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Natasha knew she needed to give Clarke what the younger woman needed.
She had heard her romantic partner soulmate, Clarke Griffin, scream and cry, waking up from a nightmare, in the floor above the main floor where Natasha and Clint had been sitting and talking.
Clint jumped up, wanting to run to his daughter, wanting to hold her and tell her that she was safe and that she was loved, but Natasha reached up and placed her right hand on Clint’s hand, stopping him. She looked into his face and shook her head. She stood up slowly, sighing. “I’ll go upstairs.” She said, nodding to him, saddened. She knew Clint loved her, and loved Clarke. He had fatherly feelings for them both. They both were his familial soulmates. He was their familial soulmate.
When Natasha had been found by Clint and spared by him, when he had been ordered to kill her, he had brought her to his home and brought her to his wife and to their children. Natasha had become a part of their family, and they wanted the same for Clarke Griffin, the Avengers’ newest and youngest member.
But Clarke wouldn’t react to Clint. She’d shuffle away with him, choosing to be away from him, even though Natasha was positive that she wanted him, Laura and his and Laura’s children to be her family.
But right now? Right now, it wouldn’t do.
Natasha needed to be the one to go upstairs to Clarke and be the one to comfort her.
Clint grimaced. He wanted to go upstairs, but he nodded, resigned.
Natasha pulled away from him, turned around and went upstairs, going to the hallway and walking down to Clarke’s room, and knocked on the door.
The crying stopped just for a few seconds. “Clarke?” Natasha said, “Can I come in?”
There was silence, then Clarke called from behind the door, “I’m fine. Please go, Nat!”
Natasha felt the pain in her heart at Clarke's words, but persisted. She sighed, “Clarke,” She said softly, “Let me in. Please, let me in.”
After a few seconds, Natasha knew she would have to resort to a more underhanded tactic. She said softly, but knew that Clarke would hear her, even if she was whispering, “Please, malyshka, please let me in.”
Natasha heard a sharp whimper and she felt a stab in her chest. That was a dirty tactic to take, but she needed to tend to Clarke.
Natasha was somewhat relieved, when she heard movement and heard the locks on the door turning, then heard more movement.
Natasha grabbed the knob of the door and opened it up and went through the doorway.
The lights were on, and Natasha wondered if Clarke had fallen asleep with the lights on. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. She checked the room, not seeing Clarke on the bed. Her eyes found Clarke in the left-hand corner of the room, back up against the wall, her knees up against her chest, her arms around her knees, her head lowered, shaking.
“Clarke,” Natasha said, coming over slowly, not wanting to spook the younger woman. She kneeled down in front of Clarke, when she was close, and squatted down, her knees to her chest, facing Clarke. She met Clarke’s blue eyes and asked softly, being careful about what she asked, “Was it the Mountain?”
Clarke tensed, then shook her head. “No,” She said quietly, “It wasn’t. It wasn’t my daddy, either. It was what happened right after that.” Her eyes closed and tears spilled out. “It was the skyboxes. I was alone in there. For six years.” Her body shook as her tears still poured down her face, “I loved my daddy, and he was killed in front of me and that bitch, Abby Griffin, got him killed and got me thrown in the skybox. She visited me and when I tried to get her to get me out, she just left. She left me to be isolated. And she rejected me when I finally couldn’t take anymore.”
Natasha felt a cold clenching in her chest. It was like a fist of ice wrapped around her chest. She scooted closer to Clarke, sitting down next to the younger woman, and pulled Clarke into her arms, placing her chin on top of Clarke’s head, pulling Clarke’s body against her chest, wrapping her arms around the younger woman.
Clarke cried into the redhead’s chest as Natasha held her and stroked her hair.
Natasha rocked Clarke back and forth as she did this, whispering to her softly and tenderly. This woman-girl really, had been alone so long. Abandoned. Rejected. She had every reason in the world not to trust people and to react violently to them.
Natasha didn’t hate easily. She had been trained to see everything subjectively, to treat everything mechanically.
That had been her job, to look at everything pragmatically.
But Natasha was sure that she hated the people that had destroyed Clarke’s life. They had destroyed her little girl. Her romantic partner soulmate, and her other half, had been abandoned, emotionally tormented, alienated, abused.
Yes, no matter how much clinical training she had been put through, Natasha was sure that she could and did hate those that had hurt her Clarke.
The Ark people. The Mountain Men. The tribespeople. The Ark people especially, and especially the Trikru, who had hunted Clarke relentlessly, until the Azgeda had gotten their hands on the blonde godlike being in Natasha’s arms.
“It’s alright, malyshka,” She whispered, “You’re safe. I have you, malen’kiy. You’re not in that place anymore.”
Clarke shook against Natasha. She sniffled, “It was so lonely in there. For six fucking years. And Abby expected me to be okay after that?! The Grounders and the rest of the Ark people expected me to be okay?!”
Natasha kissed Clarke’s forehead and kissing the top of Clarke’s head and laid her left cheek against Clarke’s head now, letting Clarke cry still.
It went on for several minutes and Natasha held onto her, letting her cry.
Natasha didn’t even look at the digital clock, just held onto her little girl.
After what might have been ten, twenty or even thirty minutes, Clarke’s eyes were finally dry as she wiped the last of her tears away with the back of her right hand, pulling away from Natasha. “I’m sorry.” Clarke sniffed quietly.
Natasha shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for, Clarke.” She said to her romantic partner soulmate. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You have every right to cry. It’s okay.”
Clarke nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “That’s not what a lot of people say.” She said quietly, “A lot of people hate when I express myself.”
Natasha’s jaw clenched, thinking about Abby Griffin, the Trikru, the rest of the Ark people, the delinquents and the Mountain Men. She didn’t often think about killing people slowly. But she imagined she would be capable of doing so to those that had hurt Clarke, and she imagined she’d do it slowly, too. The Mountain Men, naturally, were already dead, as Clarke had killed them, but still, the feeling remained.
“I want you to express yourself.” Natasha said, “And so do Maria, Clint, Steve, Sam and Thor. It’s alright, Clarke.”
Clarke nodded, not crying anymore, but still looking completely saddened. She then scooted closer and buried herself against Natasha’s chest again.
Natasha held her and kissed her forehead again.
Then Clarke shook against her and whimpered, “Mommy…………”
Natasha’s eyes widened and Clarke must have realized what she had just said, because she stiffened up and snapped back away from Natasha, a panicked look on her face. “I’m sorry,” Clarke said, fear in her eyes, fear of rejection, “I didn’t mean-“
Natasha reached out, hands cupping Clarke’s face, and she smiled. “Clarke,” She said soothingly, “It’s alright, milaya devushka. You can call me that. It’s alright.” She felt her chest filling up with warmth, adoration and affection. “You can keep calling me that.”
Clarke’s mouth opened up a little, in shock and her eyes filled again with tears. And it tore Natasha’s heart in half. Clarke looked like she couldn’t believe it, like she couldn’t believe that she was being allowed this-like she never imagined anyone giving her this.
“You-I can?” Clarke asked, hope in her voice.
Natasha nodded. “You can, malen’kiy.” Natasha promised, “You can. I promise you, you can.”
Clarke whimpered and pushed forward, Natasha releasing her and allowing Clarke to cry into her chest again, gripping her and Natasha held her, stroking her hair again and cooing to her.
“Mommy,” Clarke whimpered against Natasha’s chest, “Mommy, mommy!”
Natasha crooned, holding her tight and resting her cheek against Clarke’s head again, glad that she could give Clarke this, but knew that Clarke would need more than this. She knew she was giving Clarke what she needed right now. But she knew that Clarke needed more than this. She would give Clarke whatever she needed, but she knew that a lover, even a romantic partner soulmate, was not a substitute for a mother. Not an actual mother.
Natasha’s thoughts turned to Clint and his family. To Laura Barton, who knew of Clarke’s presence in the Avengers base and SHIELD, who wanted to meet Clarke, who wanted to give her a home, as she had Natasha.
Her mind went to the many Grounder women, whose names she had learned and who she had learned had the name, “Clarke Griffin” on their backs, marking Clarke as their familial soulmate, and she wondered how many of those Grounder women were meant to be Clarke’s mothers.
Natasha continued to hold Clarke and continued to speak soothingly to her romantic partner soulmate, and made a determined choice in that moment.
Even though she and Clarke hadn’t yet had sex, she was sure that Clarke would trust her in what she suggested eventually. She eventually would try to see if she could convince Clarke to come with her to Clint and Laura Barton’s home and eventually meet Laura, one of Clarke’s true mothers.
Natasha smiled as she continued to coo her little girl as she held Clarke in her arms.
It would only be a matter of time.
She could get Clarke to the Barton home. Clarke would get what she needed, one way or another.
She knew Clarke was afraid-terrified even of meeting Laura and Clint’s children. She was scared of being exposed to that family, showing her vulnerability to them.
Terrified of rejection.
But Natasha would help her.
She would give Clarke what she needed. What she really needed.
Natasha was going to give Clarke what she needed right now. But this was only a temporary answer, to a longtime wound that Clarke had not been the attention she needed for.
This? What Natasha was doing for Clarke right now?
This was only a temporary answer. It wasn’t the solace, the true solace that Clarke needed.
The longer-term answer to Clarke’s repeated traumas, was an actual family. An actual mother.
Natasha held Clarke and continued to rock her back and forth, speaking to her soothingly and cooing to her, kissing Clarke’s forehead continually as Clarke called her “mommy,” something Natasha enjoyed-truly, but she knew what Clarke needed.
Natasha wasn’t going to pretend that she didn’t have a mommy kink that she was indulging and was more than happy to indulge how much Clarke was into this “mommy” thing.
But she also knew it wasn’t a long-term answer.
Indulging in this? It was understandable for them both, but it wouldn’t help Clarke-not for long, it wouldn’t.
Natasha knew that Clarke was her family and she knew that Clarke saw her the same way.
And while they were lovers and Natasha would always hold Clarke and let her cry against her and do what she was doing now, and would enjoy it, it was still only a temporary answer.
Clarke needed a bigger and stronger support system. And Natasha was going to make sure she got it.
Natasha knew Clarke feared meeting Clint’s family, no matter how much Clarke wanted a family.
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what Clarke needed.
And what Clarke needed was Clint’s family. They all wanted to meet Clarke and were looking forward to seeing her.
And while Clarke stayed away from her familial soulmates-especially from mothers, fearing their rejection, having known of her adoptive mother, Abby Griffin’s rejection and remembering in vivid detail, Natasha knew that Clarke wished for true maternal love.
After all, the way Clarke reacted when Natasha wanted Clarke to call her “mommy,” was obvious proof that Clarke needed, desperately needed maternal love.
That was perhaps pressing it a bit. After all, just because someone had a mommy or daddy kink, didn’t necessarily mean that they had a bad relationship with their parents. If that were the case, in fact, then that would mean that everyone who had had bad relationships with their parents were likely to call their sexual partners by those titles.
And just because Clarke’s relationship with her adoptive mother, Abby, had been a horrid one, didn’t mean that it was the reason for Clarke’s mommy kink.
But Natasha couldn’t help but draw that conclusion.
However, that wasn’t the matter at hand, was it?
So, Natasha knew-knowing that this was what Clarke needed resolved herself to bringing Clarke to Clint’s family and allowing Laura to look after Clarke. To give Clarke the family that she needed, to give her an actual mother.
She knew it would take a long time before Clarke allowed her to take her to Clint’s home, but Natasha was ready to work on it, for Clarke.
And Natasha knew that it would be a long time before she also was able to open up to Clarke about her own trauma, about when she and Yelena had been abandoned as children by Melina and Alexei. But she would manage that. Because Clarke deserved to know. That was what a relationship was. It wasn't just a one way street of intimate information. Natasha would tell Clarke. Eventually.
Right now, she would focus on giving Clarke what the younger woman needed.
To give her little girl what she needed-which was something she would always do.