Note: This is my version of the movieverse, so the characters are very different from the comics. My first and probably last fanfic, it's just a bit of fun representing my desire for a Black Widow movie (want!). Definitely don't own the characters, just borrowing them for a bit. Part 1 of 3. Constructive critique welcomed.
She wanders down the Barcelona streets, only three blocks from her hotel. A few words in the ear of a tipsy dowager countess at a glitzy party and she has all the information she needs to take down the target. If she waits for the fly to crawl into her web she'll receive five hundred thousand euros for her trouble. Natasha briefly considers retirement, but previous attempts have always ended in being lured back into the game of espionage. She was made for this. This is who she is, spy, assassin, widow.
The dress she's wearing is black and chic, with the right accessories she's at home in almost any gathering. Her heels, small enough that she can run if need be, click on the pavement. If she wanted to truly inhabit her alias, Alison Dawn, she'd be taking a cab back to the hotel. But Natasha needs to breathe, needs to think, needs to be away from all the painfully obvious, painfully boring people that surround her.
Some part of her, the part that's always awake, registers a danger. She keeps walking, her expression the same. No need to let an attacker know she's detected them. She can't pinpoint the sound or sight that has given her would-be assailant away, implying that he isn't some thug about to receive a well deserved beating. She covertly scans the area around her, looking for where a potential assassin would hide. Too late. A clink as a metal...arrow? hits the pavement in front of her. Natasha hits the ground and goes for her gun. She has enough time to wonder what kind of amateur attacks a master assassin and misses before two more arrows hit the ground, trapping her in a neat triangle. Knockout gas bubbles out of the arrowheads, creating a thick fog. She makes it two steps before collapsing.
Drug hangovers are awful. Natasha knows that after she escapes she won't be able to keep anything down for the next day. It's fairly unusual but not unprecedented for some interested employer to kidnap her or for some out-of-touch nobody to try and wring information from her to gain leverage over her former masters.
Natasha keeps her eyes closed and her breathing even as she assesses the situation. She is tied to a high backed chair by her wrists, ankles and, unfortunately, neck. Still, she can work with this. Bright light leaks through her eyelids, and she can't hear anything but her breathing. No evidence for or against any possible scenario. Natasha waits for some sensory information to give her a clue to her surrounds.
"Awake then?" A man's voice.
Natasha doesn't do anything so gauche as to jump in surprise, but her eyes snap open. A man steps into her field of vision cradling, of all things, a bow. A man in a muscle shirt got the drop on her? She would feel ashamed if it weren't a waste of emotion.
"Quien es?" She asks, her slight Russian accent making the words crisp.
He smiles, as if it's perfectly ordinary for a man carrying a bow to kidnap redheaded women in the streets of Spain. "My name is Barton. English please." He says, the arrogance and accent marking him as American.
"What do you want?" she asks, her eyes widening to give the impression of innocence. She continues in halting English, putting a trace of fear into her voice. "Why am I here?"
"A job." He replies, his tone amused.
She eyes him warily. "I don't take jobs from strange men who carry bows."
Inside she is relieved, the innocent act hadn't moved him a bit, so he's either a cold man or knows exactly who she is. If he wants to hire her he'll have to let her go at some point and she'll be able to question him at her leisure about the man who was so foolish to order her kidnapped.
"Not a job for you, a job for me. I was ordered to kill you." Barton continues with a bizarrely friendly half-smile.
"Why would anyone want to kill me?" she asks, continuing the ingenue charade she is a little too old and far too tired to enjoy.
"You kill people and trade dangerous secrets. For money."
She almost rolls her eyes. Despite the outlandish clothing it's clear he's a U.S. government agent. Only an American would kidnap her and then lecture her about her behavior.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she protests, because maybe he's an idealist who believes in innocent before being proven guilty. Americans don't typically have the idealism beaten out of them by adolescence, as Natasha's had.
"Don't play games Romanoff. The only reason you're alive is because I think you can be useful."
She smiles, keeping her tone friendly, but drops any pretense of innocence. "Of course I can be useful. You have a job, yes, one that only someone with my background can handle? You pay me, and I do it. No need for the theatrics."
He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that. This is the deal my boss is willing to give you; you work for us, we pay you a salary and give you amnesty for your past crimes. You betray us and we kill you."
"So grim."
"It's a good offer. Think about it."
"Who are you?" asks Natasha, probing for weaknesses in her restraints, stalling for time.
"I'm Agent Barton. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D." He walks toward her and uses a hypodermic needle to inject her with a clear drug, hands precise and confident. She passes out again.
When she wakes again she is the same chair, but a small mechanical hum gives a clue she's being transported somewhere. Natasha's gut clenches, the further she goes, the further she's away from her supplies, her passports.
She analyzes the information she has received. So the Americans are starting yet another intelligence organization? Relics of Soviet bureaucracy are bad, but the alphabet soup of American "intelligence" organizations are enough to give her a headache. The Agent they sent to kill her was very unorthodox, but competent. It could be they were part of the strange things Natasha has tried to stay well clear of. She has never chased up on hints of organizations dedicated to harnessing magic and advanced technology. Natasha daydreams about breaking into an Egyptian tomb, and realizes she is too drugged to plan effectively. She surrenders to sleep once more.
The restraints are gone. In their place is a heat-controlled cell, five by five meters. Natasha smiles, Agent Barton had been foolish enough to give her room to work. She takes her body through a series of exercises designed to loosen stiff muscles. She is going to have to train for two weeks to get into top form again after she escapes from her imprisonment.
The cell-door, solid metal, slides open and Agent Barton, this time sans bow, steps into the cell. The door shuts behind him. She raises an eyebrow at him, he knows what she can do if she decides to hurt him.
"Don't bother looking for an escape," he tells her.
She snorts, she's heard that before.
"I know we didn't meet on the best terms." Barton continues, his voice even.
Natasha contemplates breaking his neck, but sees no way to make the cost-benefit analysis favor that decision.
"Killing you would be a waste. You'd be a good fit here."
"I don't think your government can afford me long-term," She says blithely, as if she were talking about the weather.
"$45,000 a year, starting salary." He jokes.
She stares him at him in disbelief, and tries to keep the insult out of her voice. "What temptation."
"Do you know how I got the drop on you?" he asks, with a smirk that she will beat from his face at a time and place that is convenient for her. "You had no back-up, no team. Here you would have a home, a purpose."
She sits on the bed, head in her heads, letting him think he's gotten through to her. If nothing else, this agency could use someone who knows how to run interrogations and how to turn agents.
"What purpose would that be?" Natasha asks.
"Protecting the world," he answers.
Only the Americans. "I don't have much else on my plate at the moment," she offers. "I could use something different and exciting to do. As long as I don't have to use a bow." When in doubt, lie with the truth.
"You have a choice. You can fight me and try to escape. Of course you'll probably die, but the choice is yours."
She hesitates for a moment. She knows exactly what he's doing, after all she's tried the same mind games on others. Trying to create a shred of loyalty through the illusion of mercy and choice. "I will join you." For now.
He smiles, but his face remains frustratingly hard to read. She has the uncomfortable feeling he's learning more about her than she's learning about him. "I knew saving your life would be worthwhile."
Not killing her is not the same thing as saving her life, but she will explain that to him later.
Nick Fury looks between her and Hawkeye suspiciously, looking for some clue as to why Barton decided to spare her. Fury is obviously skilled in espionage to be director of S.H.I.E.L.D, but he is a blunt instrument and suspects some sort of seduction. So many people, even those who know her reputation, assume she is a one-trick pony. Seduction is just one, rarely used, tool in her arsenal. Sex is a double-edged sword and why seduce information out of someone when you can break into their computers without fuss, interrogate them or use blackmail like any civilized person?
She is wearing sweats and a demure expression. Her brain maps out the parts of the base she's seen so far, noting possible methods of escape. Her mind races as it absorbs data from her surroundings. The people who work here all seem to know each other well, implying that the organization is small and has been running for long enough for habits, good and exploitable, to develop.
"We will be training and assessing you for two months before you are allowed out into the field." Fury says, his tone turning the statement into an order.
The Black Widow nods, her face expressionless. She's no Sherlock Holmes but she's already figured out that Fury is former U.S. Armed Forces. Following orders will keep him happy, and her alive. She wishes she had time to prepare, to work her contacts to find information about this shadowy place, but she'll bide her time, as she always does. If she finds out enough, she can even make this side venture profitable. Two months undercover is nothing.
"In return for your service you'll receive amnesty, and perhaps if you work hard enough, redemption."
The Black Widow is not looking for redemption, but she did need a purpose. A purpose, such as taking down a government agency with the effrontery to kidnap her and then act like it had done her a favor. It would probably be more interesting than knocking off third rate generals.
The first month flies by quickly. She breaks the records set on the shooting range and then breaks them again. Barton seems to be the go to guy for the organization, coming back from long absences with slight injuries and a depleted quiver. She still hasn't got the story of how an archer started working for S.H.I.E.L.D. The agents are remarkably resistant to her subtle attempts at information gathering. She doesn't press them for information for fear of setting off alarm bells. She does learn that Kristie has a new niece and Robert has a child that looks so much like-. She doesn't let herself think too much about her past, but the "training" and assessment leaves her with too much time to think. She misses having jobs to plan.
She does finally get the chance to wipe the smirk of Barton's face when they are both on the mats at the same time. She's already broken in most of the agency, so sparring partners are in short supply.
Barton gives her the same impenetrable smile he gave her when she first woke up. "Unarmed match, best out of three, anything goes?" he asks.
Natasha hides her delight behind an impenetrable expression of her own. "I'd love to. Where have you been all this time?"
"Sorry for not calling. I was fighting space vampires in San Francisco," he jokes.
Space vampires? She'll make sure to hit him extra hard for that. She settles into combat stance, waiting for him to make a move. Barton takes a half-hearted swing at her which she sidesteps, following the step with a bruising blow to his ribs. He's strong and well-trained but she's faster and better. Ten sweaty, invigorating minutes later he's lying on his belly, arm twisted behind his back. They'll both be covered in bruises tomorrow but Natasha isn't even out of breath.
"I probably shouldn't have said anything goes, should I?" he says.
Natasha laughs, somewhat to her own surprise, and lets him up. "You were a worthy opponent. You learn quickly," she compliments. She is telling the truth, if he trains with her for three years he'll be as good as she is.
"I know your two months aren't up yet, but you can help us with something."
Natasha is very bored. She agrees.
The Black Widow strides into the briefing room, noting the presence of Barton, Fury and a young dark-skinned woman who doesn't seem happy to see her.
"This is the mission objective. The Sword of Attila." Fury barks.
A holographic sword rotates above a large cylinder in the center of the room. The sword is short, plain and functional. Natasha would have printed out a picture and saved the however much the projector cost, but they didn't recruit her for budget advice.
Natasha waits for more information. None seems to be forthcoming. "Isn't that in a museum somewhere?" Natasha asks.
"Made by Hungarian goldsmiths. No, this is the real sword of Attila, given to him by the God of War." Fury answers with unnecessary volume.
Natasha thinks Fury missed his calling as a drill sergeant.
"It has the ability to turn its bearer into an unbeatable general if fed with the blood of vanquished enemies. In short, it's powerful and in the hands of our enemies." Fury continues, pausing occasionally to let the gravity of the situation sink in.
Natasha looks around the room in disbelief. Barton and the brunette, who she still hasn't been introduced to, seem to be taking this presentation entirely seriously.
"It was on route to be put into storage with our other artifacts. We believe this man is responsible for stealing it."
The hologram changes to the handsome face of a man in his late-thirties. Nikolai Ivanovic. Natasha recognizes the man well. She worked for him for a year before she had moved on to more interesting partners.
"You see why we need your help," Fury turns to Natasha.
"What kind of team do you have?" Natasha asks.
"Ideally Agents Barton and Kapoor" Fury nods to the woman "would be able to break into his mansion and leave without raising the alarm. What kind of team do you think we'll need?"
"If I said you needed fifty men to take this magic sword?" Natasha asks.
Fury remains expressionless. "We would put together a fifty man strike team."
"Two people should be enough." Natasha tells him. "But I don't betray former clients. Bad business."
Barton watches the proceedings with detached amusement.
"You know Nikolai Ivanovic. What do you think he will do with that kind of power?" Fury says.
Natasha knows that this "magic sword" might have some sort of hidden technology that Ivanovic can take advantage of. She also knows if the situation were reversed Ivanovic would sell her out in a heartbeat. She never liked him much anyway.
"We don't need information about the jobs you've done for him. Just tell us how to break into his mansion without bloodshed." Agent Kapoor says, attempting to hide her suspicion with charm.
"You are talking about his country mansion, yes?" Natasha asks. She takes Barton and Kapoor through the blueprints, grudgingly admitting how useful the 3D hologram is for planning a break in.
"And where would Ivanovic be sleeping? Is he always guarded?" Kapoor asks.
Natasha answers warily. It only takes two more questions from Kapoor before she realizes this is also an assassination mission.
"Enough!" The Black Widow says, and for all she is in a grey sweat pants and an ugly t-shirt, she is the Black Widow in that moment. "If you are planning an assassination mission, tell me! I am a professional, give me the information I need to do my job."
"When his men took the artifact they killed four of our agents. We plan to kill two birds with one stone in this op." Fury says.
Natasha looks at him, and realizes that beneath the bluster Fury is just as twisty as she is, and that this was a test Kapoor didn't even know she was giving.
"Well you should have told me instead of wasting my time. If you want to take both the sword and the man here is what you need to do..."
"Agent Kapoor, you are dismissed." Fury says, many minutes later. "Romanoff. Thank you. You are also dismissed"
Natasha nods politely and follows Kapoor out, slowing her pace so Kapoor is soon out of sight. No guards or agents are in view so Natasha flips easily into the air vents and crawls back to gather intel.
"I see no evidence you made the right call," Fury is telling Barton.
"You trust me for my eye," Barton responds. "If she turns, she'll be a useful asset for S.H.I.E.L.D."
"It's your eye I'm worried about. What-"
"In my professional judgement, she is a source of knowledge and expertise unmatched by any of your other recruits. We would have had to send a strike team to Ivanovic's mansion if I killed her in Barcelona."
"When I recruited you I saw a desire to do good. In Romanoff I see the ability to walk away while the world burns." Fury says.
Natasha senses the conversation is about to end soon and backs away slowly and quietly, before crawling out of a vent in a side corridor.
"Catch all that?" asks Barton, leaning casually against the wall opposite her.
Natasha scowl. "Very illuminating. Can I help you Agent Barton?"
"Kapoor and I leave tomorrow. Can you fit me in to your busy schedule for a rematch?"
"Best out of three."
By the time she flips Barton to the ground he is only able to stay there, gasping. Natasha looks at him, concerned. She doesn't to know what Fury will do if she breaks Barton.
"Teach me how to do that," he asks.
"We still have one more round." Natasha reminds him.
"Which you'll win. It's better that you teach me so I have a shot in the future."
So Natasha takes him through a class, noting they are attracting an audience. He doesn't complain when she corrects his technique brutally. After making him practice the flip takedown she used on him for the thirtieth time she looks at the clock. Well over an hour has passed and both of them are drenched in sweat.
"Class over," she says, voice clipped.
"Thanks Widow," he says, grabbing a towel from a nearby gawker.
He heads to the locker room, leaving Natasha on the sparring mat without a backwards glass.