Author's note: Hey y'all, hope you are doing good. As you can see, I am branching out from Harry Potter. I remember when I watched the Avengers I absolutely fell in love with Clint and Natasha. After reading a few(or more than a few), fanfics on here, I decided to try my hand. Hope you enjoy! For those of you who don't know, I am desperately scrambling for a beta for my Harry Potter story, War Has a Way. If you are a beta or know one please please please tell me.

Note: I, as well as all others on this site, only own the order in which the words are written.

1. In a rundown motel in northern Belgum, Steve Rogers sat down heavily on a couch beside Clint Barton. The two men stared at the redheaded lady in front of them. She was slowly brushing her hair. Steve kept his eyes on her hair and only her hair. Her dress, which was a deep emerald green, hugged her body in placed he did not want to see.

"Clint," growled Natasha dangerously. " Haal je ogen uit. Nu." (Get your eyes off. Now.) Clint only grinned and crossed his arms.

(And if I do not?)" ואם אני עושה לא ?"

"du vil dø en langsom og smertefull død." (You will die a slow and painful death). Steve sighed.

"Not the language battle again," he groaned.

"Dutch. Hebrew. Norwegian." responded Natasha. She spun around to face the men. Steve noticed that although her fave was stony, her eyes were twinkling. "Let's go." She stalked out of the room, swaying her hips dangerously. Steve and Clint followed her out, the former smirking widely.

Thirty minutes later, Steve lay down on the roof of a building and looked through a scope. Although the ballroom was very crowded, his eye quickly found the Russian assassin. Natasha was looking around the room for her target. She quickly spotted him and slipped gracefully through the crowd. That nights's target was a young, twenty-something man wearing a navy suit. His dark hair was carefully combed back and his blue eyes scanned the crowd carefully. The mission was to capture the scientist and take him back to New York for interrogation. He had a weakness for pretty girls, and a reputation of extreme violence. So of course, S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent Strike Team Delta, for they had the prettiest girl capable of more extreme violence than the man could imagine. Steve had been sent along to babysit.

"Permission to engage target?" She asked over a com device.

"Permission granted," replied Steve gravely. Clint giggled like a child.

"Hawkeye, cut it out," muttered Natasha.

"Stevie here has never seen you work," replied Clint. Natasha's face remained stony.

"Get your eyes where they should be you møgunge." (Brat).

"Hvilket er på dig." (Which is on you.)

" På vores mål." (On our goal)

"Widow, please focus," sighed Steve. "And use English. Everyone you are around speak Danish."

"I am focused," she snapped. "All I told him was to keep his dirty eyes on the target."

"Oh yes, Tash. That's what you said," snorted Clint. "Please play with him a little. Please Tash?" Clint whined. Natasha stayed quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was low.

" Als ik moet ." (If I must.) Clint pumped his arm in victory.

"Get ready Captain. You're in for a treat." Steve's heart rate sped up slightly. Whatever Clint Barton's idea of fun was, he did not want to be involved in.

" Goedenavond. U bent Mr. Leon ?" (Good evening. You are Mr. Leon?) Steve started slightly at the voice in his ear. He could see Natasha's red lips moving, but the resulting voice was higher, breather, and perfectly unaccented.

"She's a Linguist," Hawkeye said happily. Steve added that to the list of things he knew Natasha as. Linguist. Super Spy. Assassin. Avenger. S.H.E.I.L.D. agent. Deadly. Frightening. Unflappable. Beautiful.

"Are you Miss. Anaïs?" Leon's voice was low and slow. Steve could practically hear him salivating. Natasha let out a high giggle.

"Your English is so well," she breathed, running a slim finger down the scientist's chest.

"You accent, where is it from?" rumbled the man in front of Natasha, blissfully unaware of the two men on the roof next door.

"Here," replied Natasha sweetly. "My parents taught me German, however, so you may here some of that in my voice." Indeed, when Steve focused on her voice, he indeed heard strains of German. Steve silently marveled at her talent. The Russian assassin had hid her usual slightly russianaccented voice and created a perfect mix of Danish and German.

"Very interesting Miss Anaïs," said Leon. "Would you care to dance?" Natasha let out a small, breathless gasp.

"Oh, yes," she said, grasping Leon's arm tightly. "Let us."

The two moved around the dance floor slowly.

"So," said Leon. Steve widened his eyes at the sudden shift in his voice. It was now coarser. "Who are you really? I know Annïs. You are not her."

"You are right," said the Black Widow, slipping easily from breathless Annïs to deadly Black Widow in an instant. Steve was startled by her quick attitude swing. "I am not her. However, if I tell you my true name, you will be very afraid." Fear flashed across Leon's face.

"You are not," he trailed off. Natasha put her arms around his neck in a seemingly love-filled gesture. She pulled down the scientist's ear to her red lips.

"Jeg er den sorte enke," (I am the Black Widow) she whispered slowly. The tall scientist shuddered visibly. "You will not die tonight," she said quietly, pulling back. "If only you come with me." Leon nodded quickly. Faster than Steve could blink, Natasha had produced a tiny knife and had it pressed to Leon's back. "Let us go," she murmured, guiding the scientist toward the door.

As he climbed down to the ground, Steve shuddered. The skill and talent that Steve had seen the Black Widow execute tonight was flawless. And terrifying. Her voice had changed. Her whole demeanor had changed. She had gone from harsh and distant to bubbly and silly, then back again. Steve shuddered once more. He hoped that the Russian assassin never turned her skill on him. He knew he would be dead or captured before he could take a breath.

"Too fast, Widow," Clint called to a scowling Natasha. She had Leon at gunpoint.

"What did you want, you простофиля?" (Nincompoop) snorted Natasha. " я сделал то, что я мог."(I did what I could.)

"You did not!" protested Clint. Natasha's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Ok," interrupted Steve, hoping to avoid a full blown argument. "Mr. Leon, we are taking you to New York. Black Widow, secure him. Hawkeye, get the car. Mr. Leon, we will not hurt you until necessary."

"Oh, he knows," purred Natasha. "We have a past, Don't we, Marcus." Leon paled.

"Let us not, Black Widow. It is the past." Steve felt his heart speed up as Natasha narrowed her emerald green eyes.

"Is is?" She whispered, dangerously touching his neck. "I feel it is the present." She cocked her head slightly and with a slight laugh leaned closer to the stiff man. "Perhaps even the future."

"Enough," snapped Steve. Natasha turned her cool gaze on Steve causing him to shift uncomfortably.

"Barton wanted a show and I gave it to you," she told him simply. "I hope you enjoyed." With that, she spun on her heel and walked Leon over to the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D. car, leaving Steve to stare at her retreating back, confused and (though he may not have admitted it) very afraid.

Soooo, what did you think? What made Steve so afraid? Hint: it is one word and basically sums up what most people see Natasha as. Tell me your thoughts in a review! Oh, and sorry for butchering the languages in here. It is straight from Google translate.