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OOM: 2011, Helicarrier
Sep. 10th, 2013 06:11 pmAfter talking with Fury, she works on her after-action report, and drinks just a few too many cups of coffee.
The result is, by the time she should grab something to eat again, she's far too wired to try and deal with the cafeteria and the number of fellow agents, analysts, and crew that would be there. She grabs some Doritos from the vending machine, and retreats to her assigned room.
It's possibly not the best frame of mind in which to call Clint, but...
She misses him. And needs to let him know where she is. She'd told Fury she'd be in San Diego for a week, but in the resulting hours, she's come to the conclusion that she really should ask.
Pulling out her phone, she presses his name in her contact list, and waits.
Please don't be in a late meeting.
The result is, by the time she should grab something to eat again, she's far too wired to try and deal with the cafeteria and the number of fellow agents, analysts, and crew that would be there. She grabs some Doritos from the vending machine, and retreats to her assigned room.
It's possibly not the best frame of mind in which to call Clint, but...
She misses him. And needs to let him know where she is. She'd told Fury she'd be in San Diego for a week, but in the resulting hours, she's come to the conclusion that she really should ask.
Pulling out her phone, she presses his name in her contact list, and waits.
Please don't be in a late meeting.
OOM: Milliways; Firing Range
Sep. 2nd, 2013 08:25 pm
Annoying things about having a husband in the military - sometimes, the military takes him off for exercises and training for days on end. It's not as if Natasha has a lot to do to freaking Khabarovsk, and she'd had plans for Alexei. But in the absence of one ridiculously attractive husband, a lack of clothes to repair, and entirely unable to bring herself to reread any of the books they'd brought with them, she's taken herself off to Milliways. Not that it's going to pass the time, but at least she could do things to wear herself out enough that a nap wouldn't completely throw off her sleeping-cycle, and that will fill in the time.
So - dressed in trousers and with a scarf pinned over her hair - she's at the firing range with a rifle, practicing her marksmanship.
OOM: 2011, Chicago, Girls Night
Sep. 1st, 2013 12:27 pmNatasha is, for the record, perfectly ready to go out. A vintage red patterned sundress, light make-up, a pair of red and silver octopus earrings dangling from her ears, and a nicely solid-yet-stylish pair of sandals waiting beside the door (thank you, John Fluevog).
She's perfectly ready, but for the time being, she's going to curl up on her couch with her laptop, and argue with people on the internet about the subtleties of Latin grammar.
(It's nice to care about things that don't actually involve world security, and that's her defense, and she's sticking to it.)
She's perfectly ready, but for the time being, she's going to curl up on her couch with her laptop, and argue with people on the internet about the subtleties of Latin grammar.
(It's nice to care about things that don't actually involve world security, and that's her defense, and she's sticking to it.)
OOM: 2011, Helicarrier
Sep. 1st, 2013 11:38 amIt's good to be back on the Helicarrier.
Even if - once she's showered, changed into comfortable civilian clothing, grabbed something to eat - there is a massive amount of paperwork to get started on. She'd started drafting her after-action reporty in her head on the flight over, but she wasn't looking forward to writing the real thing.
Then again, she was pretty sure no one enjoyed writing those things, no matter what had happened.
But before she can start, there is one person she needs to talk to.
"Sir."
Even if - once she's showered, changed into comfortable civilian clothing, grabbed something to eat - there is a massive amount of paperwork to get started on. She'd started drafting her after-action reporty in her head on the flight over, but she wasn't looking forward to writing the real thing.
Then again, she was pretty sure no one enjoyed writing those things, no matter what had happened.
But before she can start, there is one person she needs to talk to.
"Sir."
OOM: Vladivostock
Aug. 5th, 2013 10:50 amThe downside to trackers, and waiting for the people who unknowingly have them to actually move, is that it leaves time to think. And middle of a mission? Isn't exactly the time for her to shift through her emotions and motivations, even if she and Coulson are on a plane headed east.
Markov is – was – right. She murdered a group of people in Bulgaria, mostly using her Widow Bites, and SHIELD tends to make sure those who pull stunts like that don't do them again. And the argument can be made that she set up Sofia to come back and haunt her. A redhaired woman dressed in dark clothing, with glowing wrists, dispensing a form of justice to those who'd steal and sell young girls; a poetic image for one of those girls to latch onto.
The argument doesn’t last in her head any longer than it takes to form it. She can't bring herself to regret her actions, and she can't see the point. The girls had been freed, and if one of them had chosen to use that freedom to turn to being an obsessive hitwoman, then so be it. It was her call.
Natasha shakes her head sharply. Later. She'll poke at all of that later. The tracker is moving, and it's time to get back to work.
Or, at least, time to board a plane and ask Coulson if he brought any cards with him. It might not take over a week to get to the other side of Russia anymore, but it's still a damn long trip.
Markov is – was – right. She murdered a group of people in Bulgaria, mostly using her Widow Bites, and SHIELD tends to make sure those who pull stunts like that don't do them again. And the argument can be made that she set up Sofia to come back and haunt her. A redhaired woman dressed in dark clothing, with glowing wrists, dispensing a form of justice to those who'd steal and sell young girls; a poetic image for one of those girls to latch onto.
The argument doesn’t last in her head any longer than it takes to form it. She can't bring herself to regret her actions, and she can't see the point. The girls had been freed, and if one of them had chosen to use that freedom to turn to being an obsessive hitwoman, then so be it. It was her call.
Natasha shakes her head sharply. Later. She'll poke at all of that later. The tracker is moving, and it's time to get back to work.
Or, at least, time to board a plane and ask Coulson if he brought any cards with him. It might not take over a week to get to the other side of Russia anymore, but it's still a damn long trip.
OOM: 2011, Somewhere In Russia
Jul. 20th, 2013 06:46 am
As far as the Russian Railways' records are concerned, Alyona Romanovna Nazarova bought out an entire second-class compartment for her trip to Moscow. Neither her name, nor her actions, raise any suspicions; it's a common tactic for women travelling alone, if they can afford it.The woman locks her door, stows her luggage underneath one of the bunk beds, and pulls out a slightly battered copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses in the original Latin before settling herself on the lower bunk. Not that she finds her place to start reading, or even starts to actually relax – that has to wait until the train pulls out of the station and clears the city.
Finally, Natasha rests her head back against the panelling and looks out the window. Her passport might say Nazarova, but in this case, it's just a name. Not a persona with different mannerisms, a different voice, a personality that is only enough of her for her to sustain it. Just a name and some fake dates, and it's too much of a relief.
She's tired, is the problem.
(So tired.)
It's partly why she's on a train instead of a plane. Three days on a train being herself is as good as a vacation, or so she told Coulson earlier, and it gives the team time enough to hunt things down.
Good as a vacation, she repeats to herself in the privacy of her mind, and then lets her mouth curl sardonically. What she wants is to go home. Home with books and clothes that smell like her, and kitchens where she knows where everything is, and Clint. Home is where she is known by a very limited number of names, most of them derived by something else on the list.
Natasha Romanoff. Nadine Rommel.
Nat. Rome. Dee.
Home.
She's tired, so it takes until she's finished Book IV of the Metamorphoses for her to realise what she's done. When she does, she lifts her head abruptly, and stares at the panelling directly opposite her.
“Well...fuck,” Natasha mutters to herself. Being in the middle of potentially long mission when she's this damn tired is no time to work out she's in love with her best friend, and has been for long enough that she's redefined her concept of everything in its place to include one Clinton Francis Barton being in the immediate vicinity.
(This is the advantage of buying out the entire compartment for herself; she has complete privacy to sit there, eyes shut and palm pressed against her forehead in disbelief at her ability to ignore the obvious.)
OOM: Milliways; Lake
Jun. 25th, 2013 01:45 pm
[Placeholder things! Nat is outside by the lake, walking along the shore. Hiking boots, jeans, a long-sleeved shirt like any normal hiker. She's thinking about the weapons black market, though, which isn't a particularly normal activity for hikers. Also missing Clint, because she's Nat.]
The bar is an incredibly useful - Natasha can make her lunch-break stretch out for hours. Which explains why the young KGB agent is sitting in a booth reading a book on how to teach herself Mandarin (in English, unfortunately, but she suspects the Bar is irritated with her) while occasionally stabbing the potato salad in front of her.
(Of course, if anyone thinks that just because she's nose-deep in a book that she's not keeping an awareness of her surroundings, then they don't know Lieutenant Nataliya Shostakova.)
OOM: Moscow, USSR, January 1947
Jun. 5th, 2013 01:55 pm
Natasha should be in her room, studying. Unlike her fellow students at the Moscow State University, her semester breaks are spent back at the Red Room, where she has little time for her textbooks. Today is the first day she's been back in Moscow in (once she added up the hours) four days. Four days spent in the nearest approximation to wilderness that geography had to offer near Moscow, which in the middle of winter was no joke. She is glad to be back in the warm and dry, with hot water and no need to try and melt the ice from her eyelashes. Not to mention the ability to wear a civilian girl's clothes, instead of a soldier's layers.
But after four days with the company of Comrade Winter, her room with a bed just for her seems too much like a cell for her to be comfortable in it.
So Natasha is in the common room, newly outfitted with amenities such as some sofas, tables, and a wireless. There is also a piano, old like the sofas but kept in good condition. Despite herself, she gravitates towards it, and walks her fingers across the keys. It reminds her of Papa, and today isn't a very good day for that.
Natasha sits down, and tries to play anyway. She can't remember any of the music Papa taught her, but she can stumble her way through some chords. It's better than sitting in her room and wallowing.
Natasha might have been off field-duty for the foreseeable future (barring, of course, Strike Team Delta summons), but all this meant was more time in the office. And in conferences. And in offices doing conferences, and meetings, and plannings, and -Well, there is Rogers exiting a room, looking even less thrilled to be in SHIELD's HQ than she is. She'd argue that misery loves company, but in all honesty, she's been meaning to catch him to see how he was anyway.
You fight aliens together, that means something. Or it should.
"Rogers!"
(She's looking altogether more polished than even the last time he saw her; no yellow leather jacket with her wavy-curls all over the place, but her red hair is darker than before and pinned up to neatness, and she's wearing grey suit pants. Still, the blouse is a deep pink that matches her heels, and from her ears dangle two delicate pistol earrings.
Natasha Romanoff is making no attempt to blend into the background of suits.)
OOM: Milliways; April Fools; Upstairs
Apr. 1st, 2013 09:04 pm
after this:The room they walk into is...a hotel room.
Nicer than a lot, though. A queen-sized bed (the quilt and pillows a deep imperial purple), a small couch in front a decent-size television, a small table with a couple of chairs. Wide windows overlooking the forest, a nice redwood wardrobe, and a closed door to what presumably is the en suite.
Natasha has lived in smaller, and worse, so beyond slanting Clint an amused look once she catches sight of the colour of the bed, she heads straight to the couch. She's going to have to ask him to unbutton her, but first?
She's sitting down out of gratitude that she didn't break her neck on the stairs.
OOM: 2011: Florida, USA
Mar. 14th, 2013 10:45 pm
Annina Rolanovna Nevzorova goes by Nina in the US. Sometimes Annie, but mostly it's Nina. She paints dark lines around her eyes before she straps on her gun, and has a reputation for honesty and being a good businesswoman. When Nina walks through the door of Roman's café in Orlando, the ex-KGB operative-turned-gangster brightens. He's an old man who likes to think that he misses home, and she's a gunrunner who speaks Russian with a Volga Region accent; what's not to like?
“Sit, sit,” Roman says, all generosity. “Coffee? On the house, my dear. Have you been watching the news?”
Nina smiles at him, a niece to a favourite great-uncle. “Was it the monsters or the robots that caught your attention?”
“Robots!”
Robots are controllable; robots have a price; things that have prices have markets. Markets are things very, very dear to Roman's heart.
It still takes three cups of coffee for her to get the intel, and the deal, that she needs. Robots and monsters, and armies shooting at their own universities, and the mess that Iron Man has made of made of several depots.
It's enough to make anyone jumpy.
That jumpy extends to the feds watching Roman's door, and it only takes Nina-Natasha block to realise that she's got a tail.
Great.
She heads towards the crowds, weaving in and out of people almost leisurely, walking into shops and taking their second exist. It's in one of those shops, a quirky little tourist trap, that Natasha busies herself with a keyring rack.
Dolphins feature heavily, but the one she picks up has an orca arching into the air across.
It also has SeaWorld scrawled across it.
Natasha smiles.
“This one, thanks.”
– –
Sometime later, an envelope arrives in a post office box belonging to Jason Brandt. In it is the keyring, and a letter that says simply,
I haven't forgotten
H.
(Natasha always did like signing her messages with her Cyrillic initial, and this hardly the only touristy knick-knack she's sent to Clint over the years.)
ESPIGONAGE: Selected
Aug. 8th, 2012 05:01 pmBennet, Richard M., Espionage: An Encyclopedia of Spies and Secrets, Virgin Books Ltd, London, 2002
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
Central Park, Steve Rogers
Jun. 8th, 2012 11:35 pm
The glorious thing about New York is that if people recognize you, you are probably just another person they recognize and they pay you little heed. Also, the footage from the battle had no close-ups and was blurry, so all the public know of Black Widow is a redhaired woman in a black catsuit. Natasha can live with that.
She can also live with the New York branch of SHIELD being annoyed at her for skipping out and taking a long lunch. It's not as if she's out of the country (this time), and she'll come back. Eventually.
For now, Natasha is sitting on a bench in Central Park sipping coffee, looking like any other office-worker out on her lunch break; dressy slacks with matching jacket, a stylish blouse, smart heels with a thick heel and a thick strap, a gun in a holster underneath her jacket-
Okay, maybe normal officer workers don't have guns.
