Natasha told me to go away when I arrived on her doorstep. She said it was dangerous, to which I argued I could take care of myself, her response hurt. I wasn't prepared to face this strange new world. No one taught me how to do anything, because I had never been allowed to.
Dreykov didn't let us grocery shop, or teach us how to pay bills, buy a house, nothing anyone going into the world needed to know.
She gave me some money, promising that her employers would handle my housing situation until further notice. But that was all.
I was relocated to a small town in Montana. Population easily less than 400, things were quiet and even though I'd only been living there for three months, I knew everyone by name.
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The call came with great distress.
I knew almost none of the words Natasha was speaking. Her hurried English, a language I still struggled with even after years of lessons, was difficult to interpret through shaky inhales.
"Please," I rub my forehead anxiously, notepad with scribbled words lying on the table. "Slow down, all I heard was something about someone's clit being gone and a space army."
"𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵." She enunciates carefully. "Clint, is gone."
"Why do you need me?"
A small sigh, "You're powerful. I've seen the lab results in your file, we could use an active duty member like you. If you're ready to come out into more of the world."
"Natasha, I don't want to be another soldier for somebody." It's hard to understand what she's asking of me, I don't know much about her employer or what he does. Only that he's generous enough to help provide for me. "I can't."
"This is temporary. Fury is gathering a whole group of people like us, you know, 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 people." Nat's breathing has slowed. Though, I can still hear her heartbeat through the speaker.
My fingers twitch, different people? She goes on without a pause. "Will it hurt just to visit? See what it's all about?"
"What do you mean by 'different people'?"
"Tony, the guy who was a part of my old cover, you remember him, he's one of the people. Different people doesn't mean just people with powers, like you. Stark is very smart, and made a super suit to help him protect people."
She's dumbing it down for me. I can tell.
"I'm in the group because of my skill set. You piqued everyone's curiosity and they are very interested, if you accept, to see what you're capable of." There's a soft thud, she's set the phone down and put me on speaker. Presumably to read from our files. "Some of the other recruits are less likely to agree, but we want to try."
I toss all this over in my mind. "Can you send the files with me so I can read them on my flight over?" Booting up the computer in the living room, I open the website to see my airline options. "I like a little light reading."
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Light reading didn't begin to cover it.
Those documents were extensive, each diving deep into every known and even unknown aspect of our lives. My own federal crimes were listed over the course of four pages, in tiny font. International transgressions were a whole separate folder. It was slightly awkward to read as I sat next to a mother and her nosy child on the plane who kept asking me questions.
Thankfully, my government name has a clean record. Only the several aliases I've earned overtime, such as Red Widow, The Reaper, and Демон. Or, in English, Demon. Were charged, even though they'd never find me.
But Y/n Varvara Ivanov has a shiny American Citizenship. No offenses.
Not so much as a speeding ticket.
So flying went without a hitch, security didn't pat me down or anything. I consider that a win.
When I came to Natasha's file, I put it back beneath the rest.
There's no need to see her life in writing when I saw it play out before my eyes.
I did find the other recruits quite intriguing however, especially the Asguardian God of Thunder. His brother, Loki, God of Mischief, was the threat to our world. Him and his alien armada.
Despite being brothers, the two seem very different.
Thor is listed as hero to a small town in Mexico and a "valuable asset" to S.H.I.E.L.D. Meanwhile Loki has been stamped in red ink. "Dangerous, Do Not Engage," slapped across his innocent looking face.
My picture has the very same seal, though. I have no room for judgment.
Nothing was personal, now that I technically worked for these people the stamp should be removed. Yet I remained an international threat with a skill set, and new abilities, too dangerous to be labeled as "non threatening."
Natasha told me that since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., tabs had been kept on the Red Room and its projects. Many Widows, and former Widows, had enough data on them to fill up multiple cabinets. That doesn't take into account the information strictly online.
Background on me alone occupied two full filing cabinets, bleeding into a third. Meaning my folder took hours to get through. One, because it was larger than all the others. Two, because I was still struggling to face the reality of the heinous atrocities I'd committed.
"о боже," I mutter to myself, flicking past several pages of known crimes as my eyes start to burn.
Stupidly, I drifted off to sleep, waking up to find Tony Stark's manila folder in the tiny hands of the young girl, her mother busy chatting with the Stewardess.
Politely clearing my throat, I ask gently, "excuse me? May I have that back please?"
"Sure. I can't read it, I just thought the pictures were pretty." She hands it back without a word, kicking her feet happily with an unbothered expression.
The "pretty pictures" were images of explosions going off. Shells that Stark created when he was in the weapons scene.
Acid churns in my stomach.