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June 14, 1971. Monday morning. Midtown Manhattan, the Barton’s home.

Natasha Barton had not spent so much time staring at a toilet since ’63, the morning after she and her late husband Alexei had a vodka-drinking contest. Although she had not tossed anything yet, she had been certain for the last hour that she was on the verge of doing so. There was no doubt as to the cause; this was the third day in a row she’d had morning sickness, though this was the worst day so far.

“Hey, hon,” Clint said when he peeked around the corner of the bathroom door. “Feeling any better yet?”

“No…” Natasha managed to say, but by the time she turned her head to look up at her husband, he was gone again. This was the second time this morning he had done that and it made her suspicious. He certainly was not the squeamish type. The only times he ever avoided being around her was when he was up to something and afraid she would read in his face that he was up to something, like last Christmas when he was determined to surprise her with her presents.

Now more curious than nauseas, Natasha grabbed the nearby edge of a laminated wood countertop and pulled herself up off the floor. She felt light-headed and braced herself between the counter and the wall, pausing until the room stopped wobbling around her. Recovering her balance, she moved through the walk-through closet to the master bedroom, pausing just before she reached it. She thought she had seen, out of the corner of her eye, that the secret compartment in the wall of the closet was open. Sure enough, when she pulled the hangars with Clint’s pants on them aside, she could see the secret door was open and Hawkeye’s rack of old bows and quivers of arrows were exposed. He had given up the bow two years ago when he felt he needed to upgrade his weapon to solve his perennial self-esteem problems, but still loved the bows and looked at them frequently.

Especially before and after adventures.

On a hunch, Natasha counted all of Clint’s pants in the closet, subtracted the ones she knew were in the dirty laundry, and came up with one pair missing. This brought her some relief until she made her way through the master bedroom, which was decorated on one side by James Bond movie posters and, on the other side, Alexander Deineka paintings. Before she left the room, Natasha turned back and spotted the missing pair of jeans, now discarded in a heap, behind the bed.

“Clint!” she called out. No response. It did not sound like he was still upstairs at all. She held perfectly still and listened. Their townhouse, a former consulate they now rented, was old and made a lot of noises. After a few moments of silence, she heard the squeaky floorboard in the living room. Choking back her nausea, Natasha slid down the railing to skip the noisy stairs. Creeping around each squeaky floorboard, she finally caught Clint in the workout room, hurriedly pulling on one of his boots – the last piece of his Hawkeye costume. “Clint Barton,” Natasha said, having recovered enough to stand in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh…well, um…” Clint’s mind raced a short moment for a plausible explanation as he flashed a smile. “I was just…heading out and…”

“In costume?”

“Oh well, it’s just a conference I need to attend at Avengers Mansion. Regular business stuff, nothing for you to bother with, not in your condition.”

“My condition?” Natasha blinked.

She saw Clint backing towards the front door and, hoping that she would not get sick again from doing this, made a sideways vault over the couch so she could reach the front door before him. Clint, seeing his escape route was cut off, backed away.

"Whoa, honey, should you be doing gymnastics in your--"

"I'm only two months pregnant," Natasha snapped. "I can do gymnastics. So why can't I go with you to a simple conference?"

"Aw, honey," Clint said, backing up further as Natasha advanced menacingly at him. "You know how you get!"

"How I get?" Natasha echoed with sarcasm. "There's something wrong with wanting to be your equal partner as an Avenger?" She looked around for something to throw at him and, being only closest to the couch again, picked up a pillow to throw at Clint.

"Hey, now!" Clint said, as if she was about to throw a vase at him. He held up a warning finger, but dropped it and looked crestfallen when she threw it at him anyway. "Aw...that was my lucky pillow!" he moaned.

"There's no such thing as a lucky pillow."

"Yes, there is. The Giants won two games in a row since I started sitting on this pillow." Clint picked it up and started fluffing it. "It took me all night to get the stuffing just right..." he whined.

"Stop changing the subject," Natasha insisted, seeing through his subterfuge.

“All right,” Clint said, and he looked like he was ready to come clean. “After what happened to Daredevil…the Avengers are getting together with some members of a few of the other hero teams. You know, a big pow-wow to discuss the matter.”

“You mean the Zodiac,” said Natasha. “Going after them for killing Daredevil.”

“Yeah, but this is all preliminary stuff, just conferencing; no need for you to risk getting sick on the ride there.”

“Oh, is that right?” Natasha asked. Though he was trying to avoid sounding condescending, Natasha could still hear it hiding behind his nicely-couched words and she bristled at it.

“Yeah, so you stay here and make sure there’s dinner ready when I get home...”

Natasha smiled as she made a fist like she was going to punch him.

Clint put up his hands to block, unsure if he should mock fear or really be afraid. “I meant lunch! I’m sure I’ll be back by lunch. Look, forget that. Why don’t you just curl up with a good book or something? What’s that author you like, Dostoveky?”

“Dostoevsky,” she corrected, with a roll of her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need me at this conference?” Natasha asked, fixing her gaze back on him. “Not to discount all you big brave heroes, but none of you have the skills, not to mention the intelligence contacts that I do. You and I could hit the streets and--”

“See? I just knew it!” Clint exclaimed. “I just knew you’d get too involved and not want out of this—and you haven’t even been to the conference yet! And, yeah, you’re only two months pregnant now, but there’s no telling how long it will take to bring Zodiac down. I don’t care if you think I’m being sexist, or think I’m being an overbearing husband, but I’m putting my purple-booted foot down!”

“So you’re going to leave me out of all Avengers business for the next…what? Seven months? Longer?”

“No, just this business.”

“I’m not Daredevil.”

“We could all be the next Daredevil,” Clint said with a grim look of determination on his face.

Natasha un-tensed and shrugged. “Right. Well, okay,” Natasha finally agreed. She turned back to the couch and plopped down on it. “I did say I was going to take a bit of step back from the hero game for awhile, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, and I think it’s a good idea in your—”

“Condition. Right.” She glanced back at him and gave him a half-smile. “Idiot.”

Clint smiled at that. She always called him that instead of saying, "You're right."

“Love you too,” Clint said as he grabbed his arquebus, hefted it over his shoulder and headed for the garage.

Natasha listened for the roar of Hawkeye’s motorcycle, but did not get up from the couch for a minute longer. Then she jumped up, ran upstairs and fetched her own costume and gear. She left them bundled up as she spent about six minutes washing up and brushing her hair. Then she changed into a halter top blouse, boot cut jeans and high-heeled boots. Then she headed down into the garage with her bundled costume and gear, where her own motorcycle was parked—a 1969 Triumph Bonneville with a 649-cubic parallel twin engine. She stowed her gear in a storage compartment beneath the seat, opened the garage door back up and walked the bike outside.

Sorry darling, she thought as she donned her helmet, but you know you didn’t marry June Cleaver. Besides, I’m just going to do a little snooping around, see what I can dig up. Shake some trees and turn over a few rocks. Not much danger in that, is there?

The morning was warm and sunny and the wind felt good through her hair even if she had just brushed it. With practiced ease, Natasha weaved through the busy streets of Manhattan for an hour. Though the metropolis lacked many places to open up, riding the bike was more useful for its maneuverability and getting out of traffic jams in the city than for its speed. She rode a ways up 7th Ave. while she contemplated where, at 10 in the morning, she would find a good stoolie. She had just passed Carnegie Hall and was approaching the south end of Central Park when the whim struck her to get off and walk for a bit. It might help her think of a plan of action.

She found a parking space a little farther down Central Park South and paid the meter. Lined with leafy trees on the one side and a procession of brick apartment buildings and shops on the other, Central Park South seemed a tranquil reminder of the homage, ‘no matter how much things change, they stay the same’. This street had not been changed by the social revolution of the sixties nor last year’s latest Atlantean invasion, and it reminded her of how Central Park had looked to her a decade earlier as a KGB agent -- open, peaceful and free. But then she realized she was merely waxing nostalgic.

Some things had changed, such as the car styles, the fashions, and…well, some people seemed a bit more eccentric these days. On the far street corner was a man with thin white hair and a moustache-less beard, clad in an old trench coat and holding a homemade sign that read ‘Find a Reason to Believe!’ He was shouting things like, “The abscission of Venus is marked by airy triplicity!” and “Do not be fooled to think that sin and vice are elements of the Age of Pisces alone!” A group of boys was watching the old man. At first Natasha was concerned that the boys intended some mischief against the old man, but instead the boys listened for a bit and then walked away.

Checking her watch, she realized school was already long in session, so those boys must have been playing hooky today. She had an urge to scold them—tell them that they should not take their education for granted—but hesitated as a new, unfamiliar feeling came over her. She was suddenly fearful that her own child might turn out like them. She and Clint were certainly no role models for quiet and orderly lives. What if their son or daughter started skipping school while they were out on Avengers business? Natasha was surprised that her heart was beating faster. She was genuinely concerned!

Now even more curious about the delinquent boys than before, she started to follow them. The oldest looked to be about thirteen years old; he wore his dark hair halfway down to his shoulders, a patchwork denim shirt and raggedy bellbottoms. She had only planned to watch them a moment longer before getting on with her investigation when the oldest boy started watching a woman’s purse suspiciously.

Becoming alert, Natasha quickened her pace. She walked past the old man with the astrological ravings. He looked like a homeless man, with threadbare clothes and the soles of his shoes were almost hanging off. Natasha pulled out a dollar bill from the small purse on her arm and dropped it into the bucket in front of his feet before turning her attention back to the boys. Because she had not been following them closely, they were now half a block away and on the wrong side of the street from her. Natasha quickly saw an opening and dashed out into traffic, trying to keep an eye on them as she dodged cars. After looking away for an instant as the ‘Astrologer’ gave another loud shout out to a passerby, she saw the boys scattering in all directions and the woman looking around, purse-less. Natasha trained her eyes on the oldest boy and started after him.

Sure it was just a petty theft, she realized, perhaps not worth her time all things considered, but she was too emotionally invested to ignore it now. Besides, she knew that it was something Daredevil would have taken seriously. Daredevil would have swooped in whether it was a purse snatcher, Stilt Man or Dr. Doom; and if Clint thought he had to protect her because of what happened to Daredevil, then doing this in his memory was the least she could do.

Natasha started to tear up, feeling surprisingly emotional, but she blinked them away so she could focus on the boy. He had crossed a vacant lot, went over a chain link fence with practiced ease and then ran across Columbus Ave. Natasha kept a small amount of distance so that when he periodically looked back behind him he could see no one. The boy clearly hadn’t counted today on someone with elite KGB training tailing him. To him, she was practically invisible.

Assuming he had got away clean, the boy soon slowed down to a regular walk, crossed 56th St. and joined back up with his scattered friends as they reached some older tenements on 55th. Natasha watched them run up the stairs into a five-story tenement. Then she looked around to orient herself. It was a long way back to her bike and her Black Widow costume in the back compartment, but it would be worth it if she could intimidate those kids into giving up the purse or, better yet, scaring them out of a life in crime.

So it was ten minutes later when the Black Widow rode her Bonneville back to the old tenement building. All the parking spaces were lined with junky cars, but she parked between two of them. To evade a ticket, she slapped an Avengers sticker on her license plate as she looked up, checking the windows for the boys.

It was slow going, climbing around the outside of the building, as she frequently had to switch to a different side when people below started to notice her. It turned out to be especially slow going because she started at the ground and worked her way up. She did not spot the boys until she had worked her way up to the loft on the top floor. It was a spacious loft, apparently converted into a gym, though one long ignored by any cleaners. The boys were all there, plus a few more, making 15 in total. They were either working out or standing around bored, but what really surprised Natasha was when the crazy old astrologer walked into the room.

The Astrologer walked right past the boys to a table covered in wallets, purses—including the one Natasha had seen stolen—and assorted merchandise, and he started methodically inspecting the contents of the wallets. Natasha moved closer to a cracked window and pressed her ear against it to listen to the conversation within.

“Was Jupiter in its zenith?” the Astrologer was asking as he pulled a credit card out of the wallet.

“We spent on it until the owner cut off the card,” one of the boys Natasha had not followed said. “We almost got caught on that one.”

“Were the sun and the moons aligned in Aquarius?” the Astrologer asked.

“No, we said it was our dad's card and they let us go with just a warning.”

Natasha's eyes widened as she realized the Astrologer was speaking in a code the kids understood. His ravings on the street had probably not been ravings to them either, but were instructions to their ears only. And to think she had given him a dollar—this Fagin-like crook!

Having heard enough, Natasha climbed up to the roof and forced the roof access door open. The first door off the stairwell led to the loft. She took a running start at it and kicked it in.

All eyes turned on her in the loft. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, giving everyone the menacing glare she had used on Clint earlier that day. “Black Widow, Avengers business,” she said tersely. “I have reason to believe there is stolen property on the premises. I'm taking the Astrologer into my custody and anyone else here who's with him.”

“Libra is blind, subordinate to Taurus!” the Astrologer shouted.

“Don't worry, we won't let her take anybody!” the 13-year old said. “She's just a girl!” he told the others. “Stop her!”

“Okay, Benny!” responded some of the 11- and 12-year old boys. Emboldened, they picked up weights from the floor and swung them menacingly. One boy even produced a switchblade. Not a one of them showed any combat skills, though. They were trying to intimidate her with numbers and drive her back through the door. She countered and surprised them by charging right into their midst. She disarmed them one at a time with simple chops while easily dodging the few blows that even came close. She tried to keep an eye on the Astrologer, but after he handed something to the oldest boy, Benny, it looked like he was sneaking away to look for a place to hide.

In a minute, the kids were, either, lying on the floor prone, clutching their wrists in pain, or backing away in fear…except for the oldest boy, Benny. Benny clicked the hammer back on the .38 Smith & Wesson he held in both trembling hands. He was standing about seven feet from her, she judged.

“Benny, put the gun down,” she said calmly.

“Afraid I'll shoot?” Benny said, aiming as steady as he could.

“I can take you down from here, Benny, but not without seriously injuring you. Just let me step a little closer and I can disarm you without either of us getting hurt.” She took a step forward.

“Don’t!” Benny said, his hands getting shakier. “I mean it!”

By now, though, Natasha was four feet from him. Far faster than Benny could react, she lunged to the left, grabbed his gun with her right hand, twisted his hand around and made him drop the gun. She kicked it across the room into the corner and bent Benny’s arm back until he went down on the ground.

It wouldn't be smart, but it would hopefully teach him a lesson about pointing guns.

It was over in a second, but by the time she was ready to deal with the Astrologer, there was no sign of him. Luckily, the exit was really obvious, as the door to the loft was still swung open. As she listened, she even heard the echo of the metal rail in the stairwell shaking. Ignoring the kids, the Black Widow went after the real criminal.

From the racket in the stairwell, it was clear exactly how far down to the ground floor the Astrologer had made it so far. It was a stairwell that was open down the center, which was going to make catching him much easier. The Black Widow pulled at a reel of wire concealed in her right bracelet and wrapped the end of it around the banister several times. Then she dove right over the edge of the rail, hurtling unafraid down two floors of empty space, before tugging the line so she could swing onto the second floor landing and smash right into the Astrologer. The Astrologer took a nasty bang against the outside wall of the stairwell and fell onto the steps leading down to the ground floor. She had expected he would have a concealed weapon on him that she would knock loose and felt a twinge of guilt for hitting him so hard when he turned out to be empty handed.

“The sun is in Gemini, reflected in her red hair!” the Astrologer raved as he struggled to his feet. “If Pisces had held the key, all might have gone well in the Ankh.”

The Black Widow grabbed him and hoisted him to his feet. She was about to say something else, but hesitated as realization began to dawn on her. “What did you just say?” she demanded.

“If Pisces had held the key, all might have gone well in the Ankh.”

“The…Zodiac Key?” the Black Widow asked.

“Yes! Yes! The Zodiac Key!” the Astrologer shouted excitedly.

The Black Widow leaned out into the stairwell shaft and looked up and down, worried now that this was a trap. Nothing happened. She still kept her grip on the Astrologer by the shirt and yanked him back against the wall. “You work for Zodiac?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“I know the Zodiac. I am an astrologer, after all,” the Astrologer said with surprising cogency.

“Right…” the Black Widow said. She bit her lip as her mind raced to consider the possibilities. The general public knew little about the Zodiac cartel and nothing about their weapon, the Zodiac Key, or the Ankh Dimension. And other ravings of his made sense now too. She thought he was talking about her as Gemini at first, but she also remembered that Gemini in the cartel was also a redhead. And Libra being blind? As hard as it was to believe, the perfect informant on the Zodiac may have just fallen into her lap!

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To Be Continued...

Next: In Black Widow #3: Can the Black Widow make use of what she’s learned? Not if Zodiac gets to her first! Be here next time for “What’s Going On!”

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