A Widow's Conversation

As always, part of Natasha's attention was focused on what was happening around her, even as most of her attention turned towards the time she had a conversation with the person – of that Natasha was sure – who claimed to be the Master of Death.

She still had to raise an eyebrow at that.

One did not master death.

Death was final.

Natasha was also sure of that.

But still.

She pondered on her conversation every once in a while.

It intrigued her how someone could know her every secret, her every deed – no matter how good or bad – and still give her the choice to come back from death.

In the confines of her own mind, when she thought back to her conversation, she was always silently astounded that she had received the choice – and this time was no different.

Natasha's eyes snapped opened and immediately rolled to her left.

She noted vaguely that she was naked as she reached out and grasped the knife that she knew was beside her and observed her surroundings for any enemy hiding in the fog that was surrounding her. Her other hand unconsciously went to her stomach, as if she was holding a wound.

Eyes scanning, she was slightly surprised to see a pile of clothes materialize in front of her.

She was careful to hide her surprise. She didn't want to give an enemy a potential weakness to exploit.

"You're safe here you know."

Natasha threw the knife at the voice who had just spoken, knowing she hit her target, and picked up another one.

She didn't question where the second knife came from…just like she didn't question where the clothes came from.

"You can get dressed."

The same voice came from behind her and she didn't hesitate to throw the second knife, wondering why the first knife didn't kill the man and how the man got behind her without her hearing anything.

She grabbed a third knife and waited.

She waited for what seemed to be an eternity before she quickly got dressed, her attention still waiting for the man to speak again.

He didn't.

She quickly got dressed, knife still in her hand.

The silence and stillness seemed to go on for another eternity before Natasha decided to break the silence herself.

"Who are you?"

"Call me Master of Death."

The voice came from her right this time and she threw the knife before he finished speaking.

"What do you mean 'Master of Death'?"

"I really wish you would stop doing that."

Her right this time and another knife.

"What do you mean 'Master of Death'?"

She was more insistent this time.

"A question for another time, perhaps, Natasha Romanoff."

Another knife thrown.

"How do you know my name?"

"How do you think?"

Throw.

"Ow! That one hurt."

Natasha was silent.

The mysterious 'Master of Death' let out a sigh.

"I know a lot of things while here, in this so-called 'realm,' for lack of a better word."

"Realm?"

"I trust that you've realized that you are no longer where you last where?"

"Obviously."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I got shot."

"And?"

"I'll never be able to wear a bikini again."

"Really?"

The voice sounded doubtful.

Natasha didn't answer the question.

Instead she said, "Nothing. I remember nothing else."

Silence, as if the Master of Death was waiting for her to continue.

"I woke up here."

"The halfway point."

"Halfway point?"

"It's the easiest way to describe this place."

"It's just fog."

"Really?"

The man sounded surprised.

Natasha threw a knife.

"Hey! I'm not jesting, I can't see what you see."

Natasha raised her eyebrow. That seemed exceedingly unlikely.

"This isn't a halfway point for me. It's for you."

"Halfway point for what? To decide if I want to die or not die?"

"Well…yes, though there is another option."

"Which is?"

"You could stay here-"

"Stay here?"

That was extremely unlikely.

"-and become a ghost."

He continued as if Natasha didn't interrupt him. Natasha couldn't help the slight smirk. She liked him.

Then what he said registered with her.

He was giving her a choice – to either live or die (that third option was off the table completely, besides there was no such things as ghosts – only the ghosts of her past).

"Oh, Natasha. There is definitely so much more than just the ghosts of your past. You just have to be open to them."

"Open to them?"

"Yes."

There was silence between them (and no more knife throwing) while Natasha thought.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Natasha kept her silence. She knew he knew what she meant.

"You've got red in your ledger-"

"How do you know that?"

Natasha felt the blood drain from her face. No one knew that. Not even Agents Coulson and Barton - and they knew a lot.

"-and you want to wipe it out."

Natasha had never given words to her desire before, but that was it. That was exactly how she felt.

"This is you chance to do just that. It's not going to happen how you expect, I expect."

"You see some sort of potential in me?"

"Oh not me personally. I'm just a messenger, so to speak."

"Messenger?"

The Master of Death just hummed in acknowledgment.

Natasha was silent as she thought.

The Master of Death was patient, not making idle conversation which Natasha appreciated. She was a woman of few words.

Suddenly, the air shifted between them before the Master of Death spoke again.

"I knew you were going to make this choice."

"You were influencing me?"

"Me? Influence? Never. I'm just here for the conversations."

He was grinning at her, she could tell.

"Right."

Natasha only slightly believed him.

The air changed again.

"Also, I'm sorry?"

"What for?"

She couldn't stop herself from tensing up but before the Master of Death could answer all she felt was excruciating, never-ending pain – and then.

Nothing.

The silence in the room startled her more than the remembered pain.