Is life worth living?
avengers fanfiction:
Chapter 1: Children
"You have got to be kidding me," said Natasha Romanoff, standing up. "We're supposed to assassinate children?"
Fury didn't look startled by her outburst.
"Not necessarily, Agent Romanoff, but that may become part of the mission," Fury responded. "These children are, most probably, in with the Red Room. And that means they are threats."
"How do we know that you aren't sending us to observe and possibly kill a pair of innocent, normal children?" queried Clint, sitting next to her.
"Agent Barton, normal children are not, usually, trained in parkour, which we know from the fact that they are often seen vaulting across rooftops. Normal children's parents and guardians are not listed as 'temporarily/indefinitely in Timbuktu. And normal children can typically not fall from a four-story building without sustaining injury. Or if they do sustain injury falling off of a four story building, they usually show it rather than landing lightly on their feet and running down the street laughing." Fury stated.
"If they are connected to the Red Room, how did you locate them?" Natasha asked.
"We were looking through files in Russia and found something suspicious. A little bit of detective work and… " Fury gestured at the files in front of him "this is what we found."
Natasha picked the four files, one for each of the suspected girls, and perused the information. There really wasn't much.
File 1
Name: Zilya Radova (not confirmed)
Hair Color: Blond (not confirmed)
Eye Color: Blue (not confirmed)
Age: 16 (not confirmed, probably inaccurate)
Height: 5'7"
Parents: Unknown (Possibly, although unlikely, in Timbuktu)
File 2
Name: Katya Radova (not confirmed)
Hair Color: Black (not confirmed)
Eye Color: Gray (not confirmed)
Age:15 (not confirmed, probably inaccurate)
Height: 5'4"
Parents: Unknown (Possibly, although unlikely, in Timbuktu)
File 3
Name: Zaria Radova (not confirmed)
Hair Color: Red (not confirmed)
Eye Color: Amber (not confirmed)
Age: 13 (not confirmed, probably inaccurate)
Height: 4'8"
Parents: Unknown (Possibly, although unlikely, in Timbuktu)
File 4
Name: Alexis Ivanova Petrova (not confirmed)
Hair Color: Red (not confirmed)
Eye Color: Green (not confirmed)
Age: 12 (not confirmed, probably inaccurate)
Height: 4'8"
Parents: Believed to be the daughter of Ivan Petrovich, but not confirmed. Unknown mother.
Natasha blinked at that last name.
"You really think she is Ivan Petrovich's daughter?" Clint asked incredulously.
"We don't know," Fury responded. "But when asked her name by an undercover operative, she said her name was Alexis Ivanova Petrova, so either that was the first last name she could think of off the top of her head, or she really is."
"If that is the name she gave you, then it was either probably a planned alias, or she was telling the truth," Natasha muttered.
"Why," asked Fury.
"Russian naming is different. The middle name is a patronymic so it is the name of the father with a suffix that depends on gender," Clint responded absently, scanning the files for any missed information.
When he caught the baffled looks coming from his partner and boss, he diverted his attention from the files long enough to shrug. "At least, so says Wikipedia."
"The weird thing is, this time he's actually right," Natasha muttered, provoking a glare from Clint. "Ivanova, when used as a middle name, would mean 'daughter of Ivan' and her last name, Petrovich, would also suggest that."
"Then you realize the urgency of this," Fury stated.
"Yes, I do," Natasha shot back. "But I also am unwilling to kill four children who might possibly, although unconfirmed and probably younger, be between the ages of twelve and sixteen. The oldest certainly looks younger, and the youngest looks like she could be ten-or even younger!"
"For the last time, this is not a kill order yet! You are to observe, if they need elimination, eliminate, if they do not, bring them back here!" Fury snapped
"Why assign us to a mission if its only going to be observation?" asked Clint.
"If these are truly Red Room girls, then, trust me, we're needed," Natasha responded, standing up. "When are we leaving?" she directed at Fury.
"Three hours. Go get ready," Fury responded, a little miffed by the lack of respect shown to him, although he supposed he should be glad she was going. No one made the black widow do what she didn't want to do.
…..
As Natasha got ready in her room, she was trying to push back the flood of memories. Memories of other girls from the Red Room, young girls, all of whom had met their deaths at the hands of a younger Natasha, and a tidal wave of blood rising up in her mind. The sheer number of girls, young girls, children, who had lost their lives at her hands…
There was a knock at her door, jolting her back to reality. She opened it and Clint stepped in.
"How are you," he asked gently. He knew of her past with the Red Room, was the only one she had confided in, and knew that, although she was far too proud to admit it, she was terrified that this mission would turn her back into that same murderer of children that had taken his offer to leave that person behind forever.
"It won't be the same," he stated, looking into her eyes. "If we think they're innocent, even if we get the kill order, we can bring them back here. We'll do the same for them what I did for you three years ago, Natasha. You are not that person anymore."
She stared at him for a long moment before giving an almost imperceptible, shaky nod. She hefted her bag over her shoulder and pushed out the door with him behind her. They made their way to the waiting plane, and Natasha's stone cold mask of proud indifference would never show anyone how terrified she was to be going back to Russia. Her home. Clint was the only one who ever saw her mask slip, who ever saw that she did care. Little things were what he noticed, after all. The way she was slightly tense if their target had children, or how she would never hesitate for her customary two seconds to evaluate the odds before plunging into a battle if there were children in danger. Those small things alone were enough to prove everything people whispered behind her back wrong. That she was cold, heartless, indifferent to everything, and saw everyone as a target. Well, that last part was true for A) people who said those things behind her back and B) any of the really evil people they were asked to track down.
They settled in for the many hour flight to Russia. Clint constantly looked out the window while Natasha seemed to stare into space. Anyone else might have thought that she was completely zoned out, but he knew that she was mentally preparing for the task ahead. Whenever she went to Russia, she spent a long time beforehand mentally preparing herself. Anytime they went to Russia was extremely stressful, and she had to mentally reassure herself that the Red Room couldn't harm her anymore. More the problem was the fact that, in Russia, although she denied it, she had a harder time trusting him. She was constantly tense and on edge, and even though he was the only one she really trusted, and she trusted him a good deal (enough to share her past stories, to put her life in his hands, and enough so that she didn't shoot him when he woke her up from her nightmares, which for her meant she trusted him a ton) she tended to be more aloof and shrouded her feelings all the time, even when they were safe, with a guarded intensity that rivaled that of a mother cat protecting her kittens. Russia was never fun, and usually ended with a large gunfight and Natasha having a panic attack. Oh, and nearly dying several times, but that was pretty routine.
Natasha tried to contain the panic she felt as the plane touched down. She didn't mean to shut Clint, the only person she truly trusted, out, but it was so hard, with all of the memories threatening to overwhelm her in Russia. All of the instincts that they had trained into her were near the surface here. It was generally a bad idea, and Fury tended to avoid it, but sometimes it just had to happen, and when it did… well, they completed the mission, but it was stressful and difficult.
They got off of the plane and into the waiting car. Clint slid into the driver's seat, earning a scowl from Natasha. After the first time they had come here, he had vowed never to let Natasha drive in Russia. Ever again. He wasn't exactly the world's safest driver himself, and Natasha normally drove very crazily, but in Russia, she was so tense and skittish that she broke about every traffic law in existence, ran every red light there was, and made liberal use of driveways, gardens, sidewalks, one way streets,(going the wrong way), and construction zones.
In the car, she sat very still, her stone cold expression not revealing her inner turmoil. With every breath she took to calm herself, she became more stoic. She would not let anyone interfere. No one could stop the Black Widow. She was on a mission.