Steve looked at Natasha. “I’m not going to let it ‘blow over.’ It’s illegal and unconstitutional. I’m not going to keep my mouth shut or stop doing what I think is right out of fear. They might not come after me, but they’ll come after others, and if they do, I’ll stand up for them.”
He stopped and leaned on the balustrade that separated the path from the river, looking out over the water.
“There’s a quote that applies to this all to well.
’First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.’
I’m going to speak out, Natasha.”
The look she gave him was one of friendly disapproval, not at his motivation, but perhaps… how dramatic it was. Her smile was kind, and she didn’t try to talk him out of it, he was ridiculously stubborn. Fury had discovered that when the Hydra corruption in S.H.I.E.L.D was revealed, and saw just how blindly Steve could pursue a goal.
This wasn’t the time to stand in his way and hope he’d divert his charge. Besides, he had a point. Natasha knew that, though she had been careful to keep herself neutral through it all. Stark of course, had validity behind his concerns, what was happening, would happen sooner or later. Without S.H.I.E.L.D to protect them, the Avengers could and would be held up to public scrutiny.
Especially after the Ultron fiasco, the UN Council had just been waiting for an excuse to drop this on them. If they kept trying to resist it, the limitations on their power would be greater.
“Just be careful,” she told him, her small smile showing concern. “You can’t fight your way out of every situation.”
The eventuality of the night was they had to sleep, parting ways when they arrived at her hotel. It was a nice place; smaller than others she had stayed in but not unbearably so. Her room was all off-white and modern, sleek and elegant. Dark woods and white sheets, a master bath to die for.
And a bed that was just too soft.
Strange dreams aside, Romanoff’s morning was fairly normal. Light shone through the window, giving the area a wonderful appearance she had opted to enjoy as she read through the updates on her tablet. Her coffee was still hot, steam rising from it as the assassin leaned back in her chair, brows furrowing ever so slightly as she read the reports.
Admittedly, they were dull, but necessary. She hadn’t left the Avengers, nor ‘retired,’ so she had to read the briefings.
The knock at her door surprised her, whatever doubts or thoughts she had been having draining away. She heard the faint voice of ‘room service’ and sighed, rising to answer the call and politely shoo the maid away.
She wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, the door to her room becoming nothing but splinters and shrapnel that barely avoided by diving out of the way. There wasn’t any real explosion, no fire or light that had caused it, just a weird sort of influence on reality. It was as if the world had briefly warped, bending to the will of some unknown force before righting itself violently.
She was on her feet in a flash, just in time to see someone standing in front of her before the intruder was gone. Just gone.
Romanoff was struck hard on her back, squarely in the center of her spine. She stumbled, though didn’t fall despite the surprise, she whirled around to face the assailant only to face nothing but air.
“Great…” She murmured, her look anything but impressed. She took a few steps back and pressed her back to the wall. Provided whoever-the-hell-this-was didn’t explode the wall from behind Nat, this maneuver would force her opponent to come at her straight on.
Romanoff glanced towards her phone. She had left it on the table.
Another sharp pop and the intruder had returned. Definitely a woman, wearing all dark clothing with a sleek jacket over-top. Her face was hidden behind a matte black mask, one that was somewhat similar to Stark’s. It didn’t look as advanced, but there was some serious tech there. Enough that whatever purpose it had, it undoubtedly did it well.
“Go ahead,” the stranger taunted, gesturing to the cellphone. “Go for it, see how far you get.”
She had an accent, British.
That didn’t really narrow down suspects, but hell, it was a start.
Romanoff smirked, eyes gleaming with violent intent at the words. She wasn’t sure if it was teleportation, super-speed, or something entirely different. But she would get to that phone.
She feigned a start and watched as her enemy vanished. That strange distortion happening again as Widow’s opponent disappeared.
She, whoever she was, reappeared almost in the same spot when she realized what happened and Natasha attacked. She whipped a taser-disc at her enemy, watching as the small projectile struck her in the chest whilst delivering a powerful, painful shock.
There wasn’t even a glance spared for the enemy as Romanoff snatched the phone, watching as the lights to her room flickered. Was the woman doing that? Her gaze shot to the disabled opponent on the floor, seeing that she was still very much down and out.
If it was her, it couldn’t have been intentional.
There was a key choice on who to call. She was an Avenger, her first instinct should be to report it to Tony, Ross, or really somebody officially in-charge. Yet that wasn’t the case, she instead dialed for Steve. He had always been their leader, and if hadn’t been him, it would’ve been Clint.
Old habits die hard, apparently.
Though she was quick to rationalize her error on Steve’s proximity, logically he was the first choice due to being in the area.
“I’m under attack,” She glared at the interloper on the floor. “Unknown assailant, wear’s a mask like Stark’s. She can teleport-”
The electricity in the building sputtered out, hardly noticeable with the morning sun, but everything in the room had died.
One massive bright blue arc of energy roared out of the socket on the far wall. Romanoff grimaced, shielding herself and looking away as it struck just next to her and seared it black. Smoke rose from the epicenter, a newly formed crater in the wall, its center white-hot.
Even Widow’s arm was hot; she shook it as she began to back away.
“I need back up-“ Her phone beeped and fizzled out. The screen flashing the battery symbol before it cracked.
Romanoff confused was matched only by the growing anxiety in her stomach, she glanced at the person on her floor. They were beginning to wake up.
This was about to get out of hand.
blakekathryn
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
izzy806
