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Jun. 2nd, 2014 05:21 pm"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you," Natasha says, approaching as Fury walks away, not caring if he hears her. It's true, after all; if he bothered to stop, she suspects he'd agree. They've said all they needed to each other, though, at least for the time being, and she knows Nick Fury well enough, if not quite as well as she thought she did, to know that he isn't going to want to drag his heels now. He has a mission, and an important one at that. Besides, while she might not have any firsthand experience with it herself, she imagines that it's probably a little strange, hanging out at one's gravesite. This was necessary, but she prefers other ways of taking herself off the grid.
"Not going with him?" Steve asks, and she almost laughs.
"No."
"Not staying here?"
Were it anyone else asking, she'd suspect a deeper meaning to that question, a way of trying to get her to stick around, or just saying that he'd hoped she would. Coming from Steve, though — always honest, in his own words — she's far more inclined to take it at face value. "I blew all my covers," she explains, "I gotta go figure out a new one."
"That might take a while."
She smiles, warm, almost teasing. "I'm counting on it." It's been a long time since she gave herself a break. It's been a long time since she needed to. Now, though, when she's been far more in the public eye than she's used to, all of her history made available for public consumption, she thinks it might just be in order. There's a hell of a lot of work to be done, and she intends to see all of that through, but she can't do much from the shadows when she's out in the open anyway. This is uncharted territory, and she needs to figure out how to navigate it. There's a thing or two she needs to figure out about herself, too. That much, she thinks Steve will get without her having to say outright.
"That thing you asked for —" She holds out the folder in her hand, labeled in Russian. If she has any doubts about doing so, she doesn't let them show, keeping her demeanor light, though this is decidedly a weight. It's Steve's to take on, though, if he wants to. Besides, she owes him this, and probably even more. "I called in a few favors from Kiev." She pauses, giving him a knowing look. "Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse."
"She's not a nurse," Steve points out, as if she doesn't know that already.
"And you're not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," she counters.
"What was her name again?"
"Sharon," she says. "She's nice."
She could leave it there, with the kind of banter that they traded even before everything went to hell. She can't quite bring herself to, though. Steve's come to mean too much to her, over the past little while, and while maybe she can't say that, she can do something about it. Stepping in close, a hand on his shoulder, she presses a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering, more affectionate than she'd usually let herself seem. It's worth it. Steve Rogers is one of the last people she'd have expected to find herself so connected to, but here they are, and especially when she's about to disappear for a while, there's no harm in acting on that, in telling him the best way she's got.
Without waiting for a response, she turns to walk away, saying as she does, "Be careful, Steve." She's looked through the file, knows what's waiting for him once he does the same, and how dangerous Barnes will be now. The latter is even clearer now than it was when he was trying to kill her. And while she's perfectly aware that nothing she says will talk him out of this, she's more serious than before when she looks back at him again, the first time she's visibly faltered. "You might not want to pull on that thread."
He will anyway. He also won't like what he finds when he does. She's done her part, though, left with a goodbye and a warning. The rest is on him. Even if she wanted to add anything more, though, Natasha loses her chance before she can even figure out what's happened. The cemetery is gone, the grass under her boots replaced with planks of wood, quiet interrupted by the sound of waves on the shore off to the side. It's jarring to say the least. Terrifying might be a more accurate description, though she'd never admit it, let alone let it show.
She has several concealed weapons that she could have out and ready to use in all of a moment. There's an unfamiliar skyline in the distance, which is saying a lot, with all the places she's seen. She doesn't feel hurt or woozy, has no tell-tale signs of having been injured or drugged; she doesn't feel like she's lost time. Scanning the people nearby, she doesn't see any signs of potential threats. It isn't much of a comfort.
Standing here isn't going to help her figure out what might have happened. When Natasha starts forward, it's casually but focused, the picture of someone who knows where she's going, though she doesn't have a clue. She's got to begin somewhere.
And begin she does, picking up a touristy map from a little shop on the boardwalk, its keeper distracted by someone tracking in sand from the beach. It tells her she's in Darrow, which in turn tells her very little; the name is as new to her as the skyline, making her think of other realms and alien invaders, except that it seems, for all intents and purposes, like it could be somewhere on Earth. More helpful is the first person she lets see her frowning over it, an expression of exaggerated confusion that has a way of prompting answers without her having to ask for them. It's the closest she'll come to admitting that she has no idea what the hell is going on, and enough to get her pointed in the right direction.
From there, the first thing Natasha learns about this place is that it's frustratingly difficult to come up with anything resembling real information. It would be for just about anyone, but for someone like her, it feels a bit like adding insult to injury. She should be able to get a handle on this. There isn't one to be gotten, though, when not a single person she comes across seems to be lying.
She almost thinks she would prefer if they were. Had she suddenly found herself in or stumbled into some big conspiracy, or however it is this is supposed to work, she'd be much better equipped to handle this. As it is, every person who asks her if she needs directions and offers assistance when she lets herself seem like she needs it, or responds to her carefully-worded questions, seems to be entirely genuine, and there's not much she can do with that but take it in stride, or appear to. The truth of the matter is, she's a lot more thrown by this than she would ever honestly let on to anyone. That would have been the case regardless, but after the last few days, when her whole world has essentially been rocked, she trusts it even less. Granted, she had a good reason when she made the mistake of doing otherwise before, one which absolutely doesn't come into play now, but it still weighs heavily on her even when she's ostensibly a world away from all that now. At least she started trying to make things right.
And, if nothing else, at least she has the chance to regain a cover now. The name on the documents she picks up from the train station is her own, but she hasn't gotten the sense that anyone here knows about what happened back home with S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA and everything she leaked. That much couldn't have worked out better for her. It's not a fair trade, but it's something of an advantage. So is being, as the first person who found her put it, new. It lets her play clueless rather easily, the excuse of having simply gotten lost one she uses several times. Checking out City Hall is her next order of business, of course, to try to find out what they might be keeping under wraps and what they might have on her. Fortunately, the latter looks like nothing. In looking up herself, though, she stumbles across a familiar name, providing her with her next destination.
Natasha wouldn't go to her assigned apartment anyway, not about to start sleeping where someone could track her down with no trouble at all. She'll have to fully sweep anywhere she does decide to stay, anyway, and she'd much rather keep working on trying to get her bearings than deal with something like that yet. Steve might have more to tell her than the Darrow locals. Besides, she would trust him over any of them in a heartbeat.
"Not going with him?" Steve asks, and she almost laughs.
"No."
"Not staying here?"
Were it anyone else asking, she'd suspect a deeper meaning to that question, a way of trying to get her to stick around, or just saying that he'd hoped she would. Coming from Steve, though — always honest, in his own words — she's far more inclined to take it at face value. "I blew all my covers," she explains, "I gotta go figure out a new one."
"That might take a while."
She smiles, warm, almost teasing. "I'm counting on it." It's been a long time since she gave herself a break. It's been a long time since she needed to. Now, though, when she's been far more in the public eye than she's used to, all of her history made available for public consumption, she thinks it might just be in order. There's a hell of a lot of work to be done, and she intends to see all of that through, but she can't do much from the shadows when she's out in the open anyway. This is uncharted territory, and she needs to figure out how to navigate it. There's a thing or two she needs to figure out about herself, too. That much, she thinks Steve will get without her having to say outright.
"That thing you asked for —" She holds out the folder in her hand, labeled in Russian. If she has any doubts about doing so, she doesn't let them show, keeping her demeanor light, though this is decidedly a weight. It's Steve's to take on, though, if he wants to. Besides, she owes him this, and probably even more. "I called in a few favors from Kiev." She pauses, giving him a knowing look. "Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse."
"She's not a nurse," Steve points out, as if she doesn't know that already.
"And you're not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," she counters.
"What was her name again?"
"Sharon," she says. "She's nice."
She could leave it there, with the kind of banter that they traded even before everything went to hell. She can't quite bring herself to, though. Steve's come to mean too much to her, over the past little while, and while maybe she can't say that, she can do something about it. Stepping in close, a hand on his shoulder, she presses a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering, more affectionate than she'd usually let herself seem. It's worth it. Steve Rogers is one of the last people she'd have expected to find herself so connected to, but here they are, and especially when she's about to disappear for a while, there's no harm in acting on that, in telling him the best way she's got.
Without waiting for a response, she turns to walk away, saying as she does, "Be careful, Steve." She's looked through the file, knows what's waiting for him once he does the same, and how dangerous Barnes will be now. The latter is even clearer now than it was when he was trying to kill her. And while she's perfectly aware that nothing she says will talk him out of this, she's more serious than before when she looks back at him again, the first time she's visibly faltered. "You might not want to pull on that thread."
He will anyway. He also won't like what he finds when he does. She's done her part, though, left with a goodbye and a warning. The rest is on him. Even if she wanted to add anything more, though, Natasha loses her chance before she can even figure out what's happened. The cemetery is gone, the grass under her boots replaced with planks of wood, quiet interrupted by the sound of waves on the shore off to the side. It's jarring to say the least. Terrifying might be a more accurate description, though she'd never admit it, let alone let it show.
She has several concealed weapons that she could have out and ready to use in all of a moment. There's an unfamiliar skyline in the distance, which is saying a lot, with all the places she's seen. She doesn't feel hurt or woozy, has no tell-tale signs of having been injured or drugged; she doesn't feel like she's lost time. Scanning the people nearby, she doesn't see any signs of potential threats. It isn't much of a comfort.
Standing here isn't going to help her figure out what might have happened. When Natasha starts forward, it's casually but focused, the picture of someone who knows where she's going, though she doesn't have a clue. She's got to begin somewhere.
And begin she does, picking up a touristy map from a little shop on the boardwalk, its keeper distracted by someone tracking in sand from the beach. It tells her she's in Darrow, which in turn tells her very little; the name is as new to her as the skyline, making her think of other realms and alien invaders, except that it seems, for all intents and purposes, like it could be somewhere on Earth. More helpful is the first person she lets see her frowning over it, an expression of exaggerated confusion that has a way of prompting answers without her having to ask for them. It's the closest she'll come to admitting that she has no idea what the hell is going on, and enough to get her pointed in the right direction.
From there, the first thing Natasha learns about this place is that it's frustratingly difficult to come up with anything resembling real information. It would be for just about anyone, but for someone like her, it feels a bit like adding insult to injury. She should be able to get a handle on this. There isn't one to be gotten, though, when not a single person she comes across seems to be lying.
She almost thinks she would prefer if they were. Had she suddenly found herself in or stumbled into some big conspiracy, or however it is this is supposed to work, she'd be much better equipped to handle this. As it is, every person who asks her if she needs directions and offers assistance when she lets herself seem like she needs it, or responds to her carefully-worded questions, seems to be entirely genuine, and there's not much she can do with that but take it in stride, or appear to. The truth of the matter is, she's a lot more thrown by this than she would ever honestly let on to anyone. That would have been the case regardless, but after the last few days, when her whole world has essentially been rocked, she trusts it even less. Granted, she had a good reason when she made the mistake of doing otherwise before, one which absolutely doesn't come into play now, but it still weighs heavily on her even when she's ostensibly a world away from all that now. At least she started trying to make things right.
And, if nothing else, at least she has the chance to regain a cover now. The name on the documents she picks up from the train station is her own, but she hasn't gotten the sense that anyone here knows about what happened back home with S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA and everything she leaked. That much couldn't have worked out better for her. It's not a fair trade, but it's something of an advantage. So is being, as the first person who found her put it, new. It lets her play clueless rather easily, the excuse of having simply gotten lost one she uses several times. Checking out City Hall is her next order of business, of course, to try to find out what they might be keeping under wraps and what they might have on her. Fortunately, the latter looks like nothing. In looking up herself, though, she stumbles across a familiar name, providing her with her next destination.
Natasha wouldn't go to her assigned apartment anyway, not about to start sleeping where someone could track her down with no trouble at all. She'll have to fully sweep anywhere she does decide to stay, anyway, and she'd much rather keep working on trying to get her bearings than deal with something like that yet. Steve might have more to tell her than the Darrow locals. Besides, she would trust him over any of them in a heartbeat.
