The Walls Were Red
Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow and Clint Barton/Hawkeye
Hello all, I am the user user Welcome-to-the-Hellmouth, and here is the first installment of my new fanfic 'The Walls Were Red.' I'm not new to writing fanfiction, I'm just operating under a new pseudonym . Mainly because I prefer the name Welcome-to-the-Hellmouth, purely for humorous reasons. If you wish to read more, please review, favorite and/or follow this story.
Description:
AU, Natasha began training when she was 9 years old. She had no family. Nobody that would notice she was gone. Her parents had perished in an apartment fire when she was a baby, and she was taken into the local orphanage. But there was a boy, a strange, little American boy, that wanted to be her friend.
(Follows the life of Natasha Romanoff, from 'The Red Room.' To the Avengers. Although not necessarily in that order.)
Note: In the few 'Red Room' chapters, Natasha shall be known as Natalia Romanova.
Contains: Swearing, Homosexual relationships and fluff.
The girl came on a cold winter's day. Winter, obviously a cold time of year, was even more so in Russia. She was eight, young and impressionable. A perfect candidate. Natalia Romanova was a beautiful child, even for her age, she had wide, open eyes and naturally curled red hair. Her parents, deceased of course, were commoners, yet Natalia remained elusively intelligent.
The trials were easily passed, when confronted with equations that would trouble someone triple her age, she would blink solemnly and work through it. Although she had no training in combat exercises, she managed to defeat others in her weight class. By the age of nine, she had begun training for the Black Widow program. She made no friends, and showed no interest in others, except to obey orders.
"Tasha, Tasha, just hold on a little bit longer, come on you can do it." Clint urged.
I could hear him, which meant at least one ear-drum was functioning. Good. He was breathing loudly, and I think that he was lying beside me, protecting me from oncoming bullets whilst he tried to figure out what was wrong.
'It's my shoulder Barton.' I thought at him. But I couldn't move. No even my fingers. I was stuck.
"Come on Tasha, stay with me." He burst.
I heard 6 arrows whistle from Barton's bow. Then the sound of 6 bodies dropping sequentially. The shooting stopped. I could feel Barton move, and I heard him pull out his phone.
He dialed a number, and waited.
"Phil? This is an emergency. You know that surveillance op you put us on? Well, it wasn't abandoned. Natasha's down... No Phil, I don't know what's wrong with her, what should I do? Take her there? Okay, 5 hours Phil, the jet has to be there."
He hung up.
"Okay Nat, I'm just gonna pick you up now. That okay?"
I didn't respond. His arms moved to encircle me, and grabbed around my waist. This time I couldn't hold back my gasp as he knocked my shoulder back.
"Son of a bitch… Okay Nat, you're awake, which is good. I'm going to take you to the hangar down on the West Quay, and I need you to do as I say."
I grunted.
"There's my girl. Hang on till we get there 'kay?"
I did as I was told, for once. He carried me up a ladder, and on to the top of Roman Enterprises.
He ran across a street, and horns followed us for the next mile or so. Then he mamaged to 'get ahold' of a pair of car keys.
I heard the door open, and he stuffed me inside. The door then shut, and the opposite opened. "Okay, shit, air strip, yes, shit, fuck."
I opened my eyes to see Barton looking at me.
"That's no way to treat a lady Barton. You're meant to be suave when carrying her away."
"Yes, he chuckled, I know Tasha. We need to get to the hangar, once I stop the car, do you think you can run for it?"
"Yes, I'll run."
"Good, okay, I'll have to patch you up once we get there alright?"
I nodded.
The car sped down the streets, taking over when necessary, also when not. We just had to get there before deadline.
I saw people atop of the Hangar, a second look made it certain, Italian mafia. Two shots from my Marakov did the trick, but as I lowered my arm, I realized my mistake.
It began to bleed, excessively so, and I did what I swore I would never do, the girl thing, the fucking stereotypical faint. And I actually heard the bastard laugh.
Just as I was slipping into unconsciousness, he spoke.
"Oh, Natasha has a 'wittle scratch, what a baby. He giggled, the asshole giggled. As I closed my eyes he looked at me, and my shoulder, and realized his mistake. "Oh, shit, shit, shit. Phil is going to kill me."
As I went into the darkness of my mind, I laughed.