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7 years ago
Emily learned a long time ago that emotions and feelings were useless and could compromise every mission, that’s why she never dared to care about anyone. Sometimes, she remembered the warmth of her English family—how safe she’d once felt before being ripped away and thrown into the harsh, cold training of the Red Room. There, kindness was punished and compassion was erased, all to shape her into the perfect KGB assassin. A Black Widow.
She grew up in a false family with Alexei Shostakov and Melina Vostokoff as her 'parents' and Yelena Belova as her younger 'sister', also trained to be an assassin.
It wasn’t until Clint Barton entered her life that Emily felt the urge to protect someone else as if they were truly her family.
Their paths crossed when Clint, Hawkeye, was sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. to eliminate her, but instead, he made a different choice—he spared her life, and with Nick Fury’s approval, offered her a place in S.H.I.E.L.D. For the first time in years, Emily found herself part of something that felt like family again. Clint’s children even called her Aunt Emily. She found herself grateful, in ways she hadn’t expected, to have Clint as her best friend.
Emily realized that S.H.I.E.L.D. had other widows, saved from The Red Room: Natalie Rushman, known as Brown Widow; Antonia Draykov, known as Taskmaster; Natasha Romanova with the code name Red Widow; and then her sister, Yelena Belova, who chose the codename White Widow.
Just as Emily was starting to feel at home within S.H.I.E.L.D., the organization began to shift around her. Rumors of changes at the top trickled down the ranks, names and titles she barely registered between missions. It wasn’t until Nick Fury himself called her into his office that she realized something significant was happening.
“Widow, come with me” Fury said, leading her down the corridors she knew by heart. “As the leader of the Widow Force, you’ll be the first to meet the new Deputy Director; she’ll be my second in command.” They stopped outside a sleek office, new nameplate gleaming on the door. ‘Deputy Director Sachs’
Fury knocked, then stepped inside. “Sachs, this is Emily. She’ll be working closely with us moving forward. Emily, meet Andrea Sachs—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new Deputy Director.”
Andrea looked up, her gaze steady and curious. As she stood to shake Emily’s hand, something in the way Emily held herself—a quiet strength, a hint of vulnerability—caught Andrea off guard.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Emily. I look forward to seeing what we can accomplish together.” Andrea said, her voice warm and sincere.
And in that moment, Emily knew she was in trouble (more like her heart was)—the kind that didn’t end with a clean extraction or a debrief. The kind that made her realize, with a sudden clarity, she was completely and utterly fucked.
She forced herself to look away, masking her reaction behind the usual cool detachment. Emotions were dangerous, she reminded herself, especially ones that made her pulse race for reasons entirely unrelated to survival. Andrea, oblivious of Emily’s reaction, pulled a folder from her desk and started to explain the new mission. Her voice was steady and professional, but Emily didn’t hear a single word; she was too focused on Andrea’s perfect hair and face.
What snapped her back to reality was Fury’s words. “All clear, Widow?”
“Clear.” she replied coldly, as usual.
Fury gave her a curt nod. “Good. I need to contact Captain Marvel. I’ll be off planet for at least two months. So if you have any further questions, Director Sachs is available.”
Emily nodded, stealing one last glance at Andrea before turning on her heel. As Emily turned to leave, Andrea’s voice cut through the room.
“Agent Charlton, wait.”
Emily stopped, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral as Andrea reached into her pocket and handed her a small slip of paper.
“For any updates, feel free to text me,” Andrea said, her tone just a shade softer than before. “It’s my private number.”
Emily took the paper, her fingers brushing briefly against Andrea’s. “Understood,” she managed, tucking the number away with the same care she reserved for state secrets.
Emily went back to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The strange feeling that settled in her chest as she saw Director Sachs didn’t go away; it was there, persistent. She didn’t know how to name it; maybe she didn’t want to name it. The Red Room had left permanent scars on her mind. Learning not to show, or even feel, a single emotion was basic training. The hysterectomy helped achieve this goal. But now, discovering she was still capable of feeling something—anything—felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. Wrong in a way that, for most people, would probably seem perfectly normal.
She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them as if she could will the sensation away. It was easier to face gunfire than to face whatever this was. Emily let out a shaky breath and opened her eyes to the darkened room. Her phone buzzed and she knew exactly who it was. Clint.
charlton
where are you?
we’re about to have dinner.
room 408.
skipping dinner, little arrow.
After only ten minutes, a knock echoed through her room. Emily lay sprawled on her bed, unmoving, willing whoever it was to go away. The knock came again, louder this time.
“Widow, open up.”
Clint’s voice cut through the haze in her mind. Emily stared at the ceiling for a moment longer before dragging herself upright and crossing the room. She opened the door to find Clint leaning casually against the frame, concern flickering in his eyes.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You gonna let me in, or are you gonna make me stand out here all night?”
She wordlessly gestured for Clint to come in, then followed him inside. Without a word, she returned to her bed and lay back down, staring at the ceiling as if he wasn’t even there.
Clint closed the door behind him and took a seat in the worn armchair across from her, watching her in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke, gentle but direct. “You want to tell me what’s going on, or should I guess?”
Emily let out a quiet huff, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. “You can guess, but you’d probably be wrong,” she muttered, her voice flat but tired. After a beat, she added, “It’s nothing. Just… a long day.”
Clint shrugged, unfazed by her evasiveness. “Yeah, well, I brought dinner either way,” he said, holding up a takeout bag as proof. “Figured you’d be hungry—or at least need an excuse to stop brooding for five minutes.” He set the bag down on the nightstand.
Emily sighed, finally tearing her gaze away from the ceiling to look at him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Clint. There’s this pain in my chest—maybe it’s in my heart. It won’t go away.”
Clint grinned, leaning back in the chair. “So, what’s it gonna be, Em? Cardiac arrest, or are you finally experiencing something the rest of us call love?”
Emily shot him a look and replied, almost reflexively, “Oh, it’s not love—I only met her today—” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. As soon as she heard herself, her mouth snapped shut, realization dawning in her eyes.
Clint’s grin widened. “Oh hooo, so it’s a girl”
Emily shot him a glare, grabbing a pillow and tossing it in his direction. “Shut your mouth, Clint.”
She explained how their meeting had thrown her off balance in a way she hadn’t expected—how Andrea Sachs’ presence lingered with her long after the briefing ended. As she recounted the details, Emily tried to sound detached, but the effort was thin. Clint listened without interruption, his expression softening with understanding.
After the mission, Emily found herself in a conference room with the entire Avengers team. Director Sachs stood at the head of the table, her presence commanding the room.
“We need to function as one squad,” Andrea said, her tone leaving little room for argument. “Unified action means better results.”
Tony Stark leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Sure, but have you met us? We’re not exactly a one-size-fits-all operation.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, glancing at Steve. “He’s got a point. We all have our own ways of working.”
Steve nodded, calm but firm. “Coordination is important, but we can’t ignore what makes each of us effective. A single squad might slow us down.”
Andrea took in the back-and-forth, her gaze sweeping the room as she weighed the team’s dynamics. Without another word, she strode to the whiteboard at the front of the conference room and picked up a marker.
“Okay, then,” she said, her tone decisive. “We’ll keep things flexible. Three different squads, each tailored to specific mission needs.” She paused, looking at Emily, Natasha, Natalia, Antonia and Yelena in turn. “And every squad will have a Widow. That way, we get the best of both worlds—coordination and specialization.”
She paused for a moment, then turned to the whiteboard and began writing. “The first squad: Avengers. Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America; Bruce Banner, the Hulk; Tony Stark, Iron Man; Emily Charlton, Black Widow; Clint Barton, Hawkeye; and Thor Odinson.”
Andrea wrote each name in clear, careful letters, her tone steady as she continued, “This team will handle large-scale threats and situations requiring maximum force and visibility.” She glanced at the group, making sure each member was paying attention before moving on to the next squad.
Andrea moved to a new section of the whiteboard, her marker squeaking as she wrote the heading “Thunderbolts.”
“For the second squad: Thunderbolts. Yelena Belova, White Widow; Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier; Sam Wilson, Falcon; Kate Bishop, Lady Hawkeye; and Antonia Dreykov, Taskmaster.”
She underlined the team’s name and glanced around the room. “This squad will focus on covert operations, infiltration, and tactical support. Precision and adaptability are your strengths.”
Emily was stunned, caught off guard by Andrea’s decisiveness and clarity. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the Director, watching the way Andrea’s confidence filled the room. Clint, ever perceptive, shot her a knowing look from across the table, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Emily quickly looked down at her hands, hoping no one else had noticed just how distracted she’d become.
Andrea uncapped the marker again and wrote “X-Man” at the top of the final section.
“For the third squad: X-Men. Peter Parker, Spider-Man; Natalia Romanova, Brown Widow; Natasha Romanova, Red Widow; James Logan, Wolverine; Wade Wilson, Deadpool; and Raven Darkhölme, Mystique.”
She set the marker down, glancing over the list. “This squad will take on missions that call for unconventional approaches and enhanced abilities. Expect unpredictability, and be ready to improvise.”
Andrea glanced at the remaining names, then addressed the room with finality. “Captain Marvel and Doctor Strange have already assembled their own squads for universal and multiversal operations. They’ll be handling threats beyond our world and reality.”
She looked around at the assembled heroes, her gaze steady and full of resolve. “We expect the best from you all. Each of you was chosen for your unique strengths—trust your teams, trust yourselves, and remember why you fight.”
Andrea dismissed the teams, her tone brisk and efficient. The room erupted in low chatter as chairs scraped back and heroes filtered toward the exit. As soon as they crossed into the hallway, Clint wasted no time—he made a beeline for Emily, weaving through the crowd until he reached her side.
Clint leaned in, lowering his voice just enough for only Emily to hear. “You know, for someone trained to notice everything, you’re not very subtle.”
He shot her a teasing look. “If you stare any harder at the Director, you’ll burn a hole in her suit.”
“Clint, mind your business, or those arrows will be used against you.” Emily said while stealing an arrow.
Clint raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wider. “Easy, Widow. Just calling it as I see it.” He winked. “But for the record, I’m rooting for you.”
Emily retreated to her room, closing the door softly behind her. She sat on the edge of her bed, took the piece of paper from the nightstand with Andrea’s number, and stared at it, the neat handwriting somehow both official and impossibly personal.
Emily hesitated, thumb hovering over her phone’s screen. She could have asked anyone, but she wanted an excuse—a reason to reach out to Andrea. Finally, she typed:
Hi, Director Sachs.
It’s agent Charlton
Quick question
what are the squads for Doctor Strange and Captain Marvel?
The reply arrived almost instantly.
Hey Emily!
Strange assembled the Coven of Chaos—crazy name, I know.
There’s Agatha Harkness, Wanda Maximoff, Rio Vidal, and Clea.
Carol, instead, put together the Marvels:
Captain Monica Rambeau, Kamala Khan, Thena, and Sersi.
need anything else?
Emily quickly typed back
No, that’s all. Thanks, Director.
She was about to put her phone away when another message appeared.
Actually—if you’re free, do you want to grab coffee?
Emily stared at the screen, her heart thudding unexpectedly in her chest.
Present time
Everything changed after Emily agreed to coffee with Andrea. At first, it was just a casual meeting—neutral ground, a chance to discuss work outside the cold walls of headquarters. But that coffee turned into another, and then another. Soon, it became routine: Andrea waiting for her at the little café on the corner, always remembering how Emily took her coffee—black, one sugar, no nonsense. Emily found herself looking forward to those moments, the way Andrea listened, the way she asked questions that no one else bothered to ask. She started to notice Andrea’s laughter, the way her eyes softened when she talked about something she cared about. It was disarming and it was dangerous, and Emily loved the danger.
But Andrea made it harder and harder to keep her walls up. She remembered the smallest details, from Emily’s favorite book to the way she always needed to sit facing the door, so she was prepared just in case. Every two days, a new bouquet of flowers appeared in Emily’s room—sometimes sunflowers, sometimes wildflowers, once a single white lily with a note that simply read, “For luck.” Emily noticed and kept every note. Soon, it wasn’t just coffee. They walked together in the city after a mission, or simply after midnight. Andrea always told Emily a different piece of her life, exposing herself, as Emily did with her. They became inseparable; they did missions together, training when Emily needed to “let it out”. For the first time in years, Emily let herself believe she could have something good. And with Andrea, that strange, persistent feeling in her heart began to feel a lot like hope.
No longer than four years after their first encounter, Andrea managed to keep a secret, perhaps the first secret ever, from Emily—a proposal ring tucked safely in the first drawer of her desk. Emily, though, was keeping the same secret, a ring hidden in her own suit, turning it over in her pocket whenever she thought of Andrea.
It was after a heavy mission in Wakanda that they both reached for their pockets at the same time. Andrea produced her ring; Emily did too, and the rest of the team—watching from a distance—burst into applause and cheers. They got married soon after, everything highly organized by Yelena and Peter, since, as Yelena said, this was a matter of “big potato stuff”.
After almost ten years of marriage, Andrea still hadn’t found a foolproof way to keep Emily from running into danger. Andrea knew that danger was woven into Emily’s DNA—an instinct as natural to her as breathing. The world needed the Black Widow, so Emily always found herself on rooftops, adrenaline humming in her veins.
She walked in the shadow of a rooftop, city lights flickering below as her earpiece crackled to life. Next to her, there was Hawkeye, as always, and Red Widow.
“Black Widow, status report,” came Andrea’s voice—calm, commanding, but with that familiar note of warmth that only Emily could ever detect.
A faint smile tugged at Emily’s lips, despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I’m in position. Everything’s quiet. Hawkeye has a clear vision of the buildings. Red Widow is ready to blast.”
“Copy that,” Andrea replied, her tone serious for the others listening in. Then, she disconnected the others’ line and her voice softened just for Emily. “I’ll see you at home, darling. Don’t die. I love you.”
Emily’s smile widened; she was ready to start the mission officially. “I love you too, Sachs,” she said, her voice soft. Without another word, she jumped off the building, disappearing into the night.