(AN: This chapter is dedicated to 'kharl0618')
Natasha Romanoff hated filing reports when the subject didn't fit the boxes.
She sat alone in the temporary SHIELD office, tablet propped against the table, half a dozen windows open—timestamps, behavioral logs, audio notes she hadn't bothered to transcribe yet.
Elias Mercer's name sat at the center of it all, ahighlighted, circled, then circled again.
No criminal record.
No foreign ties.
No unexplained finances.
No behavioral spikes.
Just… consistency.
She scrolled through her notes.
Day 3 — Subject de-escalated conflict without verbal dominance.
Day 4 — Customers demonstrate reduced stress markers within 12–18 minutes.
Staff morale unusually high.
No signs of paranoia. No counter-surveillance behavior.
That alone bothered her.
Her phone vibrated once.
She answered without looking at the caller ID.
"Romanoff."
Fury's voice came through, low and gravel-worn. "Status check."
Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes still on the screen. "I'm organizing it now. Short version? He's clean."
Silence on the other end. Not surprise. Consideration.
"Clean how?" Fury asked.
"Not pretending," she said. "Not hiding. Not playing dumb. He runs a bakery. He watches people. He stabilizes them. If he's acting, it's the best long con I've ever seen—and it serves no angle I recognize."
Fury exhaled slowly. "And the monsters?"
"That's the problem," Natasha replied.
"They orbit him. Not the other way around."
Another pause.
Fury finally asked the question that had clearly been eating at him.
"How does someone like that end up at the center of all this?"
Then, quieter, sharper: "Is he being controlled? Threatened? Used?"
Natasha shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "No. If someone was pulling his strings, I'd see the tension. Micro-hesitations. Compliance tells. There's none of that."
She scrolled again, stopping on a note she'd written late the night before.
Subject positions himself to protect others without realizing he's doing it.
"He doesn't act like someone trapped," she continued. "He acts like someone choosing."
Fury didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was thoughtful. "My gut says he's innocent."
Natasha smiled faintly. "Yeah. Mine too."
That admission hung between them—dangerous in its simplicity.
"Innocent people don't usually draw this kind of gravity," Fury said. "Aliens. Hunters. Gangs. Twice."
Natasha finally looked away from the screen, gaze unfocusing. "Which means innocence isn't the variable. Connection is."
Fury grunted. "You think he's the trigger."
"I think he's the anchor," Natasha corrected.
"Whatever's happening… happens around him. Not because he orders it. Not because he wants it."
"But it still happens," Fury said.
"Yes," she agreed quietly. "And that's why we can't walk away."
Fury straightened on the other end. She could hear it in his voice. "Then we keep watching. Carefully."
"No pressure," Natasha said. "No contact escalation. If he's connected, forcing the issue could make it worse."
"And if he's more than he looks?"
Natasha's eyes returned to Elias Mercer's profile.
"Then he's the kind of person you don't want to turn into an enemy," she said.
Silence.
Finally, Fury spoke. "Keep digging. Somewhere in all this, there's a missing piece."
Natasha nodded. "There always is."
The call ended.
Natasha leaned back, arms crossing slowly.
Outside, the city moved on—uneasy, uncertain, but alive.
.
.
.
The bell above the door chimed softly as Natasha stepped inside Mercer's Hearth.
Warmth greeted her first. Not just the temperature—the feeling.
Fresh bread. Sugar. Coffee that hadn't burned yet.
The kind of place that made shoulders drop without people realizing why.
"Morning," she said easily.
Mara looked up first and smiled. "Oh—hey! Usual?"
"Please," Natasha replied.
Rhea waved from behind the counter. Noah followed with a polite nod, still a little thinner than before but standing straighter these days.
The remaining two staff—Jonah and Elise—were already moving, setting trays, prepping the first batch like clockwork.
Then Elias looked up.
"Morning," he said, tone calm, familiar now. "Same seat?"
Natasha smiled. "If it's not taken."
"Before you? Nope." he replied, gesturing lightly.
It was a small thing, but she noted it anyway.
He didn't reserve it. He just… knew.
Their brief exchange was interrupted by Jonah turning up the small TV mounted in the corner.
The morning news had shifted from weather to something far more animated.
"—authorities in New Mexico are reporting a highly unusual discovery—"
Everyone paused.
The reporter continued, footage showing a dusty clearing.
Soldiers. Police. A red pickup truck straining uselessly against a thick chain.
"Witnesses claim the object, described as a metal hammer, could not be lifted. Not by hand. Not by machinery. Attempts using a pickup truck failed when the chain snapped—"
"That's gotta be fake," Elise said, folding her arms. "A hammer?"
"No way," Noah replied. "That thing didn't even budge."
Mara frowned. "Maybe it's magnetized or something?"
Natasha leaned against the counter, eyes on the screen. "They tried forklifts too."
Everyone turned to her.
"…What?" Rhea asked.
Natasha blinked, then smiled. "Uh—saw an update online earlier."
Elias tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. "A hammer no one can lift," he murmured.
"That's… new."
"Aliens, monsters, and now magical tools?"
Noah scoffed. "What's next?"
Natasha glanced at Elias. "You think it's real?"
He considered it for a moment. "I think the world's been revealing things it used to hide."
That earned a quiet moment of silence.
Then—pure accident, unplanned, and unexpected.
Natasha stepped back just as Elias turned, both of them reaching for the same tray at the same time.
They collided lightly.
Coffee sloshed. Fingers brushed. The tray tilted—
Natasha reacted first, steadying it with reflexes honed by years of near-death situations.
But Elias was already apologizing. "Sorry—are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, laughing softly. "My fault."
Their hands lingered a second longer than necessary.
Elias froze.
Not because of danger.
Because something felt… pleasantly disarming.
He blinked once, then—absentminded, unfiltered—asked, "Hey, uh… would you mind if I got your number?"
The shop went quiet.
Natasha and his employees stared at him.
Then she laughed. Genuinely.
"Sure," she said, amused, pulling out her phone. "Why not?"
She handed it over as he also handed his own phone.
Elias saved his in as did Natasha, still looking faintly surprised with himself when he gave it back.
"I—sorry. That just kind of… happened."
"No complaints," Natasha replied lightly.
Mara raised an eyebrow. Rhea and Lina smirked.
Noah and caleb looked between them, wide-eyed.
The bell chimed again as the first real customers of the day began to arrive.
Normalcy resumed.
Orders were taken. Coffee poured. The world didn't end.
A couple of hours later, Natasha stood, gathering her coat.
"Same time tomorrow?" Elias asked, casual.
She smiled. "Maybe."
She left with the crowd, blending seamlessly into the street.
Behind her, Mercer's Hearth hummed along like it always did—quietly, steadily.
And for once, Natasha Romanoff walked away without a report to file.
Just a phone number saved.
.
.
.
Mercer's Hearth had settled into its late-afternoon rhythm.
The rush had passed. Only a few tables remained occupied, voices low, the air thick with warmth and the fading scent of sugar and coffee.
An hour before closing—quiet enough for thoughts to get loud.
Elias sat at his station.
Arms crossed.
Phone on the table.
Staring.
He hadn't moved in minutes.
Mara noticed first. "You're going to burn a hole through that screen."
Rhea leaned over the counter, grinning. "Just call her."
Noah nodded vigorously. "Yeah, boss. What's the worst that could happen?"
Caleb added, far too casually, "People usually regret not calling more than calling."
Lina crossed her arms. "You asked for her number. That already crossed the line. Might as well finish the journey."
Elias didn't look up. "Isn't it… rushed?"
Mara scoffed. "You waited all day."
"It's too early," he added weakly.
Rhea tilted her head. "You're closing in an hour."
"She might not like it."
The staff collectively groaned.
What Elias didn't say—what he couldn't say—he was screaming to himself in his head.
Are you trying to die early?
That woman wasn't just anyone.
She was an assassin.
A legend.
So efficient at killing that she earned a name whispered in intelligence circles like a curse.
Black Widow.
And here he was, a baker with a system, contemplating calling her like a lovesick teenager.
His rational side was yelling:
Abort. Abort. Survival probability plummeting.
His heart—traitorous, loud, painfully sincere—was shouting back:
Love conquers all, you coward.
He stared at the phone.
Torn. Frozen.
Closing time came.
They locked up. Said their goodbyes. The staff left him with knowing looks and barely restrained smiles.
Elias walked home.
And the moment he shut his door, before his courage could escape—
He called.
The line connected almost immediately.
"Hello?" Natasha's voice came through, warm, familiar.
Elias swallowed. "Uh—hi. It's Elias."
A pause. Then a smile he could hear.
"I was wondering when you'd call."
The knot in his chest loosened.
Conversation flowed—effortless, natural.
Nothing about monsters. Or gangs. Or systems.
Just two people talking.
Work stories. Food preferences. Dry humor.
Elias laughed more than he had in weeks.
And somewhere between her teasing and his awkward sincerity, he realized something unsettling.
He was falling. Fast.
.
.
.
Natasha Romanoff
Natasha stood barefoot in her cover apartment, phone resting against her ear as Elias spoke.
She listened.
Really listened.
And for the first time since accepting Fury's assignment, something in her chest shifted uncomfortably.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She hadn't planned to charm him.
Hadn't deployed techniques. Hadn't pushed.
And yet—
He was already there.
After the call ended, she exhaled slowly and turned toward the secure terminal hidden behind a false wall.
"Romanoff reporting," she said quietly.
Fury answered immediately.
"He called," Natasha said. "I didn't initiate."
Silence.
Then Fury sighed. "Of course he did."
"He's genuine," she added. "No manipulation. No defenses. Just… honest."
That worried him more than anything else. It just means his agent is way too efficient that
"You sure you didn't press too hard?" Fury asked.
"I didn't press at all." She answered almost like a complaint.
Another pause.
Fury weighed it carefully. Then spoke, firm but measured.
"Listen to me, Romanoff. No playing with his feelings."
Natasha stiffened slightly.
"If you feel nothing," Fury continued, "be honest. End it. Clean."
"And if I do?" she asked quietly.
Fury didn't answer right away.
"…Then you're deep undercover," he said at last. "No more reports. No status checks."
Her breath caught.
"One directive only," Fury finished.
"Keep everything normal. We don't want any more horror movies."
The line went dead.
Natasha stared at the dark screen.
For the first time in years, she wasn't sure which mission she was on.
Over the following days, Elias and Natasha's interactions became a quiet rhythm, subtle yet growing.
It began innocently. Elias, distracted while restocking ingredients, accidentally called her from his phone.
"Uh… Natasha? I mean… hi," he stammered, realizing mid-ring that he had dialed her.
"Elias? Everything okay?" she asked, amused.
They spoke for ten minutes.
Nothing monumental—just small talk about the shop, the weather, the constant news reports of unusual events—but the conversation lingered in Elias' mind long after the call ended.
The next day, Natasha appeared at the shop again, ordering the same coffee cake and black coffee.
She greeted every staff member casually, nodding at Elias.
"Morning, Elias," she said, eyes briefly meeting his. There was a spark of humor in her tone that made him smile.
During quiet hours, she stayed to chat about mundane things—how a delivery got delayed, or how one of the ovens had a strange odor.
They laughed together when Mara spilled flour on herself, or when a customer's overly enthusiastic comment about aliens in the news made Elias groan dramatically.
Each day, these moments repeated. They were fleeting, ordinary, yet Elias felt a growing warmth in her presence.
He noticed how she instinctively positioned herself near entrances, yet never obstructed anyone—a quiet observant nature he respected.
Natasha noticed the same about him: the way he moved through the shop, calm, attentive, never creating unnecessary tension.
Comfort grew. Recognition deepened. And slowly, fondness emerged.
End of chapter 17
[AN: Employees are Mara, Rhea, Lina, Noah and Caleb. Noticed some inconsistentcy so just a heads up. Although I use AI, doesn't mean it all depends on it, everything is still my design, i just suck at creating conversations. Don't know if being introverted is a factor.]