A/N: This idea came to be after watching the Hulk with my cousin and creating a whole next generation of Avengers, plus a comic vs. movie debate…this is like my 30th avengers fic I've tried to write. This is also the longest ting I've ever written… should I do more of these character background stories? Anyone want to request a one-shot?

Disclaimer: I don't own the avengers. Don't ask again unless you want me to go all Hulk on you. Seriously, I got upset in school and literally terrified my friends by turning really red and clenching my fists so hard they were white and purple for like two days….

Title: Red ledger

Summary: you might start with a clean ledger, but everyone ends up with at least one haunting ghost, one drop of red. Yours just happened to drip all over. You can hide and counter-act the red, but you can't erase it. Your ledger is still red and you still leave bloody fingerprints on the history books, even if no know one knows it's you.

She wasn't always this way. Cold, distant and riddled in scars. Untrusting, trained and ledger dripping red with ghosts lurking in the shadows of her nightmares. She was once a little girl, Natasha Romanov. Innocent and sweet with a penchant for stirring up trouble to satisfy her curiosity. Carefree and unknowing. Yes, she had natural skills. Eavesdropping and a love of secrets. Adrenalin and pushing boundaries a past time. She adored gymnastics. Age six and it all ends with her first drop of red on her ledger. Long time coming they say. A girl of her talent to be wasted on the backstreets of Russia. She doesn't remember much. Red flashing lights. Alarms and sirens and panicked screams. Smoke in the air and a blade in her hand. A flash of silver of someone she never knew, a little girl of three, and the first drops there. Nothing more. Next thing she knows for sure is she's being dragged in a van with a bag of her things along with a few others, all female, with the words "all the others, your families, are dead" ringing in her head.

The next morning, she's screaming in her head with tears streaming down her face as it sinks in and she knows it's not just a nightmare. The little girl's face still in her mind eating at her conscience. The blood stains her hands and she holds her self together physically to stop from figuratively falling to pieces. She's still in her old nightgown, streaked with mud, tears, and blood. She pulls a ribbon from her pocket and ties up her hair, something familiar to keep her from screaming. She looks around and sees some of the other girls from the apartment they had lived in. 13 girls, all streaked in blood with tears on their faces, covered in ash, soot and who knows what. They look at each other, all remembering horrible images and not daring to voice the question in all their minds, "where were they?" someone opens the door on the far side of the gray, prison cell room. Light floods in shocking their senses and they all hold their breaths, to see if this would be an angel to save them or a demon to doom them. Now illuminated she can see the words painted in red upon the wall, "Red room academy: Black Widow Project" and by the end of that day, she knows 12 of their number will die, one will survive. She hides her ribbon, even at six she knows killers do not give mercy for sentiment.

The nightmares do not stop after that night. They get worse with each drop of red added to her ledger. Reasoning, faults and guilt do not co-ensued with a conscience. It takes three years for her to learn not to trust. That she must hide her heart and act as though she has no soul or conscience. She does not learn to fight against the hands that mold her against her morals. She's nine when the first of their number is killed. The girl was unnamed in her mind, names give attachment they say. She is slain in front of her by the very ones who have been protecting her. They now know they will never be safe, they must fight back and watch the lines they cross. She is 11 the first time she is let outside, by now there are only 7 of their number left. Six dead, six left to die, one left to murder them. They call it a game, they are divided by age. Three of 14, two of 12, one of 11, one of 13. She is the youngest. She is alone. Not aiming to kill they say when they hand her a dagger, to survive and capture. By that night there is only 5 left. One killed by her blade. Instinct and fear and a flash of silver. No more but another drop of red and ghost in her nightmares to show. But they smile and the others grow wary and they are no longer a team, but enemies. She still questions the purpose.

She is 14 when they give her a mission. By then there is only three of them left. Names exchanged by now. Sophia, Katie and Natasha. Sophia dies that night, the night she told her who that little girl of three was, Sabrina, her sister. Her ledger is know dripping in her eyes. Seven dead by her hand. Katie is caught on her mission, but then so was Natasha. They were to kill each other. Next thing she knows, Katie is lying on the floor with her throat silt and eyes glassed over. This was the first time she killed while being mindful of doing so. She sinks to her knees, lying in the corner of the shadows. Staring at the puddle of blood, at the reflection of a girl who shows no remorse. She's dripping in blood again, for once she understands the meaning of a red ledger. That is when she decides to kill them. The ones that made her this monster. 14 and trying to wipe out the red of her ledger, by wiping out those with worse ones. Too late now right?

She's 16 when the red room is burned down, everyone inside dead after she learned all she needed to. Might as well go to hell thoroughly. They had taught her well. Perhaps too well. Ten years to the day they burned down her home and condemned her to this life was the day she took theirs. For once, she doesn't feel the red dripping over her ledger; she'd always been good at finding ways around the rules after all.

She's 17 when she gets sick and tired of running and hiding. She's done pretending to be a hero when she knows she's a monster. She ledger doesn't get any cleaner nor does her conscience get clearer. But she can't stop being a monster. Might as well be in her blood. She get stop the instincts and paranoia. Stop show her emotions or display her heart. She wonders if wiping out herself would clear her ledger. She's hiding in the shadows of a mafia cell, waiting for her last victim, when she sees him for the first time. He's 18 and up on the roof, silent and holding a bow and arrow. He doesn't see her. He hits her target and climbs down. She melts a bit deeper into the shadows. That's when a guy, about 25, comes around and threatens to arrest him. With the black suit, sunglasses and comm. Unit he could easily work for the FBI. Until he explains. She crawls along the shadows to eavesdrop, always been a talent. The guy works for the "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," kind of like a "men in black" deal she figured. The guy said he was "Agent Coulson" and the archer replied that he was "Hawkeye or Clint Barton," he was a contract killer, he only killed the bad guys. Maybe she wasn't the only one doing this. She didn't hear the rest of the conversation; she didn't want to make herself known. But she had hope now, maybe even a bit less guilt.

She didn't think she'd see him again, she's learned English now. Spanish, French, Germen and Latin too. She's in Budapest, 19 years old. Some government guy heard of her, told her to kill an American spy. She would do it, her ledger was already gushing, one more drop wouldn't severe her soul, not if it spared another from this curse. After all, her loyalty was to Russia, an American spy was a threat. She eliminated threats. She knew she was on the radar by now, might as well have someone backing her. She really doesn't know what happened or how, but one second she's got him locked with a location and she hides out at his hotel. She's got him at gunpoint and he doesn't see her and then he's calmly telling her he was sent to kill her. She was a rogue assassin. A cut wire. A liability to them. That's when he lets his hood fall as the elevator lets them out on the roof and she recognizes him, and the badge on his chest. He's got the bow notched but it's too close and he's shocked that she's not terrified yet. She's smirking and holds out her hand, surprising herself as well, and the words roll off her tongue before she even knows what she's doing, "Natasha, as I'm sure you know. Your agent Barton or Hawkeye as I hear you prefer." To his credit he shows no outward shock or emotion other them a quick blink and a twitch of his lips in what she thinks would have been an amused smile. He shakes her hand and calls truce. Neutral he calls it. Neither of us wins; neither of us dies. He has this glint in his eyes that makes her wary as he turns his back on her saying they will most likely meet soon, next time not at gunpoint. He jumps off the roof and she's left on the roof of the hotel, brow furrowed and finger on the trigger. She couldn't kill him. Couldn't because he wasn't a villain. He couldn't kill her either. Mercy and compassion are foreign to her; she'd been in this life for 13 years, unlucky 13. It's not until she's on a plane to Russia, half asleep that she realizes her hearts beating faster then ever and adrenalin is coursing through her veins.

A week later, she's on an edge. 72 hours without sleep, 36 with out food, 12 without water, and 13 bullets delivered straight into skulls in the last 7. She's wandering around those same old back streets she was born to for lack of any place to be. She does not know how she ended up there, or what compiled her to turn up they of all places. Where she got that first drop of red. The streets old and worn. Dirt and grime lies between the cracks. Ash from the fire so many years ago sweeps the hallowed ground. Scorch marks along the charred ground where the apartments once stood has her seeing red. From anger or blood she's not entirely sure. For the first time since that night so many years ago she pulls an old frayed pink ribbon from her pocket and wraps it round her hair. It feels as if it was strangling her as memories of smoke, flames, silver blades, little girls and so much red flood her senses momentarily. Then someone rests a hand on her shoulder and not two seconds later their pinned against the wall, held at gunpoint. It takes her all of ten seconds to recognize the face in front of her and 3 more to match a name to it. Her grip loosens as she recognizes Coulson but she does not lower her gun. To her confusion he just chuckles, twists from her grip and holds out his hand, "welcome to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

She's 21 the first time her and Clint go on a mission together. It's the first of many. They are partners from then on. It isn't until she's 23 that she trusts him completely. She knows him better then she knows herself after all.

She's 24 when she becomes one of "SHIELD's" most feared and respected agents. That's also when she becomes "Natalie Rushman" and has to keep an eye on Stark, her first mission without Clint, she may have gone overboard. Clint and Coulson were in New Mexico dealing with some crazy guy who claimed to be a god. By logic, New York City should not hold that many superheroes or nut-jobs. Stark, in her opinion, qualified for both.

She's 25 when she gets dragged into the whole Avengers Initiative with Clint. That's the year she learned that people, especially Loki, with "daddy issues" loved temper tantrums. Family seemed to be a touchy subject for them all. That was also the year Coulson died… it was the first time she cried since she was 14. It was when some of the red dried up on her ledger, like a scar. Marks still there, but no longer gushing blood. Doesn't hurt so much. She's 26 when she realizes she can trust the others. It's also he first time she's al to tell Clint "I love you" in so many words.

She's 27 when the Avengers had to come together again. When the last of the red dries up, all except for one drop. But everyone has ghosts. Unfounded guilt. Everyone has some red on his or her ledger. Sometimes you have to wipe it out.

She's 28 when Clint asks her to marry him and she says yes.

She's 29 when all the Avengers move in permanently to Avengers (formerly Stark) tower.

She's 30 when she has a son, Phil.

She's 30 when she finally gets her happy ever after.