riverviewlogs | march catch all

Entry tags:

march catch all

WHO: Natasha Romanoff and others
WHAT: guarding the perimeter, fighting monsters, helping during the blackout
WHERE: the housing building, the perimeter, beyond the fence, wherever

NOTES: Natasha has an open top level for the festival during the beginning of the month. If you have any questions, or would like a custom starter, PM me or hit me up on plurk. Also, I'm totally fine with getting tags in actionspam if that's how you're comfortable writing, but I'm comfortable writing in prose. So in that case, our styles won't match. I'm good with it if you are.

one
Natasha's still not thrilled to be here, but she accepts that she's stuck. She also accepts that she's not going to be able to fulfill her quota and get home if the whole place goes to shit in the next couple of weeks. Ill fitting or not, her world is still hers, and she has a right to it. She might not have a right to much, but she figures her place on the planet is something she can safely claim.

She takes her job with the Guard, and she does it well. She's good at it, and even the members who don't like her (or hold a grudge) can see that. She figures things will get a little less tense eventually, though she doubts she'll make many friends. Which is fine by her. It's weirdly satisfying getting back to her solo roots. She takes patrols at odd hours, the ones no one else wants to take. She puts herself on call 24 hours a day.

Even when it's not strictly her shift, she still takes rounds along the perimeter. It's soothing, and everyone is stretched so thin.

two
Natasha is still not entirely sure how her violent outburst upon her arrival landed her a solid job. She's also not sure how she managed to swing a shared room all to herself on an otherwise abandoned floor. It seems too good to be true. Still, it's the only reason she's been spending time in her room. Alone does not have to mean lonely, and she needs the quiet to think. Even when the power begins going out in the building, she doesn't mind. Until people start heading up. Her floor's power doesn't go out ~~and it's definitely not because she's stacked the deck in her favour, making sure her floor draws on the grid with priority~~. Which is a great idea, until people start heading up to take advantage of that fact. She's the only occupied apartment, all other doors locked, but there's still the balcony. She can hear conversations out in the shared space, people taking advantage of power outlets with juice.

It's only a matter of time before someone figures out that one apartment is occupied, meaning there's also a fully functional bathroom. She's expecting the knocks on her door, but that doesn't mean she's thrilled about it. Still, she answers, opening the door but keeping the doorway blocked with her body. "Yes?"

two and a half
On the hunt for some privacy, Natasha heads to one of the abandoned floors with a large shared living room. Once she's there, she sets herself up with a battery operated lantern and a book on one of the couches, a snack on the table in front of her. It's creepy, but she's alone. She starts out alone, at any rate.

three
It's not strictly her job, but everyone is stretched pretty thin, and she's trying to make the best of this. More than anything, she's trying to remember that the people around her are not the people to be blamed for what's happened to her. So when there's talk of looting and other criminal activity taking place when the power to the city's marketplace area goes down, she heads over there. More than once. Sometimes with a partner, sometimes without. Either way, she operates more or less the same. the only real difference is her willingness to attempt conversation if there's someone with her in a chatty mood.

Anyone on the wrong side of the law, though, received no mercy. She offers one single warning to drop their weapons and put their hands on their heads. She hopes no one actually listens to her, because she wants to hit things, and criminals are an ideal target.

WILDCARD!
If you have another idea, lay it on me.

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Search and Rescue is a decent placement for Bucky (and for Steve). They never left a man behind during the war if they could help it, this is just more of the same. When he's not on a specific job for his division, he takes regular patrols, though. Gets himself out and moving around, doing something useful. Night patrols are especially nice, grounding. They get him out of his head.

He doesn't expect to run into anybody else this time of night, in what has been, thus far, a quiet stretch of fence.

"Another night owl?" He calls out, voice friendly enough for the moment, testing the waters - is this woman with the guard, or is she up to something else? His stance is loose and casual, despite the stars and stripes he wears, the shield on his arm.

It's interesting how very similar and yet completely at odds Natasha and Bucky's reasons for fitting in well with Search and Rescue are. They are good at it, getting in and out of tight spaces, putting themselves at risk, pulling off the impossible. The difference is that Bucky can do it because it's the most important thing in the world to him, to do whatever needs to be done to bring a person home safely because he cares. Natasha's strength is that she doesn't care. Not the way most people do. She wants to bring them back safely, but it's not a personal investment. It's a job. She thinks in clean lines of logic and cost benefit analysis patterns, and she gets the job done. She's still getting used to the no man left behind idea, and there aren't many people who can bring out the feeling in her. She doubts she's ever going to be that selfless. Killers don't nurture.

Right now, Natasha is looking out at the treeline, thinking of the city Clark told her about. She wants to see it, wonders how far away it is, exactly how to get there. More than that, she wonders what's beyond that city, out in the areas that can't be accessed, that no one has made it back to tell the tale of. She feels trapped, smothered, suffocated. Death might be waiting beyond the trees, but there could also be answers, and at least there would be space.

She doesn't turn her head immediately, doesn't recognize the voice. She's also not looking for conversation, certainly doesn't want to make a friend. "I'm not really looking to--" When she finally does look over, she's caught off guard. "...talk." It doesn't happen often, that something throws her. It's not Steve. The voice is wrong, the shoulders, the walk. It's all just... not quite right. She doesn't even care that it could be seen as an aggressive move, she powers on her Bites, the crackling hum of energy arcing across the top of her hand. Her most recent modification carries more voltage than the previous knuckle contact points, two versions ago, when Stark had input. It hurts every time she powers them up, but they're vicious. The stopping power matters far more than the pain. Besides, pain keeps you sharp. "Where did you get that shield?"

That voice... She almost, almost sounds like someone he's been missing since he got here. Not quite, though. There's something inherently different, and there's also no note of recognition like there would be if it were her. His hopes lift and dash against the rocks of reality all in the span of a moment, because it isn't her.

It isn't her, and yet when brown eyes flick down, at her wrists are a familiar weapon. His left hand tightens on the straps of the shield, and the expression that crosses his face, half hidden by the blue cowl, is defensive and a little angry. He's tired of being asked that. Tired of having his legitimacy questioned.

"It's mine." He says simply. "Where did you get those?" A quick motion to her wrists. He can already guess, he's met Sam and the other Steve and the other him - but it's a subtle retaliation. He's always been a little bit petty.

"I made them." The inflection is subtle, the barest tension in her voice. If he's very closely tuned to her reaction, he'll probably catch it, and its meaning. They are truly hers. They have always been hers. The same can not be said for the shield, because this is not Steve.

As though driving the point home, her hands clench into fists, the hum of electricity growing louder as the charge intensifies in response. That shield might not be Steve's any more, but seeing anyone else holding it just isn't right. It belongs with Captain America.

He gets the inflection. How can he not? How often has he implied the same things about himself? That he doesn't deserve the shield, that it isn't his. That he's just playing dress-up. The only difference is, it's usually Natasha who insists to him that he's good enough. "Making and owning don't have much to do with each other." It isn't commentary on her gauntlets, but on his shield.

Bucky pulls back the cowl, because this might not be his Natasha, but he wants her to know what she's up against anyway. Though whether or not she recognizes him is up in the air - if she's from the same world as the other Bucky here, they don't look all that much alike. The resemblance is almost familial, like they could be brothers maybe, but they're hardly twins.

"Stand down. You don't have the whole story, and I'm not looking for a fight."

She knows Steve didn't make the shield, either. It was made for him. Still, Bucky is contending with a lot of issues that are currently all clamouring to be the first to come to a head inside Natasha. Being confronted with a situation where everything is unfamiliar, that's rough enough. Being confronted with something as achingly familiar as her friend's shield, and finding it in the hands of a stranger? No.

"Then tell me where you got the shield." He may not be looking for a fight, but that doesn't mean he won't get one from her if she doesn't get some answers. She doesn't know the whole story, he's right, and what she's imagining is not great. Especially after being told to stand down, as though he has a right to tell her what to do. It's not his fault that she currently has a much bigger chip on her shoulder than usual when it comes to governments, military personnel, and pretty much any chain of command that would try to enfold her, but it's still one hell of a chip.

Bucky, on the other hand, is dealing with his own host of issues. She clearly doesn't recognize him in the least, let alone know what happened with the shield, with- everything. It hurts. He's been missing Natasha, his Natasha, almost since he arrived, since he learned it would be a while before they could - or would - send him back to New York City. This isn't her, it's become quite clear. This means, if she is Natasha Romanoff, she's another timeline's version, and could definitely go toe-to-toe with him if this goes pear-shaped.

"I'm Bucky Barnes. In my timeline, I took over as Cap when Steve was indisposed. When he got back, he gave me his blessing." That's the long and short of it, without going into his own grief when Steve 'died', or how much he had needed this grounding thing to keep him steady and stable. He pauses for a moment, quieter, and says, "You didn't recognize me at all, did you?"

She doesn't know this man. This man who is almost definitely lying, but she can't exactly be certain of that, can she? She can't be certain of anything here. A tiny little reflexive move forward, leaning in like there's a hook stuck in her ribcage and Bucky is pulling the string. "What do you mean indisposed?" Ignoring the question about recognizing him entirely, because isn't that obvious? She didn't recognize him. She doesn't recognize him. There is nothing of the James Barnes she knows in this man's build or bearing or face or voice.

Steve, though. Steve is important. Steve is one of her people, and she doesn't have many, doesn't expect that life will give her the opportunity to earn many more. He's given up the shield before, and she's sure Stark has it. Or maybe he didn't even care enough to pick it up. These are trains of thought Natasha always derails early, because they never take her anywhere good. It's much easier to focus on the man in front of her.

When she moves forward, just slightly, he takes a step back, gloved metal fingers tightening around the strap of his shield - his shield, no matter what this stranger wants to say, and he won't let anybody take it away from him. Especially someone who doesn't know what he's done, what he's been through, how hard he's tried to deserve it.

"It's not relevant." He doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to voice aloud what happened to his Steve and air his personal pains to someone who doesn't even know them. Her obvious hostility is good, in a way, because it lets Bucky distance himself, build up the walls around himself again.

"Of course it's relevant. You can't just say something like that about someone in my life and expect me to let it go without an explanation." It's extremely relevant.

It means something to him, too. He wouldn't be so defensive if it didn't. So maybe there's somewhere there to push. "You thought I should recognize you. You think you know me. If you really knew me, you'd know how I feel about people who hold back information, who only give half of the picture. You'd know what it means to me when someone decides that they think they know what's best for me, what I should and shouldn't know based on how they think I'll react. You'd know how many times I've had someone tell me it's not relevant when it shouldn't have been their call to make. You'd know what it means to have someone claim to know you when you don't recognize them, to have memories that don't match up, to not be sure--" To not be sure if what's in your head is really yours. "So you either have no idea what I've been through... or you just don't care."

Maybe there's another Natasha. Maybe she does know this man in some other life. That doesn't have to be a good thing, though. She can't imagine there's any version of herself that grew up loved and safe and cared for. A whole lot of people had a hand in crafting the monster. Who's to say he wasn't one of them?

"Which is it?"

"Except he isn't in your life. We've established that, haven't we? You don't know me, I don't know you. You don't know my Steve. Different timelines means the same events probably won't happen in your world that happened in mine." His expression tightens, closes off, the more she talks. A lecture is the last thing he needs, especially from a stranger. He doesn't back down, though, doesn't shrink away. He won't let this get to him.

"I don't know you." That much is glaringly obvious. "You're overreacting to the fact that I don't want to talk about something intensely personal with a complete stranger." That's what she wants him to say, isn't it? That he doesn't know her? He doesn't. He doesn't know what this Natasha has been through. Nothing is guaranteed to be the same, like with him and his doppleganger - this Bucky was never HYDRA. His handlers were all KGB.

"I think we're done here."

It might not be getting to him, but it's getting to Natasha. It's been getting to her since day one. Everything has. Knowing in the back of her mind that there might be another her out there somewhere and having the confirmation of that possibility walk up to her are two very different things.

It's not what she wants, but that's not his problem. None of this is his problem, or anyone else's. It's hers. That's always the lesson, isn't it? No matter what life throws at you, you deal with it yourself. Maybe this other Natasha never had to. Not that thinking about it will do her any good. She won't ever get to learn about this other woman.

"Then I suppose I'll count myself lucky," she says, throat uncomfortably tight, before she turns and walks away. Life is going to get interesting in the worst possible ways when she realizes that this man is part of Search and Rescue, too. Still, that's a problem for another time.

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march catch all

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