This is written in BLATANT DEFIANCE of the Brutasha pairing in Age of Ultron, because I seriously can't handle my OTP being ignored like that. Also, I'm completely not following the comics, so the accuracy of the events that happen hereafter are extremely questionable.

Young Natalia Romanova was seven years old when stood behind the thick velvet curtain, blood racing, heart fluttering. Not good. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm her frantic nerves. It would not do to be frightened now…she shouldn't even be frightened by this point. It was her first mission, but she knew her orders by heart. How many times had she practiced this? Why did she always get so scared?

The answer came swiftly. She might fail. Young Natalia was afraid of the large men with their massive guns and heavy fists. She knew she had been trained over and over and over again, that there was no way an unarmed man could stand a chance against her. But she was still afraid.

The music quickened, and she recognized her cue. Running lightly out onto the stage with the other ballerinas, she leaped high into the air, throwing her head back and stretching out her slender arms. Three turns and a pas de chat later, she was on the opposite side of the stage.

The other ballerinas joined her and she slipped quietly through the curtain and was gone. Her eyes narrowed. Her target was still in the audience, but he was getting up. She melted into the shadows backstage and made her way out into the sparkling lobby.

A few people still stood out in the foyer, talking in hushed voices. The target went up the large staircase, eyes fixed on someone in the balcony. She hurried through several back hallways and up two flights of stairs until she could see the man again. He was right below her, talking to a second man.

She could take a shot from where she crouched by the gilded railings. But she was not to draw attention to herself unless there were no other options. She would have to take him out face to face.

In a few moments, she was standing behind him, hand resting on her tutu, right above the knife which he had hidden beneath the fluffy tulle.

The second man looked at her, startled, and her target turned around. He smiled in surprise.

"Hello, little lady. Aren't you one of the ballerinas?"

She nodded.

"How come you aren't dancing?"

She didn't answer.

"Well? That's no way to talk to your elders."

The second man laughed. "Oh come on, she's only a little girl. Hey, how old are you?"

"Seven." Natalia's voice was still soft and high pitched.

"You lost or something?" her target asked. "Here, lemme take you back downstairs."

He reached for her hand. She grabbed it tightly and then threw herself backwards, kicking his jaw as she flipped. He stumbled several paces back, stunned, but before he could cry out, she darted forward again, kicking his legs out from under him. The knife whipped out from under her skirt and she slashed downwards.

Blood sprayed onto her hands, her face, startling her momentarily. She had not guessed it would be so red…or so warm. The other man started to yell and she threw the knife. He went down with a gurgle.

She looked up from her crouched position. The guests below had not heard a single thing. Perfect. She quietly opened her target's coat and withdrew several sealed envelopes. She grasped them tightly and, bloodstained, left the theater.

Her supervisor wiped the blood from her face and took the letters.

"Well done." She said crisply.

Those two words….the two words Natalia lived for.

"Burn those ballet costumes and go to bed." The order came swiftly.

Natalia half wished she could have kept them, even in their bloodied condition. She had enjoyed the brief moments on stage, the bright lights of the auditorium, the murmuring gasps of the audience, the thrill of leaping and bounding across the stage. She quietly tossed the tutu into the flames in the kitchen and retired to bed, where a nurse handcuffed her to the iron frame.

In the darkness, she remembered again and again the feeling of red blood spraying onto her hands, the gurgle the dying man had made as the knife entered his throat, the way the light faded from their eyes…

She had made her first two kills, completed her first mission, earned the praise of her supervisors. And in the darkness, young Natalia silently cried.

Young Natalia was eleven years old when she assassinated her first major political leader. She still danced and she still loved to dance, but she no longer felt fear. She was no longer afraid of the large men and their heavy guns or their dark eyes. She was no longer afraid of the feel of blood splattering her skin or the way the gurgled when they died. So why did her heart still race and her head still pound as she stood behind the velvet curtain?

The answer came swiftly. She must dance. And she was afraid she would slip and fall as she pirouetted across the bright stage. She was afraid the audience would laugh at her…

She was still afraid to be alone and she was still afraid of her supervisors. No one was kind to her.

Young Natalia was fifteen years old when she first met the Asset, who had once been called James Buchanan Barnes. He was quiet but taught her well. And Natalia learned that not all her superiors were cold or cruel. The Asset cared about the young girls who were being slowly broken for the Black Widow Program.

The Asset tried to take her and run. Away from the Red Room, away from the Soviets.

"You're only a child." He had said, "You're not meant for war."

And Natalia wondered why he cared about their insignificant lives. But they were caught and the Asset was taken away. When she saw him again, he was in a cryotube, eyes closed, unresponsive behind a pane of frosted glass. The first one to ever show Natalia kindness was gone. And thus she learned the consequences for such sentiment.

Young Natalia was seventeen years old when she became a Black Widow and went through the ceremony which transformed her from a human to a killer. Natalia felt a vague sensation of fear at the thought, but ignored it.

"I have no place in this world."

Natalia was not that young when she was told she was to accompany Boris Turgenov in the assassination of Anton Vanko, who defected from the Soviet Union. It was her first mission to the United States. It was her last mission for the Black Widow Ops.