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The instant Peter voiced that final demand, the air in the office froze solid.
Natasha felt an inexplicable pressure bear down on her, so cold it cut to the bone.
In that split second she realized exactly how much the boy's guardians, "Ben and May," meant to him.
They were, quite simply, the teenager's reverse scale—touch them and you died.
The discovery left her torn between hope and dread.
The hopeful part: a young man who honored his elders this deeply couldn't be a true villain.
When real enemies came, he would stand with them, not against them.
An extra ally was always better than an extra enemy.
The dread: their control-freak of a Director, Nick Fury, was the sort who'd do absolutely anything to get what he wanted.
If the "Bald Egg" decided to threaten Peter through his guardians… she didn't even want to picture it.
It would end in a catastrophe S.H.I.E.L.D. itself might not survive.
After a brief lapse she collected herself and looked at Peter, a faint complexity in her voice: "I understand. I'll relay your terms to my superiors."
"Good."
Seeing the legendary Black Widow so compliant put Peter in an excellent mood.
"I like obedient people. Because you've played along so nicely, I'll give you a little present."
As he spoke he reached out and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.
The horse talisman activated at once.
A soft, warm white light enveloped Natasha.
The glow wasn't harsh; it seeped into every cell with indescribable comfort, as though cleansing and remaking her from within.
Then she felt an unprecedented warmth in her lower abdomen and knees, as though some long-empty space deep inside her was being refilled.
"Mm—what did you do to me?"
Alarm flickered in her eyes, yet her voice trembled with the strange sensation, an involuntary, almost flirtatious hitch escaping her nose.
Peter simply withdrew his hand, casual and faintly teasing: "Just patched up some old injuries… and returned something you once lost."
There was more he didn't mention.
Under the talisman's power even the micro-chip implanted in her had been neutralized.
Natasha herself didn't know about that, and spelling it out would've been too shocking.
Even so, his off-hand words struck her like thunder.
Her body shook; her hands flew instinctively to her belly, already sensing, dimly, what he meant by "something lost."
It was her most secret scar, a wound that had never healed.
A top graduate of the Red Room, she and her sisters had been forcibly stripped of womb and ovaries to become Black Widows.
All her life she had sought belonging, yearning for a real home.
Yet, cruelly, that mutilation meant she could never have a true family.
She had believed she would have to settle for the warmth of pets to fill the void of kinship.
Now Peter had handed her a brand-new hope.
The realization flooded even her battle-hardened heart; her eyes stung with the sudden urge to weep.
She bit her lip hard, fighting back the sob that clawed at her throat, refusing to show weakness before this boy.
Peter watched her with mild amusement and said, "If you need to cry, you can borrow my shoulder… or even a hug, if you like." "In your dreams."
She rolled her eyes magnificently and turned away.
Inside, though, her fondness for him grew.
She wasn't some inexperienced girl like Gwen; she knew he had simply read her need for privacy and offered her an easy exit.
She steadied the storm of emotion.
When she faced him again she wore her familiar sultry, languid poise.
From her bag she produced a secure phone, tapped in a number, and said: "Whatever our Director decides, we'll contact you with this. If you ever need our help, use it."
She handed him the phone, hoisted her bag, and headed for the door.
"I'm going to make my report. You may be asked to visit S.H.I.E.L.D. tonight; let your family know so they won't worry."
Only after her curvaceous silhouette vanished did Peter look away, a confident smile playing at his lips.
With today's little gift, turning the Avengers' future linchpin would be effortless.
About an hour later Natasha stepped into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s clandestine New York facility.
The elevator dropped her seventeen floors underground; there, in the large office, Nick Fury waited impatiently for good news.
Yet when she walked in he blinked in surprise.
"Agent Romanoff, back so soon? Don't tell me you've already met the guy calling himself The Arbitrator?"
She gave a slight nod.
"I did. The Arbitrator is Peter Parker. To my embarrassment, he spotted me first and laid out his terms."
She recounted everything—save for the "little gift."
As expected, the man who'd sailed smoothly with Skrull backing exploded when he heard Peter's conditions.
He barely respected even Tony Stark and schemed to control him.
With Captain Marvel—near godlike—behind him, he wasn't about to kowtow to some high-school kid, and he slammed the table in classic style: "Motherf—does he think he's the President of the United States?!"