Natasha Romanoff One Shots

A Second Chance To Make Things Right

She walked down the narrow path, staying in the shadows. Her red hair made her stand out, even though it was half covered by a black hood. The streetlights flickered around her, never landing exactly on her. Once or twice, she was caught from the darkness, the shadow of her body visible before it disappeared so fast you'd had thought you had imagined it, a trick of the light, not seeing her pressed against the brick wall, waiting for the peering eyes to leave before she continued her secret walking. Every so often she would stop, spinning round as if she was being attacked, looking carefully around her, as if checking to see if anyone was following her.

Eventually she reached her destination; an old, broken down shack, barely supportable, yet still standing. The brown paint was peeling, the windows cracked and dusty and the walls full of termites. She glanced around once more, scrutinising everything she saw. Apparently satisfied that she was alone, she opened the door, cursing in a different language as it creaked loudly, revealing her position to possible threats. Shutting the door, she stood, waiting with her gun in her hands. She knew what was going to happen, she knew before he did.

The door blew open and a man wearing purple and holding a bow stood there, dust raining down on him. She didn't wait and nor did he. She pulled the trigger, he released an arrow and they were both rolling away. Their shots fired into the night, not deafening but loud enough to leave ringing sounds in their ears.

She stood first, pulling the trigger again, aimed at his back, not meant to kill, but to paralyse. Nothing happened, other than a loud banging sound. She swore under her breath as she checked the chamber, finding it empty. He was already on his feet, smirking at her.

"Out of ammo, sweetheart?" He smiled. "Too bad. You could've killed me."

"Shame I didn't," she hissed, furious for wasting her last bullet like that. She ducked, an arrow flying over her head, exploding the wall behind her. "You just had to ruin my last safe house." She sounded angry, she knew she did, but he didn't seem fazed.

His bow wouldn't be much help to him, not in close quarters, but that didn't deter him. He shot arrow after arrow, some exploding, some knock outs, some with rubber gloves on the ends (she glared at him after that one was fired) and some even with poison dripping from the end. The twanging sound of a bow being drawn and released filled the air.

She pulled a knife from the sole of her sneaker and he stopped as it reached his neck. She scowled as he smiled smugly again, not at all worried that she could end his life with one swipe of her knife. The blade gleamed, a tiny droplet of his blood the only imperfection.

"You won't kill me, sweetheart. You'll want to know why I'm here, what my organization has against you. I've got to much info for you to kill me," he said.

She scowled at him. "Don't call me that. And I know why you're here, Mr. I've-killed-too-many-people-to-go-unnoticed. I've got too much information that you need to know but don't to go left alone."

"Ah, but you'll be much more agreeable telling me, rather than anyone else, anyway," he said, sounding certain.

"What makes you say that?" She knew what he was going to say, but she asked anyway.

"Because you're out here, not at all well armed and you're base is in Russia, not Germany. And you know, being a highly trained thinker, one tends to notice these things." He smirked at her. "I'd say you've run away."

She snorted. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

"Would I?" He asked.

She didn't answer, instead focusing on assessing his weakness's and his strength. He didn't seem very good at hand to hand combat, but she could be wrong, however unlikely. Her trainers had taught her to never be wrong and this was no different. She ducked, swinging her leg up towards his head. He caught it just before she kicked his nose, effectively breaking it. He swore but didn't pause fighting.