It was almost seven in the evening when Natasha came to me with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "I came to help unpack." she sang, waving the glasses around in the air. She kicked my door closed behind her and walked across my room. I noticed for the first time how raspy her voice was and I thought it sounded pretty. "God," she sighed, plopping onto my bed. I turned to look at her from half way up the steel ladder for my bookshelf.

"What?" I smiled, carefully climbing down.

"I'm just glad you're here," she huffed, pouring red wine into the two glasses. "It's nice to have another woman around. Someone with common sense and half a brain."

I laughed at her and sipped the wine, mindful to drink slowly. "Thank you, I guess." I smiled at her and she smiled back, glancing around my room until something caught her eyes and she crossed the room with lightning speed.

"You have a record player?" she asked, baffled.

"My best friend is a great deal older than me." I explained. "When I was growing up, he made me listen to his music all the time and the only way we could do that was to use one of those."

"At least it's an updated one." she lifted the needle, examining the black case. "Do you have any good records?"

"I have quite a few that I think are good but they're all from the thirties and the forties."

"Your best friend is ninety?" she glanced up at me from the crate of old vinyl's.

I shook my head. "He'll be forty-eight in June. But he loves really old music."

"Cap likes this kind of music too." she lifted one of the black disks and placed it carefully under the needle. "So this best friend of yours, what's he like?"

"Blue." I giggled.

"Blue?"

"Hank McCoy, Secretary of Mutant Affairs?"

"That's your-" she stared in disbelief at me. I rummaged through a box near the record player and found a picture album filled with Polaroid's of my friends and I dropped it on my bed.

"There," I pointed to my favorite photograph of Hank and I.

"Wow, it's so weird to see someone I've seen with the President making a face like that." she teased. "So he's just your friend?"

"Yea. We never- We were never together if that's what you mean."

"Hm. Who's that?" Natasha pointed to a picture of me as a small child.

"That's my father, Nezhno." I said sadly. "He died when I was very young."

"And your mother?"

"She ran away after I was born and left me with my father."

"I'm sorry." Natasha apologized. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's quite alright." I forced a smile. Natasha and I continued to talk and laugh until midnight and she excused herself to bed.