A Debt.

Author's Note: Yes, I know in all legitimate parts of the Marvel Universe, as far as I know, Natasha doesn't have a sister. She is my own character, and this is an AU created entirely around her existence. Enjoy my lovelies!

Also: The pronunciation of Anastasia's name is: Ana - stah - (stah is pronounced sort of like stall, without the ll's, and a tall a) - zia

To say the least, she looked shocked that I was there in the first place. I had died my hair brown, since those with brown hair were less distinguishable that those with red. She was talking with a man who had hair that seemed to be a cross between blonde and a red color. She looked exactly the same as she did two years ago, but had cut off most of her hair so that it was around her shoulders instead of her waist. It also was curled instead of straight. The second I walked in, my body decided that it was the correct time to bend over into a coughing fit, drawing the attention of Natalia Alianovna Romanova, my sister. I call her Nova, both because her last name ends in it, and the fact that she calls me Casca, even though she's the older one.

I was unable to see her reaction since my eyes were watering from the coughs that shook my ribcage. She was silent for a while after I looked up, clasping my hands behind my back, preparing myself for anything, and not surprisingly, she punched my in the jaw.

Let me tell you, her punch had improved considerably since I had last seen her, and I knew my jaw would be bruised the next day. The only thought I had at the moment was "Thank goodness that my jaw was no longer made of glass."

"You are quite the welcome party, Nova."

"Well, Casca, you taught me that one."

"I did, didn't I? Well, I must say that I am thankful my jaw is no longer easily shattered. You still have not given me my money for the bet we made."

"Which one, Casca?"

"Well, Nova, the one that involved which one of us would get our jaw wired up first."

"That one. I should have known you would win that."

"Jaw of glass, Nova, that was the key. You needn't give me money, but a favor."

She looked skeptical, she was not sure if I was tricking her or not, the man she was talking to had followed the conversation as if it made perfect sense.

"What is the favor?"

"I need a place to stay, I have made certain decisions I shouldn't have, and I need to stay away from my employers for a while."

"You still use knives?"

"You are looking at the female, Russian, and a heck of a lot less gory Jack the Ripper. I think I have been registered as a serial killer in Moscow."

"Casca, you always were an idiot."

"Thank you, Nova, I truly appreciate it."

She let go of my arm, and I walked over to the man in the room.

"Anastasia."

"Clint Barton." He shook my proffered hand and looked from me to Nova, as if double checking if I was alright. I felt her eyes on the back of my head before I heard her move over here.

"If I am to take you anywhere, you will need to give me all of your weapons."

"Nova, you cannot be serious."

She raised an eyebrow and gestured to the table. I walked over and deposited one of my bags on the table and went through it, retrieving all of my knives. My knives for a safe house. It seemed like a fair deal. After my bags were emptied of their weapons, which was a rather considerable amount. Security is surprisingly lax in America, or they do not check well enough. I pulled the knives from my hair and wrists. I removed all of my weapons except one, an anklet that had a small blade hidden in one of the charms.

"Take off the anklet."

I growled at her knowing tone and carefully bent over and removed the jewelry, letting it clatter onto the table with nearly 20 other weapons.

Clint Barton raised his eyebrows at the sheer amount of weapons I had on me. I shrugged.

"Nova can hold more because she is taller and possesses a much larger chest. She is also far more attractive than I."

She rolled her eyes. "Come along, Casca, we have a shelter to get to. You will stay there for as long as you need to." I nodded. "You will not have any weapons on your person during that time, you will not make any phone calls unless they are monitored, no outside communication without permission and all communications must be read before sent, et cetera. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

"Good, now if you could get in the car." She tied a blindfold over my eyes and helped me into the vehicle, making sure I did not hit my head.

She did not get in with me, but sat in the front, beside the driver, who I had assumed was Clint Barton. After an hour of driving, she allowed me to remove the blindfold, and there I sat, in the backseat of a car. I was bored out of my mind, and soon retreated into it, pulling from the boring car ride and into my whirlwind of thoughts.

I was wondering, out of everything, why it had to be me to be pregnant. Why was it always me out of everyone in the world, every married woman. It was first job when it happened, when I met Braydon, the kindest man to ever walk this Earth. He was killing someone next door when we met. We were making our getaways, identical bags over our shoulders, standing in an elevator together. He had some blood on his cheek. I heard the door open, and a man was walking in. I immediately kissed his cheek, hiding the blood. He was stunned, but went along with the act, gripping my hand in his own. After the man left, he gave me a card. It told me to meet him at a cafe sometime around 4 tomorrow afternoon. I had thought nothing of it, placing it into my pocket and getting on with my life until 4 in the afternoon the next day. I did not have anything to do, and I was sprawled on my bed, staring at my then-blonde hair. I went to the cafe at around 4, wearing jeans, a sweater, and a jacket that went to my knees. I entered the cafe, ordering hot chocolate and sitting in a booth, swirling the liquid in the mug. Then he walked, looking completely different. I had washed out the dye before I left my apartment, so I was a redhead, and he was a brunette, unlike the blonde he wore the day before. I had held up my hand, signaling where I was, and he walked over after ordering, waiting for a mug of his own.

"That was quick thinking in the elevator, thank you."

"No problem, you had blood on your cheek."

"What's your name?"

I raised an eyebrow, "What is yours?"

He laughed, throwing his head back as if I had said something hilarious. I was confused, but hid it as he answered. "Braydon, your turn."

"Anastasia."

"Alright Ana, what do you do for a living?"

I burst into laughter, he joined too, and my sides ache afterward. I hid a smile behind my mug as I took a sip of my hot chocolate. "Well, Braydon, I work for a private company that allows me to speak with all sorts of individuals to strike up agreements between my company and theirs."

"I do similar work at my own place of business, Anastasia."

"That is quite enthralling, Braydon, but I would rather speak of other, far less dull topics."

"I agree. What might your favorite color be?"

"Blue."

Our talk turned into a game of questions and answers, and at the end we agreed to meet up again. We did not trust each other without cell numbers yet, so we settled for meeting at the same cafe every Tuesday, and if one could not show up, don't, no explanations needed. We did this for two years, soon going out with each other on Saturday nights, he had nicknamed be Ana, but I still called him Braydon, liking his real name more than any nickname I could think of. Other than Idiot, that is. My mind moved past all of the boring fluff that I treasured.

"Braydon! Stop it!" I remembered squealing as he was over me, tickling me mercilessly, relishing in my annoyance. I soon was able to hook my knee around his, flipping us over so that I was over him instead. He kissed me before I began to tickle him.

We somehow managed to fall off the bed in our battle, and as if on a cue, the doorbell rang. We both froze, going into high alert. I held a finger to my lips. This was supposed to be a safe house. I quickly changed into a skirt and pulled a cardigan on, hiding the gun I had stowed in my belt and the knives I had placed on my thighs and in my hair. An old woman stood at the door, holding a covered dish.

"I apologize if I am interrupting anything, but I live next door, and I wanted to bring a covered dish over." She thrust the dish into my unsuspecting hands, and Braydon walked up behind me, opening the door a bit wider, stepping into the conversation for me.

"Thank you, ma'am, we will enjoy it."

The woman smiled, as if pleased that we had accepted the dish, and left our porch, hand on the rail, and walking to a small car parked on the road.

We stepped back into the house, I was slightly stunned. She was nice. Actually, genuinely nice. I was immediately suspicious of her. I placed the dish in the fridge, but not before testing it for poison. Natasha had told me to do that. Braydon thought I was being ridiculous, that she was being friendly.

Of course he wouldn't suspect a thing. He was right, but I was never going to tell him. We were married on paper, but we had immediately shredded it, and we only wore our rings around our necks.

We soon had to leave the house, and we moved back to our respective apartments, but they had seemed too empty, and we spent every spare moment we could together. We were not like other couples. Sure, we had shared a bed on our wedding night, but that was it, the danger of pregnancy was too great, and a child was a disadvantage in our line of work. But that one night was an exception. He was leaving on a mission, and he had done a very good job of seducing me before my practical brain registered what occurred. I had just come home from a job, positively drunk to the moon and back, and wearing something I would never wear otherwise. He had claimed that he could not help himself. He left for the job, making sure to kiss me before he left. Braydon Alexei Kirdan never came back from his job, leaving me with a key and a ring around my neck, and nothing left of him. Then I found that I was pregnant. I was sitting in a bathroom with a multitude of pregnancy tests, and all of them read positive. I had immediately burned them, successfully setting off the fire alarm, and getting on the next train out, makeup successfully hiding my appearance, and many knives on my person.

I had made a mistake. I fell in love. All I could tell myself then was "I told you so" and that annoying voice in my head was right. I had told myself not to go to the coffee shop that day, not to kiss that man in the elevator, to not open up, to not go into the business. I could not help myself though, I couldn't help the fact that I fell in love, and that was my downfall.