This chapter is... ugh. I'm sorry in advance. I wrote it in multiple sittings and it was hard to make things flow. Just... ugh. Inspiration is an unloyal bitch.

Anyway, we get to meet msytery Widow! Yay!

I DON'T OWN ANYTHING BUT THE PLOT

I'm sinking like a stone

Never felt something like this before

This ended long ago

Never met someone like you before

And I'm drowning

But I didn't know

I needed saving

SHIELD hover carrier – 0:500 Argentina (Coordinate Universal Time)

Not trusting the young Widow not to attempt to escape once more, Natasha and Clint decided to sedate her. Knowing she would put up a fight, Clint began to handcuff the girl as he slid a syringe from his utility belt, and then surprised the girl by wrapping his arms around her to keep her from struggling as he stuck the needle into the girl's shoulder. She gave a sharp cry of pain, wriggling uselessly in his arms for a moment, before the powerful chemicals kicked in, and she slumped forward.

He picked up the girl and retreated into the shadows of the alley to hide the unconscious body in his arms, radioing in for SHIELD to pick them up while Natasha went to retrieve the car they had been using. Natasha returned with a battered, unlicensed car and picked the archer and the girl up, then they drove out to the agreed meeting point with SHIELD.

The two partners barely spoke to one another unless it pertained to the immediate mission. Clint wanted to ask Natasha her thoughts about the young Widow, but judging from the tense line of her shoulders and how tightly she kept her lips pressed together, he thought better of the idea.

So they silently drove out into the Argentinian countryside, to an unsupervised location where a SHIELD jet could safely pick them up and transport them to the hover carrier, which was suspended just outside of Argentinian airspace above the southern Atlantic Ocean.

Not even the soldiers who came to pick them up in the jet said anything other than a greeting. One man had offered to transport the unconscious girl aboard the plane, but Natasha only glared at him, and Clint very pointedly picked gathered the girl into his arms and personally carried her up the ramp. After that the soldiers seemed to pick up on the level of stress the two assassins were feeling and left them alone.

The flight back to the hover carrier was relatively short, and soon the jet was docking onto SHIELD territory. Clint and Natasha relaxed a bit, now that they were out of the field, but it did nothing to quell the tumultuous thoughts in their heads. Again, Cling was the one to pick up the body of the young Widow and carry her into the base, Natasha walking unusually close behind him, glaring at anyone that so much as looked at the unconscious girl too long.

They immediately went for the secured med-bay, heading for a small private room and placing the girl down on the bed. Clint took the visitor's chair, while Natasha remained standing, hovering beside the hospital bed and staring down at the girl's face as if it alone could answer all of her questions. Not five minutes later, Fury strode in like a bat out of hell.

"You finally did it." He said as the doors automatically slid open to admit him. He glanced at the status of their prisoner and frowned. "Is that blood I see?"

Clint winced, drawing the attention of their director.

"I thought I said to bring her in without extensive bodily harm?"

"She's alive!" Clint protested. "It's just… Well, she's a Widow, sir. She wouldn't come without a fight."

Fury sighed, having expected as much, but still displeased. "I already have a doctor on their way to patch her up and check up on her health. After that we'll wake her up and get some answers."

Natasha finally broke her gaze away from the girl and stepped towards Fury. "I want to be the one to interrogate her, sir."

"Absolutely not, Romanov." Fury quickly denied her. "You are too close to this. You are emotionally attached to this situation; allowing you to be the one to track her down was already against protocol, but you were the only one who knew how to find a Black Widow. You may stand in the viewing room, but that is as close as you will get to the girl until we get to know her better."

Natasha's hardened into a perceptible scowl, but she back down, nodding in acceptance to Fury. Their director bade them to go get their own post-mission check-ups and catch up on some sleep, and then swept out of the room. Clint glanced over at his partner, noticing the thoughtful look in her eyes, and groaned.

"You're really bad at following orders, you know that?" He said as the doors once again slid open, and a man in a military doctor's uniform saluted them before walking in to observe the girl.

Natasha scrutinized the man for a long moment, before deeming him safe enough to be near the unconscious girl. Clint stood up and guided his partner out of the room, knowing she would never leave otherwise.

"I need to talk to her, Clint." Natasha whispered as they walked away from the med-bay. "I need answers."

"You'll get them." Clint promised her. But he wondered whether those answers would give her closure, or if they would only lead to more questions.

SHIELD hover carrier – 09:00

The girl was woken up four hours later, after the doctors had patched up her thigh and allowed the sedation to wear off, and taken immediately for interrogation. She arrived at the interrogation room escorted by four armed guards, all of which eyed her like a rabid animal that would snap at any minute. They had pushed her down into a metal chair and handcuffed her wrists to the top of the steel table, two of the guards exiting the room, and two remaining to stand behind her.

"Four guards?" Clint murmured to his partner as they watched her arrival from the viewing room.

"It would be no problem for her, if she were to try to escape." Natasha responded, as if Clint did not already know. He'd seen Natasha take on much greater odds and still make it look easy. This younger Widow was no doubt in the same league.

Natasha narrowed her eyes to study the girl, remembering everything she had ever learned about the Red Room to see how the girl might have measured up in their eyes.

The girl certainly did not look Russian, which was the first thing that most would notice. In fact, her ethnicity was hard to place, which was probably why the Red Room had chosen her. Golden-tanned skin, dark and curly hair, and her equally dark almond-shaped eyes were common in most places in the world, but with the addition of her straight nose and high cheekbones – a traditionally European facial structure – made her an interesting puzzle.

She was definitely mixed race, perhaps Russian and Siberian? Her features could pass for any number of ethnicities, making her easy to loose in almost any crowd, no matter where she was in the world. She was not a show-stopping beauty by any means, but the unique combination of eastern and western traits certainly made her something exotic, something that could make any man pause and stare.

Exactly what the Red Room would want.

Looking back at their fight with the girl, Natasha could definitely tell that he girl had Red Room training. Her tactics, fighting and torture techniques, even the weapons that she used – they were things that the Black Widows grew up learning. No one else could duplicate such a thing.

Natasha's attention snapped to the door of the interrogation room as it opened.

Fury himself walked in, a file in hand, coming to stand across from the girl and studying her with his lone eye. He slowly opened the file and began to lay its contents out in front of the girl for her to see. Natasha and Clint arched their heads to get a look at what the papers were, noticing in surprise that they were pictures of the men she had killed just the day before. Pictures of dead bodies, burning paper, and a rather grueling close-up image of the man she had tortured.

The girl's face remained unchanged as her eyes flicked down to the photos with disinterest, then gazing back up at Fury with an unaffected expression.

"I am going to question you now," Fury began, "And if you know what is best for you, you will answer my questions. They more you cooperate, the better treatment you will receive. I may even excuse you for the mission that you interfered with earlier this month."

The girl's face remained unmoved.

"Who are you?" Fury asked first.

She remained silent.

Fury tapped the pictures of the dead men. "You are rather young to be killing left and right, little girl. What do you gain from this?"

Again, silence.

"I have evidence implicating you in the murder of at least thirteen men already." Fury continued. "And I bet that you've killed a lot more." He placed his hands on the table and loomed over her. "I'll be more direct: are you working for Russia?"

Natasha let out a frustrated hiss, making Clint glance over at her. "He's going about this all wrong; asking all the wrong questions." She muttered, shaking her head. "Torture and intimidation won't work on her."

Clint patted her arm. "I think intimidation is the only thing Fury knows how to do." He chuckled.

The interrogation went quickly after that. Fury would ask a question, and the girl would just stare back at him with a blank expression. The gory pictures did not affect her at all, and any intimidation or insinuating violence or imprisonment had the same lack of reaction. Finally, after Fury had been at it for almost forty minutes, they had a reaction:

She yawned.

Clint snickered as Fury turned beet red and growled at her audacity. In the end, the girl had said not a word, and was taken back to her secured medical room, while Clint and Natasha exited the viewing room. As they exited the room, Fury stormed past them with a dark, angry look on his face, snapping at them not to say a word. Figuring that attempting to speak to him at this point was suicide, Natasha and Clint began to make their way to the living section.

"So, how does a good spar sound?" Clint asked his partner.

Natasha shook her head. "I want a look at that file that Fury had on the girl. He had that made quite fast, considering we only brought the girl in a couple hours ago."

"I'll come." Clint quickly said. Natasha gave him an annoyed look, making him smirk. "You didn't think I would be fooled that easily, did you?"

She sighed, looking around the corridor, and pulling Clint aside into the nearest mechanical room, making sure that there were no witnessed in sight.

"Alright, you caught me." She muttered.

"Are you sure that talking to her by yourself is wise?" Clint asked softly.

Natasha bristled. "What do you mean by that?" She snapped defensively.

"Tash," Clint chided. "It's obvious that she has an effect on you. It's been a while since a mission has made you this emotional."

"I'm not –" Natasha caught herself before she could prove Clint right. She then scoffed and opened the door. "I'm going whether you like it or not, Clint."

He sighed and nodded. "I know. But I want to be there."

She pursed her lips but said nothing as she stalked out of the room and down the hallway, making her way towards the brig. There were two guards posted outside of the prisoner's room, two tall agents in parade stance with their hands on their rifles.

"I have orders to speak with the girl." Natasha lied easily with false authority. The men stepped aside dutifully, although she stopped them with a hand when they attempted to follow her in. "No, you're presence will make it harder to persuade the girl. Remain outside; Agent Barton will be with me in case of an emergency."

The men glanced at each other nervously, before reluctantly backing away from the doorway. Clint followed her in without a word, silent as a shadow. The door slid shut behind him, a soft 'click' sounding the lock.

The girl appeared to be sleeping, leaning back on a hospital bed that was raised so that she was propped up in an almost-sitting position, her ankles were cuffed together, and her wrists were cuffed to the rails of the bed. However her eyelids slid open at their presence, calm and seemingly unsurprised at their presence, her eyes quickly scanning each of them before resting upon Natasha. She pulled herself up and sat all the way forward as they came further into the room. Her face was masked without any evidence of emotion, although her eyes flashed as she stared at Natasha with detached interest.

To both of their surprise, the prisoner spoke first.

"I vot vy." She murmured expectantly. And here you are.

"I vot ya zdes." Natasha responded. And here I am.

Neither woman glanced at Clint as he found a nice dark corner of the room to brood in while they conversed. They remained still, regarding each other with equal parts wariness and curiosity. And then Natasha stepped forward until she was an arm's length from the side of the bed, staring down at the girl as her gaze hardened and she began her own interrogation.

"So… You are a Black Widow." Natasha murmured, although it sounded more like a question.

The girl tilted her head and again glanced over the redheaded woman before speaking. "I am."

Clint had to stifle the urge to smirk at that. Natasha was quiet for a moment, again simply staring and studying the girl. "I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Natasha Romanov, first generation Widow."

The girl blinked at Natasha, giving the two agents the impression that she was somehow surprised.

"I am 117." She finally spoke. "Second generation Widow."

Now it was Natasha and Clint's turn to blink in surprise. So there was another generation… Natasha's face became grim.

"And your name?" The redhead asked her.

"I already told you." The girl said.

The two agents glanced at each other. Is this girl serious?

"Your name… is one-seventeen?" Natasha repeated slowly. The brunette nodded. In his corner, Clint rubbed his hand over his face and muttered under his breath.

"And your codename?" Natasha asked.

The girl blinked. "One-seventeen, of course."

"So… you don't have a name?" Natasha murmured incredulously.

"I find it odd that you do." The young Widow replied. "Did the Red Room give you your name, or did you name yourself?"

Clint had never seen Natasha so out of her depth during an interrogation. The calm, collected persona she usually held was wiped from her face. She looked unusually young with the lost expression on her face, eyes unusually expressive, mouth parted in surprise.

"I –I have always had my name." Natasha said, clearing her throat to cover up her stuttering.

The younger Widow merely hummed at that, but otherwise made no comment. Another awkward silence ensued, and even Clint was starting to feel bewildered at the strange interaction between the two Widows. Finally, when it appeared that Natasha was at a loss for words, Clint decided that it was his time to ask the questions.

Stepping away from the shadows, he came to stand next to his partner. The girl's eyes immediately flickered to him at his movement, lidded eyes regarding him in a bored manner that gave him the impression of how a bird looked at an insect. It rubbed him the wrong way, but he gritted his teeth and addressed her politely.

"Miss, uh, One-seventeen." He tried to keep his body relaxed and as unassuming as possible. "How old are you?"

She shrugged. "Either sixteen or seventeen. Not quite sure, really."

Too young for such a life. Clint thought sadly. "Who have you been working for?"

"I'm a mercenary." She shrugged with a deadpan voice. "I'm paid by whoever pays the most."

He should have known, after all, Clint had worked as an assassin for some time during his younger years. However it was odd to see a Widow working outside of government control. "So you are not working for the Russian government?"

"No." The brunette stated simply.

He felt his brows raise, and glanced at an equally perplexed Natasha. "Why not?"

"They decided that the Widows no longer served their purpose." She replied flatly with a stoic expression.

"So what happened to the program?"

She shrugged, but said nothing. Clint frowned, knowing that she was done with the subject. Looked like it was time to pursue another line of questioning. "So you have been working as a gun for hire, then?"

The brunette just stared at him with an exasperated expression. Apparently she did not like repeating herself – another thing she had in common with Natasha.

"And who paid you for your last job?" Clint asked her.

"I can't tell you that." The girl tutted. "My reputation depends on my customer confidentiality, as you must know."

"Currently, you may be charged with murder-for-hire, theft of sensitive information, and the assassination and destruction of government assets." Clint stated. "If you agree to help us, or give us information on your contracts, we may be more lenient."

The girl gave him a wry look. "Everyone dies. I just speed up the process."

"But are you willing to die for these people?" He pointed out. "Will anyone object if the American government tosses you into a cell and throws away the key? Does anyone even care enough about you to come to your rescue?"

The young Widow faltered for the first time, doubt flashing across her eyes. Natasha, freed from her own inner thoughts, latched onto the girl's weakness.

"Vy ne obyazany te muzhchiny nichego." She spoke to the girl in Russian, hoping that the familiarity of their native tongue would put the girl at ease. "SHIELD nikogda ne pozvolit zakhvachennyy vdova vyyti na svobodu. Yesli vy khotite , chtoby izbezhat' tyuremnogo zaklyucheniya , eto v vashikh interesakh , chtoby prisoyedinit'sya k ikh vmesto."

Lucky for Clint, who had always had a knack for languages, he was capable of understanding Russian thanks to his proximity with Natasha. He wasn't quite able to converse in the language yet, but he could understand it when spoken.

You owe those men nothing, Natasha had told the girl, SHIELD will never allow a Widow to walk free. If you want to avoid imprisonment, it is in your interest to join them instead.

The girl actually appeared troubled at Natasha's words. Widows were a dangerous weapon, rarely did they last long on their own. It was no secret that most governments would not hesitate to kill a Widow rather than let them fall into the wrong hands. Another bout of silence ensued as the young brunette became lost in her thoughts.

"Ya ne zainteresovan v igre geroya." The young Widow told the older assassins. I am not interested in playing hero.

"It's not about being a hero." Natasha replied.

The girl curled her lip at Natasha. "Is that what you tell yourself?" She scoffed. "Do you think that we did not hear stories about you? The Widow that betrayed our country because of her silly little emotions?"

Natasha pursed her lips and Clint opened his mouth to snap at the girl, but Natasha held her hand up to stop him. She glanced at her partner and shook her head slightly. She understood the mindset that these girls had grown up with. She had been the same way at her age – but guilt would always catch up eventually.

"I suggest that you think very carefully over your current situation." Natasha told the younger Widow in a patient voice. "You are not exactly in a situation to refuse SHIELD."

The girl's face instantly wiped clean of emotion, eyes flashing in a defensive glare as her muscles coiled like a snake ready to strike, her hand instantly covering he wounded thigh as if to shield it from harm. It struck something within Clint to see the girl expecting them to hurt her, due to her experiences with the harsh treatments of the Red Room and similar organizations.

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!

All three of them gasped as the carrier suddenly jolted, swinging harsh towards the starboard side of the ship. The girl fell backwards into the hospital bed, Natasha was caught herself on the rail of the bed, while Clint was thrown into the wall of the room. Above their heads, a red light flashed and an alarm sounded.

"We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack." Agent Hill's voice sounded over the intercom. "All agents to battle stations! We are under attack, I repeat…"

"We're under attack?!" Natasha hissed as she scrambled to her feet.

"By who?!" Clint growled as he hauled himself back up. "We're in a flying invisible ship above international waters! How the fuck did they even find us?"

The two agents simultaneously glanced suspiciously at the girl chained to the hospital bed. She caught their stares and scowled, holding up her cuffed hands.

"Don't look at me." She muttered. "Blowing up the aircraft doesn't exactly save me, now does it? Whoever they are, they are no friends of mine."

Natasha nodded at that, although Clint had his doubts. The ship shuddered again, and the two agents were forced to brace themselves again.

"C'mon!" Natasha yelled as the ship stilled again and she threw herself towards the door. "We need to get up-deck!"

Clint nodded wordlessly and ran across the room to her, opening the door manually as the power was currently being re-routed to the defense shields. They ran into the halls, leaving the prisoner chained to her bed.

"H -Hey!" The girl yelled as they disappeared out of the door, metal clanging as she yanked at the cuffs around her wrists. "Let me go!" She tugged until her wrist became red and raw. "Someone unchain me, chert poberi!"

The ship shuddered again as something exploded, and the girl gasped as the metal walls began to creak.

So... what do you guys think about the girl? I'm kinda nervous about her characterization. I wanted her to be mysterious but at the same time, I wanted her to have a bit of sass. Gaaahhhh I'm so conflicted!

Please leave a review!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!