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Cover What We Can't Erase; 5/27-later aftn-(Laynia, Natasha)
Topic Started: Sep 18 2016, 11:53 PM (8 Views)
Black Widow
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Moye proshloye eto moye
Creepy Crawly - Admin
[cont'd from probably You Might Be Hard to Find, and a bunch of off panel things]

"Yes?" Natasha called out to the brief knock on the door of her room as she turned in front of the mirror. "Come in," the redhead added, expecting that it was Clint, again, impatiently griping at her to hurry and finish dressing. Even if they had over an hour yet before they needed to arrive, he was convinced they were already late.

Bobbi had already lost all her patience with the restless, overbearing fretting so now they were bouncing him back and forth between them like a volleyball, hoping it would at least tire him out.

It wasn't Hawkeye, however, that stepped hesitantly through the doorway but Darkstar, Natasha noted. The teleporter's blonde hair was pulled up and arranged in a high, elegant ponytail and she was dressed in a simple black, shoulder baring, floor length gown with a wide, hammered silver collar. It suited her.

"Laynia," Nat greeted her with only mild surprise, briefly checking that her sleeveless tuxedo shirt and tie were straight and tucked properly into her tailored trousers before turning from her mirror and toward the other woman. "You look lovely."

"Spasibo," her fellow countryman returned, taking a few more steps into the room as Natasha reached for her earrings. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Laynia's voice held a faint note of hesitation that immediately piqued Nat's interest.

Natasha shook her head, hint of a sardonically amused smile on her face. "No, I'm nearly finished dressing." In truth, it hadn't taken her very long. It never did. "Though if Hawkeye stops by again to tell me how late Bobbi and I are making him, it might take a second to throw him back into play." Tilting her head as Laynia let out a soft, subdued laugh, Natalia considered the Belorussian woman carefully before lifting a brow slightly in query.

"Is there something I can do for you, Laynia?" The former Soviet spy finally prodded gently when Darkstar simply stood in place, unspeaking and unmoving. "Do you have news?" the redhead added, brows drawing slightly together at that possibility so soon.

Another moment's pause from Laynia before serious brown eyes moved to her own green ones. Slowly, the blonde lifted one slim hand and the Black Widow took real notice of the black leather pouch clutched in her fingers for the first time. Natasha had taken it for a purse at first glace. The size and style weren't right, for that, however, she noted now. No, this was more of an attache', the type that would hold paperwork, files in the days before digital storage and file sharing.

Something that felt edgy and sharp settled abruptly and unexpectedly in Natalia Romanova's abdomen.

"I believe it is the opposite, Natalia," Darkstar told her, expression serious and still slightly hesitant. "I retrieved these from a special messenger, sent by Nikolai, not an hour ago." Mutely, the former leader of the Winter Guard held the pouch out to her in offering. "He felt that they should be delivered with all expediency."

Meaning, Nat surmised, that whatever was within was of a nature that it needed to be out of his hands, and out of the country, as swiftly as possible. Sensitive enough that even he, a high level government operative, couldn't afford for it to be found in his possession.

Leaving her second earring forgotten, the Widow reached out her own hand. Closed her fingers around the soft leather.

"I feel I should apologize," Laynia added as she released the weight of that bag into her keeping. "Even though Mikhail assured me that I was mistaken, and knowing you as I do, I still did not believe. I was always told it was myth. Fantastika."

"As you were meant to. There's no need for apology.." Lowering her arm slowly to her side again, Natalia noted the weight of what she held. The heft. It wasn't a small thing. "Very, very few would believe. He was a myth, but one that was made of flesh and blood."

"It's all there," Darkstar continued, her head inclining toward the weight of the past that Natasha held fast in her hand. Her own past, but not only her own she suspected. "Even Nikolai was surprised a how much was recovered."

"Will it be missed?" Natasha asked, brows drawing together slightly again and glancing at Darkstar sidelong as she carefully set the pouch and it's weighty contents securely onto the small dresser a few inches away. If so, Laynia herself would be in no real danger. But she wasn't certain the same could be said for Nikolai Krylenko if the leak were discovered and somehow traced back to him.

"No, I do not think so," Laynia Petrovna replied with a shake of her head. "The archives these were taken from have been warehoused and largely forgotten for years. Nikolai had no means of accessing them himself," she added, meaning they would have been above the considerable clearance he possessed. It was no real surprise, the program had been classified even above the Red Rooms, "but Tania did. She retrieved them in secret and passed them to my brother."

Very little surprised her, but this managed, though Nat kept that surprise from showing out of long ingrained habit. Why Tania Belinskaya - while not of the same mold as her partner, the Presence - would bother to involve herself in this was beyond her. Starlight was hardly known for dispensing favors.

Perhaps it somehow appealed the mind-set of the dissident the woman had inherited a touch of from her father. Or perhaps it was simply her fondness for both Laynia and Nikolai.

"Then pass along to the Red Guardian and Starlight, both, my thanks. If they'll accept it." It wasn't likely, she knew, but if so, it would be two markers the Black Widow considered well worth the price.

"I will." Laynia nodded, paused for yet another moment, before adding, "There is a great deal there. I'll leave you to make what you can of it in private." The tall blonde turned for the door at that, but then hesitated and half turned back to her with a slightly troubled cast to her eyes. Yes, she'd read at least some of these files. They'd convinced her very well. ::Go carefully, Natalia,:: Darkstar warned with gentle concern in their shared native language. ::The Cold War might be done, but its legacy remains in the dark, hidden places of what once was. No good may come of their resurrection.::

::And not all skeletons can, or should, remain safely buried,:: Natalia countered, thinking again of the other man she'd known for years. If she knew him at all, he too would rather know the truth of the past, one way or the other, than never know at all. There was a nod of acknowledgement all the same to the woman who had refused, once, to drag her back to the justice of their homeland and had, since, become a friend.

With a brief closing of her eyes, an exhalation of breath, Laynia nodded in return. "As you say," was her mild reply before she turned and passed through the door again, pulling it closed behind her.

Natalia watched it contemplatively for a moment, letting her mind process what Darkstar had just told her, in a way that was not the straightforward one that was normal for her. And she decided that it was a warning, yes, but also an implication.

Eyes going to the innocuous looking bits of the past waiting patiently on the dresser, she moved to it quickly, crossed the room to lock the door, then settled herself on the small sofa, opening that container that held a part of another life and spreading the contents out, one by one, on the coffee table in front of her.

Then, Natasha began to read, and to remember, and to finally start to understand as she moved from one piece of information to the next. When Clint knocked again - and this time she knew that it was him from the increasingly insistent pounding - she didn't answer.

He wouldn't be late, neither would she. Having far more respect for both Steve and Sharon than to hold up their wedding, Nat would make sure of that, but for the few minutes she had left, the need for answers was even more insistent than Clint Barton's need to be mollified.
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