What Happened In Budapest *unedited*

Chapter 1: The Widow

The nickname S.H.I.E.L.D gave me is absolutely ridiculous. I have never been married and none of my ‘husbands’ have died, unless you count the numerous  dummies I have murdered in training. Which I don’t. I never have.

But my skills earned me my name, and not just my skills, my looks as well. A shock of wavy red hair, a black uniform, and skills that could kill a man with a single stabbing motion. Maybe I am a black widow, but in the sense of killing.

Murder isn’t the right word, but that’s what the rest of the agents say- they say I’m a murderer, a killer without emotion, I kill to gain something for myself.

Even though I think greed is an emotion.

It’s not, is it?

It’s a sin, though. And I do not kill out of greed, I kill because it’s what Fury tells me to do, and I trust his judgment better than anyone else’s. Mostly because he’s in charge of this place, and partly because when another agent failed her mission, everything, everything, went wrong. And I don’t want to be repeating the mistakes of others.

 

I lay flat on the bed of the room I had been assigned to in the aircraft almost two and a half years ago. I was throwing whatever was in reach- pillows, blankets, my guns- against the wall. Over and over again, first an oomph, than a swish, and lastly a heavy, heavy thunk. I dit it again and again and again, ignoring the knocks on my door. It wasn’t until I heard someone jimmy open the lock did I actually bother to lift my head to acknowledge the person on the other side.

I grunted. “It’s you.”

The agent grunted back, parroting me. “Fury wants us the the training room. Now. Actually, he asked me to talk to you thirty- five minutes ago, but you seemed very into throwing things against the wall. “

The agent walked in and picked up my guns. “Oh, yes.Natasha Romanoff is throwing loaded guns against the wall.” He cracked a grin. “Trying to play Russian Roulette with just yourself? There are easier ways to commit suicide.”

I sat up and snatched the gun he held in his hands. “Agent Barton,” I said, pointing the gun at his head. “I ask you to leave.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t point that at me.”

“Leave.”

“No. I have orders from Fur-”

“I DON’T CARE!” I hollered. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

“Oh, how I wish he’d sent someone else.” He muttered and backed away, inching towards the door. “I’m leaving. But if you get in trouble, don’t point that damn thing at me.”

He shut the door behind him. I was angry at him, he shouldn’t have barged in like that- the nerve of that man! I may have been ignoring the knocks, but that gave him no excuse to just barge in, especially since the door was locked.

Someone pounded on the door and then called “You coming?”

I threw the gun at the door as hard as I could, forgetting I had cocked it. The force of it slamming against the surface made the gun go off, the bullet aimed right at my face.

With my energy being taken up by anger, I almost forgot to duck. The bullet flew right over my head and sank right into the wall behind me, deeply embedding itself.

“Hey, Spider, you okay?”

I got up and strode to the door. “Fine.”

“Fine what?” He asked. “Fine you’re okay, or fine-”