Is this the life you chose yourself, or just how it ended up? Is that the yard you pictured when you closed your eyes and dreamed of children in the grass running through the sprinklers? Being somebody's wife, or were you living in another life?
(Wi...
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A year and a half later, Anastasia entered her apartment to find a man standing at the far side of the room, staring out the kitchen window.
She froze, feeling genuine fear for the first time in two years.
"I was beginning to wonder when you'd arrive home, miss Bennett. . . Or should I say Miss Belyaeva?" "Who are you?" She questioned. Her voice was unwavering, although she could feel her heart speeding up.
"I'm not your enemy." "Really? It kinda seems like the opposite — who the fuck are you and why the hell are you in my home?" Anastasia questioned, slowly inching towards the closet where she kept a couple weapons secured.
"Miss Belyaeva, have you ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" The man questioned. She tilted her head to the side and stopped moving. "I may have heard it mentioned once or twice, that doesn't explain why you're in my home unauthorized."
He turned and she finally got a good look at him. Nick Fury. She knew him. Had seen several pictures of him before, but he was younger then. Of course, now she couldn't say anything about recognizing him.
"I'm director Fury, and you have the ability to do good."
Anastasia scoffed. "Your version of good, or my version?" "What's your version?" "I stay the hell out of things that don't directly involve me. I keep my only loved ones safe by not being involved."
He stared at her for a moment. "How are you keeping them safe if you're not actively fighting to keep them safe, miss Belyaeva?"
Ella, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "You don't know the things I know. . . The things I've done, if the wrong person gets my name, I could he taken again, or even worse they could target the ones I love. . . I can't have that happen, not again."
"Actions are better at eliminating the problem. Hiding makes you a sitting duck, an easy target."
Anastasia knows. She knows all too well.
"So what do you propose I do, Director? Join your little organization and throw away the life I started building for myself?" "You join, but don't throw your life away. Everything I have on you says you deserved a normal life, but it was torn away from you. You'd be safe at S.H.I.E.L.D. miss Belyaeva."
"Am I allowed to think on it? There's a kid that really wants to go to the Stark expo, he's been bugging nonstop since he heard about it."
Fury pondered her words for a moment. "Think on it for now, but just know you only have so many options." He approached and handed her a card. "Call when you make your decision, I hope for your sake that you make the right one."
Then he left.
Anastasia stared at the door for what felt like ages before she finally got the courage to move. She changed out of her dark jeans and into a light floral dress — having learned her lesson on the walk back from the corner store. It was too hot for that shit.
She put her shoes on and exited the little apartment, locking up behind her and turning to the white door on the other side of the hall. Anastasia did her special knock and the door swung open.
"Thank God you're here — he's ready to go, doesn't know where you're going. . . Just please be safe, alright?" May said. "He's always safe with me." "I know. I just worry about both of you constantly." "Everything will be alright, May." Anastasia assured her just as Peter came into view.
"You ready to go, bud?" "Yep!" "Alright, we'll be back later."
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Anastasia found herself staring at the phone number and extention on the card that evening after she had safely returned Peter home.
It had been chaos. He could've been killed if she and another hadn't been there at the right moment. The same image replayed through her mind over and over again as she dialed the ten digit number.
A suit aiming it's repulsors and weapons right at an innocent nine year old boy.
The phone rang and she typed in the five digit extension when prompted. She sat there in the dimly lit kitchen, silent as the phone rang.
When the call connected, she expected a greeting, but got none. So she just got right to the point. "I've made my decision."
"You have?"
"I'll join. . . Hiding from my problems isn't a risk I'm willing to make again."
"There will be a vehicle sent out to retrieve you Monday morning at nine, the car will leave at nine fifteen, with or without you."
