Tony and Fury left the room, leaving me alone under the stark white light on the ceiling. Heh, Stark, do you see what I did there? Anyway, I got bored. Really bored. So I started singing to myself, as I am wont to do when I get bored. Nothing melodramatic, just Pinkie's Brew from Friendship is Witchcraft. The Russian Gypsy Jazz version. Can't be too careful with backing up the Russian Terrorist threat, can I?

I was just at my favorite part in the song when the door opens up again. A girl hangs in the doorway for a minute, talking to someone just outside the door that I can't see. But then in she comes, and I instantly recognize her. Black Widow. I almost had a mental breakdown then and there. First Iron Man, now her!? What are the chances of something as crazy as this? One in seven point o' four six billion. Guess I'm number 7,046,000,000.

"So you're the red alert?" mused Natasha, taking a seat. I shrug at her unhelpfully, which doubtless told her fifteen things about myself. Okay, maybe twenty. I can't help it, I'm expressive, and it doesn't help that Black Widow could probably determine what I had for breakfast this morning from the way I roll my eyes.

"What're you gonna do, lady?" I taunt. What am I doing? "Read my lips? Figure out what I had for breakfast? I won't talk."

"I don't believe you," she replied. I thought she would've smirked, or frowned at least, but she kept a poker face that was about as communicative as a goldfish. "I can tell. You're the kind of girl who talks a lot. About…?"

"Doctor Who, Star Wars, Ponies, Lord of the Rings-you name it!" I answered peppily. "Wait-that's cheating! You're supposed to read my body language to figure out what I'm thinking! Why am I still in a straitjacket? They're not very comfy, y'know. Could I get this off?"

"Stop trying to change the subject, please," ordered Natasha calmly. She's really good at that. I wonder what her secret is.

"I wasn't trying to change the subject!" I retorted indignantly in my best outraged-old-dude voice. "The thought of it appals me! How could such an innocent creature as me cheat her way out of a good ol' fashioned interrogation!?"

"This isn't an interrogation," stated Natasha flatly. "It's a confession."

"Well, you could've told me that in the first place!" I snapped. "Would've saved me a lot of trouble. You interrogation people have no people skills whatsoever! I mean, have you ever thought of asking nicely if this or that happened? 'Cause when you think about it, all the spies are programmed to resist abominable torture techniques, not kindness and friendship! In this day and age, you could probably get Loki himself to talk with no one but Fluttershy! Or maybe Pinkie Pie. Derpy? Maybe, depending on the situation..,"

"All right, all right, we get it," chided Natasha, raising a hand to shut me up. 'We?' I should've known she had someone on taps! "You will confess willingly?"

I nodded. What the merry kriff was I getting myself into?

"All right," invited Natasha, leaning back casually. She hadn't smiled since she entered the room, which kinda bummed me out. "Let's hear it."

"Let's see here," I began, hatching a spontaneous alibi in my head as I went on. "It all started twenty-something years ago. I know what you're thinking: that's impossible, she's not that old. But I am not a teenager-in fact I don't know if I qualify as human anymore. 1990's, U2 was ramping it up, everything was hip and chill. Then I get bitten by a werewolf, which is why I've barely aged a year or two in the space of twenty.

"About a month or two after I became a werewolf, I'm approached by what appears to be a middle-aged businessman with weird eyes and dark hair. He had it slicked back...I think he was trying to pull off a mafia look. Anyway, he reveals that he knows everything about me, from age one to the present. Well, the back-then present, not today-present. We lost contact. He hires me for his 'upcoming coup,' says that he likes my wolf talents, and I sign up. I started small at first; sniffing out certain people this guy wants, interpreting the rhythms of the moon, etcetera. But I get suspicious when he starts letting little things slip-he doesn't seem to recognize national things like cars and chain restaurants.

Then I walk in while he's meditating, and I find him in this ridiculous horned helmet, waltzing around stabbing imaginary bad guys and practicing excellent brazilian jujitsu. Since I was his closest confidante, he tried to explain things to me and keep me involved...but unfortunately, that night was a full moon, so I accidentally killed him and escaped across the countryside. I ran from Chicago to Milwaukee that night! I never really ran into him again, but ever since then I've been catching glimpses of him in crowds. But that's impossible, because I killed him, so there."

Natasha waits a long time before replying. I'm not surprised-that was a mouthful, even for me.

"This man," she started, leaning over the table and looking me in the eye. "What did he look like?"

"Like I said," I described nonchalantly. "Dark hair, almost to his shoulders, slicked back. Always looked sorta greasy. Kinda pale, but regal features. He could charm the socks off of Mike's cat, if he put his mind to it. Like to wear lots of greens and grays, and a gold chain around his neck. But his eyes were really strange, blue one minute and green the next. Why?"

Natasha put her hand up to her ear, looking away as she spoke.

"Fury, we have a hit."

My face blanched.

"That's not possible," I blurted. "He took a swipe that gashed open his whole chest. I remember exactly what the wound looked like. No one could have survived that. He's dead. D-E-A-D. Right?"

But by then, Natasha was halfway out the door. But she paused to say three words to me.

"Bagel. Peanut butter."

And then she was off. Well, I lost that bet.