inheritor of memories

When chaos broke out, the first thing Nadia wanted to do was help. She longed to duck into an alley and change into her Wasp uniform, to keep the peace in any way she could. It wouldn’t have worked, she knew. People were angry at anyone and everyone who hadn’t listed, and Wasp was among those, but that didn’t change the fact that she wanted to try. She might have attempted it had it not been for Natasha. Natasha, who’d saved her from the Red Room. Natasha, who was the closest thing to family Nadia had now that her search for her father had ended in heartbreak. Natasha, who was gripping her hand and looking her over with a worried expression. Natasha, who had no idea Nadia was the Wasp, who might not approve of it if she did. “I’m okay,” Nadia assured her, eyes darting over the crowd running rampant, concern etched into her features.

Though she wanted nothing more than to stay, Nadia allowed Natasha to lead her away from the crowd. “I don’t — I don’t want to get out,” she admitted. “I can help, too, Natasha. You know I can.” Even if she didn’t know about the Wasp, she knew where Nadia had come from. She knew about the way the Red Room had trained her, knew she was capable of providing assistance. “What do you think his intentions are? Did he want all this? The chaos, the panic… Is this what he was hoping for?”

Superheroes — assuming that the person in question had decent motivations — were more accustomed to defence than crowd control. Truthfully, Natasha wasn’t sure any of her allies were qualified to attempt to calm the raging crowd. The majority of them carried weapons, and as countless protests had proven, that was no way to begin. They could shout, they could corral, but she highly doubted that anything would work. New York had turned their frustration and confusion on the unlisted heroes, and unfortunately, innocent civilians and every hero was caught in the crossfire. Nadia didn’t seem worried, although Natasha wouldn’t have expected her to. She was trained by the same disturbed group that Natasha was and if they were spooked by escalating situations such as these, they never would have survived the Red Room. “I don’t doubt that,” she replied honestly.

It didn’t surprise Natasha either that Nadia didn’t want to leave. Despite the Red Room’s best attempts at making her someone else, Nadia was an incredible woman. “And how do you want to help?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. The only real way to even grab a portion of the audiences attention was by taking Doom’s microphone for themselves and stating their peace. “I’m sure he wanted to release the list,” Natasha said. “The public’s never been fond of heroes for the most part and it’s an easy way to prove that everything he’s doing is in their best interest. Doing it at an event like this only leads to panic and chaos so I assume so. How do you feel about it, Nadia?”

Next time there was some big party in New York with multiple super-people in attendance, Clint figured he’d just stay home. It seemed the safest bet, the only way to avoid the chaos that always seemed to come along with those things. Being proven (at least partially) right in his suspicions about Doom didn’t exactly leave Clint feeling vindicated the way it might have if he’d been valiantly insisting the actor on whatever movie they were watching was the same guy from the dish soap commercial. It was a terrible thing to be right about, a terrible fact to know before anyone else. He wanted to trust the people in charge, but he’d never quite been able to and this time, at least, he’d been right not to. Doom had leaked heroes’ abilities to the public, had poisoned people’s trust in the heroes who hadn’t listed theirs. It was a betrayal to all involved, and Clint knew Natasha shared in his anger.

Still, even the anger burning in his chest at what Doom had done seemed to calm in her presence. She had always had a way of making his usual wild emotions feel more bearable, making him able to sit calmly on the couch instead of making his way to Doom’s office to recklessly storm the building and get himself arrested. “Not gonna be easy,” he commented, swallowing as he thought of Kate and Wanda, neither of whom had put their names on that list. “Maybe that’ll help. It might be hard findin’ the right platform for it. The Bugle’s biased against us as is, they’ll spin anything we say and make it look awful.” Jameson was good at that, as they both knew. 

In Natasha’s experience, leaders were rarely decent, and President Doom was further proof of that. Government in particular attracted a specific kind of person, one who valued control and power over morality. Of course not every single politician was exactly like that, there were several that were decent, but her line of work rarely had Natasha facing good politicians specifically. Clint had been correct in suspicions, she had never doubted that, and it proved how intelligent Clint was with analyzing others. He had a big heart, deep empathy, and with that, Clint was excellent at following his intuition. Doom had never been someone her husband trusted or respected, and although they shared slightly different reasoning, Natasha had felt the same way. Unfortunately, they would soon be forced to discover whether Doom enjoyed their isolation and the unquestioning power it brought him or whether he intended to fight the heroes as they restored New York to Earth.

Although Natasha was angry, she was primarily filled with dread. There was no doubt that this would worsen New York’s situation and she would be forced to handle the fallout whether she wanted to or not. The Panel was her responsibility she hadn’t wanted, but she intended to do it to the best of her ability. Thankfully, she was excellent at organization and strategy. Those seemed like advantages for facing Doom’s power play. “No, it won’t be easy,” Natasha agreed. “There’s other news sources besides the Bugle,” she pointed out. “We can try the New York Bulletin or we can put out our own broadcast. It’ll get aired, we wouldn’t have to doubt that,” she suggested. “Doing it ourselves may be best, that way nothing is skewed.”

At this point, Steve couldn’t say with exact certainty how many people knew the truth of who he was. Some people knew more than others, as his situation was deemed need-to-know, but the problem was he wasn’t sure how many people needed to know. He had decided to trust Natasha, but there was a level of discomfort that came along with putting his secrets in someone else’s hands. Working at the behest of the president was something Steve would have gladly done back in his own time. Fighting in the Great War had been in service to his country, the president was essentially his boss. But President Doom was unlike the presidents he had known in the past. It came with the territory, he assumed, of missing all of the people who had been president between then and now.

During scenarios like this, everyone had different methods and preferences. Some preferred not to talk and others couldn’t stand the silence. Steve was amenable either way. When Natasha chose to break the silence, it was more her question that surprised him than her decision to speak. “I sense a certain amount of suspicion, that if people trust me at all, it’s only at your recommendation. But I’m not a man who’s used to being taken at face value, so I don’t mind. The work is somewhat foreign, yet still familiar. All in all, I think it’s about the best I could hope to find, and I’m appreciative.” He laughed, because that was always the question, and he worried the answer would never change. “Easy is relative. I know how to make a call on a cell phone now. My progress isn’t impressive, but it’s…progress.”

With trusted members of the Panel, Natasha made no secret of distrusting President Doom. Steve Trevor wasn’t necessarily among the members she was closest to, like Daisy and Sharon, but he had chosen to be honest with her and that brought on a certain level of camaraderie. Additionally, his situation would most likely make it difficult to make advised decisions about whether their leaders were decent or not. Beliefs had changed drastically throughout the years, and in response, proper leadership had much higher expectations. Steve Trevor seemed like an honourable man, she assumed that he, too, noticed some… issues with President Doom and she expected that he shared the majority’s hopes that their president would become more honest. Unfortunately, Natasha highly doubted that it would happen. During their ordered mission, she supposed that she could mention her thoughts to Steve as well.

“Most heroes aren’t exactly trusting,” she replied, shrugging a shoulder. It wasn’t a surprise, and since Steve didn’t seem to be bothered, Natasha wasn’t either. “In our line of work, it’s not easy to be taken at face value either. I’ve worked hard to be where I’m where I’m at now,” Natasha admitted. There were several people who still didn’t trust her, though she’d made her peace with it. There was no way to force trust, no way to prove that she was no longer the woman she had been in the Red Room and later SHIELD. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it for the most part,” she said honestly. “I imagine that everything is a huge adjustment, to say the least.” She chuckled as he continued, “I think all progress is impressive to an extent. How about a text message?”

Sharon still relied on being in the shadows for the most part. Her public persona was that of Agent 13, her true identity still remaining in the darkness as much as she could manage. That was where she felt the most comfortable, where she had always excelled. Espionage was in the blood far more than being a soldier ever was, but in the past few months, things had changed. Handling Panel affairs was a lot more similar to how Peggy had described being the Director than Sharon had envisioned, and even though people didn’t know who she was, exactly, they respected her, looked up to her. She stood alongside two of the most amazing women she knew, and more and more, she was beginning to wonder whether she should stand with them in the light as well.

Tonight was going to be the night that she discussed this with Nat, but true to form, things fell spectacularly to shit before she could even find her friend in the crowd. “Worst case, it can’t be all that different from hotwiring a car or a boat, right?” Sharon asked, shrugging her shoulder. The real worst case here was electrocution, but since when had they let that possibility hold them back before? “At the very least, some of those guys might listen,” Sharon said, gesturing to reporters, some of whom were desperately attempting to stand their ground as the crowd swelled around them. “The Panel will be expected to give a statement on this tomorrow, right? Might as well get a few sentences in now while we have the chance.”

Never once had Natasha been interested in fronting any form of organization. She had leaked the SHIELD files, successfully revealing her identity (although she was an excellent spy, it had never foiled her), but going public hadn’t encouraged her to create an organization like SHIELD. Naturally, the Panel with its many complications wasn’t something she had any desire to lead either. After her many experiences working as someone else’s spy, Natasha understood how easy it was to rot an organization from the inside, as Orse had done before herself and her friends. She also understood that loyalty was a rare thing, and without soldiers who admired and adored you, no organization could be entirely successful. Luckily, for the most part, the agents that had signed were faithful. Carol was one of her closest friends, Tony one of her most trusted allies, and the Fantastic Four she liked to believe would aid her cause. Of course, Natasha’s cause did not align with the government’s. She had no desire to make the list public, knowing the damage it would do, and Natasha had no desire to force any person or hero into anything against their will, least of all a fight against creatures that were most likely native to the planet they invaded.

“It’ll probably be a lot simpler,” Natasha pointed out. “The technology will be more straightforward obviously.” She was more than capable of hacking, but where mechanics were concerned, Natasha had more trouble. Together, she had no doubt that her and Sharon would make quick work of the microphone. “Or we could just go up to the sound booth,” she added. They would potentially have to knock Doom’s men out, but she suspected the President knew their views didn’t align with his already. “We’ll definitely need to issue a statement saying we don’t condone this,” she agreed with a nod. “If we do speak now, they’ll be able to see your face though,” Natasha warned Sharon.

It was strange to have the weight of her sword at her hip, instead of across her back. Not so strange that it would throw her off, but enough that when she moved, she automatically laid a hand on the pommel, just to remind herself that it was with her, only not where she expected it to be. In an emergency, though, it would be foolish to take the time to unclasp her cloak before drawing a blade. For that reason, her hand rested lightly on it as she walked to Natasha’s side. It was simply reassuring to have it, and to have a sister at her side to walk into a potential battle. Natasha would have made a fine Amazon, if such a thing were possible. The League was full of friends and colleagues that she both respected and cared for, but so many of them were men. Good men, yes, of course. But all the same, not who she’d grown up training alongside.

“Too many of my colleagues are…showy. I also would prefer to go unnoticed, if possible. And contrary to what some in the League might tell you, my first reaction is not always to hit things with a very sharp sword,” Diana joked gently. “Only most of the time. At the moment, I have no objection to avoiding a fight.” Of course, if one found them, she had no compunctions about fighting back. There were plenty of advantages to stealth, and if it actually worked, all the better. She had a much better chance at finding the answers she needed if they weren’t noticed. On the other hand, a good fight would, even if it wasn’t strictly helpful, be cathartic. There was no denying that that would be useful in its own right, simply a different kind of useful.

Now that they were both here, she found herself anxious to be moving, to get to the point where she could see what was going to happen. “We should go,” she suggested. “Before we are noticed.”

Truthfully, the demons were an enemy that Natasha was wary to fight. She had been trained to be violent, the Red Room had ensured that, but with potentially innocent animals, she had little desire to wipe out the entire species. As far as she knew, the demons had always resided on the planet they were forcibly contained on. They were native to it, and destroying them was needlessly destroying life. That being said, Natasha had no intention of laying down her life. If attacked, she would absolutely fight back, and she had no doubt that she would win. After numerous battles with the demons, Natasha intimately understood their weak spots, and while the demons had harmed her, they hadn’t yet damaged her in any meaningful way. With Diana at her side, she highly doubted it would be possible for the demons to win, regardless of how many attacked them once they entered the wasteland. They were a formidable team and both accustomed to fighting with another at their side.

“I can relate,” she said with a laugh. “You can see Iron Man and the Hulk from a hundred miles away. I was so worried you may be tempted to hit things with a sword, that’s a relief,” Natasha replied, smiling at Diana’s joke. The Avengers, like the Justice League, was a team primarily composed of men, and truthfully, it was a nice change to be with Diana in the field. (The Panel, of course, was the opposite: the leadership were all women, her trusted allies.) “I’m not sure the demons are what we should be fighting,” Natasha admitted once Diana had agreed to her tactic. It was a view she had only expressed to Clint, although he had seemed to seriously consider her claim. “From what we understand about the demons, they’ve always resided here and we’re invading. It’s only natural that they attack,” she explained. “We should be focusing on finding who or what managed to send us all here.” That went without saying, but with the demons concentrated attacks, it was difficult to achieve.

Eli had known–he had called it from the beginning. History never failed to repeat itself and people in positions of total power like their so called President (and there’s no way Eli voted for this guy–he doesn’t know why he can’t remember but he’s sure there’s no way) never failed to abuse it, to do everything they could to manipulate the public into being on their side–he had just hoped that they were smarter somehow by now, that they wouldn’t fall for it so easily. He had made a hasty exit when people had started calling for the metaphorical heads of heroes that had yet to list–he needed the fresh air so he didn’t start throwing punches or something else that was going to get him thrown in jail, though that was starting to look more and more likely anyway. 

He’s drawn out of the thoughts buzzing angrily in his head before he can really get ahold of them, by the Black Widow of all people. He could easily direct a good majority of his anger towards her, and her Panel’s supposed support and protection of the hero population, but she seems as frustrated as he is–which he takes to mean she probably didn’t know all of this was going to happen. “Yeah, that’s about the understatement of the century.” He huffs, folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t care what anyone says, I’m not listing and I’m not registering–I worked too damn hard to take my name back from people exactly like him, my grandfather served under people like him and it got him swept under the rug.” 

There was no easy way to tame an angry crowd, and frankly, Natasha had no desire to try. She was forced to be among the Heads of the Panel, but that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t agree with Doom and had no desire to ally herself with his goals. Tomorrow, once people had calmed and media sources were opened, she intended to make that clear. For now, Natasha simply intended to leave the civilians (and some heroes) to their outrage. Outside of the building, she wasn’t alone in her plan to escape, although she was curious what other people (the reasonable ones, she mused) thought of the situation. The more viewpoints Natasha gathered, the more informed her statement would be — and she would know how candid herself, Daisy and Sharon could be. After all, none of them appreciated President Doom and his manipulative plans.

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” Natasha replied. Eli’s body language made it clear that he was angry, his muscles were tensed, his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t immediately lash out at her as some people would. For that, she was grateful, especially since from his point of view, it was most likely confusing whether the Panel currently stood where President Doom was concerned. They hadn’t yet vocalized their rage. “No one wants you to register or list unless you truly want to,” Natasha assured him. “Your name shouldn’t be tarnished and you’re right, you did work it. Make sure it’s always yours,” she recommended. In Natasha’s case, the Black Widow had never been a moniker she was proud of, it belonged largely to the Red Room despite her reclaiming it. “You should know that we don’t support President Doom and had no idea this was happening,” Natasha continued. “Doom hasn’t spoken once to any of us and I don’t think he intends to. This is all his plan and I imagine it’ll only get worse.”

The crowd was flocking, all loud, panicked and angry. Some agreed with Doom’s demands and the gross invasion of privacy while others were disgusted by it. Natasha fell into the latter category, disturbed by the way Doom had recklessly shown exactly what heroes had complied with his demands and how horrifically he’d manipulated the public. Until the crowd was calmed, there was nothing Natasha could do to change it. Quickly, she moved through people, ducking underneath their arms and gently pushing people aside. When she made it outside, she spotted someone that looked equally as angry as her, though they weren’t shouting. Immediately, Natasha decided that she was fond of the man for that alone.

Rather than inform him of her position, Natasha wasn’t a fan of her power, nor had she asked for it, she merely said, “You don’t looked pleased with our beloved president. Am I right about that assessment?” She didn’t recognize him by sight, he could be a civilian or a hero in civilian clothing, but either way, Natasha wasn’t bothered. The people’s voices deserved to be acknowledged and if she found enough people willing to be loud, Natasha could easily give them a platform.

Doom releasing the list was an expected turn of events. Natasha had never once trusted their President, it was clear that Victor von Doom had no intention of treating superheroes decently. Requesting that they ask for detailed explanations of their powers to begin with was problematic, it bred distrust and suspicion, and that kind of power in any man’s hands lead to dramatics. Unfortunately, Doom’s particular brand of dramatics would lead to difficulty for superheroes, and those were precisely the people that Natasha cared about and aimed to protect. As the chaos erupted in the crowd, primarily from those supporting the president chanting ‘List with Doom!’ and those that did not attempting to fight back or rush out. “Hey!” Natasha called out, “Calm down!” Unsurprisingly, her voice was quickly lost in the crowd.

As a Panel Head, regardless of whether she was interested in running the government organization, it was Natasha’s responsibility to fix the problem. With Sharon at her side, it seemed possible to contain. They were both tenacious, relentless, and while it would absolutely be a challenge, they were more than capable. “You think there’s a chance Doom left that microphone usable?” She asked quietly, pulling Sharon towards the wall, away from the citizens struck with violence. “They may listen to two powerful leading women.” It was doubtful, but Natasha could be idealistic from time to time.

Nadia was like family to Natasha and as a result, when the crowd erupted, angry and confused, her immediate reaction was to get Nadia to safety. She was trained to be deadly as Natasha had been, she was more than capable of containing a crowd, but freshly out of the Red Room, Natasha was intimately familiar with how unexpected reactions could be. Surrounded by SHIELD agents, Natasha’s muscles had tightened, her breath had caught, and she had wanted to fight. It was unreasonable, but freedom had been a learning curve. “Are you okay?” She asked Nadia quietly, her hand grasping hers gently.

Before the conversation could go much further, Natasha began leading Nadia out of the crowd, moving alongside the walls so they were not trapped on either side. “Once we’re out, I’ll have to come back in, it’s my responsibility. I promise I’ll meet you back home and we can discuss all of this,” she told Nadia, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “We knew Doom would do something terrible, we planned for this.” As she spoke, people pushed against them and Natasha’s jaw tightened, obviously tempted to inform them that their blind panic would only worsen tensions between groups.

Every party hosted in New York City seemed to turn to chaos, Natasha wasn’t at all surprised that this one had ended similarly. Clint was a smart man, he had realized that Victor von Doom was not the benign leader that he had claimed to be. Natasha had trusted his opinion then, had realized alone that Doom had a lot to gain from their isolation. Ultimate power was at his fingertips, all he had to do was win over the public, and by persecuting superheroes, ones that many people feared, Doom was winning in the power department unfortunately. It went without saying that Natasha didn’t remotely approve of what their president was doing, Victor von Doom had betrayed countless superheroes. Clint, like Natasha, would feel exactly the same. They were dedicated to protecting the public and they were dedicated to protecting their friends, people who had become like their family, and Natasha intended to discover a way to continue to aid them.

Sat on their couch, Natasha absentmindedly flicked through pages on her book, paying attention to none of the words. “We need to find a way to change the public’s opinion… and we need to find a way to help the heroes that didn’t list,” she said quietly. Clint would be thinking exactly the same thing, especially with Wanda and Kate among those that hadn’t listed. They were like his children, he would do absolutely anything for them. “I’m not sure there’s many options at the moment, but if we explain things from their point of view, particularly with emphasis on impossible powers… some minds sway,” she said thoughtfully. “Appeals to emotion are great tools for persuasion.”

“I guess I was never much of an optimist to begin with.” He shrugs his shoulders and manages a kind of smile–his entire body feels foreign to him, but that gesture feels the most out of practice, or all together strange. Maybe he should have followed through with Jen that night in the bar, done something to take his mind off of all of this for even just a few hours, something to put him back inside of his bones, his framing. “I think Earth brings it out in me, I never really felt like I belonged here full time, and now I don’t have any choice. Up here is as close as I can get to space.” He spares a glance up at the sky, at the stars that haven’t moved since he first woke up–it’s the summer, he should be able to see Orion and Taurus at their brightest, but all of the stars are shining seemingly the same. Clearly, whoever or whatever did this, has never seen them up close. “I don’t think you’ve really thought that through, you don’t want philosophy from a high school dropout–a resurrected high school drop out waxing poetic is probably even worse.” 

His entire body feels like it stills when she talks about the choice, like it did just before he had to shove Pete and the other Guardians through the door and back into the world–back to their own slaughter apparently. He’s not afraid, not certain, just–still. “It wasn’t much of a choice, I knew what I was signing up for when I put on the helmet.” It’s something that every person who does this understands somewhere innately, that one way or another they’re going to lose their lives to it. Or maybe it’s not, maybe Rich has never set his life at a very high value to begin with, and has always been more prepared to lose it in the service of the Corps, the one thing he’s always believed in more than anything. He’s drawn out of his thoughts when she asks him how he’s getting on, all things considered. 

“Other than the nightmares I’m surviving. Trying to be someone that people will want to follow, when we’re out of this and I can get the Corps going again. I think I understand how difficult your job is now.”

“We have that in common,” Natasha mused. She avoided outright pessimism, but it was difficult to be optimistic about the situations they frequently found themselves in. She had learned to expect the unexpected, but being completely isolated from Earth was never a situation Natasha foresaw. It was clever on the villains’ part, isolating them from weaponry and allies, but Natasha had every confidence that they would miraculously succeed. The Avengers, the Justice League, the Fantastic Four and every other team in New York City had defied the odds on numerous occasions. Working together, they could once again accomplish the impossible, even spirited away from everything they knew. As Rich continued discussing how he had been affected, Natasha quieted her mind from strategy, a difficult feat for her, and focused on Rich’s struggles. “You don’t have to belong here permanently,” she pointed out. “You only have to belong here until we can return to Earth. I think we can accomplish that, especially with a Nova on our side.” She smiled faintly as her continued and shrugged a shoulder, “Can’t be any worse than a self-proclaimed billionaire philanthropist playboy.”

Truthfully, Natasha had always assumed she would lose her life young. Growing up in the Red Room, valuing her life was never something Natasha had learned, and while it was an asset she was beginning to form, it was a struggle. Though she was no longer a super spy and assassin, the Avengers were all self-sacrificing, all prepared to lay down their lives in a second for another, it was practically necessary in order to be a successful superhero. That being said, Natasha had never personally experienced sacrifice as Clint and Rich had. She was prepared, but never forced, and that obviously made a significant difference between her and Rich. “Not everyone sees it that way,” she said quietly. “We’re lucky that you did.” He had saved the world — numerous worlds — and Natasha wouldn’t shy from that fact. “I doubt you want to be commended for your actions but I will say that I’m grateful for them.”

She smiled faintly at Rich’s comment and nodded in acknowledgement. “I never wanted to be a member of the Panel, let alone leading it, but the world works in mysterious ways. What do you hope to do with the Corps?”

The number of favors Nadia owed to Natasha was monumental, and the fact that Natasha would never ask to cash in a single one spoke volumes about the sort of woman she was. She seemed to want no recognition for her part in helping Nadia escape the Red Room, and the only thing she seemed to ask for in return was that Nadia live a happy, healthy life. It was something Nadia strove for, both for Natasha and herself. She deserved to be happy, and she had no doubt of that. She had done terrible things for the Red Room, had built them weapons that had doubtlessly been put into mass production for other villainous groups, but she still deserved happiness. Everyone did, no matter what atrocities they had committed. If Nadia’s being happy would make Natasha happy, she would fight even harder for it.

Spending time with Natasha was not something that seemed to be expected from her, but it was something she loved taking part in all the same. She felt more at ease with Nat than she did with almost anyone else in the world. With Natasha, she knew she’d be protected. She knew she was safe. It was more than she’d ever thought she’d have. “It is?” Nadia’s brow furrowed, and her head tilted slightly as she attempted to take in the screen at a new angle. “It seems strange, but I’m glad it makes Mr. Barton happy!” She straightened her head, turning to Natasha with a bright grin. “Oh, I love the sound of that! Can we walk to the diner?” Normally she might suggest flying, but Natasha was not yet aware of Nadia’s late night exploits as Wasp, and Nadia wanted to wait until the perfect moment to tell her.

It was no secret that Natasha cared deeply for the girls that she had saved in the Red Room. She had worked incessantly to find them safe homes, worked closely with people that could protect them in case the Red Room’s agents managed to find their location, and while the organization would always exist in a small capacity, Natasha had successfully given them a chance to separate themselves entirely from the corruption. She was infinitely proud of their successes, and watching them blossom into content young women, no longer fuelled solely by violence made every ounce of pain Natasha had withstood throughout the years combating brainwashing worth it. Nadia was a constant reminder of that, a constant reminder of how much the world truly had to offer, and why Natasha fought like hell to continue offering freedom to every person within it.

Watching television was never Natasha’s absolute favourite activity, she much preferred reading or working out in nearly any capacity, but Nadia seemed to enjoy it as much as Clint did. For the people she loved, Natasha could be idle for a moment. “It is,” she repeated with a nod. “It makes him very happy, sometimes he watches it for days at a time,” she said with a snort. Natasha didn’t understand how Clint could stare at a screen for that long without his eyes aching, but she imagined his depression factored into it. “We can definitely walk to the diner,” Natasha agreed, rising from the couch and heading towards the door. Once they were outside, beginning their walk, she asked, “What’s new with you? Have you been enjoying New York despite its… dramatics?”

{ starter for @slcvicshadow }

Diana’s suspicion had reached a breaking point. She had to do something to look into these resources that had supposedly been discovered. It was just too easy, too much like being spoon-fed answers as the questions were raised. She didn’t like it, certainly didn’t trust it, and she was absolutely determined to get to the bottom of it, whatever the bottom line happened to be.

This was not the sort of mission it was wise to undertake alone. Even if she’d desired solitude for once, which she adamantly did not, going out into a strange world without backup would, at best, earn her a scolding from the people she cared about. The worst case didn’t bear thinking about, and as difficult as she was to put down, she couldn’t put aside the possibility that there could be something out there that was stronger than she was.

She’d considered, and discarded, several possibilities. Clark was…unsubtle. A strong ally, to be sure, but a well-known one, and she would not risk his reputation sneaking around where they might be unwelcome. Bruce was more than capable of subtlety, but she wasn’t ready to bring her half-baked ideas under the sort of scrutiny that the Batman would give. Which let out his children as well, for they had all been trained in scrutiny by the master. She’d considered and discarded a dozen other League names, each for their own reason, before she finally picked up the phone and called not a League member at all, but Natasha. After all, if she wanted them all to work together, she needed to be willing to reach out.

For this, she’d hidden arms and armor under the sort of thick cape she’d thought of as a suitable disguise when she first left her island, dust-colored instead of night-dark. She waited on the very edge of the city, where the wasteland began, standing motionless and staring out into the blighted land that now surrounded New York until movement caught her eye. She turned slowly, a welcoming smile already on her face. “Thank you for agreeing to come.”

The resources were an admittedly complicated matter. Despite her position, leading the Panel thanks to Jessica Drew’s need for help, President Doom had never once reached out to Natasha and had blatantly ignored all of her requests to meet. Miraculously, he had also slipped through her own searches, and even stranger, the Webs search for information regarding their beloved leader. It was obvious that Doom was hiding plenty, and as Clint pointed out, in many ways, their President benefited from their isolation. That being said, President Doom’s sudden discovery of resources wasn’t something Natasha could question at length. Without food, water, and metals to help the rebuilding effort, New York was bound to fall into disarray, people would riot and then inevitably die horrifically, whether it was due to shortages or the demon threat. No matter how it was framed, on this matter, they had no choice but to trust President Doom. Understandably, Natasha wasn’t thrilled about it.

The trips she had taken into the wasteland were limited, largely due to the danger present in their immediate radius. Defending New York’s citizens from the demons was her utmost concern, but at least she wouldn’t be entering blindly with Diana. Firstly, she had entered the wasteland with Tony, armed to the teeth, and then with Clint, similarly searching for resources. The wasteland was still dangerous, but with a goal, Natasha made a point of opting for subtly and moving quickly. Fights were inevitable, but risking what little they had to survive on was foolish. She trusted that Diana would view things in a similar fashion, knowing that the needs of many outweighed bloodlust.

Natasha had agreed to meet Wonder Woman on the outskirts of New York, close to where the wasteland began, and truthfully, she was looking forward to their partnership. The woman was brilliant, an incredible fighter, and the closer she grew to the Justice League and similar teams, the better their odds were at surviving their isolation. “Thank you for asking me to join you,” she replied, offering Diana a small smile in return. “I was hoping we could avoid fights if possible. We’ll be able to bring more resources across that way,” Natasha said quietly. Obviously, she didn’t intend for her suggestion to be entirely successful, the numerous weapons on concealed on her made that much clear.

If you’d told Frank when he first started in as the Punisher that he’d be working alongside an Avenger one day, he wouldn’t have believed you. Hell, there probably would’ve been some laughing involved, maybe an insult or two. Him and the Avengers, they were worlds away from one another and he’d always known it. He wasn’t a hero, and they weren’t capable of finishing the job. It left a certain divide between them, and their fame and expanded abilities made that divide far wider than the one that existed between him and Daredevil. But Black Widow… She was different. She was more willing to do what needed to be done, something that had first been reflected in the SHIELD files she’d leaked and later been confirmed when she’d approached Frank on that rooftop. Maybe she was an Avenger, but she wasn’t a goddamn scout like some of the other heroes roaming about the city. She didn’t wear a mask, didn’t pretend that the world’s shittiest people were worth saving. She was honest, and Frank appreciated her for that.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about this part, though. The teaming up, the working together, it had never really been his style. When Frank had something that needed doing, he did it on his own. He went in guns blazing and came out bleeding, and that had always been preferable to taking someone else along for the ride. He knew the moment he showed up at the spot Romanoff asked to meet at that that wouldn’t be the case for today, and while he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, he was willing to give it a shot. “What kind of freaky ass shit are they into?” He raised a brow, considering the concept. Experimentation on a relatively unknown foe was a recipe for disaster. “Who do you think I’m gonna tell? Everybody I know thinks I’m dead.” He snorted, dropping a duffel bag on the ground between them. “How much ammo should I bring?” It was his way of asking how she wanted to do this. Frank was capable of stealth if they needed it, though it wasn’t his preferred method.

Frank’s methods weren’t ones that Natasha entirely condoned. She had given up killing under unnecessary circumstances many years ago, limited the blood she shed wherever possible, but she couldn’t deny that the Punisher had positively affected New York, and she wouldn’t deny that many of the men Frank murdered weren’t the kind who were invested in rehabilitation. After his background, horrific and bloodied, Natasha couldn’t blame Frank for inventing the Punisher. She also didn’t remotely regret arranging a partnership with him, though the targets she provided were always ones Natasha watched closely, ones she ensured had no intention of changing and performed acts that were absolutely irredeemable. New York City, especially in quarters as close as they were forcibly, needed to be safe from its own citizens. They had enough threats to worry about without gang members and murderers and similarly disturbed criminals. Frank Castle was an asset in that specific context, and Natasha saw no point in denying it.

That being said, Frank Castle wasn’t someone Natasha trusted entirely. His work was clean, efficient, but he had in no way proven himself loyal to Natasha — or anyone as far as she knew — and caution was useful when working with new people. “Unfortunately, freaky experiments I’m sure more people would attempt if they had the idea.” Unfortunately, scientists were geniuses in the textbook sense, but rarely in common sense. She had witnessed it with Ultron, caught wind of some of Reed’s insane ideas, and Natasha never pretended that they were bettering humanity with them. Experimenting on the demons was inevitable, they needed to know more about their enemy, but Natasha only wanted to hear of scientists she trusted doing the gruesome work. “I’m sure someone is aware you’re alive,” she replied, obviously disbelieving. “As much as you think is necessary. I’m not sure what circumstances we’ll be walking into.” If killing was necessary to keep the news of experimentation secret, Natasha would go to that length, though it wasn’t preferable. “Can you keep yourself from pulling the trigger if it isn’t necessary?” She asked, vocalizing the exact opposite of her personal thoughts and opinions.

Riding a dirtbike into what could only be described as Hell had never really been something high up on Clint’s to do list. As it turned out, becoming an Avenger shifted your priorities somewhat. He hadn’t hesitated to come along when Natasha asked and, truth be told, it was far from his first venture into the wasteland. When things like this happened, when the world shifted on its axis for the eight hundredth time, it was their job to right it. If there were resources in that wasteland as Doom claimed there were, Clint knew the president couldn’t be the only one with access to them. That was going to go really bad really quick, and riots in the streets weren’t going to help anything about their situation. “Guess it would be, huh?” He mused, chewing at his lower lip in consideration. “Good thing we’re good at ass-kicking then, huh?” His voice was flippant, nonchalant as always, though honestly, Clint was uncertain about all of this. He wasn’t sure how successful they’d be here, but it was important that they tried. 

It wasn’t a surprise when the nearby demons caught sight of them, and if Clint were a little saner, he might have grown nervous as the group moved their way. Unfortunately, no one who was essentially raised by carnies could boast to being entirely sane, and rather than a worried expression, his face brightened into a smile. “Oh, you are so on,” he grinned. “Doesn’t count as winning if you crash!” He snorted as she took off, revving his engine and following behind her, matching her speed as they went.

The resources being heavily guarded was only logical. She wasn’t sure what the demons needed to survive upon, but she imagined they needed nutrition like every other living thing. Presumedly, that implied they ate similar fruits and vegetables to what they did on Earth, judging by what Doom’s military had reported. It was a strange concept, but from what she had been informed of life across the galaxy, it wasn’t difficult to fathom. Stealing from the demons in order to provide for New Yorkers was far from just or fair — they had invaded the demons’ planet — but with little other choice, Natasha didn’t dwell on the moral complications. She was an Avenger, dedicated to protecting Earth and its people, and that meant ensuring their basic needs were met. Unfortunately, it would negatively affect the demons in the process, though her sympathy was limited. “I’m sure they need nutrition and resources as well,” she pointed out. Going into detail would only lead Clint to the same revelations and with her husband as kind and empathetic as he was, Natasha opted not to elaborate. “We do have some experience that area,” she agreed with a nod. “I’m sure we can handle this, especially with the motivation of  fruit.”

Carefully, Natasha dodged demons that advanced towards them, narrowly missing them as they closed rank. Luckily, maneuvering a dirt bike in difficult circumstances wasn’t new for her. Clint and Natasha had had many dangerous escapes throughout their SHIELD career leading up to this moment. Thanks to that very experience, Natasha drove recklessly, narrowly maintaining the lead in their impromptu race. “I’ve never crashed and I don’t plan on it now,” Natasha called back in response. “I’m sure I’ll have to come to a stop to rescue you in a moment though. It wouldn’t be the first time! Don’t forget Croatia,” she reminded Clint. It wasn’t a fair comparison, his crash had been due to an enemy shooting out his tire, but Natasha was relentless.

The wasteland was exactly as Doctor Strange had described. It was desolate, filed with demons, and from the entrance where Natasha and Clint stood with their two dirt bikes, resourceless. President Doom claimed otherwise and Natasha had personally witnessed what miracles existed further into the wasteland, assuming you survived the onslaught of demons. Luckily, they weren’t currently noticing Clint and Natasha’s presence, though momentarily, she expected that to change. “According to coordinates from the Panel, southwest for roughly twenty miles should lead us to farmland. There’s fruit and vegetables we can harvest, but it’s one of the most heavily guarded areas.” Honestly, Natasha hated living this way, constantly threatened by running out of food, unable to flee to the next country, and she felt trapped. Invading the wasteland didn’t change that, but a brief change of pace was welcome, and with pent up aggression, it could be beneficial in more ways than one.

A small group of demons caught sight of Clint and Natasha, as they had expected them to, and Natasha turned the ignition and the dirt bike roared to life beneath her. Immediately, several demons started towards them and Natasha grinned at Clint. “I’ll race you,” she suggested, unafraid of the threat. They had already been chased down by demons in the past, quite literally hunted, and they had come prepared, equipped with new and improved weaponry. “You know I’ll win,” Natasha added, referencing her ‘dangerous’ and ‘reckless’ driving. Without further commentary, she peeled off away from the border, narrowly dodging a few demons advancing towards them.