A/N: My sister wanted me to write stories for all of the Avengers like my story, 'My name is Loki Laufeyson'. I obliged, of course. This is what came out of that. 'My name is Loki Laufeyson' is to be considered the prequel to this story. I didn't feel like taking it off and making it into the first chapter of this one, though.

Natasha is my sister's favorite character, so she'll be first. Technically second, because Loki came first, but whatever. She's the first new one. ^_^

Please note that I don't know anything about Natasha or Clint. Not anything of interest, at least. I have this based off of Avengers and nothing else. I only know her from this. I don't read the comics or anything like that. This is how I imagine Natasha in my mind. My mind is a scary place.

'They' is capitalized because this is the name that Natasha has given to the people who adopted/took her in. It wasn't nice.

Disclaimer: This will cover every chapter of this story. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS.

IN THIS CHAPTER: None very bad for this chapter. Natasha is dealing with depression, but she doesn't take it to the level that Loki did in his 'chapter'. She relies on medication rather than suicide.

My name is Natasha Romanoff

My name is Natasha Romanoff. My parents left me at an orphanage. I don't know where they are or what they're doing now. I only know that they didn't want me, and they left me behind. When They came and got me, I was terrified. Completely terrified. I didn't know who They were. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. You'd be scared, too, if you had seen Them.

I grew up in a horrible place. I was trained to be an assassin. But it wasn't really training. It was more like torture. They didn't care if it hurt. They liked it that way. The more it hurt, the more pain we would be able to sustain later. If we were hurt, we would be more prepared for later. When the 'real' pain would come. That's what They called it. They said that the pain we had to go through as young girls was nothing compared to the pain that we would feel when we were grown and out on the field. I trained as hard as I could, but it wasn't enough. They hit harder and harder. I can still feel the pain if I close my eyes. It hurts just as badly now as it did then.

It took years of training before They deemed me good enough to go out on a mission. That was the scariest thing I'd ever done. I killed several people. This was something I was used to, but I had never killed any innocent people before. All the people I had ever killed before that had been captives. People who had done terrible things. People who had killed other people. They deserved to be killed. The innocent people I killed on my first mission never did any of that. They had never hurt anyone. And I killed them. Ruthlessly. Without second thought. I killed them.

Years later, I was on another mission. There was no way that anyone could have expected what happened. I was just about to shoot when he spoke. The famous Hawk. He spoke to me. I had my pistol trained on his head and he spoke. His voice was soft and tender. When I dropped my gun he moved closer to me. When he saw my tears, he pulled me into his arms. I had never felt kindness before then. He was the first person to hold me close. He was the first person to speak to me in a kind voice. He got in trouble for it, but he brought me back instead of killing me like he was instructed to do.

Fury was most definitely not pleased. He had sent Agent Barton to kill me, not bring me back like some kitten he found on the side of the street. He had expected a report on how well the mission went. He trusted Agent Barton. Because the Hawk brought me back, that trust disappeared. It is my fault that the trust went away. It's because he saved me that Clint was nearly laid off. By laid off I mean that he was almost killed. You see, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't just fire it's employees. Not the ones like Clint and myself. When we are no longer of use, we are killed. We know too much. We are too powerful. If Agent Coulson hadn't been there for Clint, we would have both been laid off.

Phil was like my first father. He took care of me and helped me to get used to my new life. He settled me into life at S.H.I.E.L.D. and gave me a room close to his own. He was everything anyone could want in a father figure. I'm glad that he was there for me. For us. Later, Clint told me that Phil had done the same thing for him when Hawkeye had first come to S.H.I.E.L.D. That just increased my respect and admiration for Phil. It has continued to grow.

On my first mission for S.H.I.E.L.D., I insisted that Clint come with me. Fury agreed after a bit of persuasion. Phil was in my ear the whole time, reassuring me. He gave me guidance and advice. I miss him sometimes. I really do. He's still around, but he isn't as close as he used to be. He has the new agents to train and take care of. When we see each other in the coffee room, he smiles and nods, but his attention is always pulled away too quickly for my liking. I miss the old Phil.

When Loki came, I was filled with hatred. I was scared, but I would never admit it to anyone. I didn't have to admit it to Clint, though. He already knew. I could see it on his face. He was fighting the invasion on his mind. Loki had gotten to him first. Before I could. Loki took over Clint's mind before I even had a chance to help him. I hated Loki then. He's changed. He's a different person than we all thought he was, but I hated him then. That will always be my first thought toward him. Hatred. Nothing can change that. He hurt Clint, and when someone hurts Clint, they hurt me.

When Fury told me that Phil was dead, my heart stopped. It didn't just slow down, it stopped. The medical team had to take me in to the hospital wing. It didn't take me very long to recover. At least, that's what people thought. I recovered quickly on the outside, but in reality, I was still broken inside. Shattered. When I found out that it was Loki who had killed Phil, my blood boiled in my veins. I was filled with the need for vengeance. It wasn't fair that Phil had to die. Not that way. He should have died of old age, wallowing in the retirement of his life of work and living in a nice house. He should have died happy. Not in the steely hardness of the helicarrier. No one deserves that kind of death.

Clint was there to hold me when I was crying during the weeks after Phil's death. He came in silently at night and he would slip into bed behind me. He would just hold me those nights when my body shook with sobs. Rumors spread through S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury was forced to tell us that we were being too risky. He knew that we were close, but he felt that we shouldn't be so romantically involved. I still remember the look on Clint's face when he figured out what Fury thought was going on. We were able to assure Fury that nothing else was happening at night. The rumors continued to spread, but we know they aren't true, so we're okay. Let them think what they will. We know the truth. I don't know what I would have done without him to hold be all those long nights. I can only be grateful that I won't have to find out.

I'm standing here, in my bathroom, holding a bottle. I take the last pill in the bottle and wash it down with water. I shouldn't have taken so many. Now I'm out. S.H.I.E.L.D. only allows us to have so many of them. If we dull our senses too much, then we aren't able to fight properly. We have to be completely aware. We can't just dope ourselves up and curl around ourselves. We have to be alert. I've already gotten a few warnings. Fury goes easy on me, because he knows that I had it worse than most of the other agents. He even gave me more pills than the others ever get. I almost have three times the normal dosage. Sometimes I take too many and just numb everything. That's what I did last week. I took seven. For one night, I took seven of these pills. They're already extra strength. We're only supposed to take three a week. Any more is wasteful and unnecessary. I guess I'm wasteful.

I toss the bottle into the waste bin and walk to my bed. I try not to think of how hard the rest of the month will be. Fury won't give me more. I'll have to deal with these feelings. The feelings of self-hate. The loathing feeling I have toward myself. The guilt. The disappointment. The regret. I will have to deal with these all month, because I have already used all of my allowed depression medication. I know I won't be able to work as well as usual. My mind won't be as clear. I'll be more tired. I can never sleep without the little circles of peace. My mind is too busy. Too busy to sleep, at least.

I jump as a knock sounds at the door. I turn my head instinctively. Clint comes in without waiting for permission. He is holding something behind his back. I have no idea what he could be bringing. He has never come with anything before. He just slips in silently and is gone in the morning. But now he is acting very differently. He moves over to me. He brings one hand forward and places it on my shoulder. His eyes ask all the questions that his voice does not. When I see all of the questions, I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Clint's eyes soften even more. He brings out what it was that he was hiding. A bottle. I'm confused at first. Why is Clint holding a bottle? Then I recognize the bottle. It's the same as the one I just threw away.

Why is Clint holding out his medication to me? When it hits me, I feel my heart cave in. I lean against him, sobbing. Clint lets the bottle fall out of his hand. I can hear the pills bounce around inside of it. He hasn't taken very many, if any at all. He almost never does. He has a huge storage in his room. He says it's for him, but I know now that they're for me. He knows that I take mine too quickly. And he is willing to share his release with me.

Clint tightens his arms around me. His embrace offers more comfort than those stupid pills ever will. He alone can make me happier than taking a year's worth of pills in one day. I can hear him whisper something. I can't make out the words, though, past my own sobs. When I ask him to repeat, I can hear him clearly.

"I love you."

My name is Natasha Romanoff, and I am loved.

A/N: I apologize for making the intro a/n so long. I just had to let you all know what was going on.

What do you think of this chapter? Was it good? Bad? Wonderful? Awful? Please let me know!

Who should be next?

UPDATE INFO: I will probably update this whenever I get ideas. I won't have a set day of the week like I did with Loki's Little Angels. If you have one that you want to see done, send it to me in a PM if you have an account. If you don't (or you're too lazy to login) just post it in a review. I'll respond to both.