Merry Christmas 2013! This is a new and improved version of last year's!

Hey, so Merry Christmas everyone! A Christmas Carol is one of my favourite stories, and I've seen almost every adaption, and read it quite a few times. I was watching it again the other day when I was reminded of everyone's favourite assassin for whatever reason, so I decided to adapt it. Most of what you'll read is movieverse and my head canon, as well as liberties I've taken with the story (obviously). I've also included some of Dickens' original text, which I have not written at all, obviously... I am on the opposite end of the writing evolution spectrum compared to the wonderful Charles Dickens. Speaking of liberties, I've tried to incorporate as many characters as I can (just like Dickens amirite?)who mostly show up in the NEXT chapter. Sorry if anything's ooc. Warning, un beta'd. So without further adieu;

The Doctor may have encountered Dickens, but I never have, so he could never give me the ok to bastardize his tale like this.

I am not a billionaire, if I had anything to do with the avengers I would be. I do however, wish I was.

Anya was dead to being with. There is no doubt whatever about that. And if there was anything Natasha knew better than anything else, it was death.

Anya was as dead as the Chitauri. Mind! I don't mean to say I that I know of my own knowledge of the battle, but the news clips of all of them falling down together in unison paints a rather nice picture of death, don't you think?

Anyway, You'll let me repeat emphatically, that Anya was as dead as the Chitauri. Did Natasha know she was dead? Of course. How could it be otherwise? When the Red Room implanted fake memories in Natasha's mind, this was one of the real ones they left. Natasha saw her old bunk mate beaten mercilessly by an opponent in a training exercise, and that memory of the fear of being defeated could probably never be wiped out, not even by the most merciless memory wiping program.

Anyway, mention of memory brings me back to the point I started from. Natasha remembered that Anya was dead. Knew it. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful could come of the story I am about to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced Hamlet's father was dead, what kind of play would that be? No, Natasha never forgot the death of Anya, and while she watched the two Shield recruits sparring under her direction in the academy, she was reminded of the incident. By this time, however, she had become very good at burying things she didn't want to remember, so it was more of a twinge in the back of her head than anything.

Anya might have been dead, but Natasha certainly wasn't. She was still a tight fisted hand at the grindstone, always working even though she was past Shield's retirement age; bitter from being regaled to training commander when she couldn't keep up anymore; Fury wouldn't risk mixing more chemicals with the ones she already had in her. Still hard and sharp as flint, however, secret self contained and as solitary as an oyster. No one in the academy ever stopped her unless for business, her students only spoke to her when spoken too; she had alienated all her past partners and teams, but what did Natasha care? It was the very thing she liked. To edge her way around Shield, remaining deadly, a mystery, warning all human sympathy to keep it's distance, Natasha had worked for that and happy she was because of it.

Once upon a time, on Christmas eve of all dates, since evil didn't get statutory holidays, Natasha was coaching two young recruits on the finer aspects of martial arts; although hidden underground, one could still tell the weather was cold and bleak, not that it bothered her; she grew up in Russia after all. She was currently yelling at the young men to stop impersonating elephants; martial arts were well, arts, and any run of the mill mercenary can use strength, and they were Shield agents for crying out loud.

"Alright" she began "that's enough for today. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe you will grow some sense of balance overnight" the agents looked confused

"but Ma'am, tomorrow's Christmas!" Natasha looked unamused.

"What's that to me? I thought you all watched that Doctor Whom or whatever- crime festers during Christmas"

"But we aren't on active duty yet ma'am" The young agent looked at his shoes in an attempt to show submissiveness; "the academy's always closed on Christmas"

"Well it should be operational", Natasha said bitterly, "We're coddling you".

"Don't you have plans ma'am?"The other agent tried desperately to change the subject when Natasha started to look feral.

"No, I don't. Christmas is for children."

"I'm sure you don't mean that ma'am" The agent was new.

"of course I do. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills, most likely without money, a time for finding yourself older, but not better off, a time to look around at this dismal world and pretend to believe in peace and joy and togetherness when Sheild is so desperately needed. If I could work my will when I finally go, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on their lips should be boiled in their own damn pudding and buried with a stake of Holly in their eye socket."

"Ma'am!"

"You keep Christmas in your own way, and I'll keep it in mine. If you're not coming in to train tomorrow then get the hell out of here before I change my mind." The agents didn't need anymore persuading. At that moment, an aged Maria Hill walked in.

"My, my wasn't that touching"

"What the hell do you want Maria?"

" I was wondering if you wanted to have Christmas dinner with me tomorrow, my husband's quite the cook you know, and I've flown in some old friends of ours"

Natasha snorted. "I'll dine with you in hell Maria"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Why not?"

"Why did you get married?"

"Because I fell in love"

"Because you fell in love!" growled Natasha, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than Christmas. "See you later Maria."

"Fine Natasha, but why do you not want to be friends at least? Why be so lonely?"

"Later, Maria."

"Fine. Don't say I didn't try. I owe Stark 5 bucks." Maria left, though unangrily, and Natasha was left alone. She sparred by herself for awhile, painfully noting the deficiencies of age. She left the training grounds and slowly drove into town, the dark miserable weather leaving shadows and cold gusts of wind in it's wake. She parked in the lot beside her dwelling, it was a small townhouse which allowed her to live a solitary life free from annoying neighbours; no one came to her street, it was dark and gloomy on the best of days. The weather had made the small courtyard dark beyond belief, Natasha relied on her skills not to trip over anything, though it wasn't as if she put out Christmas decorations.

Now it was a fact that there was nothing particular about the knocker on her door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact that Natasha has seen it, night and morning during her whole residence in that place; also that Natasha has as little of what is called fancy about her as any person in the world. Let it also be borne in mind that Natasha has not thought about Anya for a very long, long time. And then let anyone explain to me, if they can, how it happened that Natasha, having her key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without it's undergoing any intermediate change- not a knocker, but Anya's face.

Anya's face, unaged since Natasha saw her last at 19, with the exception of having a dismal light about her, yet not angry or ferocious. Her hair was curiously stirred as if by breath or hot air; and though her eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. Her horror seemed to be in spite of her face, however, and beyond her control rather than a part of her expression. As Natasha looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.

Not much started Natasha Romanov, but this did, to say the least. But she put her hand upon the key she has relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in and turned on the lights. She hesitated before shutting the door completely however, glanced at it again, shook her head and continued into her house. Unconciously however, she walked through all of her rooms to see that all was right. All as they should be. Nobody hiding in corners, behind doors, she had enough of her spy instincts left to tell as much, nobody had been in. She could feel it. Quite satisfied, she closed her door and locked herself in, her gun lounging on her night stand as usual. Thus secured against surprise, she took off her coat; put on her pyjamas; and old sweat shirt and sweat pants whose previous owner was much broader and handsomer than her- they were getting old, but she wouldn't replace them however she might bring herself too, they were the one thing she had left of him.

She sat down and picked up her book and began to read. She looked up from her book a few chapters later as her alarm clock began to ring; strange, she hadn't set it. She tried to turn it off to no avail- it kept ringing, louder and louder until it seemed the whole world was echoing with the noise. This might have lasted half a minute or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. Silence echoed through a house as Natasha held her breath until she heard it; A clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the concrete sidewalks. The front door flew open with a booming sound, then Natasha heard the noise much louder on the floors below; then coming up the stairs straight for her door. Natasha slowly picked up her gun and moved to hide behind her wardrobe stealthily. Noise or not, she was still the Black Widow.

A voice so erethral and horrible then spoke; ``come out Natasha, I know you`re there". This was nothing Natasha was ever trained for when she spotted what had passed through the heavy door; It was Anya's ghost. The same face; she had her Red Room Uniform on, her same coal black hair, sharp features. The chain she drew was clasped about her middle. It was long and wound about her like a tail; and it was made of guns, knives, bullets, nooses wrought with steel. Her body was transparent, so Natasha could look through her, Natasha hardly believed it. No, nor did she believe it. She was still incredulous, and fought against her instincts. Aliens and mutants were one thing; ghosts were another.

"What the hell" said Natasha, caustic and cold as ever. "what do you want with me?" Anya chuckled.

"Much".

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I was"

"Who were you then"

"In life I was your bunk mate, Anya Bulgakov. You don't believe in me"

"Of course I don't. Damned if I've been drugged. I don't know how though."

"You should watch your words Natasha. Why doubt your senses though? You would have known if you were drugged."Natasha shrugged.

"Whatever." At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook it's chain with such a dismal and appalling noise that Natasha, who was scared of nothing, held tighter to her gun. "What do you want?!"

"I have been doomed to wander through the world- oh woe is me!- and witness what I cannot share, but might have shared on earth and if I had turned to happiness!"

'What does that have to do with me?"

"I wear the chain I forged in life! I made it link by link and yard by yard: I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is it's pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself, it was as full and heavy as this so many years ago!"

"That's nothing of what I've done" replied Natasha indignantly. I didn't choose this life- neither did you. I've tried to wipe my ledger by joining Shield, if that didn't help, than nothing will. Death it seems, is like life; unfair."

"You don't understand, Natasha; I too, like you, was given a chance to escape, though I never told you. I fell in love with a mark, and he with me, he offered to take me to America, to take me away, but all I thought of was how poor and powerless he was going to be, not loyalty to mother Russia, not betraying the Red Room. Neither of us ever felt allied with them; I wanted money, I wanted the power so I said no and doomed myself to this eternity. You Natasha, had the chance to escape and you did, and although you now fight and fought for the greater good; it's only because it's what serves you best. You might not murder innocents Natasha, but you certainly don't help them much either. You care for no one but yourself, and hurt those who try to help you. How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see is of no consequence. I am here tonight to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted by three spirits, who will take on forms as to not scare you with their true nature, and they will try to get you to shun the path I tread. Expect the first when the bell tolls one. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what passed between us!"

When she had said these words, Anya took her chains, walked backward toward the window and fell into the street below; where Natasha could hear wails of lamenting and regret; ghosts filled up the street, just as horrible as Anya, screeching and making Natasha's blood boil. She slammed the window shut, walked with surprisingly slow speed over to her bed and fell asleep upon it- her hand still wrapped around her gun.

And there you have it! Part 1. I will update each part everyday up till and including Christmas Eve. And yes, I know it's basically 90% plagiarism, I never said it wasn't. I take no credit whatsoever for any of this.

Merry Christmas! Photo41