Date:March 25th, 2014
Almost no time has passed for our heroes. Let's just pretend this story hasn't been in cold storage, k?
-Lio
"C'mon, Bruce, lemme talk to her."
"It won't do any good, Rick. She isn't going to know what… who…. you are or have any idea what you are talking about. She doesn't remember anyone from SHIELD or the Avengers. I don't think seeing you in your present form is going to help. She was freaked out by Iron Man. What do you think she'd make of us? She doesn't know about the other guy. I don't think meeting…."
"A giant blue goblin?"
"That's not what I meant, Rick."
"It's all good, my friend. I'm loving being the A-Bomb. This is awesome!"
"I hope that doesn't change."
"Anyway, what about on the phone? I just want to talk to her. To say sorry."
"Look, I know you feel responsible, but the sex tape isn't even the priority now. I don't even think that it figures into this mess. Let me worry about this; you should focus on your work with Dr. Samson. You've become the third person in history to survive a Gamma transformation and are the only one whose mind was unaffected. "
"Well, when you put it like that…."
"What you are doing now is a big help. What were you able to find out?"
"I compared the original feed to the leaked version. It's a really clumsy edit. Just some trimming and frame-acceleration and res-lowering and degradation of the interpolation with a standard algorithm….. Honestly, I could have done a better job using an app on my phone."
"Can you tell who leaked it?"
"No, they flushed the metadata. The network folks should have better luck on that than I will."
"Can you tell why it was edited?"
"They might have just been looking for 'the good parts,' you know? Shorten it up. I don't think there is some greater conspiracy—the simplest explanation is usually the right one."
"Occam's Razor…. Right…."
"When you hear hoofbeats, don't go looking for zebras, man."
"Except on the savannah…. which is where I think we might be. I still don't have the measure of SHIELD. Everyone seems to have an agenda."
"You spent alotta time on the run, Brucey. You are too paranoid. They had three days of film. They cut it down to ten salacious minutes. No mystery there."
"Maybe…. Maybe… What about when Barton first approached her? Did you find that."
"Yep. I've got his body-cam and the audio from his comm. They usta store them separately but I put it back together for you. Why did you want it? I mean, the defection of the Black Widow is pretty epic, but what are you looking for?"
"It's the last thing she remembers. I want to see if there is something significant beyond the obvious. What about the footage from the train after STRIKE rescued her?"
"Nada. Sorry, my man. Look, I'm happy to help and all, but you know, I'm not a surveillance-tech anymore. This isn't really my gig nowadays."
"Thanks, Rick. I really do appreciate it. I'm drawing a blank and it's frustrating."
"You'll figure it out. I sent the files over. I didn't think you'd want it in the general Avengers box, so I put it all in your personal dropbox. Stark's, too."
"Just her defection, right? I don't want the more, uh, personal stuff."
"I sent it all, just in case."
"You sent the sex tapes to Tony?"
"Uh-huh. Original and edited footage. I packed it all up with PGP and …."
"You sent Natasha's… sex tape... to… Tony."
"Well, yeah. He's trying to sort this out too, right? And, all of SHIELD saw it…."
"Rick, when she gets her memories back, she really is going to kill you."
"Prove it," Natalia spat. She glared down at him from the raised platform of her cell. Husband?! Please. Of all the deceptions they could use on her, this one was too implausible to comprehend.
He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, it's not formal or anything. SHIELD has some pretty strict non-frat regs."
She quirked an eyebrow as he floundered, unable to support his own cover, which irritated her more than the cover itself. "What I mean is, it's not on paper; we didn't use our real names. There are a few pictures and a video. It was an undercover op and then we just..."
Natalia knew the crushing power of a good, impassive stare. Properly deployed, it could wither a strong conviction, challenge firm logic or shake the foundations of the best-laid cover. He had already acknowledged the flimsiness of the story, but she enjoyed taking a sledgehammer to any lingering illusions any of them might have regarding her gullibility.
He had seemed all swagger and assurance on that roof; today, he seemed worn and tired. He was older than she remembered, too. She hadn't realized how sick she'd been; she must've been out of her mind to agree to run off with this American.
If he thought she would be moved by this display of weakness, he was even more of a fool than she'd first thought. But, perhaps, she considered this was the next phase of their intrigue. Often, frauds were exposed by the abundance of evidence in their favor. The last few days had been a parade of supposed evidence of her defection and the passage of time. Frankly, most of the footage was wildly unbelievable; Thor, Loki and aliens? The obsequious, disembodied voice calling itself Jarvis had shown some very sophisticated computer generated images, many that were nearly impossible to distinguish from reality.
The fake films of her along side of the anachronistic propaganda figure who called himself "Captain America" was both laughable and compelling — they certainly had managed to capture her fighting style. They had however slipped up; there had been video of Clint executing her distinctive roundhouse kick—that was simply lazy special effects; to reuse the same movements. Also, the elegant, near-precognitive fluidity with which her digital double and her supposed partner sparred and fought… no real persons could achieve that graceful perfection without a skilled choreographer or computer generation.
She wondered why they hadn't put forth a more dashing individual to pose as her spouse. While she had found the cocky archer appealing, he didn't seem an obvious choice. She wondered if she had betrayed something when he cornered her; she had been anticipating seducing him; perhaps in her weakened state, they took her modest appreciation for something more?
"How did the escape attempts go?" he asked, leaning back against the security console, the topography of his forearms striking as he folded them across his chest. His mouth quirked sardonically, still that distinctly American smile.
His abrupt change of subject and demeanor unbalanced her a bit and she looked up sharply. She thought she had been so subtle in her examination of her cell and its excellent and perplexing security. Her irritation betrayed far more than she planned to acknowledge.
"Not well, I take it. I mean, you're still here, right? I know you don't remember, but we helped test the security when they built this thing." He tapped on the polycarbonate and the sensors embedded in the frame. "Tony and Cap wanted to use it as a holding cell for unenhanced combatants.. You have yourself to thank for all those security redundancies. You found all the little blind spots. And once you couldn't escape on your own anymore, they locked us in to see if the two of us faired any better together."
"Did we?"
"Eventually, if you know what I mean," under the knowing leer he affected, she noted a fond, wistful expression.
Actually, he was very, very good; far better trained in deception and manipulation than she had first assumed. These three unlikely interrogators might successfully convince a lesser operative. But she was the Black Widow, for fuck's sake. Time to regain control of the situation.
"So, is that all you've got? A prisoner will always try to escape, so you flatter me with the security. You have a weak story about a secret wedding and toss in a few allusions to fucking me?" She tried her caustic stare again, but he was studying his boots.
"Wait, wait, I almost forgot," he shook his head with self-deprecation, "I spent half the flight staring at it. I guess it's not proof, but..."
He pulled off his glove and splayed his left hand on the barrier, considering her with eyes that seemed sheened with sorrow. She snorted derisively again and felt satisfied when he wiped the sincerity away and sniffed back the melodrama. Tattooed in black ink, three letters "NAT" with a red hourglass nestled in the crease of his ring finger. "We aren't supposed to have tattoos or other voluntary distinguishing marks so I had to get it real small."
"That must've hurt," she responded, the disinterest palpable in her voice.
He shrugged and scratched his neck again; the familiarity of the gesture rankled. "Probably not as much as yours." She scrutinized her hands but found no traces. "Uh, you got yours…. somewhere else." His gaze dropped guiltily to her chest then back up to her face.
She strode angrily to the small bathroom and unself-consciously yanked her shirt and sports bra up to her collarbone. She examined her body in the thick reflective polymer sheet that served as a mirror. Tucked under the curve of her left breast - a minute purple arrow; no name but the significance was unmistakable.
She marched back to him, her shirt still rucked up to her chin, her bare breasts bouncing with her steps. "Why is yours on your hand, and mine...here?" she demanded, trying to draw that penetrating gaze downward, away from her face.
"I got mine first," he shrugged, "You always try to outdo me." A wry smile twitched as sadness darkened his eyes, which steadfastly held hers, "Actually, you always do outdo me."
She bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself that this was another lie, more deception, but as she watched him slowly deflating she wondered what the end game was. She fought back a pang of regret; for a moment, she caught herself wishing that the lie were true.
"Oh, hey! Yeah, sorry…" Bruce whirled around and nearly collided with Jess as he retreated.
Jessica remained in the doorway, taking in the tableau. The redhead was staring at her defiantly, daring her to look away. The naked emotion in Clint's expression discomfited her far more than Natalia's bare breasts.
Jess swore she saw a flash of hot shame before the woman who was not her friend covered herself and slunk back to her cot, glowering. Clint stooped to retrieve his glove, all his attention focused on putting it on as he pushed passed them, grabbed his rucksack and headed for the elevators.
