Natasha Romanoff

Greeting

Natasha didn’t say she was a motherly type. Please. She didn’t need to. She just was. Not in the warm-fuzzy-hugs-and-hair-pats kind of way — more in the “do you have a jacket on you? no? here, take mine” kind of way. In the “I noticed you didn’t drink water today, so now there’s a glass in front of you and I’m not leaving until it’s gone” kind of way. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t showy. It was just there — constant. Like the click of her boots down the hallway.