I lied. My SAT II is next week. Which is why the update's now instead of next week!

THIS IS HIGHLY AU. IT'S SO AU IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY. I am fully aware Natasha is NOT an empath, nor did she go through the Mist. I BLAME PIKAPEGASUS FOR THIS PLOT BUNNY

Shoutout to fcbsoccergirl19, fantasylivesindreams, jenkalish, deleteled, iceshadow19, therealhooper, rollaroclintasha and RoseJustice for following!

To TeenageAvengerSurvivingSchool: YES CONVERSE ARE FIRST CHOICE WITH EVERYTHING. Unfortunately, that's not how it always works out...

You all had such great reviews, to everyone that did review! You all get a flower! :D

"You know that's what's best for her," were the first words that Skye heard as she awoke, her head throbbing something nasty. What exactly had happened to her? She remembered bits and pieces-the underground city, finding the Diviner, Trip-

Trip.

The memory of her friend's death washed back over her like a tsunami, suddenly claiming her ability to breathe. She'd killed him. Been responsible for his death. And now she was on the Bus, undeservedly safe and sound while she waited for Coulson to make his next move-

"They don't know about me," was hissed in return. "She would kill me if she found out I was alive. I've died once. I'm not dying again."

"It's the only option we've got if we want to help her," May's voice was hushed, but far less panicked than that of the director's. "You and I both saw how she was when we picked her up. It's just like Skye is now. I'm telling you, she's all we've got."

Blearily, Skye wondered just who it was would make Coulson and May so confidential with each other. She knew Coulson had, so to speak, 'died', but she hadn't known the circumstances. Whoever it was, though, it seemed to have to do with her. Were they going to run tests on her? Psychoanalyze her? Instances ran through Skye's mind, her fear mounting with each possibility.

It was why, when Bobbi opened the door to the med bay, she jumped out of her bed, fully intending to make a break for it. It took a few stumbles, as she was still slightly woozy, but she still managed to make it to the entrance-or so she thought.

In reality, Bobbi had picked her up easily in a fireman's carry, depositing Skye back on the bed and strapping her down. "What the hell, Skye?!" was exclaimed at the brunette. "You know we're not trying to hurt you!" Her face softening, she added, "We just want to make sure you're okay."

"And then what?" Suddenly angry, every inch of Skye's emotion was put into her glare. "We index me? Try to figure out what I can do? Plumb the inner depths of my emotions to figure out what the hell is wrong with me? Because we can skip all of that, Bobbi. How about we just skip all of that and leave me the hell alone?" She didn't know where all of the unexpected anger had come from, but she just went with it, venting out all of her frustrations at Tripp's death.

It wasn't fair that she was alive and he wasn't. It wasn't fair that he was a mass of ashes and she was whole, all because of some seemingly random abnormality. She should've been dead right there along with him. A pile of black soot, reduced to nothingness from the touch of the Diviner.

But she wasn't. She was here, strapped down to a cot, attempting to fight one of the best agents SHIELD had. Skye slumped into her restraints with a strangled sob, leaving Bobbi to cautiously approach the bed, her guard up just in case. "Skye?"

"It's not fair" burst out from the younger agent, who was beginning to sob in earnest. Slowly, Bobbi undid the straps, leaving Skye to sit up and curl into a ball. "It's just not fair, Bobbi. I should be dead." Instantly, Bobbi knew it was Tripp's death that had Skye in shambles, and she pulled her into a hug, one hand rubbing comfortingly at her back. "I should be dead."

"Shh, Skye. I promise it's going to get better. You're going to be fine." Truthfully, Bobbi had no idea what was in store for the girl, but she figured it had to be better than emotional distress, right? "Everything's going to be better in time."

"You don't understand," Skye sobbed, clutching harder to the front of Bobbi's shirt. "I'm this danger now, and the only people who want me are the ones that want to kill me. I don't belong anywhere, Bobbi," she gulped, ceasing her sobs for a moment to look up. "I thought I did for a while, but it turns out I'm temporary like all the rest."

Bobbi said nothing, only allowed her to continue sobbing, frowning when she saw Coulson's face in the corner of her vision, holding a manila folder. Didn't he understand that now wasn't the time? She raised an eyebrow in return, sighing when he held up the folder, its contents stamped with a large 'CONFIDENTIAL' on its front. She sighed and nudged Skye. "Come on, Skye. Coulson wants to talk to you."

With a last sniffle, Skye disentangled herself from the senior agent, making herself presentable as Coulson strolled in, all business. "Skye," he began, making sure to adopt a sensitive tone. "How are you? I know you've had a bit to deal with in the last few hours, I just want to let you know what's going to go down."

"So, believe it or not, this isn't the first time we've had to deal with something like this," The folder was held up, its contents waved jauntily. "There's actually another agent that's gone through this transformation. We've decided to call her in-she'll know how to...help you transition through what you've gone through."

"I'm still waiting for the part where you run tests on me," Skye answered dryly, her arms crossed. "Surely the 'other' person that's been through this has been tested on." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Because who would SHIELD be if they just let this person go, am I right?" Adopting an impression of Coulson, she mocked, "Every powered person out there has to be indexed for their own good."

Coulson, acting as if he hadn't just been dealt a blow, went on. "We're not going to run tests on you, Skye. We didn't run tests on her-although, we didn't know at the time, but it's only fair-and we don't run tests on our agents." He held out his hand. "I give you my word as director that nothing's going to happen."

Skye just stared at the hand. "No psychobabble."

"None."

"I'm in." She took the hand and shook it purposely. "Who are you bringing in?"

"See, that's also a delicate matter," Coulson hesitated, handing the file over to Bobbi to examine. He knew she'd understand why. Bobbi flipped open the folder, scanning its contents. Her green eyes widened with disbelief, and she snapped it shut, glaring at Coulson.

"I've known her for years, goddammit," she snarled, tossing it back at him. "Why wasn't I informed about this?" Because hell if it would come from the source itself. Bobbi knew better than to expect that. She wasn't going to lie-she felt a tiny bit betrayed.

"I was sending you deep undercover," Coulson explained, albeit a bit apologetically. "I couldn't risk arming you with such sensitive information. If you'd been exposed, it all would've gone to hell. HYDRA thinks there's only one person with abilities, and that's Skye. I would hate to see how they got if they knew that one of our best was also powered."

"Is May-?" Skye chose that moment to stake a guess, and the two senior agents barked out a laugh in unison. "You can't blame me for guessing," she muttered. "So who is it?"

"You know, she thinks you're dead," Bobbi reminded Coulson with a tilt of her head. "She's going to kill you when she finds out you're alive. You literally raised the two of them. Plus me," she added, "but that came later. Let me tell you, those were some hard footsteps to follow."

"I'll let you three catch up once I've got them here," Coulson sighed, getting up and heading to the doors of the med bay. "That is, if I haven't been killed first. Again. And if that does happen, I think I'd rather have stayed dead the first time."

"News reports out of San Juan detail a large scale earthquake, causing a massive landslide of several historical landmarks into the ocean. It is not confirmed yet as to whether there were any deaths, or just what was the cause of that earthquake. Our news team will continue to investigate this unnatural disaster. Back to you, John."

Natasha sighed, turning off the TV with a switch of her hand. It'd been years since she'd had to think about it-that dark, cylindrical cavern in San Juan that had changed her life forever-but here it was again, back to rear its ugly head.

It'd been another mark of her training-how her superiors had gotten a hand on it, she had no idea-but it'd been a trying week for all concerned. Girls had disappeared left and right, rumors flying left and right. Perhaps they were being smuggled out of the country. Perhaps they'd been freed. Perhaps they'd staged a daring escape and were finally on their own. Natasha had shaken her head at them all, coldly reviewing the gossiping girls with a disdainful look, imagining how they would soon die at her hands.

She hadn't paid much attention to the disappearances-they meant less competition for her, after all-until one day she was roughly shaken awake, her instructor muttering in harsh Russian for her to get dressed. She'd followed like the obedient trainee she was, a bag roughly shoved over her head once the cool air of the outside world hit her face.

It'd been a long time before Natasha had been able to see again, during which time she'd honed all other four senses-she'd deduced that it was probably the purpose of the deprivation-and she'd been led into a dark temple, her eyes still finding nothing but darkness, even after the bag was pulled off of her head. She'd been strapped into a pulley and lowered down into a dark abyss, her eyes quickly adjusting once she'd reached bottom. The surprise expressed by her superiors had been...startling, to say the least. They were all surprised she wasn't dead, apparently.

She'd been led into the cylindrical room then, a shaft of light highlighting the gray, metallic device in the middle. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen in her ten years, and she'd stared at it in wonder before she'd been told to touch it. Suddenly, it had all become clear as to where the missing girls had went. They hadn't been freed. They hadn't been smuggled out of the country. They'd all been taken here, to see if they could make it this far, and they'd all died once they'd touched the bottom of the abyss.

And now they expected her to take the next step, to touch the gray thing. For what twisted reason, Natasha hadn't known. But what she had known at that point was that she wasn't prepared to end her own life on a whim. Others', yes, but she'd been determined to hang on to her own.

So she'd lashed out, dealing blows to those closest to her. She kicked, punched and even bit, doing whatever it took to avoid touching the very object that could potentially end her life. The other men in the chamber caught on quickly and had attempted to subdue her, even going so far as to make grabs for her head and smash it onto the device.

Finally, she'd slipped, one of her punches not going where she'd calculated, and she'd swiped the device instead of hitting her attacker, the gray object splitting open immediately, revealing a cluster of purple crystals. She could tell by the look on her superiors' faces that this was exactly what they'd wanted to happen, the manic glee on their faces terrifying her. The walls had closed up immediately around them, her terror manifesting.

A crackle around her feet had her looking down at her ratty excuses for sneakers, a stone casing already beginning to surround them. A scream had wormed its way out of her mouth, and once they'd started, they didn't stop. Pressure had begun to build up inside of her chest, hindering her ability to breathe as the stone wound her way up her body. Was this how she was going to die? Indeed it was, as the stone finally rendered her blind and unable to breathe.

For ten agonizing seconds, the pressure remained on her chest. For the life of her, Natasha couldn't figure out why she'd still held a train of thought. She was supposed to be dead, for fuck's sake. That minor thread of curiosity had warred with the other ones in her mind, some of them panicking at the lack of oxygen and the current circumstances of being set in stone.

Then, she'd heard it.

A slight crack. Another crack, and Natasha's left hand had been freed. She flexed it weakly, the oxygen deprivation finally making its presence in her brain. Slowly but surely, the rest of her stone encasing had fallen off of her body, leaving her gasping for air in her tatty t-shirt and shorts. She'd shaken off the last bits of stone, the remaining adrenaline in her body turning to anger at the people who'd brought her here. They looked confused, and she grabbed one of their throats, hoisting him up in the air.

"Что же произошло?" she'd demanded of him, slowly exerting pressure on his windpipe. She knew those strangulation lessons would've come in handy someday. "Что ты сделал со мной?" Slowly, the man in her grasp had held up a mirror, showing her reflection. Natasha frowned. She'd looked exactly the same as she had before. Except-

She'd looked alive. An energy had seemed to thrum through her veins, making her glow slightly. Everything about her had been magnified in some small way, from the vitality in her eyes to the shade of her fiery red hair. Natasha had casually handed the mirror back to the man, who'd breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly cut off as she'd pressed one of her hidden knives to his throat. She'd done it even then, back when she was a tiny, ten-year-old girl. "Это ничего не ответил."

"Мы сделали вас красивыми, Наталья," he'd gasped, and she'd pressed harder, a drop of blood oozing from where blade met skin. "Больше, чем вы могли себе представить." She'd narrowed her eyebrows at him, still uncomprehending.

"Вы должны десять секунд, чтобы объяснить, прежде чем я убью тебя." He'd paled at that, immediately launching into a stuttered explanation. Natasha didn't remember much of the scientific jargon, but the general gist had been that they purple crystals had altered her structure so that she possessed some sort of empathy.

"Вы всегда будете обречены чувствовать эмоции других людей, а не свои собственные, Наталья." She'd snorted at that. What emotions? She hadn't had emotions since she was five. She would have no problem discerning her own from her victims'. Maybe if they were of excitement. "Закрой глаза. Вы можете чувствовать их?"

Now that she had, the fear radiating from the other men in waves was so strong she could almost taste its bitter aftermath. It was almost too much to handle-if her training had been nonexistent. With a small effort, she'd stalked out of the room, attaching herself to the harness and getting pulled up. When she'd reached the surface, the other trainees were met with a glare as she felt their egos, black and vile and arrogant.

She'd vowed that she'd take them down one day, one by one.

And she had. It'd taken her another ten long years and much training, but the day had finally presented itself where Natasha had been able to manipulate the emotions of people around her to a T, a deadly combination when considered with her lethal skills. A twenty-year old Natalia had been through an arranged marriage and death in the ten years since she'd been transformed, and was hardened now more than ever. She hadn't mentioned what had gone in that cylindrical chamber-the only people left who knew were either dead or going to be.

She'd gone through the motions of that day-training, punishment, more trainings. With every punch she'd thrown, she'd imagined taking their heads off later that night. It was a sweet bit of vengeance against all of those who'd ever worked against her.

That night, it was almost child's play at how she'd snuck out of the facility, changing emotions like they were a flick of a switch. Of course, she'd learned later that it wasn't supposed to be so easy-SHIELD had planned a raid that night. It explained why there'd been a surplus of agents that night on duty, but it hadn't made a difference-weak minds were all the same.

What she hadn't counted on was Clint Barton. He'd been the only obstacle in her pursuit to escape the facility, effortlessly hunting her down and backing her into a corner. Natasha had tried everything she knew to change his mind-but nothing had worked. She'd been ready to admit defeat, to concede that she had been bested by a man with a bow and arrow. (It wouldn't be her best, but hey. She'd taken out much worse.)

But Barton had apparently been feeling unpredictable that day, offering her his hand and an offer to go with SHIELD. She'd stared at for a long time, trying to figure out whether he was being honest or this was another ploy for her life. In the end, she'd taken it, walking out of the facility not as a member of the Red Room, but perhaps something better.

Of course, depending on other people also meant that other people had to know about her powers. She kept it small, to the people she really trusted, which pretty much remained Clint. Eventually, that list would expand to mean Coulson and eventually May, but it hadn't grown in years. When Coulson had died, the one stray thought that had crossed her mind was that the list of people she trusted had just become thirty-three percent shorter.

Coulson had been the one to teach her that the world wasn't as straightforward as she'd been taught. It wasn't just men and women. Men could be with men. Women could be with women. Hell, some could even be with both. It'd taken Natasha a long time to actually comprehend that concept, feeling like a child when she'd asked Coulson that one day why she'd had stronger feelings of attraction towards women, rather than men. To his credit, he hadn't freaked out, simply taken her arm and guided her towards a class on sexual orientation.

She'd never gotten to properly thank him for that.

"For the next few weeks, we'll be having a guest upon the Bus," Coulson addressed his half-awake team (minus Skye), who was gathered around the holotable. "It's a guest of high importance, so we'll have to be on our best behavior for her."

"Her?" Hunter, Mack and Fitz echoed at the same time. Bobbi and Simmons gave them identical glares, causing them to shrink back a bit in fear. It was Mack who finally found enough pluck to respond, holding up his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm a single man. I can hit on whoever I please."

"Trust me, she won't be interested in any of you," May smirked. "Her interests are a little...outside the box." The look on the men's faces was absolutely priceless, and Bobbi had produced a camera out of nowhere, snapping a picture. "If anything, I'd be the worried ones." Simmons looked a little taken aback by that one, looking to Bobbi for reassurance. The older agent slung an arm around the scientists, squeezing her shoulder.

"You'll be fine, Simmons. Trust me. Just don't piss her off and you'll be fine."

"Which brings to my next point," Coulson said, taking back the conversation. "Everyone is to be on their best behavior. Which means that yes, Hunter, you and Bobbi are not having sex in semi-public areas on the Bus. FitzSimmons, you are not running random experiments. Mack, no midnight Mario Kart tournaments. And May," he finished, glaring at his second-in-command, who was raising an eyebrow innocently. "Do not challenge her to a sparring match. You know how those end."

"Damn it, Phil. You know I make a point to do it at least once every time I see her."

"Yeah, but this time's different," Coulson sighed before picking up the phone. "I'm going to make a phone call. If you don't find me in the next 24 hours, start planning my funeral. I'll probably be dead for real this time."

"Natasha. Natasha!" It was 12:40 in the morning when she awoke to hear Clint banging on her door. Normally, she would have gone back to bed-most likely he was drunk-but when she opened it, ice ran through her blood at the sight of him. Clint was a ghostly white, his eyes wide, a slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He sounded out of breath, as if he'd run all the way from where he'd come from.

"Clint? What's going on?" She wouldn't deny that she was worried. There'd been plenty of times where Clint had raised false alarms, but she somehow suspected that this was not one of them.

"It's Coulson, Nat. Coulson's-"

"Coulson's dead." A minor twinge of sadness struck through her mild annoyance at being woken so early in the morning. Had he really woken her up in the middle of the night for this? "Are you drunk, Barton?"

"That's the thing," Clint answered, still trying to breathe normally. "Nat, Coulson's alive."

She took a moment to process that before saying, "Give me five minutes" and slamming the door in his face.

"Why was I not informed about this?" Natasha demanded of Fury, stalking into his office. Clint followed a safe distance behind her, wary of her temper. The director had called them both to his office at the early hour, regret lacing his tone. "How long has he been alive?"

"It was for your own good, Agent Romanoff," the director answered resolutely. "It was for everyone's good. Hell, we didn't even know if what we'd done would work. It was best that we kept this secret until we saw results."

"He literally raised me, Nick," Natasha hissed, her green eyes flashing. "And no, I'm not about to count those years I spent in hell as a childhood. Phil was the closest thing I had to a father. Do you know how bad it was for Clint and I when he died?"

"I understand it was a trying time for you and Agent Barton, but-"

"I spent months agonizing over his death," Clint entered with a quiet anger. "I spent months trying to figure out how I could've avoided his death. The right moves I could've taken to avoid Loki's mind control. Steps I could've taken to avoid breaking into the Helicarrier. I tried to think of any way that I could've avoided his death, and now you tell me that all of that, all of the nights I spent up, were for nothing?" His face had become a snarl. "So you can understand, Director, why I'm a little distressed at this turn of events."

"This is all beyond me," Fury intoned, edging slowly away from Natasha, who was fingering her gun. "He called me an hour ago, gave me a set of coordinates, and told me he needed you two. Some sort of physical training exercise." She exchanged a confused glance with Clint. Physical training? She considered bending his mind to figure out his true intentions, but figured a mind like Fury's was probably walled up, anyways.

"We'll go," Natasha answered finally, putting away her gun. She saw Fury visibly relax and smirked. He may not fear much, but one of his best agents about to shoot him was always high on the list. "But don't think that this isn't over," she warned, heading out of the room. "There are plenty of answers you owe me, Nick."

"Who do you think it is?" Hunter asked Simmons later that day, as they were preparing for their mystery guest to arrive. "Whoever it is, Coulson seems to put a lot of stock in her." He thought for a minute. "Seems to scare the hell out of him, too."

"It can't be Agent Hill," she mused, setting out a new set of sheets and a pillow. "He would've told us straight up that she was coming. It has to be someone that we don't know-someone important." A thought struck her and she froze, the pillowcase in her hand. "You don't think-it can't be-it's not the director, do you think, Hunter?"

"It's not," Bobbi answered shortly, tossing Hunter another set of sheets. "And stop gossiping like those old English ladies your country's so famous for, Hunter. I could hear you from all the way down the hall." Hunter made some sort of unintelligible noise, most likely an attempt at a protest that Simmons had been gossiping as well.

"Do you know who it is, Bobbi?" Simmons asked innocently, throwing the now-fluffed pillow onto the bed. "Has Coulson told you who it was?"

"Let's just say there was an...interesting incident that led me to learn about who was coming," Bobbi sighed, walking out of the room. She hung in the doorway before adding, "And when you find out who it is, you'll be thankful Coulson told you not to hit on her." With that, she was walking down the hallway, her heels clicking.

"Hey, Nat," she said quietly as she greeted the redhead at the door, keeping her voice down so that Hunter and Simmons wouldn't hear. "Barton. What's kicking?" She exchanged hugs with the two of them, resisting the urge to laugh at the stormy look on Natasha's face. "I take it Fury's told you about Coulson."

"I'm going to kick his ass," Natasha promised vehemently. Bobbi rolled her eyes at Clint, who simply sighed, the 'she's been doing this all day' evident in the exhalation of air. "And then try and drink away the fact that I kicked his ass. What is he going on about, anyways?" she asked as the door shut. "Physical training? If you're on his team, I'd say they're in pretty good shape."

"It's a little more than that."

Phil Coulson emerged from his office, the two Avengers turning to face him. Silence reigned as Bobbi fidgeted. "Well, this is awkward." It was definitely more so for her, as she was just waiting to see who would make the first move. "It's good to see you?"

Natasha broke the distance between she and Clint, walking over to Coulson and delivering a healthy slap to his face. "Don't you ever do that to us again, Philip. Or I swear to God, I'll be the one to kill you." Without a look backwards, she stalked down the hallway, presumably to find May and chew her out. Clint was left, the silence growing to an even bigger proportion of uncomfortableness.

"It's good to see you, Phil," Clint finally said. "Stark misses you, too." The tension was broken then as both men burst into snickers, Coulson from such an absurd thought, and Clint from trying to keep a straight face.

"The day Stark misses me is the day hell freezes over," Coulson chortled. "Come on. I'm sure Natasha and May have started drinking without us." And just like that, they were off, Clint's arm even slung around the director's. Bobbi was left standing there, confused as to what had just transpired. Finally, she shrugged and headed off down the hallway.

Natasha had outdrank her the last time they'd been together, and she'd be damned if that happened again.

"So tell me what I'm really here for, Phil," Natasha said finally, setting down her fifth shot of the night. "We both know that Clint and I aren't here for physical training. You've got Morse. She's just as good as I am." Bobbi blushed uncharacteristically at that comment, choosing to down another shot. "What are we really here for?"

"It concerns your file." The entire room seemed to sober up at that moment, Bobbi being on the receiving end of many wary looks. She was fairly sure what she'd read in Natasha's file the day before hadn't been public knowledge, and the only people who knew about it completely were all in this room.

"I read it," she answered, breaking the silence. "And I understand why no one knows about it. If it were me, I wouldn't have told Fury, either. I've seen how he is when it comes to potential weapons." A furrow in Natasha's brow made itself present, and for a moment, the spy let her walls down, the expression in her eyes honest and open.

"Barbara." It wasn't Morse, it wasn't Bobbi, it wasn't any combination of the two. It was her full name. And in all of her years knowing Natasha, she'd never heard the redhead once say her full name. "The list of people who know is very short. I trust them all." The realization hit Bobbi in the gut, and she inhaled sharply.

Natasha trusted her. Natasha, who tended to make even the most hardy of agents quail in fear. Who tended to hand out affection like Coulson handed out the keys to Lola. Who was closed off and cold and reserved and...

"You're going to have to expand that list a little more."

"You told me you wouldn't psychoanalyze me."

The clipped statement cut through the silence of the med bay, Skye looking incredulous when Coulson had shown up with Natasha in tow. By now, everyone knew that it was indeed the (in)famous Black Widow aboard the Bus, the announcement being punctuated by Hunter falling to the ground in a dead faint.

The spy herself raised an eyebrow at that, but chose not to say anything as Coulson took reign of the situation instead. "This is Agent Romanoff, Skye. I've brought her here so she can talk to you." She sent Skye an offhand wave as the hacker looked her way. "She's the closest one we've got who's able to help you."

"What, by digging into my psyche? No thanks," Skye snorted. "I've read her file. She's a master manipulator. I've already told the psychologists how I feel about these powers. There's no need to waste her on me."

Coulson gave Natasha a look as if to say, 'You're up', and left the room, leaving the two together. Natasha took a seat in the chair opposite the bed as Skye slumped back into it, sighing in irritation. Silently, the spy focused her mind on the other woman, letting herself absorb the different emotions running through the hacker at the moment. Underneath the carefully controlled exterior, Natasha sensed apprehension. Some fear. And something she couldn't quite make out.

It intrigued her.

But first, there was business to be done.

"You know, you didn't have to come out here just because Coulson asked you to-wow, I feel happy," Skye muttered, surprised. "Where can I get some birthday cake and candles around here?" The next moment shifted the mood in the room. "Now I'm not sure if I'm just normal or really sad." Another moment. "Why do I feel like I want to kiss you right now? Although, given that I wanted to do that since you walked in here...shit." She gave Natasha a wide-eyed look. "Let's pretend that never happened."

"Believe me yet?"

"I'm willing to listen," Skye answered, sitting upright and paying full attention to Natasha's composed mask. "What did they do to you?"

"You've heard May's Bahrain story, right?" When the hacker nodded, she continued. "Do you know how old she was when May had to take her out?"

"Wasn't she twelve?"

"I was ten."

Skye listened in shock and horror as Natasha described her experiences in the Red Room, feeling partially like she wanted to cry. How anyone could have done that to such an innocent little girl was beyond her. She'd seen her share of injustices, but this...this was a whole new level. When Natasha arrived at her experience in the Kree Temple, Skye had to tamp down the urge to reach for the other woman, to gather her in her arms and tell her it was alright. It wouldn't have been right. It was the Black Widow, for heaven's sake. It most likely would've gotten her killed.

She settled instead for a "Agent Romanoff-" and was thoroughly surprised when she received a "Call me Natasha" in return. Outside, Clint and Coulson exchanged surprised looks at the curt response. They both knew it was quite the step-Clint hadn't gotten that privilege for three months, Coulson for six.

Truth be told, Natasha found herself just as surprised that she'd let Skye call her by her first name. She'd known the girl for how long, an hour? And here she was, giving her a privilege some people still didn't have-and they'd known her for much longer. There was something about Skye that unsettled her. And Natasha wasn't exactly sure she disliked it.

"Wait, so when you went into SHIELD, they didn't test you?" Skye asked incredulously. Natasha laughed a bit derisively, pulling her hair up into a short ponytail. "I don't believe it. Not with the way...no. There's no way."

"SHIELD had no fucking idea," Natasha answered oh-so-eloquently, making Skye snicker. "I wasn't about to tell the world's biggest intelligence agency that I'd come from a facility that was trying to make powered people. Or that I was powered. That would be hell. I'd actually planned for them to never find out." Her face darkened. "Then there was this clusterfuck in Budapest."

"Barton, Romanoff." Clint and Natasha tried to look contrite in front of Fury, but after having just filled both bathrooms on the floor with suds, it was sort of hard to keep a straight face. They tried anyways, Clint failing just after two seconds. "I need you two in Budapest."

"But we just got out of Vienna," Clint whined quietly to Natasha as they scanned the folder. The mission seemed easy enough. Get in, infiltrate the high society, get the info, get out. "You think they'd send us to a different part of Europe, but no. I always wanted to go to Seville."

"What's our cover, sir?" Natasha asked. She always loved these kinds of missions. They allowed her to slip into someone else other than herself, away from all of the red in her ledger. "We're not going to have to be married, are we?"

"Unfortunately, not this time," Both of them could hear the regret in Fury's voice. The entirety of SHIELD seemed to think that Clint and Natasha were sleeping together, despite their protests. Natasha wasn't about to tell them she didn't swing that way. Even her superior. "You two will be Catalina and Nikolai Yornit, adopted children of the famous Yornit refinery." The two of them took the files, looking them over as they walked out of the room.

"I wonder when he's going to figure out that we're not interested in each other," Clint joked, nudging Natasha with his shoulder in the elevator. "Think there's a pool running around somewhere?"

"I guarantee it," she snorted, slapping the file shut. "Time to get our fancy-schmancy personas on again." There was nothing more that they both hated other than acting like high society-he having come from nothing at all, she having come from worse than nothing.

The mission in itself had been fine. Natasha had waltzed in, dropped jaws, and stunned with effortless grace while Clint had the time of his life teasing her. They'd done so well, in fact, that they hadn't even needed to take anyone out in order to get the information they'd come for-all Natasha had done was flash a smile at the pudgy man, who'd gratefully handed it over.

It was obvious, however, once they were on their way from the hotel, why the man had put up so little of a fight. No sooner had they turned a corner from their location that a shot had rung out, tearing right through Clint's side. He'd cried out in pain, crumpling to the ground like a wet napkin. Suddenly, the only source of stability in Natasha's life had become completely unstable; but there was no time to dwell on that as more bullets flew through the air, some whizzing right past her hair. She took one look at the crimson blood streaming on his suit, ruining the white shirt he'd worked so hard to find.

She wouldn't have any more red in her ledger. Not this damn time.

She grabbed Clint up from the ground in a feat of superhuman strength, careful not to worsen his injury, attempting to see a way out. Men clad in black flanked her on all sides, guns pointed. She searched for the one in charge-it wasn't hard, given that he was wearing numerous rings and a large, wooden cross. "What do you want?" she spat at them, too preoccupied to find a better comeback.

"Why, Natalia, do you not recognize me so soon?"

The words were spoken in a crude Russian accent, the English marred beyond repair. Natasha froze, the memories she'd worked so hard to suppress beginning to come back to the surface. Bodies heaped on bodies. Blood dripping from the ceilings of the gray punishment chambers. A growled, 'Excellent, Natalia', in her ear as she stood over the corpse of her fellow trainee, their cries still echoing in her ears.

They'd come back for her.

"вы." she'd growled at her former trainer, her eyes flashing venomously. "Ты должен быть мертв."

"Not quite yet, my dear," he'd answered breezily in return, fingering his trigger. "And you answer me in Russian-surely you want to use English for your American boyfriend?" Anger flared through Natasha at the mention of Clint-had Coulson not taught her differently, she was sure they would've been together.

"Вы не хотели бы этого," she said sweetly, refusing to stoop to his broken English. "Это действительно позор для вас я бушует лесбиянок." At the look on his face, she revelled in the small victory. "Yes, didn't think I'd turn out that way, hm? Thought you could keep me in the straightforward ways forever? Just like you thought you could keep me in the program forever. Well, I've got news for you, мудак," she began, putting Clint down and drawing out her own gun.

"You can't change people."

And with that she started shooting.

Even with all of her training, the truth remained that she was still outnumbered by many a man to one. If she'd had Clint, maybe there would've been a chance she could've made it. But, as it stood, Clint was lying on the ground, breathing what might be his last breath with every passing second. She felt the fear of the men around her, felt their terror in taking what might be their last breaths, seeing her shots hit more of them than they liked. They were such weak minded men, she thought to herself. Easily broken.

"Go on, Natalia," he taunted her, a grin forming on his face. "Use it. You know you want to. Or have you softened so much that you have forgotten how? Hiding behind the physical weapons of a flimsy agency, convincing yourself that you are still as good as you were when you left?"

Natasha was seeing red now, and it wasn't just that of the people bleeding out around her. Death and despair were filling her emotional outlets, staggering her focus so that she wasn't able to let off more than one bullet every thirty seconds or so. Still, despite that, she hadn't been hit...until she was, taking two bullets to the left knee.

Her world crumpled as she fell to the ground, shouting in pain. Stared defiantly in response even as the man she'd once looked up to advanced over her, a lecherous look forming on his face. "The great Natalia Romanova," he sneered. "Once so mighty, now reduced to nothingness on the streets of a forgotten country. Oh, how far you've fallen."

"Not as far as you're about to," she struggled out, a range of emotions running through her-the bright red of anger, the solid blue of determination, and the dark, dark black of revenge and hate. She channeled it all, making one last lunge for his head, grabbing onto it with everything she had and pouring all of that emotion into him.

He screamed in pain, and with a grunt, Natasha expanded her energies, spreading them to the remaining men around her. The gunshot wound in her thigh throbbed painfully, and she let out a scream of pain that mingled with those of her enemies; only she was left struggling to stay upright as they all collapsed, weighted down with the burst of their own emotions. Soon, they were all unconscious in the street, the only sounds the sirens coming to arrive at the scene. Weakened, Natasha slumped down next to Clint, checking to make sure he was still breathing. The small bursts of air were enough to give her hope, and she closed her eyes as the emergency personnel arrived-it would really only be for just a minute...

"No one actually knows what happened besides me," Natasha concluded. "And, I suppose, you. Clint doesn't even remember what happened. We remember Budapest very differently. It's why we never talk about it."

"You're an empath," Skye said in the dead silence that followed Natasha's long confession. "That's the only way you could've gotten to him." Her voice softened. "It's ironic, really. You were trained for your entire childhood to ignore emotions, and the crystals turn you into someone who can inherently detect emotions."

"Fate's always dealt me a cruel hand," Natasha shrugged fluidly. "Sometimes you've just gotta go with it."

"How did you deal?" Skye's voice was suddenly quiet and vulnerable, tugging at Natasha's long-forgotten heartstrings. "How did you live with the fact that you were different-that you weren't normal?"

"I was never normal, which is a start." Steady green eyes met wide, panicked brown ones. "I was pushed to my limits, tortured beyond belief, all in the name of endurance. I never knew was normal was. Some days, you just have to accept that and know that life's going to be better." As soon as Natasha said that, all terror was erased from Skye's emotions, replaced by a serene calm. "I promise you're going to be fine, Skye,"

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm going to be with you every step of the way."

Что же произошло-What just happened?

Что ты сделал со мной?-What did you do to me?

Это ничего не ответил-That doesn't answer anything.

Мы сделали вас красивыми, Наталья-We've made you beautiful, Natalia.

Больше, чем вы могли себе представить-More than you could ever imagine.

Вы должны десять секунд, чтобы объяснить, прежде чем я убью тебя-You've got ten seconds to explain before I kill you.

Вы всегда будете обречены чувствовать эмоции других людей, а не свои собственные, Наталья-You'll always be doomed to feel others' emotions instead of your own, Natalia.

Закрой глаза. Вы можете чувствовать их-Close your eyes. Can you feel them?

вы-You.

Ты должен быть мертв.-You're supposed to be dead.

Вы не хотели бы этого-Wouldn't you like that.

Это действительно позор для вас я бушует лесбиянок-It's really a shame for you I'm a raging lesbian.

мудак-Asshole.

Again. If you wanted to yell at someone...I'll take yelling in form of reviews! Best review gets to read Natasha's file!

Also, I was thinking about blowing this up into a full story...let me know if you want that!