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40 MIA
🕑 Added 2024-11-11 18:15:01 +0000 UTCNatasha felt a knot of unease twist in her stomach when she received the summons for a meeting at SHIELD headquarters. It wasn't the first time she'd been called in on short notice, but something about this felt off. The meeting was a small one, she'd been told, between Fury, Clint, and Coulson—who had just returned from their mission in New Mexico. Normally, debriefs of field agents didn't involve her, especially when she wasn't directly involved in the operation.
As she strode through the bustling corridors of SHIELD, Natasha's mind whirred. She knew SHIELD had been doing everything it could to cover up the chaos that had unfolded in New Mexico, but she hadn't been given the full picture. So, why was she being brought into this? Pushing her curiosity and rising anxiety aside, she straightened her posture and entered. The moment she stepped inside, all eyes turned toward her. She was the last to arrive.
Fury gave her a quick nod and gestured to an empty chair beside Barton. Without a word, she slipped into the seat, her gaze flickering between Clint and Coulson, both of whom looked more worn and troubled than she'd seen them in a while.
Fury leaned back slightly in his chair; his usual commanding presence tempered by something. "Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Romanoff," he began, his voice softer than what Natasha was accustomed to.
"The reason I asked you here is twofold," Fury continued, pausing briefly to let his words settle. "First, we've made contact with Thor—the Norse God of Thunder. He told Coulson that he considers us as his allies. Which means," Fury's gaze flickered briefly to Clint and back, "we can count him as a potential member for the Avengers Initiative. However, the situation is more complicated. Right now, we have no way of communicating between Earth and Asgard. SHIELD has tasked a research team to figure that out, but it could take time."
Natasha listened intently, her mind already running through the implications. A literal god as an ally? It wasn't something she ever expected, but then again, nothing about SHIELD's recent activities was ordinary anymore.
"Romanoff, I need you to reach out to Stark," Fury said, leaning forward and fixing her with a pointed stare. "We need his assistance with establishing a secure communication link between here and Asgard. Tell him that we will provide any assistance that he requires."
Natasha nodded, her expression neutral, though inside, she felt a flicker of unease. It wasn't the task itself that bothered her—Stark was brilliant when it came to tech—but the timing. She hadn't spoken to him since her reassignment, and that had been right after she had walked away from Harry.
"What did you find at Culver University?" Fury asked further
Natasha leaned back in her chair, gathering her thoughts before answering. "When I arrived, things were already escalating. Banner had been cornered by General Thaddeus Ross and the U.S. Army. They trapped him on the bridge, but before they could apprehend him, Banner transformed."
Fury's eyes narrowed slightly, and Natasha continued, her voice even as she recalled the chaotic scene.
"The Hulk took over, and a battle broke out between him and Ross' forces. It wasn't just the usual military operation, though. I saw Emil Blonsky leading the charge against the Hulk—he's not the man he used to be. Ross has enhanced him, Director. Most probably a version of the super soldier serum that Ross is obsessed about."
Fury remained silent, processing the information. Natasha's expression hardened as she remembered the chaos, the raw power of the Hulk, and Blonsky's reckless aggression.
"I managed to get out of there before things got worse," she said, her voice betraying a hint of frustration. "But I wasn't able to contact Elizabeth Ross. She was already in the thick of it and extracting her wasn't possible under those conditions."
Fury leaned back in his chair. "Enhanced Blonsky and no contact with Elizabeth Ross. Damn."
"Whatever Ross is planning, it's bigger than just catching Banner," Natasha added. "He's testing the limits of these enhancements. Blonsky's just the beginning."
"Alright, I will deal with Ross. You can coordinate with Hill for a new assignment." Fury replied after which he paused. "Now that the main business is handled, let's tackle something a bit more personal," Fury said, his voice carrying a rare hint of tiredness. Natasha was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. Fury wasn't known for engaging in personal matters, especially when it came to his agents.
"Coulson," Fury prompted, signaling him to take over.
Coulson stood, clearing his throat as he approached the table. There was an unusual discomfort in his demeanor, and Natasha noticed how he avoided meeting her gaze. Her stomach churned slightly; something was off.
He projected a series of images onto the screen—scorched landscapes, a towering metallic figure wreaking havoc, and Thor, battle-worn but standing triumphant. As Coulson described the events that had unfolded in New Mexico, Natasha felt a mix of emotions. When he detailed Harry's involvement—the way he had faced off against the Destroyer, how he had protected everyone, and how he'd used his skills to heal the wounded—Natasha couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Despite everything between them, Harry was still the hero she always knew him to be.
But then, as the debrief wound down, Coulson's voice grew graver, almost hesitant. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly struggling with the next part.
"After Thor defeated the Destroyer, the Asgardians along with Captain Harry James Potter, used Asgardian technology to return to Asgard," Coulson said, his tone careful, as though he were delivering bad news to a close friend. He hesitated, and Natasha felt the room grow colder. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. "We haven't had any contact with Captain Potter since that moment," Coulson continued, his voice lower now, carrying the weight of his words. "As per SHIELD protocol, we've officially declared him MIA in the field."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Natasha sat frozen, the words sinking in like a punch to the gut. Missing in action. She clenched her fists under the table, trying to process the sudden flood of emotions.
Coulson's eyes flicked toward her, just for a moment, before he looked away again. Natasha didn't need to say anything. The hurt, the confusion, the fear—she could feel it clawing at her insides. Harry was gone, and no one knew if he would come back.
The world around Natasha shattered.
Fury's voice faded into a distant echo, and the walls of the conference room began to close in on her. Everything she had been holding back, every painful emotion she had buried deep down, came crashing forward like a tidal wave she could no longer escape. Her chest tightened, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The air seemed to catch in her throat, and her pulse raced uncontrollably.
Her vision blurred, the lines of the table and the figures of her colleagues becoming distorted, almost surreal. All at once, her body felt too hot and too cold. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, each beat reverberating like a drum, drowning out the sounds of the room. Her hands, now clenched into tight fists beneath the table, began to tremble. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but her body was betraying her, spiraling out of control.
She needed to breathe, but her lungs refused to cooperate. It felt as if the room was suffocating her, the walls pressing in, trapping her, and there was no escape. She tried to focus on the here and now—to hear Fury's voice, to see Clint beside her—but her mind was somewhere else, spiraling into a chaotic storm of memories and emotions.
Harry.
The name tore through her mind like a jagged wound. She had left him—pushed him away, told herself it was for the best. But now, hearing those words felt like she had lost him all over again. A weight pressed down on her chest, sharp and unbearable. What if he was gone? What if she never saw him again? The thought was suffocating, wrapping around her like a vice.
Her heart pounded faster. She had to hold on to something, anything, to keep herself grounded. But the walls kept closing in, the oxygen draining from the room. Natasha's mind screamed at her to run, to get out, to find air, but her body was frozen, paralyzed by the overwhelming panic that gripped her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay calm, to force the panic down where it couldn't reach her. But her mind kept spinning, faster and faster, a whirlwind of fear and regret. Why didn't I fight harder? Why did I push him away? Her pulse thundered, drowning out every rational thought, until all she could feel was the crushing weight of her guilt and the fear that she would never get the chance to make things right.
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps now, her hands gripping the table so hard her knuckles turned white. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something—anything—but she couldn't. The panic was too strong, too overwhelming. She was trapped in it, like a storm she couldn't escape.
Clint noticed Natasha's breathing grow shallow and her hands gripping the edge of the table with a white-knuckled intensity. Without a word, he reached over, placing a firm but steady hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her to the present.
"Nat," he whispered, his voice calm, steady. "Breathe with me. In and out."
His voice cut through the chaos, an anchor in the storm. She focused on it, on the weight of his hand, trying to match his slow, deliberate breaths. One beat, then another. Slowly, the crushing pressure on her chest began to ease, and the world around her started to solidify again.
"You're not alone in this," Clint continued softly, leaning in just enough for only her to hear. "We'll figure this out, together."
Natasha nodded shakily, her grip on the table loosening as she blinked back at the haze that had clouded her mind. The panic didn't disappear entirely, but it retreated, leaving behind a raw ache in its place. She could breathe again, albeit unevenly.
Fury, watching the interaction, gave a brief pause before continuing in a more measured tone than usual.
"Romanoff," Fury said, his gaze focused on her now. "You were listed as Potter's emergency contact. I understand this is a lot to process right now. But until we re-establish contact with either Potter or Asgard, he will be officially classified as MIA. We have teams working around the clock to fix this, but until then, I need you to stay sharp."
Fury's voice softened slightly, his usually hardened tone giving way to something resembling sympathy, though still professional. "Take the time you need but stay close. We'll figure this out."
Natasha nodded, still somewhat dazed, but her posture straightened. She wasn't ready to speak yet, but she didn't have to—Clint's presence beside her was enough for the moment.
"Dismissed," Fury said, his voice signaling the end of the meeting. He gave one last look at Natasha before turning back to his files, already planning the next course of action.
Clint stood and gently helped Natasha to her feet, his hand still resting on her shoulder as they quietly left the room together.
The next thing Natasha remembered after the meeting was the sound of jet engines as they faded into the background as Natasha stared out of the small plane window, her mind elsewhere. The clear skies of Washington, D.C. had given way to a brilliant blue horizon, but she barely noticed the view. Her thoughts were consumed with what Coulson had said—"MIA" kept echoing in her mind, a label that felt too clinical, too detached from the reality of what it meant. Harry was gone, and no amount of SHIELD protocol could change that.
She hadn't spoken much since the debriefing. Clint had walked her to her quarters, his presence comforting but silent. She could still feel the lingering weight of his hand on her shoulder, a small reminder that she wasn't alone, even though it felt that way.
Now, alone in the private SHIELD jet, the hum of the engines and the occasional crackle of the pilot's voice over the intercom were her only companions. She should have been preparing for the conversation ahead for telling Tony Stark and Pepper Potts that Harry was missing but all she could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
She stared at the clouds as they passed below as if they could offer clarity. But everything felt disjointed, like she was moving through a fog. The ache in her chest hadn't fully subsided since the panic attack in the conference room. Her hands, though steady now, still tingled with the memory of gripping the table so hard she thought it might crack.
Her body felt disconnected, going through the motions while her mind struggled to catch up. Her fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the buckle of her seatbelt. She had a job to do. The mission always came first. She repeated the words in her mind, over and over, like a mantra.
As the jet began its descent into Malibu, the sprawling ocean view outside did little to ease her tension.
When the jet finally touched down, Natasha took a deep breath and unclasped her seatbelt. Her movements were automatic—grabbing her go-bag, heading toward the exit, her feet mechanically finding the steps as she disembarked. The crisp air hit her face, but it barely registered.
Her mind was already racing ahead to what she had to say. How was she going to break the news to Tony? How was she going to face Pepper?
Walking across the tarmac, she straightened her posture, falling into her familiar, emotionless facade—the one she had worn on countless missions. But underneath it all, the weight of what she had to do next felt like a crushing burden.
The drive from the airstrip to Stark's mansion was a blur, the car gliding through the sun-soaked streets of Malibu while Natasha's mind stayed miles away. By the time she arrived at the gates, her heart was pounding for reasons she couldn't quite place. As she rang the doorbell, a part of her hoped Tony and Pepper were too busy to answer, so she could delay the inevitable conversation.
But it was Pepper Potts who greeted her, the door swinging open with a warm smile that felt far too welcoming for the heaviness Natasha carried with her.
"Natalie!" Pepper's eyes brightened at the sight of her, though there was a moment of uncertainty as she paused. "Or do I call you Natasha now?"
Natasha returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can call me Nat," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of strain beneath the casual tone. "At least until you're used to calling me Natasha."
Pepper beamed, clearly relieved that Natasha didn't mind the transition. "Nat it is, then," she said with a light laugh. "Come on in!"
Pepper stepped aside to let her in, her cheerful demeanor radiating through the spacious, sunlit entryway. Natasha took a breath, trying to ground herself, but the weight in her chest refused to lift as she stepped inside.
"I have to say, you and Harry just completely disappeared off the face of the earth after the whole Stark Expo debacle," Pepper teased, her tone light but with a hint of genuine concern. "Not a phone call, not a text. Even Felicia's been asking if I've heard from you two, and I've got nothing to tell her. I mean, I get that SHIELD keeps you busy, but this? It's a little extreme, even for you guys."
Natasha could feel the knot in her stomach tighten. The casual mention of Harry, coupled with Pepper's lighthearted complaint, was like a jab to a fresh wound. She forced a tight smile. "Yeah, things have been hectic," she said, her voice flat despite the effort to sound neutral. "You know how SHIELD can be."
Pepper's brow furrowed slightly, picking up on the tension in Natasha's voice, but she didn't press it. "Well, I'm glad you're here now. Tony's in his lab, but he should be up in a minute. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?" she offered with a wink, always the gracious host.
Natasha shook her head, grateful for the distraction but still feeling like she was walking through a fog. "I'm good, thanks." Her hands unconsciously gripped the strap of her bag, as if holding on to something would steady her.
Pepper gave her a searching look but didn't push further. "Well, make yourself at home. You're family here, after all."
Natasha's smile faltered, the word family hitting her harder than she expected. If only it still felt like that.
"Romanoff!" Tony greeted them as they walked into the living room, his voice bright and casual. "What's up?" he asked, his eyes glancing briefly at Natasha and then returning to whatever he was tinkering with on his tablet.
Natasha's shoulders sagged slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I wish this was just a social visit," she said, her voice weary as she sank into the plush sofa. Pepper and Tony's smiles faded as they took in Natasha's distressed appearance.
"Is everything alright?" Pepper asked, her voice tinged with concern. She moved to sit beside Natasha, her eyes searching for answers. "You look like you've had a rough day."
Natasha took another deep breath, trying to steady her emotions before speaking. "Harry has gone missing," she said, her tone flat but laden with sadness.
The room fell silent for a moment. Pepper's face went pale, her eyes widening in shock. Her hand instinctively reached out to grasp Natasha's arm. "What? How?" she asked, her voice trembling as she processed the gravity of Natasha's words.
Tony, on the other hand, seemed momentarily stunned, his casual demeanor faltering. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Missing? As in, really missing?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief. "Harry's not the type to just vanish. This sounds like one of those elaborate pranks, right?"
Natasha shook her head, her expression pained. "I wish it was. But it's true. He was sent to New Mexico by SHIELD to assess a magical anomaly. He got involved in a situation with Thor, the Norse god of Thunder, and ended up traveling to Asgard with him. We haven't heard from him since."
Tony's smirk widened, though it looked more strained now. "Norse gods and Asgard? Wow, Romanoff, you really went all out with this prank. I half-expect you to tell me the next update is that he's joined a Viking crew or something. Maybe he's fighting trolls in a magical realm now?"
Natasha's patience snapped. "I didn't come here for jokes, Stark," she said, her voice rising with anger that she'd been holding back. "I came here to ask for your help to find the man I love and bring him back home. If you think this is a joke, then I'll find someone else who takes this seriously."
Tony blinked, his smirk faltering as Natasha's words hit him. But before he could respond, Natasha spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.
"Natasha, wait!" Pepper called after her, rushing to catch up. She intercepted Natasha halfway to the door, gently grabbing her arm. "Please, don't mind Tony," Pepper said softly. "He can be an ass sometimes, but he doesn't mean it. We love Harry too, and we want him back just as much as you do."
Natasha's hardened expression softened slightly at Pepper's words, but the weight of everything was still pressing down on her. "I just... I don't know what to do," she muttered, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
Pepper nodded in understanding. "We'll help you, whatever it takes. We're in this with you. You're not alone."
Natasha hesitated, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a small pen drive. "This has everything SHIELD gave me. All the information we have on Harry's mission to New Mexico, Thor, and Asgard. I hope Stark can find something to help us contact them."
Pepper took the drive with a solemn nod. "We'll get started right away. Keep in touch, okay?"
"Thank you," Natasha whispered, her voice barely audible as she turned and left the mansion, feeling a little less alone but still weighed down by the uncertainty.
After Pepper Potts, her next destination was the quaint little town of Herefordshire. The flight there was again a blur for Natasha, her mind racing on how she could get him home. As Natasha drove through the winding roads of Herefordshire, the remnants of her anger toward Tony still simmered in her chest. His snarky comments felt like a slap in the face, a mockery of the deep worry gnawing at her insides. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched, her mind replaying the conversation over and over.
But as the English countryside stretched out before her, the quiet and solitude began to chip away at her fury, leaving space for another, much heavier emotion—fear.
The Richard family's small pub was just a few miles away now, and Natasha felt her heart rate quicken. This wasn't just another mission or debrief; this was personal. The Richards had become Harry's unofficial adoptive parents, treating him like the son they never had. And in their quiet, accepting way, they had done the same for her.
She could still remember the warmth of their home, the meals they shared. They had welcomed Natasha with open arms, never asking too many questions, never judging her past. That acceptance had been something she never expected—something she never realized she needed.
Now, she had to shatter their world with the news that Harry was missing, and the thought of that broke her even more than the tense meeting with Stark.
If this had been the old Natasha, the hardened agent who kept her emotions locked away, she wouldn't have cared as much. She would've delivered the message, braced herself for whatever fallout came, and moved on. But now, after everything, she owed them more. She owed them the truth, and more than that, she owed them her respect, for how much they had cared for and loved Harry and herself.
The fear tightened in her chest. What if they blamed her? What if they couldn't forgive her for not protecting him?
She wasn't sure she could forgive herself.
With a deep sigh, Natasha stepped into the familiar warmth of the Rustic Hearth, a small pub that had come to feel like a home. The scent of old wood, savory food, and ale mingled in the air, enveloping her like a comforting embrace. The regular patrons sat at their usual spots, and the low murmur of conversation buzzed around the room, but none of it seemed to register as Natasha's mind swirled with dread and grief.
Behind the bar, Charles Richards was busy serving drinks. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up with genuine joy. "Natalie!" he called out warmly, his deep voice carrying over the noise. "Dorea, come quick! Natalie's here!"
Natasha froze at the threshold, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer contrast between her inner turmoil and the welcoming warmth she was met with. She wasn't ready for this—for kindness. But there it was, rushing toward her in the form of Dorea Richards, who emerged from the kitchen the second she heard Charles call.
Without hesitation, Dorea crossed the room and engulfed Natasha in a loving hug, her arms firm and comforting, her scent reminding Natasha of fresh bread and lavender. Natasha stiffened at first, trying to keep the floodgates closed, but Dorea's hold was the type that didn't ask for permission to care—it just did.
When Dorea finally pulled back, she kept her hands on Natasha's shoulders, her sharp eyes taking in the younger woman's face. There was no question in them, only concern. "What's wrong, love?" Dorea asked softly, her voice filled with the gentle warmth of a mother worried for her child.
That simple question, the genuine worry in Dorea's voice, shattered the last of Natasha's defenses.
All the anger, all the pain she had been holding back for days came crashing forward in one uncontrollable wave. Her body trembled, and before she could stop herself, the tears came, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, to swallow the lump in her throat, but the dam had broken, and there was no stopping it now.
Natasha collapsed into Dorea's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking as the weight of Harry's absence finally hit her with full force. She wasn't just crying for herself, but for Harry—for the fear of never seeing him again, for the pain of not knowing if he was alive or dead, and for all the unspoken things between them that might never have a chance to be said.
Dorea held her, stroking her hair and whispering soft reassurances in her ear. "Shh, darling, it's alright. Let it out. We're here. We're family. It's going to be alright."
Charles had come over too, his usual jovial expression replaced with concern. He didn't say anything, but the way he placed a gentle hand on Natasha's back told her everything—she wasn't alone in this. They were here, like they always had been.
Their acceptance, their love—it was too much. Natasha had come here bracing herself for anger or disappointment, fearing she'd have to shoulder the burden of Harry's disappearance alone. Instead, she found warmth, care, and unconditional support. It broke her all over again, but this time it was a break that allowed her to finally grieve.
As her sobs subsided, Dorea gently guided her to a nearby table, sitting her down and brushing stray strands of hair away from Natasha's tear-streaked face. "You don't have to say anything yet, sweetheart," Dorea said softly. "We'll talk when you're ready."
Natasha nodded weakly, too overwhelmed to respond, but their words and actions sank deep. In Richards' quiet strength, she found a small piece of hope. For the first time in days, Natasha allowed herself to feel the full weight of her loss—and in the warmth of the Richards' embrace, she also found the strength to bear it.
Once her sobs had quieted and she had gathered some semblance of composure, Natasha wiped her face, trying to steady her breathing. Dorea and Charles stayed close, their warm, concerned gazes never leaving her.
Finally, Natasha spoke, her voice hoarse from crying. "Harry's gone missing."
The words were like a punch to the gut, hitting harder now that they were said aloud. Charles' brow furrowed in confusion, his concern deepening. "What? How? What happened?"
Natasha took a deep breath, trying to maintain control over her emotions as she relayed the information. "He was asked by a... branch of the US secret service," she began carefully, picking her words with caution, "to investigate something in New Mexico. It's the same one Phil Coulson works for. They brought Harry on as a consultant because of his experience with unusual situations, especially from his time in the army."
She paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "Something happened out there. They've lost all contact with Harry. No one knows where he is, and they're trying to establish communication, but..." Natasha's voice faltered for a moment as the weight of it hit her again, "they say it's going to take time."
Charles' face darkened as he processed the news, while Dorea squeezed Natasha's hand, her eyes wide with worry. "But they're doing everything they can to find him, right?" Dorea asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if she needed reassurance just as much as Natasha did.
Natasha nodded. "Yes. They're working on it. They just don't know how long it'll take."
She left out the details about Asgard, gods, and the Bifrost, the things she couldn't reveal. But even with the sanitized version of the story, the gravity of the situation weighed heavy on the room. The silence that followed was thick, but Natasha could feel their support, their quiet belief in Harry. It gave her a small flicker of strength amidst her fear.
Dorea squeezed her hand a little tighter, her voice soft but steady. "We know Harry, Nat. He's strong. He'll find his way back."
Charles nodded in agreement, though his lips were set in a tight line, clearly holding back his own emotions. "We'll be here, waiting for him," he said, his voice low but resolute.
Dorea and Charles exchanged a look, their initial shock and sadness giving way to something deeper concern. Not just for Harry, but for Natasha, who was clearly hanging by a thread. They knew how much she loved him, and they could see the toll his disappearance was taking on her.
Charles spoke first, his voice calm but firm. "Harry is a resourceful man, Nat. You know that better than anyone. Sooner or later, they'll find him. He's not the type to stay lost for long." He reached out, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "But until then, you need to take care of yourself. Running yourself ragged won't help him or anyone else."
Natasha, who had been holding onto her composure by a thread, felt her resolve start to crumble again. Before she could respond, Dorea stepped in, her expression soft but motherly. "Look at you, sweetheart. It's as if you haven't slept in weeks. What have you done to yourself?" Dorea's hands fluttered around Natasha, fussing over her disheveled appearance, as though by smoothing her hair or straightening her clothes she could soothe the pain underneath.
Natasha tried to protest, but Dorea wouldn't hear it. "No, you listen to me. You are family, and we take care of our own. Harry wouldn't want you running yourself into the ground." Her tone was gentle but unwavering, and it touched something deep inside Natasha.
Instead of Natasha consoling them about the loss of their 'son,' they were comforting her, treating her like a daughter—someone precious to them. It was the kind of unconditional love and support she wasn't used to, and the warmth of it made her heart ache.
Dorea ushered Natasha towards the back of the pub, where a cozy room awaited. "You're staying here tonight," she insisted. "No arguments."
"I couldn't possibly—"
"Yes, you can," Charles interrupted, his voice gruff but caring. "We're not letting you go back out there like this. Besides, we want you close to us. It's what Harry would want too."
Natasha hesitated for only a second before nodding. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and she didn't have the strength to argue. In truth, she didn't have anyone else to lean on right now but them. As much as she tried to be the strong one, their kindness felt like a lifeline.
Dorea gave her a small, knowing smile. "That's better. Now, let's get you something to eat. You'll feel better once you've had a proper meal and some rest."
As they guided her towards the warmth of the hearth, Natasha felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her. It wasn't that the pain of Harry's absence had lessened, but for the first time in days, she didn't feel so alone. She had them—the family Harry had chosen—and they were choosing her too.
And for now, that was enough.
