AN: Dedicated to @Arcticfury001 for leaving wonderful comments and votes!

"What are you doing, Nat?"

His voice cut into Natasha's thoughts, causing her to miss a beat in her step. She trained her jade eyes forward, not daring to look anywhere else. Ignoring him was the best choice in order to keep her sanity in check. Natasha shoved her hands into her dark coat pockets, feeling the cold chill of the night brush up her sleeves. Her black wig's locks flowed behind her, leaving her ears unprotected from the nippy air.

The streets lacked an abundance of people, even if it was only two in the morning. Soft music from bars and nightclubs drifted through the silence of the night. The stars twinkled above, putting on a show for the moon as they always had. Dogs barked in the distance, while small animals scurried around in alleyways. Street lamps dimly lit the small aged street. Has it really been that long since I've been here in...? Nat paused her thought immediately. Her brow furrowed as her green eyes narrowed in confusion.

What city was she in? How long had she been on this hunt? What day was it? Year? When was the last time she talked to her friends?

Questions piled higher; yet, she had no answers. Natasha's eyes flickered to a colorful advertisement for beer. Romanian. That's right. I'm here fo-

"Hello? Earth to Nat?" A figure stepped in front of her.

Clint Barton.

It was like he was ripped straight from the photo on her main cell phone. Blond, bright blue eyed, and bushy tailed Clint from when they first met stood in front of her. No wounds, no dead gaze, no stench of death...She wished he was the real deal.

But Clint was dead.

"Not here..." she managed to whisper softly without having her voice break. Natasha sucked in a breath and averted her eyes down to the sidewalk. She side-stepped around him, even if he was a figment of her imagination. Catching a glimpse of him shoved a knife through her heart, cracking it as if it were made of glass.

Yet, she felt no pain.

"You can't ignore me forever!"

He was wrong.

One day, he wouldn't be there anymore. Could be months from now. Years. Maybe when she's old, he'll finally be out of her guilty mind. Until then, she had to use all of her power to bear with it.

Natasha turned the corner and calmly walked to her small flat. It wasn't home, but...it was something. She played with the small burner phone in her hand, contemplating if she should check up on Steve, or Tony. From what she had seen on TV, Tony worked with Pepper more in the company. Steve, besides his daily runs, didn't get out much. At least, the paparazzi and other civilians didn't see him. Remembering how bad he got after Peggy died crossed her mind, and only made her clutch the phone more.

A chill ran down her back as she felt someone's presence behind her. Footsteps couldn't be heard, but the energy emanating off of them sparked her internal alarm system. A deep breath released from her lungs as she kept her head steady. Could be a coincidence that someone is walking out on the street. Could be bad.

Natasha took another turn into a nearby restaurant. Without paying attention to the greeter and the host, she shoved passed towards the bathrooms. When she was out of sight, a quick walk through the kitchen brought her to the back exit. The heavy green door shut behind her with a clunk.

The night air greeted her face once more, and the silence it brought soothed her. She hopped over the fence and trailed passed a few buildings before she stopped once more. If the guy was following her, now would be the time to strike. Nat listened in for a moment, searching for the sounds of shallow breaths. They were the next best thing if she couldn't hear footsteps. Murdock taught her that much way back when.

Left.

The man whipped around the corner, pointing his gun right at Natasha's face. Before he could pull the trigger, she yanked his arm to position it beneath hers. Bang. The bullet hit the ground. Natasha shoved her knee into his abdomen. The gun stayed firm in the man's hand until Nat twisted his arm. It fell to the ground, going off once more.

"He has a knife!" Clint called out from the sidelines.

The man swung with his other hand, barely grazing Natasha's jacket. She jumped backwards; her leg jutted out as she ducked down in a quick move and swung underneath his. He fell, but quickly caught himself. Natasha kicked him.

One of the man's ribs cracked, causing him to cry out. He yanked Nat's foot from right underneath her. She fell alongside him, watching out for the knife. The stranger came at her rapidly, so she pushed him back and sent a kick right to his face.

"Knife!" Clint yelled.

The knife scratched against Natasha's pants, cutting right through them and into her leg. She yelped, but bit it back and kept pushing. The man kicked her backwards, just in time for him to reach for the fallen gun.

Natasha rolled to the side and ducked down behind a dumpster. Bullets rang off into the night, yet didn't hit her once. Indents formed on the dumpster's side, and the crushed bullets clinked onto the floor. Nat listened as the man got closer. Timing it perfectly, she used all of her strength to push the dumpster into the man, knocking him down.

The Black Widow slammed her foot down onto the man's hand. He immediately released the gun as a shrill cry left his lips. With her next move, she shoved her shoe right into the man's face, rendering him unconscious. Natasha exhaled, putting her hands on her hips for a second to breathe.

"That was close."

She ignored Clint and picked up the man's weapons. When this man woke up, he'd want to be anywhere else than with her.

"You deserve a much better life than this, Nat."

It was as if he were reading her thoughts. Then again, he was a figment of her imagination. "And what if I don't?" Natasha finally turned to him, yearning to lock eyes with the man she had fallen in love with. The man that had once brought her back to sanity disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the body next to her.

Natasha slowly walked through the hallway, one agonizing step at a time. Her black heels clicked against the cold, cement ground. Mold clung to the corners of the copper-toned stone walls as water dripped from the ceiling. Mice scurried along the floor, but took one look at her and sped away in the other direction. Nat's green eyes focused on nothing in particular, staring blankly at the empty hall. Her voice echoed as she sang calmly in Russian. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout."

Click.

Click.

Click.

Natasha pushed her wig's black hair behind her ear. Her hands smoothed out the crinkles in her crimson dress, tracing along her curves. Her lips twitched slightly at the words clawing its way out of her throat, "Down came the rain and washed the spider out." She flinched at the memory of Clint's death and her blood boiled within her. She grazed her finger on an old wooden table stocked full of weapons. She searched them over with one quick sweep and gracefully picked one up.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"Out came the sun and dried up all the rain..." Nat ran her hands over the small blade. A sharp, ridged, shark toothed edge nipped at her fingers. The cold metal sent a chill through her body on contact. Her heart beat faster as adrenaline danced through her system like an addicting drug.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She stopped in front of a brown door. "And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again." Natasha had hit rock bottom, but she wouldn't let one death take her down. She climbed out of her rut of depression and became death itself. The Black Widow was back and eager to live up to her namesake.

Game time ends now.

She opened the door and the loud creaking scratched against her ear drums. Her eyes flickered to the big man tied to the chair in the middle of the room. Demidov Fyodorovich worked as a security guard at an underground mutant's club. She knew that much by seeing the badge in his pocket. The firearm he carried took two seconds to dismantle.

Without a doubt, Omega Red or Saturna sent him.

Natasha believed in one thing in this moment. Justice for the loss of her loved one. Steve would argue that murder wasn't justice. Go to some lousy court, get sentenced, and put in jail was the 'right' thing. That's what Steve, and even Matt Murdock, doesn't understand. The villains never stay in jail. Saturna would get free, and then she'd be terrorizing people once more. In Nat's mind, you deserve whatever you made someone else go through.

Demidov's dark eyes looked up at her with disinterest. He refrained from moving much, and his expression didn't change from its blank state. Maybe he knew what it was like to be interrogated. Maybe he didn't know what he got himself into.

"If you're a security guard for the Hellfire club, what on Earth are you doing trailing me down?"

A thought intruded on Natasha's mind. I do not answer to dead people.

"Big talk for someone who's in a tight spot." She tilted her head as she watched his every move. A flicker of the eyes. The corners of his lips as they jumped upwards into a sly smile. She read him like a book. Demidov thought he had the upper hand. Thought he could get out simply by psyching her out and using her own thoughts against her. The last person who tried that ended up in an Asgardian prison. "Where are the people that hired you?"

No answer. This guy was either smart, or really underestimated her. Natasha punched Demidov incredibly hard in the jaw, causing his face to jerk to the left. "Where are they?" Natasha kept herself composed, her words threatening to inch towards increasing her current volume.

The man spit some warm blood onto the ground near Natasha's feet. He grimaced, pain jolting up into his jaw from his loose molars. "I do not know who you talk about." A small, crooked smile formed on his lips as his eyes darted away.

"Bullshit," she retaliated; her knuckles ached already. She yearned to punch him again in his goddamn face for spouting out such a lie. It was written all over his expression. "You're sloppy. Omega Red is a fool." She pushed the blade against his cheek, sliding it down with pressure. Blood emerged from underneath his skin along the trail all the way down to his jaw.

He winced, but didn't move a muscle. "You do not know the mess you are in, little American."

Natasha bit back her snarky replies and leaned in closer to him, her face near inches from his. Her lips curled upwards as she stared into the eyes of a dead man. In Russian, words fell off of her tongue with ease, "You don't know who you're messing with. Choose your actions wisely."

Reading her thoughts only made things worse. The man's dark eyes widened, fear glistening in them against the dim light. "Are you....?" He stopped abruptly. Saying the name was a threat to oneself. Imagine saying Bloody Mary three times and having her kill you, but infinitely worse. The woman standing in front of him was a ghost. A myth. The real Black Widow had been dead for so long. The Avengers poisoned her. Now, she was back and taking actions into her own hands.

She pulled her wig off, releasing her red curls to flow against her shoulders. Natasha tossed the wig aside and nearly laughed at the fearful man. "The Black Widow? Go ahead. Say it. It's not going to change your chances of survival."

"I'm a dead man," he muttered lowly. He peered at the ground, gently rocking himself back and forth. No God, mutant, or human could help him now. All that was left was the agonizing wait. "Kill me. Spare me the torture."

Natasha eyed the weapon in her hand, and allowed her eyes to flicker back to the man. "Now where's the fun in that?" She shoved the blade into his right leg, causing him to cry out. Her hand held firm onto the handle, twisting it a bit in the muscle. "Get to talking. Your other leg is next."