Natasha Romanoff had faced death in more ways than she could t.

  Gunfire, explosions, poison, assassins, torture—you , she had survived it. But there was one enemy she had ruly learo defeat.

  Bureaucracy.

  She gred at the stack of paperwork on her desk like it was a Hydra operative holding a grenade. Her fingers flexed, itg to snap a pen in half. Instead, she forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose.

  Focus. For Kara.

  It had started with a simple idea—get Kara out of that damned tai room. She was not a threat—well, not to them, at least—not as long as Natasha was the one handling her. Kara needed space, freedom, and a pce to stretch her legs without some twitchy male agent eyeing her like she was one bad day away from vaporizing the whole facility.

  But apparently, relog a Kryptonian alien to a S.H.I.E.L.D. guesthouse required more paperwork than assassinating a dictator.

  Natasha had spent the st three days waging war with the administration.

  Forms. Authorization codes. Psychological evaluations.

  There had even been a debate over whether Kara required a pet lise, because someone cssified her under “h species”.

  That agent had received a personal visit from Natasha, and he would not be making jokes for a while.

  Now, as she scrawled her final signature with a little more force than necessary, Natasha leaned ba her chair, victorious.

  Paperwork… the real enemy.

  She smirked. “Bite me, Se 89B."

  Meanwhile, Kara Zor-El was dug groundbreaking experiments in snack logistics.

  She lounged on her cot, eyes half-lidded, telep pizza slices from across the room directly into her mouth.

  “Sce,” she murmured proudly after every successful bite.

  She was getting stronger by the day—the sun in this universe was doing things to her Kryptonian biology she hadn’t fully grasped yet. Her teleportation was stabilizing, and there was a stant hum of power beh her skin, like her cells were preparing for something more.

  But right now? Her greatest achievement was not having to walk across the room for food.

  A knoterrupted her pizza-phase attempt.

  Natasha entered, clipboard in hand, her face calm—but there was a flicker of something underh. Satisfa? Pride?

  Kara grinned.

  “Oh hey, Pizza Queen. Did y more snacks? Because I was thinking dessert this time—maybe teleport in a cake?”

  Natasha fought the smile threatening her lips. “Pack your things.”

  Kara blinked. “What things? I have a pizza box and sarcasm.”

  Natasha rolled her eyes. “Fine. Bring your pizza.”

  Kara perked up. “Where are we going? Is it a field trip? Will there be sers?”

  Natasha’s mouth curled slightly. “Guesthouse. In New York. You’re being transferred.”

  Kara sat up, eyes lighting with excitement. “I’m getting an apartment? I didn’t even have to put doosit?”

  Natasha crossed her arms. “It’s a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Don’t get too fortable.”

  Kara’s grin grew wider. “Does it have cable?”

  Natasha gave her a deadpan look. “You’ll survive.”

  As Natasha escorted Kara through the facility, Kara noticed the subtle gres from the other female agents—flustered, jealous, like Natasha had cimed a prize they all wanted.

  Kara smirked.

  Pheromones were weird, but funny.

  “So… what exactly did you have to do to get me out of the space zoo?” Kara asked.

  Natasha huffed, but there ride uhe frustration. “Let’s just say the paperwork battle was legendary.”

  Kara ughed. “Oh, I know that struggle. Justice League made me file seventees after I, uh… actally vaporized a building.”

  Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Actally?”

  Kara shrugged. “It was being rude. Blog my view. It knew what it did.”

  Natasha actually chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that made Kara pause for a moment, appreciating how stunning she looked when she rexed.

  The moment passed quickly, but it lingered in Kara’s mind.

  The guesthouse was sleek, modern, aively luxurious for a so-called “secure facility.”

  Kara stepped inside, eyes wide.

  “Okay… this is han my st apartment. You sure this isn’t a trap?”

  Natasha smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

  Kara flopped onto the couch, arms behind her head. “No promises. I’m g this as my kingdom.”

  Natasha stood by the door, arms crossed, watg her.

  Something about seeing Kara so fortable—because of her efforts—filled Natasha with satisfa.

  She made this happen.

  She made Kara smile like that.

  And no one else had the right to do that.

  Natasha broke the silence.

  “There are rules.”

  Kara raised an eyebrow. “Boo.”

  Natasha ignored her. “You’re free to go out, but within limits. You’ll have aailing you at all times.”

  Kara smirked. “Oh? So you’ll be my bodyguard?”

  Natasha tensed. “Possibly.”

  Kara leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “Gonna wear sungsses and a suit? Whisper into an earpiece, ‘The package is secure’? Or—”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Kara’s grin tureasingly smug. “You like when I push it.”

  Natasha narrowed her eyes, but her cheeks betrayed her.

  Kara noticed something iing—the male agents helping move her things were indifferent, professional.

  But every woman in the viity stole lingering gnces.

  Natasha noticed too.

  Her eyes flicked over eae, cold and calg, silently warning them:

  Back off.

  Kara noticed… and she liked it.

  High above, Wanda Maximoff watched from a rooftop, shrouded in chaos energy.

  Her red eyes burned as she watched Natasha follow Kara into the guesthouse.

  Her fiwitched to unleash hell, but she restrained herself.

  Not yet.

  “A house? A cage with windows.”

  She sneered.

  “You deserve more than this. And you will have it… with me.”

  Kara stretched out on the couch, feeling something she hadn’t felt since arriving in this world—te.

  “This universe is weird… but at least the couch is fy.”

  She looked over at Natasha, who stood by the doorframe, watg her protectively.

  For a sed, Kara saw it—the care, the protectiveness… the possessiveness.

  And she didn’t mind it.

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