killed off. Hydra had tried to salvage the wreckage. There were orders to extract viable assets, repurpose equipment, and reroute surviving handlers.

But every attempt had failed.

The facilities were destroyed. The remaining Widows were later marked eliminated in scattered reports, either lost in the rubble or hunted down during the collapse.

There were no signs of relocation. No recovery. No whispered partnership between Hydra and whatever had remained of Drekov’s legacy.

For once, there was silence.

And in that silence… came something Natasha hadn’t felt in years: closure.

She let out a slow breath, shoulders loosening as the tension bled from her frame. The Red Room was gone. The ghosts had nowhere left to hide. And though there were still questions, none of them changed the simple truth that, for the first time since Budapest… she was free.

Free from looking over her shoulder.

Free from wondering if she'd ever have to kill another sister.

For the briefest of moments, Natasha Romanoff allowed herself to feel satisfied.

Once she was satisfied the Red Room was truly gone, Natasha turned to the last, most personal part of her search.

Yelena.

She typed the name slowly, almost afraid to hit enter. Then again with variations. Codenames. Birth records. Handler logs. Any file that might contain even the faintest trace.

But there was nothing.

No mention. No photo. No report.

It was as if Yelena had never existed for Hydra. She was just an insignificant tool for them to use. Natasha stared at the screen a moment longer, refusing to believe the silence. But silence was all she got. No closure. No proof. Just the familiar ache of knowing that she was killed by Drekov for disobedience.

Eventually, her shoulders slumped. She didn’t know how long she’d been at it. With a tired sigh, she closed the laptop and let the darkness of the screen reflect her face back at her.

She looked up and for the first time in what felt like hours, her heart softened.

Across the room, Harry was dozing on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other dangling lazily over the side. His legs were draped over the armrests at an awkward angle, like he'd stretched out but never quite settled in. His mouth hung open with a drool just enough to make her smirk.

She looked at him and smiled softly. She had come into this search hoping that she might find her sister. That maybe, against all odds, Yelena had survived. But after everything she’d just read, after combing through every last scrap of intel… it seemed that hope was finally slipping through her fingers.

Yelena was gone.

But Harry was here.

He was the beginning of something new. The first spark of a life she never believed she could have. He had walked into her world like a storm and turned it upside down. But somehow, impossibly, he had made it better.

Just like he always did.

With him, she had learned how to stop running. With him, she had found not just love but peace, purpose, and belonging. Things the Red Room had never let her believe were real.

And it wasn’t just her. She had watched him quietly stitch the Avengers together in ways no one else could. Tony listened to him. Steve respected him. Bruce trusted him. Even Clint and Thor had started calling him family with an ease that still surprised her.

She wondered, not for the first time, where they all would be if Harry hadn’t shown up.

Probably scattered. Fractured. Lost in their own battles.

But now… they were something more.

They were hers. And his. And each other’s.

They were a family.

She rose from her chair with a feline grace, moving through the library like a jungle cat stalking her prey. Without a sound, she lowered herself onto the couch, straddling him carefully. Her hands barely touched his shoulders as she adjusted, making sure not to wake him.

Then, she eased down and rested her head on his chest.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

His heartbeat echoed steadily beneath her ear like a quiet promise she never knew she needed. Her eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to simply exist in that moment.

After a few long minutes, she felt him stir beneath her. One arm reached up in a sleepy arc and draped across her lower back. The other followed, pulling her closer without needing to see her face. She smiled against his shirt as she slid her arms around him too, folding herself into him like a missing piece falling into place.

They stayed that way, cocooned together, hearts pressed close, saying everything without a single word.

 “When did you wake up?” Natasha murmured against his chest lazily.

“I was never really asleep,” Harry replied, his hand lazily tracing small circles on her back. “Just resting my eyes. Sorting out my mindscape.”

She lifted her head just enough to glance at him with a smirk. “So the moment I climbed on top of you…”

“I returned to the land of the living,” he finished, his lips twitching into a grin. “A very pleasant resurrection, I might add.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, mock-offended. “You could’ve told me you were awake.”

“And ruin the chance to be seduced by your catlike stealth?” he said, feigning horror. “Never. I have principles.”

She rolled her eyes and gave his chest a gentle smack. “Idiot.”

“Ow,” he said without flinching. “That’s no way to treat a man who just rose from the dead.”

She hummed and laid her head back down, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll live.”

“Laura called,” Harry said softly as he changed the topic to why he was here.

Natasha glanced up, her brows raising with amused suspicion. “What did Clint do this time? And what excuse do I have to come up with to save his ass?”

Harry chuckled. “For once, nothing. Clint’s innocent.”

“That’s a first.”

He smiled, then let a beat pass before continuing. “Laura’s a week late.”

Natasha blinked. The playfulness in her eyes vanished as the weight of the words sank in. She straightened up slowly, searching his face. “Wait—late late?”

Harry nodded. “She hasn’t taken a test yet. Wants to give it a little more time to be sure.”

A grin began to tug at the corners of Natasha’s mouth, reluctant but growing. “So… we might be getting a new Barton.”

“Looks like it,” Harry said, his voice warm.

Natasha fidgeted slightly in Harry’s lap as her fingers absently traced patterns along his chest and her mind wandered.

She really hoped Laura was pregnant. Clint and Laura had been trying for a while now, ever since things calmed down after New York. Natasha couldn’t help the way her heart softened at the thought. Clint deserved that kind of joy. Laura too. A full house, messy and loud, with laughter echoing through the walls. A place that felt untouchable by war or shadow.

A real family.

She exhaled slowly, watching the gentle rise and fall of Harry’s chest beneath her. Her hand stilled. Her gaze drifted up, finding his eyes already on hers.

For a moment, she hesitated. Then her expression shifted and so did her mind. Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out yet. Instead, she leaned in closer, resting her forehead against his.

Maybe…

Maybe it was time to for them to have something like that too.

“Harry?” Natasha called out nervously.

“Hmm?”

She straightened slightly in his lap, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Her expression was serious as she stared into his eyes.

“Can you heal my uterus?”

Harry blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

She didn’t look away. “Magically. I mean… can you fix what the Red Room did to me?”

He sat up slowly, his posture shifting as the weight of her words hit. Gone was the teasing. Gone was the lazy warmth. He searched her face and found no trace of sarcasm, only vulnerability laced with a fierce resolve.

 “Why so sudden?” Harry asked.

“I mean, we’re engaged,” Natasha said plainly, like she was explaining basic arithmetic. “We’ll get married. Married people have kids. Laura’s having her third. I’d like to have one too. I don’t see what’s shocking about any of this.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah, but you never brought it up after we got together. I just assumed we’d adopt a tiny assassin and train them to be morally upright.”

Natasha leaned in and kissed him gently, but her eyes were still dead serious. “You’re sweet. But I wanted to be a fiancée first.”

He tilted his head. “I thought you were a fiancée.”

She waved that off. “No, like, a real fiancée. The kind who gets to be smug about it at brunch. Who pretends to care about floral arrangements and threatens the caterer for fun. That’s not a thing you get to be twice. Once I become a mom, I can’t go back to just being ‘the dangerous girlfriend who can kill people with her pinky.’”

“I had no idea you had fantasies about normalcy,” Harry said in his most innocent, straight-faced tone.

“Really?” Natasha deadpanned, already winding up her hand.

Harry didn’t even flinch when she smacked his chest. “Ow. So violent. Definitely mom material.”

“Someone has to be strict and I already know its not you.” Natasha said with a smirk.

 “So… can you do it?” Natasha asked.

Harry hesitated. “No. I’m not that kind of wizard. Healing magic with real, internal organ regeneration, that’s never been my strength.”

Her face fell just a fraction, but to Harry, it was like watching the sun dim.

“But,” he added quickly, “if we talk to the healers in Asgard, I think they might be able to help.”

Natasha looked up at him sharply, like someone had cracked open a door she thought was sealed shut. “Really?”

Harry smiled. “If they can extract an Infinity Stone from Jane without killing her, I’m pretty sure they can handle one uterus.”

Natasha blinked, caught between awe and laughter. “That’s… oddly persuasive.”

“I thought so,” he said smugly. “When do you want to go?” Harry asked as he adjusted himself.

Natasha leaned back again and started idly tracing patterns on his shirt as she thought. “With everything going on with Hydra and SHIELD, I don’t think it’s the best time to get sidelined by pregnancy.”

Harry grinned. “You think it’ll happen that fast?”

Natasha didn’t respond with words—she just raised one eyebrow in a slow, deliberate arc asking silently “...You’re saying it won’t?”

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, point taken. No doubts here.”

“As I was saying,” Natasha continued smoothly, “once we’ve cleaned up the Hydra mess, we’ll go to Asgard.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds reasonable.”

Harry leaned in to kiss her, and Natasha met him without hesitation. Their lips touched softly at first, then deepened into something hungrier. She shifted in his lap as her fingers slid up his neck and threaded into his hair, pulling him closer.

Harry’s hands settled instinctively on her hips, then wandered slowly up her back, memorising every familiar line and curve beneath the cotton of her shirt. The kiss deepened with each heartbeat as time seemed to fold in on itself, the room melting away until there was nothing but the two of them.

Natasha’s eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head, granting him fuller access, her body pressing flush against his. One of Harry’s hands came to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone with a familiar tenderness. It was a silent, burning conversation between two halves of the same soul, expressing their desire to be with each other.

Her hands wandered beneath the hem of his shirt, and Harry let out a breathless laugh against her lips. She smirked at the sound, then kissed him again. As Natasha shifted to straddle him more comfortably, the couch creaked under their combined weight, but neither noticed. She let her forehead rest against his, inviting him to go further.

Just then, “Harry, Nat, Tony wanted to discuss something before we head off to—OH SWEET MOTHER OF—!” Steve Rogers froze mid-step, phone in hand, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. In the span of a second, he took in the scene and then immediately slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Good God, I’m blind,” Steve exclaimed, spinning around so fast he nearly dropped his phone. “You two! I mean—seriously?! Can’t you at least put a sock on the door? Or a grenade pin? Something?” And with that, he bolted from the room like a scandalised nun, muttering something about decency, closed doors, and how it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

Harry let out a wheeze of laughter while Natasha buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Harry and Natasha disentangled themselves, both still chuckling as they heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps.

“TONY!” Steve’s voice echoed down the hallway, full of betrayal and righteous fury.

A beat later, two distinct sets of laughter erupted as they tumbled out of a broom closet near the library entrance.

“You set me up!” Steve shouted, pointing an accusing finger at them like they’d committed war crimes.

Tony barely contained his mirth. “Oh come on, Cap. It’s called foreplay, not a felony. Don't be such a prude, it’s a completely natural human process.”

“Yes, well, I know that,” Steve huffed, clearly offended. “But there’s a difference between knowing and having it seared into your retinas!”

Bruce held up a hand like he was trying to calm a very angry golden retriever. “It was a sociology experiment. Observation in a controlled environment.”

“It was a trap!” Steve snapped. “You’re both the worst. I need mouthwash for my eyes.”

Then, like a light bulb flickering to life behind his eyes, Tony gasped. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” He pointed at Steve like he’d just solved a conspiracy theory. “Cap, was that your first time seeing two people in a compromising position?”

Steve froze mid-stride, his shoulders going rigid. He didn’t turn around.

“That’s a private question,” he said stiffly, resuming his dignified march down the hall with his chin held high.

Tony practically skipped after him. “So that’s a yes.”

“It’s not a yes!” Steve barked, not looking back.

“It’s totally a yes,” Tony said, delighted now. “Have you seriously never seen porn? No magazines under the bed? No black-and-white pinups stashed in your footlocker?”

Bruce, walking up behind them, adjusted his glasses and tried to stay neutral. “You do realize you’re interrogating a man born during the Great Depression, right?”

Tony held a hand up. “That’s exactly why I’m asking. For science.”

Steve let out a long, exhausted breath, like he was regretting every friendship he’d made in the 21st century.

Bruce, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, offered, “There’s nothing wrong with not having... exposure.”

Tony wasn’t letting it go. If anything, Steve’s flustered silence only fueled him.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, jogging a little to keep up with Steve’s quickening pace. “So with your squeaky-clean morals, maybe you skipped the magazines and skipped the videos. Fine. Respectable. Admirable, even. But what about the real thing, Cap? You’ve had sex, right?”

Steve didn’t answer. He just walked faster, shoulders set like he was charging the beaches of Normandy.

Tony gasped theatrically, eyes wide. “No way. No freaking way. Don’t tell me—you’re a virgin!”

Bruce winced behind them and quietly muttered, “Tony…”

“I knew it!” Tony crowed. “America’s golden boy is a pure maiden! Oh, this explains so much. The blushing! The eye-covering! The whole ‘golly-gee-whiz’ attitude!”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Steve said through gritted teeth, not stopping.

“C’mon, Cap, this is important!” Tony said, still chasing him. “This is history. He is the first 100 year old virgin. Do we need to preserve you in a glass case?”

“Tony,” Bruce warned, picking up his pace awkwardly. “You're poking the super soldier bear.”

Tony just grinned and leaned toward Bruce. “Be honest, Doc. Do you think he’s a virgin?”

“That’s not something I’m going to speculate on,” Bruce replied diplomatically. “Nor should you.”

Steve finally turned, still walking backwards now as he gave Tony a death glare. “You done?”

Tony grinned. “Oh, I’m never done.”

Steve turned back around and broke into a light jog. “I’m going to the gym.”

Harry watched the trio disappear down the corridor. Tony still heckling, Steve speed-walking like a man on a mission, and Bruce trailing behind them with the resigned gait of a babysitter who didn’t sign up for this shift.

“Should we stop this?” Harry asked with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nah, let them have their fun,” Natasha said with a shrug, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “We’ve got better things to do.”

Her voice dipped into a sultry purr, her fingers already threading through his hair. That mischievous grin—the one that always meant trouble in the best possible way—spread across her face.

Harry grinned back. “I like the way you think.”

And with a soft crack, the two vanished from the room, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer of displaced air as they apparated to somewhere far more private to finish what had been so rudely interrupted.