Amelia and Victoria walked along toward the corner store, their breaths billowing in the frosty, snowy air of December. "What's up with you?" Victoria asked, glancing to her friend. Ever since they left the orphanage, Amelia had been wary and on guard, tensing at every noise and glancing around as if something was going to pop out at them.
The only replied Victoria received was a shrug as they walked on. Suddenly Amelia froze, body stiffening. "Victoria," she hissed, "run, now."
Victoria wheeled to Amelia, frowning. "Seriously, what is your-"
"Run!" Amelia snapped but before either could move, two large men moved toward them. Victoria froze, eyes widening in terror but Amelia stepped in front of her, glaring at the two men.
"Это те два, что он хочет?" The first one asked, and Amelia's eyes widened.
The second one replied, "Да, это они."
"Get ready to fight," Amelia hissed to Victoria, who gave a weak nod. Amelia stepped toward them and growled, "Что, черт возьми, вы хотите от нас?"
The men smirked and the first one lunged forward. Amelia took immediate action.
She lashed out a fist, catching the first man in the cheek. Eyes blazing with fury, he gripped her arm, starting to twist. Holding back a cry of pain, she rammed her knee into his crouch, getting him to let go. Then, Amelia slammed her foot into his chest, knocking him backward. She turned to Victoria, pleased to see she was able to hold up on her own.
Amelia singled to her friend to keep him busy and silently crept up, kicking him into the bent of his knee, causing his leg to buckle. Suddenly, she felt two hands grip her shoulders and pain shot through her from the grip. Thinking quickly, she twisted and bit down onto his finger, causing the man to curse in Russian and release. Amelia whipped around and slammed out her palm into his chin, but he lashed out a knife, cutting through the jacket fabric and slicing her arm deeply. With a soft cry, she staggered back, blood gushing out of the wound.
"Это не конец, мисс Бартон!" The first man shouted as the second one stood, both fleeing.
Amelia stared after them, pale faced and breathing in the snowflakes, the blood dripping to the frost covered ground and turning it dark red. "You're arm!" Victoria squeaked, eyes wide in alarm. When Amelia didn't answer, she gently touched her friend's shoulder. "Amelia, what did he call you?"
Amelia pulled away and replied, "Nothing, let's just go back." She shakily pressed the torn jacket sleeve onto her wound and rushed home with Victoria, ignoring the stares of other people. Barton… does that what the B stands for in my name? But… if so… how do they know me? Her face seemed to grow even paler, but it wasn't from blood loss. What's going on?
Fury tapped on his ear piece, feeling a little concerned when Agent Peterson didn't reply to his latest question: Does this girl move like them?
Finally, there was a reply, but he sounded startled and shaken. "Err, she does, sir. She moves like Romanoff but has Barton's strength…"
"Agent Peterson, what happened?"
Slowly, the agent began telling Fury about the battle, translating what the thugs said in Russian to English. Fury narrowed his one eye, fighting the urge to contact the two assassins, but preferred to play it safe and not get either of them angry.
Amelia sat still on the chair, allowing Frederick clean her wound out, the first aid kit lying on the table in front of them. Ever since she and Victoria got back, Amelia had stayed silent, visibly shaken. "Amelia," Frederick asked softly. "What happened out there?" For a moment, he thought that he was going to get the same response; silence. But then she spoke softly.
"Barton. My last name is Barton."
Это те два, что он хочет. = These are the two that he wants.
Да, это они. = Yes, it's them.
Что, черт возьми, вы хотите от нас? = What the hell do you want from us?
Это не конец, мисс Бартон! = This is not the end, Miss Barton!