#cold war event

[nataromanovas-blog]

The Man in the High Castle (Nat & Tony) | 3 September 2016

@thefuturistknows

Natasha stood at the window, looking not at the twinkling New York City skyline but rather down at the street and sidewalk below them, crowded with pedestrians, taxis, and the few passenger cars (or Ubers, or Lyfts) that had decided to brave Manhattan's stop and go traffic. Something about being in Tony's office suites at Stark Tower took her back to years ago, when the Avengers had just been one of Nick Fury's radical ideas. When she'd spent months playing the unassuming personal assistant Natalie Rushman in order to keep an eye on Tony Stark.

They were far from those times now, but standing here made Natasha want to smooth out an imaginary pencil skirt and pretend to check Tony's calendar again. It was funny, how certain roles grew on you. She'd hated that assignment so much--that was probably why it stuck.

More than that, Natasha realized that she was amazingly, embarrassingly nostalgic: dreaming of a time before the SRA, before the Raft, before Captain America.

"Steve," she said out loud, taking a sip from her sparkling water as she turned, putting her back to the window so she could face Tony Stark, who was the real threat in the room. Or--maybe she was being too generous. The real threat in the room, she thought, was the man she'd just named. He wasn't here, but his presence hung palpably between them. Like the ghost in Hamlet. An accusation. “Have you been to visit him yet?”

She hadn’t. She liked to think it was because she knew better than to compromise herself by visiting someone who had been imprisoned for actively fighting the SRA. She liked to think that she was outsmarting Ross and his men by playing along with their little games. She liked to think that she was resisting in the most effective way she could. But... Natasha also knew many people liked to think plenty of things that weren’t necessarily true.

[nataromanovas-blog]

Le Me Talk to My Lawyer (solo) | 16 July 2016

Natasha’s trying to hedge her bets. Sure, she’s pro-reg, but that doesn’t mean she trusts the government. And that also doesn’t mean she’s giving up her comrades (unless they give up on her first).

Isaiah was unsurprised about the Superhero Registration Act. In fact, he only seemed surprised about the fact that Natasha hadn't called him sooner. "I was busy," she said, rolling her eyes; and she had been. Between conference calls and tense committee meetings, she'd run some missions for the government as well. As a supporter of the act (however quietly) she was considered "preregistered" and therefore able to work with proper supervision. She'd been in Mogadishu, Melbourne, Kiev. She was in Moscow now. She’d come in on an old Soviet-era train, gotten to the station as the sun was setting. It was warmer than she’d expected. She’d packed too many clothes.

Isaiah was in her apartment; she could see Liho on his shoulder through the webcam, a darker blob against the dark background. It was early afternoon in New York. "I know you were busy. But this is big trouble, Natasha." He seemed to catch Natasha's unamused expression through the grainy video feed. "You know that."

"I know that," Natasha said. "Which is why I'm asking you for a favor." Both she and Isaiah knew there was no such thing as a favor; he'd be compensated amply for his time and expertise. Maybe she'd get him something nice from Moscow, too. She had nobody else to buy nice things for, except maybe Liho. "I want you to look over the bill they're actually passing. Check it out with a fine-tooth comb. I don't trust them."

“Good on you,” Isaiah said with a grin. “Worse than the Mafia, the feds are.” Natasha just rolled her eyes at that, and she wasn't surprised when Isaiah continued: "I've been over it already, actually, and before you ask--it doesn't look good. There's a lot of room for interpretation, and you know the courts are going to take it all the way. Even registered superhumans aren't safe, obviously. Just gives them an extra step they need to take, if they decide you're a menace to the public." He glanced up, his pale brown eyes meeting hers eerily through the video connection. "Keep an eye out. The generals like you for now because you do what they say. Be careful about those side jobs."

"I haven't taken any," Natasha assured Isaiah, shifting in her uncomfortable IKEA chair and putting a her hands on the back of her neck, trying to massage out the tense muscles. It meant she had a lot less to do, and she was feeling that already. Feeling bored, constrained, caged. Unwelcome in the U.S. among those to whom she felt closest (Steve, really); unknown or feared everywhere else. "I'm waiting for things to cool down."

"Waiting for them to start putting people in prison."

"Isaiah--"

"This act is a bad idea, Natasha. I know what your intentions were. You were standing next to all the pro-reg people--Stark, van Dyne, McCoy... Look. I get where you're coming from. But..." Isaiah trailed off, once again correctly reading the "shut up" expression on Natasha's face. He looked away, and spent a moment scratching behind Liho's ears, in the spot that made the cat stretch out a little and curl her tail in pleasure. Natasha was surprised with a sudden stab of homesickness. Since when did she feel like that? Since when did she miss an animal? "Anyway. I'm willing to go up to bat for you in court, but I draw the line at bribing the judges. That's your job."

And that was the good old Isaiah, up for (more or less) anything. Natasha laughed and forced her tense shoulders to ease, trying to convince herself that she felt as relieved as she sounded. "Right. Thank you. And--keep an eye on the news for me too. I've got my web, but sometimes things take longer to get across the Atlantic."

"Understood. Expect your daily encrypted newsletter at the usual time. And, good luck with those generals."

Natasha laughed. "You know what they say. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. And I don't have friends." Not anymore. It felt like a relief to actually say it. She didn't have friends, didn't have someone she felt was close enough to hear her innermost thoughts and feelings. Didn't have a person to whom she could talk about her fears and hopes for the SRA. Didn't trust anyone enough.

Isaiah looked skeptical, but let it go. "I'll feed your cat," he said.

Natasha nodded. "Be well," she replied, and closed the connection.

[nataromanovas-blog]

The Safest Road to Hell | Natasha, Tony, Jan, & Hank McCoy | 20 June 2016

“Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts...”

- C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Monday morning. 0730 hours, GMT-5. Or, 7:30 a.m., Eastern Standard Time, if you preferred. Though the sun had barely been up for a full hour, the day was already muggy, and it was obvious the weather would soon be oppressively hot. Natasha's window-mounted air conditioner in her apartment wasn't working. She was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and running shorts, and she'd cracked the window in her kitchen and turned on a portable fan, but it didn't help.

And it wasn't just the weather that was oppressive today. She'd read the proposed Super-Human Registration Act--they all had. Multiple times. Right now the bill was in its embryonic stages. It could still be edited in committee and, later, amended during debates in the House of Representatives and the Senate. But the gist of it would remain the same, Natasha was sure, and that was this: register yourself as a "super-human" and help hunt down those who hadn't registered, or become a fugitive and be barred from working on any superhero team. Choose between a rock or a hard place. A frying pan or a fire.

If pressured, Natasha knew what her own choice would be. From long experience as a clandestine operator, and as a fugitive from various governments and international organizations, she knew that it was better to adapt to the situation, to become an insider able to change the course of events, than to remain a principled outsider with no credibility, unable to influence the outcome of events except through outright conflict. She'd thought that most of her friends and former teammates would agree with her on that. But her conversation with Steve on Wednesday had shaken that certitude. If he, of all people, couldn't see that the smartest course of action was to lay low and work from the inside, then how many others would follow him?

Plenty. Steve was popular, influential, and persuasive, and if he spoke openly about his resistance to the SRA, it would be a public relations disaster.

As she imagined that scenario, Natasha felt the tension she'd been carrying in her neck and shoulders increase, until it felt almost like a noose around her neck: her instincts, honed over long, long years of survival, saying get out. Leave while you can. But she wasn't a free operative anymore, as much as certain people, friends and enemies alike, would disagree. She had a team, she had responsibilities, she had a life. And she couldn't simply turn her back and flee.

0745 hours. Natasha poured herself a second cup of coffee even though her apartment was way too warm for drinking hot beverages. She put the mug on her kitchen table next to her open laptop, which she booted up. Then she gathered up the printed copy of the registration bill, annotated with red pen in her neat Cyrillic cursive (unreadable to most), along with a few of her own pages of notes, and information on the two committees in which the bill had been introduced: the Senate's Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs, and its analogue in the House of Representatives. She also had background information on each of the writers of the bill, as well as the SRA's most fervent supporters within and outside of the government. It never hurt to be prepared. The difference between losing and winning a battle was often in the amount of information you could gather for your side. That was doubly true in these kinds of bloodless battles, where reputation and a quick response mattered more than anything else.

0750 hours. There was always another email to read, another tweet to save to the database she was building. A text from Clint Barton asking whether they would have their usual pizza night this week--she tabled that, to respond to later.

0755 hours. Natasha got up and got herself a protein bar. She was hardly hungry, between the stress and the heat, but she knew that she needed to keep up her strength. She'd have to be in top form over the next months, whether her body liked that or not. As she opened the wrapper, careful not to get crumbs onto her laptop, she signed into the special videoconference app--Stark software, triply encrypted on his end and encrypted once more through Natasha's own security systems on her laptop. Hank was already online. The other members of the chat logged in one by one, and even though it was a minute early (well, twenty seconds early), once Tony came online, Natasha bit the bullet and started the call.

0800 hours. "Good morning, everybody," she said as they all answered the call within a few seconds: Tony Stark, Janet van Dyne, Hank McCoy. Her allies, now and in the future, as they tried to do what would be best for everyone, to mitigate the damage to their teams, reputations, and independence. “It’s good to see you, and I’m glad we can all be here.” Those weren’t meaningless pleasantries; it was good to see the four of them putting up a united front--or at least, trying to. “I assume no one needs a recap of this situation.”

[nataromanovas-blog]

Need a Hand? (Janet & Natasha) | June 17, 2016

@when-wasps-fly

From: N Romanoff ([email protected]) To: Janet van Dyne ([email protected]) RE: [no subject]

Janet--

It’s been a while since we last talked, but I’ve been following your recent press appearances closely. As one does. You know how it is.

You’re handling things amazingly as usual, but I think this is going to get bigger than just you and Hank McCoy, and I don’t say that lightly. I don’t like the kind of things that people are talking about, and I don’t like the way that this situation is going, but know that I’m behind you 100%.

You know where to find me if you need me.

NR

P.S. And tell Wanda that I say hi. :) I know that there are always two sides to a story, and I know what the media can be like. She’s been remarkably strong through all of this and I’m proud.

[nataromanovas-blog]

Damage Control (Nat & Steve) | 15 June 2016

@a-man-outof-time

“--it’s not just foreign elements like Wanda Maximoff who are the problem; there are mutants born right here in this country, as well.  Any one of them could have done what she did, and will if they’re not kept in check.  After an incident like this one, surely people must see the need for new legislature in this country on the mutant issue.” 

“And that’s a wrap,” Natasha said as the news station switched to another replay of the building burning down, this time from the point of view of a nearby witness filming from a shaky, low quality cell phone camera. She paused the recording on her laptop, ignoring the tension headache that had been a low discomfort in her temples and along her jaw for days now. Five days, actually. Then she leaned back in her chair again, sighing through her nose and looking at Steve Rogers, sitting next to her at her kitchen table.

She’d called him as soon as she heard the news about Wanda, and they’d agreed to meet as soon as both of them were free. They knew that this accident would have bigger repercussions than any other Avengers-related mishaps any of them had gotten into over the years. The death count was at 110, right now, and every time she turned on the news it seemed to rise.

Every time she turned on the news, she saw footage of the apartment building going up suddenly in flames.

Steve was her go-to guy for public relations things like this, and even though Natasha knew that Janet had been very expertly handling the press so far, she also was getting the feeling that this would soon spread beyond the current Avengers team. And she wanted to be ready for that.

“Senator Kelley is looking as charming as usual, but now people are starting to listen to him,” Natasha said, pulling up one of her ghost twitter accounts to show Steve some of the media buzz. She’d saved a bunch of tweets. “I’ve been keeping track.”

@SenRossWilson: This isn’t a mutant problem, it’s a vigilante problem. A superhero problem. It’s not “protecting” if it’s outside the law.

@mickey3434: Remember how high the death count was when New York was invaded??? & now this. Not getting better unless we CONTROL superheroes 

@judgeSandra: Vigilante justice is NOT justice. Enhancement =/= the right to take the law into your own hands.

“I know you’re keeping up with this too,” Natasha said. None of these arguments would be new to Steve, but she liked having them all in one place to know what people were saying, to get a feel for the terrain. “It’s going to get bad, and I think we need a plan of action.” She leaned back from the laptop and looked at Steve, her face grim.