That Ocean Is Not Silent (Captain, Widow)

[Namor]

Location: The Helicarrier.
Date: July 9, 2012
Time of Day: Mid-afternoon

The SHIELD briefing officer flicked the security switch. In the door above the hall, an red light blinked on, warning passers-by that a secure briefing was in progress.

"Thank you both for coming," said the briefing officer. James ("call me Jimmy") Woo was a compact, wiry man of Chinese ancestry. He was a crack pistol shot, proud to declare that he held "no rank" in Jeet Kune Do, and possessed both a Juris Doctorate and a Masters of Finance. "Director Fury asked me to brief you on the situation because of your special knowledge of the subject, Captain. And he wants Natasha serving as your backup."

He paused, leaning on his cane - he was on desk duty right now, because his right leg had been broken in four places during the Hulk's rampage through the Helicarier - and gestured towards the table with his free hand. "If you'll take a seat, we'll get started."

With that, Jimmy picked up a remote and clicked a button. A PowerPoint screen appeared.

Warning
The following briefing is classified SECRET BLUE HADES DAGON. If you do not have SECRET BLUE HADES DAGON clearance, leave the auditorium now and report to your unit security officer for debriefing. Failing to observe this notice is an imprisonable offense.

You have sixty seconds to comply.

Levering himself down into a chair, Jimmy looked at Captain America and the Black Widow. "To be clear, you both have BLUE HADES DAGON clearance as of the moment you entered this room." He smiled and shrugged. "The other Avengers do not, although you are free to discuss the publically known facts with them. The Director is concerned that... how did he put it? Oh, yeah, that they may make a tense situation untenable. Particularly Stark."

White teeth flashed in the grin. "That last bit is a direct quote, by the way. Feel free to use it, if you think it will help."

He turned serious again, and clicked the button on the remote. The warning screen was replaced by footage from a security camera. "This incident took place four months ago. Roughly a month before we recovered you, Captain."

Video clip
The United Nations General Assembly is in session. At the podium, the honorable representative from Thailand is speaking. There is no audio.

Like a wave, a commotion radiates out from the back of the room. Representatives stop paying attention to the speaker, turning their heads to stare towards something that does not appear on camera. Silently, the source of the interruption is seen on camera as he walks the aisle towards the podium.

He is tall and dark-haired. And, thanks to the fact that he wears nothing more than green swimming trunks, it is obvious that he is powerfully built. He strides the length of the Assembly Hall, pausing at one point to casually shrug off three security guards that attempt to tackle him to the floor. Finally, he mounts the stairs to the lecturn and glares at the honorable representative from Thailand until the man backs away.

"That," says Jimmy, pointing out the man in the swim trunks with the laser pointer on the remote, "is BLUE HADES DAGON. Tenatively identified as being the same enhanced human known during World War Two as 'Namor'."

A pause, and Jimmy met Steve's eyes. "I think you understand why you are considered to have specialist knowledge, now. I'll let you brief Natasha on that, because the Tylenol's wearing off and my leg's starting to ache like a bitch." Quick grin. "Besides, you know it better than we do anyway."

Jimmy looks back at the screen. "The cameras don't record audio. But the UN records everything said by the speakers." He pushes a button on the remote, again.

Audio clip
The voice is deep, with a subtle - almost unnoticable - accent. Vowels and sibilants are drawn out slightly, and there is a subtle pop or click to hard consonants.

"Representatives of the Nations of the Surface World. I am Namor the First, Lord of Atlantis, Monarch of the Oceans of the Earth.

"For thousands of years, we have been two Worlds on one Planet. Interactions between my people and yours have been infrequent, and the deeds of one world have had no impact on the affairs of the other. All of this has changed."

The tone of voice grows fierce.

"Within living memory of my people, you have scoured the upper waters nearly clean of life. Schoals of fish that once numbered in the millions are all but extinct. The runoff from your farms has depleted thousands of cubic miles of ocean of oxygen, and the runoff from your factories has tainted the waters with toxic chemicals and heavy metals and radioactive waste. My people suffer greatly from your selfishness and negligence and greed, and my ministers call for an end to it!"

The tone of voice shifts again, becoming reasonable.

"When my ministers call for war, I reason with them. I remind them that the surface is ignorant of our existence. I remind them that I once enjoyed friendship with the greatest and noblest of their leaders. That there is as much justice and wisdom to be found upon dry land as may be found within the clement depths of our home."

A sigh.

"Their answer is to point silently to children born crippled and deformed. To show me the elderly who die slowly and in agony, their minds destroyed and their bodies scourged by the poisons in their blood. To bring before my throne the rolls of families forced to seek the mercy of their king, for they can no longer feed themselves. And then they ask me: where, in these catalogs of horrors, may justice and wisdom be found?"

A pause.

"A king rules his people. But if a king does not also serve his people, and protect them, he is not fit to be a king."

A pause.

"I have laid before you the woes your world has inflicted on mine. As yet, I trust that there is justice and wisdom to be found among your peoples. I shall return, in one year, to learn what you - in your justice and in your wisdom - will do to begin to make right the destructions that you have visited upon my people in your ignorance.

"It is within your power to decide whether, upon my return, I come with the open hand of the Lord of Atlantis - or with the mailed fist of the Avenging Son.

"Imperious Rex."

"That was four months ago," Jimmy added as the recording stopped. "The UN Security Council - mostly the US, but China and Russia agreed - decided to go with a hardline 'we don't negotiate with terrorists' attitude." He shrugged. "Nobody has any idea what capabilities BLUE HADES - Atlantis, if you're wondering - has. It could be a posthuman technowonderland, or the crack-dream of a deranged exhibitionist that can fly. SHIELD is, pending more intelligence, assuming a worst case scenario: a world war, starting in less than eight months, against an opponent with absolute control of the sea."

He put the remote down, turned his chair to face Captain America and the Black Widow, then winced and rubbed his cast. "But now," he said, pointing at Steve, "we have you. And Director Fury wants you to try and locate this 'Namor', determine if its the same guy, find out what sort of assets he has and... oh, yeah. Try and talk him down from going to war with the entire human race."

A grin. "No pressure, right?"

[Steve Rogers]

Steve remained quiet as they were given a full on briefing. He didn't say anything until it was all over. How could he? Namor was a friend of his, and while Steve doubted that the man could have lived this long, the things he'd seen Namor do, it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility.

Even still, the threat of war? Steve didn't think that Namor would go that far. But, he wasn't wrong. For all intents and purposes, Steve followed orders given to him by people who outranked him. However, he also knew that America was far from faultless, same with the rest of the world. Everyone was capable of destroying the small world they lived on, slowly but surely, through pollution. Steve could certainly sympathize with the man, he was only looking out for his people, if his claims were true of course.

Steve understood the choice in calling himself and Natasha in on this one. Agent Barton was on another mission, and Steve had prior experience with Namor. On top of that, he and Widow worked will in tandem. Given the similarities in their skill sets, it was an obvious choice to make. Calling in some of the other Avengers, Stark in particular, could only worsen the situation. Fury wasn't an idiot, he knew that The Hulk also wasn't the best choice for this. As diplomatic as Doctor Banner could be, the threat of The Hulk wouldn't sit well with Namor, who was as ill tempered as the gamma irradiated Doctor.

"No pressure, right?"

Steve nodded, treating Agent Woo as a superior, he assumed that he was after all, "No sir. I'll do my best. Agent Romanoff and I will be able to follow the directives with no issue sir."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

It had surprised Natasha to know that she’d been summoned by SHIELD. After the Initiative’s mutual decision to disambiguate themselves from the government organisation, she’d assumed there would be some sort of hard feelings. Maybe not from Fury – he had his reasonable side – but from higher up.

She’d been even more surprised when she’d found that her intended partner wasn’t Agent Barton. Steve was her second choice, though, so she wasn’t worried. He took direction well, and he had a mind for someone other than himself in the midst of the fray. That was a valuable asset, and though she wasn’t as well attuned to his mannerisms as she was with Clint, she knew it would be no problem working alongside him.

She didn’t bat an eyelash at the security clearance. She’d had so many over the years, what was one more? The observation about Mr. Stark made her smirk; she always though it, but never had to say it. Someone always beat her to the punch.

Her eyes raked over every inch of the screen; she recognised more than a handful of the officials in the room. She watched the clip silently, reading body language and other cues across the auditorium, and stood stone still through the audio as well. Only when both were finished did she shift ever so slightly, changing a bit of weight to her opposite foot.

“I think we’ll be alright.” She was Russian; she’d seen fanatics before. Turning her head to her partner, she regarded him inquisitively.

“As soon as Captain Rogers here catches me up on what he knows, that is.”

* * *

[Namor]

"No pressure, right?"

Steve nodded, treating Agent Woo as a superior, he assumed that he was after all, "No sir. I'll do my best. Agent Romanoff and I will be able to follow the directives with no issue sir."

"Hey!" Jimmy said, holding up his hands, "None of that 'sir' business. I do my best to work for a living." There was a laugh in his voice.

“I think we’ll be alright,” the Black Widow added, before turning to regard Captain America. “As soon as Captain Rogers here catches me up on what he knows, that is.”

"I'd suggest saving that for the flight, though," Jimmy said, cocking his head a little and regarding the two Avengers curiously. Naaaah, he decided, surely not. With a little shrug, he picked up the remote. A computer-generated globe of the Earth appeared, and he waited with a little irritation as it spun and panned and enlarged, focusing in on the south Atlantic. A CGI box was sketched on the map, about four hundred miles on a side, with the top about level with the Amazon.

"In four months, we've been able to narrow the location of Atlantis down to somewhere in there," Jimmy said, pointing at the center of the box with the laser. "Part one of your operation will be, well, finding BLUE HADES."

A pause.

"Nobody's gonna be particularly upset if you can confirm that it doesn't really exist. But you do need to look." He laughs a little, without humor. Then he clicks the remote, and the image of a boat appears.

"You'll be assigned the Shockwave Rider for this. It's a prototype aeromarine - it can hit up to 500 miles per hour in the air, and can push almost 50 knots underwater. Better yet, it's got a supercavitation system, so you can crank it up to nearly 500 knots underwater. As long as you only want to go in a primarily straight line, and don't mind using up your air supply, that is."

"And, of course, the other shoe needs to drop." The button clicks and an image of a woman appeared the screen.

"Lucia Von Bardas," he said. "Head of the Latverian BSS¹. Chief of Victor von Doom's intelligence and information-gathering service." He clicked the button again, and a man's face joined her. "Stefan Beklea. Captain of the Latverian Garda Regală. He rids von Doom of meddlesome priests, if you take my meaning."

He stared at the two images for a moment, then clicked the button again. The image of a yacht appeared. "The two of them have been sighted in the area we believe BLUE HADES to be in. Aboard Baroness von Bardas' private yacht, the Nevinovat - which happens to be a decommissioned Udaloy I anti-submarine destroyer." He sighs. "We are not particularly interested in seeing Latveria establish relations with or provoke BLUE HADES. Assuming BLUE HADES exists. But they are in international waters, so we have no legal grounds for forcing them out. So, uhm, try to beat them there. All right?"

The screen goes dark, and the briefing room lights come up. "There are some briefing documents with additional information. Think of them as tedious in-flight reading. Any questions? Comments? Terrible things to say about my mother for dropping this in your laps?"

¹Biroule de Securitate de Stat, or Office of State Security.

[Steve Rogers]

"Blue Hades being Atlantis," Steve spoke in layman's terms, "Namor told us, the Invaders, about his Kingdom. Not many specifics, he was a bit of a secretive fellow, but he definitely mentioned Atlantis. I wasn't sure if I believed him or not, but the things he was capable of doing, it made it hard not to believe either."

The Invaders consisted of about ten regular men, a Super Solider, an indestructible man with claws in his arms, and one of the most powerful beings he'd ever seen. Before witnessing The Hulk in battle, Steve had never seen a person do anything like he'd seen Namor do.

The technology was certainly impressive, Steve had to hand it to SHIELD. He'd never seen a submarine quite like the one that Agent Woo was showing to them now. More interesting to him than that was the talk of Latveria. He'd read about the country in the papers. There was always some speculation about what they were up to there, allegations, never anything positive. And the things he'd heard about their leader, including a few choice words from one Tony Stark, tangling with them could do no good.

Cap's eyes shifted to Agent Romanoff for a moment. She was stoic, like always, no surprise there, he admired her ability to keep so calm, despite the lack of enhanced abilities such as himself. He knew that if the rest of his crew from the war had been here, they would have had serious reservations. But no, not Natasha, she was prepared for anything. Steve would have to be equally ready, with a partner like the Black Widow, there was no opportunity to be laid back.

"There are some briefing documents with additional information. Think of them as tedious in-flight reading. Any questions? Comments? Terrible things to say about my mother for dropping this in your laps?"

"When do we leave?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

There was a lot to follow, but this was what Natasha did best: details. Her entire life had hinged on them, in one way or another.

What she wasn’t entirely fluent in was diplomacy. She could hardly deny that Namor had a point, but demanding change under threat of war was hardly the best way to go about things. Beyond the fact of irrationality, Natasha had personal reasons for disliking oppressive government forces. In fact, she’d suspected long ago that there were factions of SHIELD that wouldn’t sit well with her. Director Fury had seemingly steered her toward a typical type of assignment, and she’d always thought it was a play to her strengths; the naiveté of that thought made her embarrassed even now.

This was where Steve came in, she supposed: diplomacy had to be a strong point when you were as unfailingly polite as he was. He might even make her look bad. And while it seemed he knew all about Namor, she was well aware of the threat Latveria had come to pose in the last 50 years; she knew instinctively that they would be able to fill each other in.

”Any questions? Comments? Terrible things to say about my mother for dropping this in your laps?"

”Твоя мать полет муравьеда.”

The ghost of a smile teased Natasha’s lips; the old Helicarrier crew had been well-versed in her penchant for playful Russian insults. The small reminder of how life had been back when she’d trusted SHIELD further than she could throw them was bittersweet; she wondered if she’d ever believe in anything like that again.

That was another reason it was handy having the Captain on her side; without him, she leaned heavily toward the role of jaded assassin, and she doubted that would come in handy during this assignment. He would round her out in a way that Clint couldn’t.

"When do we leave?"

Steve had beaten her to the proverbial punch, and she tilted her head a few degrees, echoing his question silently.

* * *

[Namor]

"There are some briefing documents with additional information. Think of them as tedious in-flight reading." Jimmy leaned back in his chair, wincing a little. "Any questions? Comments? Terrible things to say about my mother for dropping this in your laps?"

The barest hint of a smile touched the Widow's lips. ”Òâîÿ ìàòü ïîëåò ìóðàâüåäà.”

"Äà" he winked, his Russian flavored by a midwestern American accent. "Íó, âàøà ìàòü ... è, ÷åðò âîçüìè. Òâîÿ ìàòü Póññêàÿ."

"When do we leave?" the Captain interrupted - and was that a bare hint of jealousy in his voice? Surely not.

"Whenever you're ready," he answered. "Shockwave Rider's in hanger three, prepped for launch. Grab your gear and get going." He paused. "Oh, and try not to get it wrecked by a shadowy corporaton making use of a rogue element of SHIELD to test unusual weapons of mass destruction. It plays hell with the paperwork."

---

The "Shockwave Rider" was larger than the picture had made it appear, roughly 60 feet long by 25 feet wide by 20 feet tall and shaped like a mildly streamlined brick. From the expressons of the crew that had been prepping it, the ship was clearly both an object of affection and deep suspicion for those involved in the project.

"It's got about a week of consumables for a full crew," Sgt. Bannerman was saying, smacking his hand on the hull as he did. "Call it three weeks for just the two of you. Onboard water tanks with a desalination system'll keep you hydrated as long as needed, though. So, if worse comes to worse, I guess you could just fish off the deck."

He led them through a narrow airlock door and down into the possibly-misnamed "living area" resembled a narrow studio apartment, with a small kitchenette on one wall and closet-like bunkbeds for six a door onto a narrow toilet and shower stall on the other.

"Kinda cramped, yeah. But look at it this way... you don't have to hot-bunk it, so you won't be dodging twelve other people in here while you sleep in shifts. Oh, and there's lockers at the foot of each bunk, and a tiny little washer and dryer through that door there."

The cockpit seated six, although it could be flown by one ("If you can fly a helecopter, you can fly and sail this baby"), and ship stores and engineering took up the remainder of the space.

"So," Bannerman said as he emerged back onto the deck. "She's your baby now. Try not to break her."

[Steve Rogers]

Steve was adjusting to modern society well. Microwaves and televisions were easy enough, he was struggling with the coffee maker, and the internet was about the most terrifying and confusing thing Steve had ever seen.

But this was a whole ten steps above where Steve was on the catch up. He rubbed the back of his head and looked to the Black Widow, "You know how to use this thing, right?" Hopefully if Agent Romanoff didn't, the rest of the crew would be able to handle themselves, because there were instruments on this boat that he'd never even seen before.

Cap had been suited up already. His mask was off, but he'd been in uniform since they'd hit the bridge. Sgt. Bannerman left them with the ship and told them to be careful with them. Steve nodded to the superior SHIELD Agent and answered, "Yes sir." He wasn't going to let this mission fail.

Namor was a friend, and Steve would go out of his way for any trace of his past. If he could try and mend the wounded relationship between Namor and the surface world, he'd accomplish the mission and get back one of the people who could help bridge the now and the then for him. There was a lot riding on this.

When they were left with just the crew, Steve looked to Natasha and asked, "Are you ready to go Agent Romanoff?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The Black Widow’s smile widened briefly, a bright glint of teeth showing at the man’s retort. She liked sass.

She also liked purpose. It was practically what she was built for. A curt nod served as a dismissal, and the ghost of a smile stayed with her as she strode off to the gear she had stowed onboard. If she had to be cooped up with someone for that long, she was glad it was Steve; Barton could be a slob. Somehow she knew she wouldn’t have to worry about that with the Captain.

* * *

12 minutes later, Natasha strode into Hangar Three, surprised that Steve had beaten her there. She carried two bags – one large, one small – and she was decidedly nonplussed at the size of the thing.

”You know how to use this thing, right?"

She cast a sidelong glance at him, tossing the small bag on a bunk as they stood in the main corridor.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that.” She lifted playful eyes his way before settling the large bag gently on a bunk of its own. “…Firearms,” she said, the single word a means of explanation in her mind.

Minutes later, when they’d said their “aye aye”s, Natasha slunk to the cockpit, not looking back as she addressed Steve.

“Grab shotgun; you should learn this.” It wasn’t a question.

Easing out of the hanger, Tasha set a course, her fingers moving deliberately over the dials for Steve to see. Normally, she could set this plotting system in her sleep – it was the same technology SHIELD used in most all of their custom craft – but she kept things slow for him. Proverbially slow, that is; in actuality, they were pushing the craft’s airspeed capabilities, and in no time they were traversing the Atlantic coast.

Bringing the vessel out beyond the continental shelf, she spared Steve a glance as if to say “here goes nothing” before pushing the dive lever forward, beginning a slow descent into the deep. A cautious eye surveyed their radar; the last thing she wanted was any surprises.

* * *

[Namor]

(OOC: Weak as this sounds, I'm actually going to pass once. Feel free to mess about with the Shockwave Rider for another post each, and then I'll pick this up with running into some Atlanteans.)

[Steve Rogers]

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that.”

As Steve rubbed the back of his head, Natasha tossed her things down and explained what they were, "You going to need a bag full? If we make it to Atlantis without running into Latverians, we're there to negotiate peace." He also had a suspicion that Namor wouldn't look keenly on someone having that many weapons.

“Grab shotgun; you should learn this.”

Letting it slide as they moved on to the cockpit, Steve moved to the passenger seat. He watched as she began to operate the super sub. He had to note how multi-talented the Black Widow was. She seemed to dabble in everything, from operating massive vehicles, expertise in martial arts and a crackshot as well. He would've asked her to be part of the Howlin' Commandos back during the war if she had been around back then. She would have made the perfect soldier.

He could tell she was going slow to show him what to do, Steve appreciated that. If he was going to continue working with SHIELD, he imagined that he would need to learn how to pilot these things. They weren't exactly as simple as planes from the 1940s.

When they began to dive, Steve watched cautiously. He recalled destroying a sub not all that much smaller than this one was rather easily with his bare hand. That made him a bit nervous, but he didn't air his worries. With the amount of air they had, he needed to keep calm and not hyperventilate or anything of the sort.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Tasha didn’t mind enclosed spaces. Growing up, she hadn’t really had much of a space to call her own, even after she’d enlisted with SHIELD. Her quarters on the Helicarrier were cursory at best, Spartan and small. It wasn’t until she’d leased her apartment that she’d begun to understand the appeal of having a proper living space.

Still, she could easily do without it. It was nice, but it wasn’t one of the Widow’s priorities.

The silence that fell between them was comfortable; she and Steve were both people who didn’t see a need for inane chatter, and she appreciated that more than he would ever know. Her hands ghosted slowly over the control, precise and sure as she let him observe.

“Emergency surfacing protocols are here,” she informed him, pointing to an ever-present icon on the navigation screen. “And function control is here.” She opened the appropriate folder to illustrate before closing it again, their descent trajectory illustrated on the state-of-the-art screen. She stopped talking again for a long moment, the hum of the vehicle soundtracking their movement.

”And don’t worry about the weapons, soldier – I didn’t say I was going to use them all.”

A flicker of a smile crossed her features, and she steered them further downward, watching the radar like a hawk.

* * *