A Different Call

Consequences

Natasha's P.O.V.

  "We're going to be landing soon," I heard Coulson say. I sat up and the blanket that was wrapped around me fell to the floor. I glanced around the interior and see another blanket like mine resting on one of the seats. Barton must have taken a nap too. I peeked out the window and saw the cloud layer moving past the window, I think that this is the longest plane ride that I have ever taken, Red Room usually just sent me via train. After about an hour we landed inside of a building and took and an elevator down a few floors.

Barton led me through the building until we reached what I could only describe as a reception area, with a small area sitting area, although I doubt that the chairs get any use if the agents scrambling around the area are any sign to go by.

"Sit here Red," Barton ordered before briskly striding to a large set of double doors at the end of a hallway opposite the sitting area.

"That's not my name," I snapped back, though I highly doubt that he heard me. That nickname better not stick. I don't want anything to do with that place anymore.

I sat down in the nearest chair anyway and realized that at some point in our rush Coulson had left. I looked around, taking in my surroundings, looking for any exits if necessary. There was an air vent above, a stairway by the elevators, and a few more side hallways, though I didn't know where they led so they were put at the bottom of my list. I soon began to attract the attention of those passing by; although, I couldn't blame them my red hair was in knots, bags under my eyes from sleep deprivation, and my clothes, a t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, were insanely dirty, a sharp contrast to the clean office wear and tactical outfits that adorned the passing agents. I saw some people whispering and pointing at me, I shoot all of them glares that could kill, and they quickly stopped. I may be in rough shape, but I could still take down anyone in this hall if I wanted to, at least that's what I told myself.

Soon a girl in a black jumpsuit came running down the hall and went to the same doors that Barton had entered through. I noticed she had short pixie looking hair then the expression on her face was one of anger. I smirked, knowing that I was part of the reason that expression was on her face, but it was Barton that was going to suffer the consequences of it.

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Clint's P.O.V.

I enter Fury's office, trying to brace for what was about to happen. The director had his back toward me, examining a screen on the wall. The screen, I noticed had all of Red's information on it.

"You know I have half a mind to fire your ass. Disobeying direct orders from a superior, endangering a mission, and last but not least helping an enemy of SHIELD."

"Sir, I saw someone that could be an asset to SHIELD and decided to not waste the opportunity. And based on her attitude I don't think she'd consider what I did help."

"An asset? Barton, she's taken out many of our allies, how could that be helpful?"

"She wasn't the one making those decisions. She was an agent just like I am."

"An agent that listened to her superiors," Fury muttered, frustration dripping from his voice, before speaking up, "She was an agent, but an agent for a KGB organization, I know that you weren't a huge fan of history but Russia and us haven't had the best track record."

"Sir, understand-" I was cut off by the monitor behind Fury cutting to black, then getting replaced by an image of co-director Carter. While Fury handled most of the day-to-day issues, Carter still oversaw most of his actions, at least until she deemed that he could handle SHIELD on his own. I smirk, thank god for Coulson.