Natasha was one unsolicited comment away from ordering Wanda to blast Carol Danvers’ star-spangled ass out of the sky.
To be clear: Natasha liked Carol. She truly did. The Danvers woman was funny and intelligent, not to mention she packed a hell of a punch—Natasha was pleased beyond words could say that the famous Captain Marvel was fighting on their side. And to top it all off, the snarky blonde had saved her ass on more than one occasion in the field.
But really, didn’t she have some intergalactic dispute to referee, or possibly the birthday party of one of her old Kree buddies to attend? Didn’t the woman have literally anything else to do that didn’t involve yelling “That’s gay!” every time Natasha so much as looked at Wanda with a vaguely affectionate gaze?
And now, because that wasn’t bad enough, Tony had recently acquired the habit as well, despite Natasha’s numerous threats that she will not hesitate to rip his balls off and leave him stranded somewhere obscure, like maybe deep in the Siberian mountains, to painstakingly bleed out alone and forgotten and fucking freezing in the unforgiving winter.
(She won’t, because she cares about Tony, and she’ll admit she’s been compromised for him and the rest of the team since before Ultron.
Doesn’t mean she has to tell him, though, and it certainly doesn’t mean she has to like it.)
Tony was undeterred.
And you know what? Fine. She’s not some pathetic high-school teenager with a desperate crush; no, she’s (maybe, kind of, sort of, almost) dating Wanda, so it’s not like looking at her person-she-kisses-and-has-sex-with-sometimes is anything to be ashamed of; she’s also the Black Widow, born and raised in Mother Russia, trained to kill with ruthless efficiency—she doesn’t shrivel under billionaire playboys in expensive suits, or even glowing all-powerful army-veteran heroines like Carol Danvers who flies and blasts things like it’s her job (which, Natasha guesses, it actually sort of is).
So, you know what? She’s fine. She’s not gonna get mad about it, because she still gets to go to sleep in Wanda’s bed most nights, she’s currently in the midst of planning her sinister revenge on Tony Stark (which is going to be glorious), and she’s still been doing her due diligence in the meantime on how best to get back at a flying glowing not-exactly-human spacewoman with superpowers (—though preferably without inciting any kind of retaliation, especially the kind where Natasha gets forcibly launched into Saturn).
So Tony can jeer “That’s lesbian activity!” from the skies all he wants, and Carol can swoop through the clouds up above yelling “Get a room!” whenever she and Wanda are within 50 yards of each other, because they’ll get what’s coming to them; Natasha will make sure of it.
(She’s already taken all of Tony’s ridiculously expensive coconut exfoliating shower gel supply, the one he flies in from Taiwan; and after a bit of sleuthing on her part, she’s ensured he’ll never be able to order that overtly pretentious shower goop ever again.
She estimates it’ll be about four hours max before he notices and subsequently has an explosive meltdown.)
But then Thor comes down unexpectedly (he’d been taking a very long vacation with Jane in Asgard for the past month or so) through the Bifrost, shaking the battlefield with his earthquake-esque arrival, then announces in his deep and booming voice, “I wish to congratulate the happy lesbian couple!”—at that point, Natasha thinks she should just resign.
Thor doesn’t bother helping with the Doombots currently swarming them in violent hordes, either; no, it seems he's literally only there for a single purpose, which has Natasha staring at the heavens and hoping for another apocalypse, like, now, so that she won’t have to deal with this anymore.
(No such luck.)
“Lady Wanda, and Lady Natasha!” he practically roars, a wide boyish grin on his bearded face. Oh, Christ, Natasha thinks. “I wish you many happy years together under my mother, Frigg, goddess of love and beauty.” The Doombots haltingly stopped their attacks as Thor’s resounding voice caught their artificial interest, each mechanical entity turning to curiously observe Thor’s spirited speech. “But most of all, I wish for you to bring many beautiful children,” if Natasha hadn’t been trained very well to hide her emotions, she might’ve started into a fit of un-ladylike coughing at that, "into this world under Froy, god of fertility.”
Oh my God.
There's nothing but silence across the charred wreckage of the battle field, even as Thor stands practically beaming amidst the smoking patterned circle in which he’d just arrived, looking rather like a Golden Retriever puppy who’d just performed an especially elaborate trick and was now waiting for his treat.
Natasha, standing only about 10 yards or so away from the man in question, manages a nod and a strangled sort of smile, because she needs this to be over, now. “Thanks, bud.”
Thor’s face-splitting smile just gets wider in response, before he's bending his chest forward in a small and gracious bow (Natasha briefly wishes that Clint had just killed her when S.H.I.E.L.D. ordered him to and been done with it, because this was some next-level bullshit she was not equipped to be dealing with).
Thankfully, Thor takes that as his cue to leave:
“Farewell, lesbians!” he hails thunderously with a wave over to Wanda (who's standing about 40 yards off, her mouth agape in shock); his voice reverberates well across the field, and Natasha is absolutely desperate for one of the Doombots to just kill her already, Goddammit.
Then, standing and reaching his hammer skyward, he calls for Heimdall to return him to back to Asgard—and seconds later, in a blinding flash of multicolored light, he's gone, the still-smoking and delicately-styled burn mark the only evidence of his visit.
It takes about two seconds for the uproarious laughter of her entire team to come over the comms, and she may be an ex-assassin, but Natasha is sure she’s never felt this murderous in her entire life.
Wanda is blushing to the tips of her ears, her tentative blue eyes on Natasha, who’s looking back at her sort-of-maybe-not-yet girlfriend with a thoughtful expression, like maybe she might as well stop trying to keep her distance, because really, this has all just gotten ridiculous.
She’s halfway to a decision when there’s a crackle in her comms amidst the infuriating roars of laughter, and Steve’s tentative voice fills her ear: “I want you guys to know that I am legally a pastor with the power to marry two adults in Holy Matrimony—it’d be an honor to do you two ladies that service.”
She’s never been a particularly refined person to begin with, but right then she launches into a string of such profane vulgarity at her family of assholes that Tony will probably yell at her later for (since he’s basically adopted Peter at this point), saying that it’s “inappropriate” to be spewing such crass language with his kid on the comms—whatever.
She’ll never admit it, but she has to fight to suppress her smile with every renewed round of raucous laughter she hears, because this? This is something Natasha never thought she’d have. This is family.
So yeah, maybe she’s compromised, and maybe she cares a hell of a lot more about these idiots than she ever planned—but maybe that’s just what you get when you have a family.
She’ll never be cold and ruthless like before (she’s always known that nothing in life comes free), but there’s people she loves now, people that she knows love her back, and she thinks that maybe losing pieces of her past self doesn’t have to be a bad thing—maybe it’s just the opposite: the start of something better, of loving and being loved like never before, of piecing together a family at last.
(No matter how fucking annoying they all are.)