Originally this started out as an idea for my creative writing assignment. The characters morphed and became too similar to Natasha and Fury, so I decided to change some parts and just make it a small Avengers story. It should only be a few parts. The storyline is fairly simple, but I liked the idea and how the characters initially bounced off each other. So review, follow and let me know what you think!

The sun made its way through the cloud today. It was the first time in days. Rain had poured from the sky, followed by layers of clouds and eerie fogs. I had almost become accustomed to the damp and dreary weather. It reflected my mood.

I stood beside the trees, looking on at the group of people gathering around the church doors. My legs practically screamed to lean against the large trees, but my mind kept them locked in place. Not only would the trees muck up my dress, but somehow leaning against them seemed like admitting defeat. I never had done that and I didn't think I ever would.

The people stared at me, I could sense it. Not long gazing stares; they whispered and talked, then looked at me, their eyes staying in one spot a little too long, before turning cheek and resuming to chatter about whatever news there was this week. I hated them. I didn't want them to be here, but they were entitled to come. It didn't make a difference in my mind.

In my gazing around, my eyes met the one person who I actually wanted there. However, I had no desire to talk to him; my mind was already creating ways to escape. I knew it wouldn't work.

He began to make his way over to me, slow but steady, crunching through the leaves quietly. The others were dressed up for the occasion, wearing fine suits and light dresses. He simply wore the same clothes that he did ever day. This day wasn't much different than the others; most likely these gatherings were a regular occurrence.

"That's an old dress." He wasn't far away now, only a few meters, but the voice sounded miles away in my head. "He showed me pictures. You were there, wearing that dress." His voice was dry, but steady as the way he walked.

I nodded and clearly my throat silently. "I wore it to a party we went to shortly after leaving." My voice was betraying my heart. I bowed my head a little, pretending to admire and contemplate the dress. He wouldn't see the tears welling in my eyes.

"It was the only dress that was suitable for the occasion. Besides, he would've wanted me to wear it again."

The man looked from me, to the crowd of people by the church, then back to me. I knew what he was thinking, he didn't have to say it.

"They come because it's the easy thing to do," he started.

"-But it doesn't mean it's the right thing." My voice was sharp as I cut him off. He didn't say anything about it though; he could be a forgiving man at times.

I was tired of playing the game; tired of listening to speeches and words of kindness; tired of watching people move around, scared and understanding of each other; I was tired of being here right now.

With a small smile and nod at the man, I turned away. Maybe I could get out while I still had a chance.

"You're not leaving," the man said, raising his voice so I could hear over the crunching leaves. I looked over my shoulder at the man. He was standing with his hands in the coat pockets, looking at the box. "It's not going to be that easy."

I smile, the world becoming a little sunnier. "I didn't expect it to be director. But don't think I won't put up a fight."

I kept walking, feeling the wind brush through my hair. It would be a mess now. With each step I walked faster, the wind and my quick striding making the long skirt rise and ripple against legs.

I was leaving and no matter what anyone did, I wasn't coming back. I'd already made that mistake, and it landed me in the place I least ever wanted to be.

When the alarm went off early the next morning, I had to spend minutes reminding myself that I didn't need to get up. After years of routine, I no longer needed my brain to function. Get up, run, shower, eat and go to work. It was simple and I found comfort in it. With time on my hands now, I was at a loss of what to do.

Eventually I did get up; there was no falling back asleep once the alarm went off. Just because I wasn't working now didn't mean I needed to chance the routine.

I ran for longer than usual, taking the scenic route around the park. Running cleared my head. I enjoyed it. The post run shower was short as always. To me there was no point in just standing under hot water. It was an utter waste of time.

I skipped getting dressed, throwing a robe on so I wasn't just casually sitting around in bra and underwear, an headed right to the kitchen to make breakfast. Except, I couldn't really cook. Breakfast was a bowl of cereal, which I ate on the couch, and an apple which was devoured on the drive to work. Seeing as I wasn't going to work, I wasn't eating an apple today.

A few hours passed before I got up from the couch. Normally I didn't turn on the TV except at night to watch films and the odd drama. Suddenly cartoons and reality shows captivated my mind.

It wasn't until the phone rang that I became aware of the time. As the phone on the wall blared away, I stumbled off the couch, yelling at it. For an inanimate object, the telephone received a lot of hate.

Even though the phone had stopped ring, I still picked it up. It tended to malfunction every few days.

"Romanova residence." The voice on the other end sighed and cleared his throat.

"Natalia, I know it your house."

Of course he knew it was my house; he had bought the damn house. It just wasn't a private phone line and I don't trust people who actually bother to phone people in this day and age.

"I'm not coming in. I told you that already. So can you please refrain from calling me." I was happy. My voice perfectly reflected how incredibly bored, tired and pissed off I was.

The director muttered something away from the phone. I couldn't make out what it was. He sounded tired through.

"You've still got to come in to sign the severance papers and collect your things. I'll see you this afternoon."

The line went dead. Slowly, I set the phone back on the hook. It would be the last time I would need to enter that building. I'd might as well get it over with.

In a trance, I picked up the dirty dishes, set them in the sink, and headed to my room to find some proper clothes. My mind wasn't processing as it should, mind it, I never would have expected it to.

The locker room was quiet. Only a few people were there. Thankfully they didn't attempt to talk with me.

I kept walking to the back of the room, to the row of lockers closet to the training rooms. Top agents had first choice on lockers, and it had become a tradition that the top ones had these lockers.

As I came around the last corner, the row came into view. Except, it somehow was different. The name plate had been removed from his locker, the screw holes gaping uneasily. I wanted to turn tail and run home, but my feet were rooted to the ground. Cautiously I approached and entered the combination into the key pad. They hadn't changed it yet.

The door swung fully open. I remembered at that moment that he had broken it one night after a mission. The reason, I'm not entirely sure, but the director hadn't been pleased.

Everything was still in the locker from the day we'd left. It looked normal. The duffle bag was thrown on the bottom, with a jacket tossed on top. Bow oil and extra strings sat on a little shelf. A glock, which was probably mine, was carelessly left hanging from a hook. Nothing had changed.

Without a second look, I quickly packed everything into the duffle bag and heaved it over my shoulder. If I kept looking, something emotion was bound to happen.

I slammed the locker and moved the two spaces over to mine. The combination was the exact same. They weren't supposed to be but we'd both agreed it would be easier.

Compared to his, my locker was bare. A jacket was hung up on a hook, with a scarf stuffed inside the sleeve. A glock and a knife were tied together inside one of the belts. The only personal things inside were a pair of pointe shoes in their case, and a dog eared photo of them sitting in one of the fighter jets.

That picture came out just as quickly and stealthily as the other things, and was thrown into the duffle bag as well. No one needed to see her cleaning out their lockers. Or what they kept inside their lockers.

I slipped out of the locker room unnoticed and left alone. Thankfully no one I knew had come up from the practice rooms.

I trudged through the corridors, choosing the longest route to the directors office. Instead of taking the elevator, I took the stairs; the small allies instead of main paths; the rooftop walkway instead of the normal paths. Ignorance was bliss. I deeply wanted to turn around and catch the car back home, where I could pretend the world didn't exist. I wasn't that fortunate.

I had come to the end of the line. I'd avoided all security checks and office personal who would ask questions and want to share their condolences. I didn't want any part of that; all I wanted to do was leave.

The door was left ajar, so I simply walked in without bothering to knock. He knew I was coming, it wasn't any shock.

He was sitting at the desk, a file open on his desk. His clothes were the same as they were everyday. Either he didn't change or his entire closet was composed of the same shirts and pants.

"You came," he stated without lifting his eyes from the file. I was used to this.

I grimaced and found my way to the chair in front of the desk. The chairs weren't meant to be comfortable. Whenever we'd come back from a mission, we'd usually bring the lazy chairs from the coffee house. The director had been angry at first, but he was also amused as to how we'd actually got the chairs out.

"What do I need to sign." I wanted to get out of here was quickly as possible. Forgot politeness. I should've never been here in the first place.

The director looked up from the file and slid it smoothly across the table. The file was opened to the last page, one with bore the title 'Termination'.

Without fully reading the page, I picked up a pen from the dish and scrawled my name. The next blank stared at me, as though it was the end of a gun. There wasn't a signature.

I hastily closed the file and slid it back. "That's it then?"

The director nodded and picked up the file before tucking it into the envelope to be filed.

"You're a free agent. There's some files in the box outside that are yours to be dealt with. Burn them if you wish, just don't sell them, or we will drag you back in the way you first entered."

I didn't have anything else to say. So instead of saying any final goodbye, I curtly nodded and pushed up from the chair. The duffel bag swung from my shoulders, hitting my hip awkwardly every few steps.

"I'm sure we will meet again," the director called as I opened the door. I took the files off the table and turned to look at him before shutting the door. He didn't look sad, but a hint of emotion was present in his eyes. I didn't have anything else to say.