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[open And we keep waiting to be seen, right?

who: Illya Kuryakin & you
what: just a general catch-all
when: End of April and beginning of May
where: around the city shopping, gym
warnings: will add if needed

1; around

Illya doesn’t get out much.

It’s not being in a strange place, in a strange world full of strange people with futuristic technology. Or… rather, even though he has to admit that’s kind of getting under the skin, it’s not just that. He’s just used to keeping to himself, to doing things on his own and only relying on his boss to give him his orders and trust Illya will know what to do.

In here it’s different. In here he doesn’t have to hide, doesn’t have to keep in the shadows and become a shadow himself. In here he can get out and try to be a normal person. Or at least do his best to look like one, since the most people know about him is a fake name and his claims that he was a rowboat champion before he ended up in this place.

So there’s probably something… calming, in just doing normal things. Grocery shopping, checking out nearby libraries, just stopping at a park and watching the animals go by. It may seem boring to most people, but to Illya is kind of refreshing to be able to do all of this without a weight on his shoulders. He figures it will get boring eventually, but for now he enjoys his newfound freedom.

Enjoying it so much he doesn’t even notice the orange firefly circling him.

2; gym

It does get boring eventually, even with all the shenanigans going around.

Illya is used to physical exertion, to being active and working out as much as he can, as much as he’s healthy. Back home he needed his body to be in peak condition, to be able to fulfill every mission as fast as efficiently as possible. Most of them ended up with him running away or towards something, after all. But in here his job, while more interesting than what he had assumed when it had been assigned to him, doesn’t require much more than a inquisitive mind and knowing where to look, what questions to ask.

He really misses the exertion. So after asking around and getting some advice he’s finally decided to join a nearby gym.

He can be seen running himself ragged on the treadmill, doing weights or basically using every single machine he can find his hands on. Yay technology. Obviously not all on the same day, he’s stubborn but not suicidal… but someone should probably tell him to slow down.

3: OPEN option! Go wild. Poke me on DM or over at

crotalus if you want a specific thread!

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Illya’s size puts him at a little bit of disadvantage in this place, and he’s aware of it. He has a harder time moving, and his brute force isn’t going to matter much if he can’t even get his hands on her. For being in a closed space she seems to be everywhere at once, avoiding most of his direct blows and making the ones that manage to hit hurt less than they could by aiming them as best as she can.

But she’s not the only one that has been trained for this, so while this isn’t the ideal place for him to fight he still manages to put up a good one. He’s strong and big, but he can also be fairly nimble when he needs to. So while she manages to avoid all the blows, he’s getting fairly good at cornering her.

This… this is a thrill. This is intense. This is the kind of fight he’s been craving for since he ended up here. He’s been against monsters fairly often, he’s gotten a chance to use his gone a few times and his job does allow him to chance a guy or two every now and then. But nothing compares to this, and even though he’s aiming to hit her as strongly as he can he has to admit this is the most fun he’s had in a long while.

Until, somehow, he ends up with her legs around his neck and her somehow managing to send him all the way to the floor. He’s not down for the count, not by a long shot but the movement does take him by surprise for a moment.

When she's fighting, she doesn't have to talk. It doesn't even make her feel like she's holding something in. This is honest, and more than that, it's enjoyable. She won't go so far as to call it fun, because they're both trapped and a bit under duress, forced to talk to one another, but this is the best fight she's had in months. He moves surprisingly well in the small space, and it's not easy. She's winning, she knows that, but it's not a wash. He's putting up a real fight, proving to be an actual challenge.

When she slams him to the ground, her thighs around his neck and her thumbs digging into the notches at his wrists, trying to make his hands go numb, she is smiling. She is actually, genuinely, smiling. It probably still looks too sharp, too predatory, but god is she loving this. Her pulse is up, her breathing heavy, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. This is what she didn't even know she needed when she woke up this morning. This is what she wants, the release of the tension.

"Should have just sat down," she says, digging her thumbs in deeper, taunting him, trying to get him to fight back harder.

She looks beautiful like that, if you ask Illya. He had already noticed she was a pretty woman when they met, most people would because Natasha is objectively beautiful. If he had given it some thought he would have realized a spy would be trained to use that to her advantage just like he had, but at the moment he had been more preoccupied with the firefly bite and how much he’d wanted to be spill the beans.

But now? Now all he can think about is how beautiful she looks with that predatory grin of hers.

“And miss out on all this fun?” He says, reaching for her own arm with his free arm and using all his strength to try to push her into the nearest wall- or at least get her out of his back. He’s beginning to lose the feeling on the other arm and it’s been a while since he was this happy.

He's not so bad himself. He's quite handsome, actually, even for the way people brought into this city tend to skew toward incredibly pretty. Natasha likes a man who knows how to handle himself, and she likes a man with issues. Issues are her bread and butter, they help her keep distance, twist people around and manipulate them into giving her what she wants without giving up anything she doesn't want to.

When he bucks up, she's not expecting it. Or, no, that's not correct. She's not expecting it to be so strong. She's got a good grip on him, she's strong herself (her thighs in particular are basically a vice), his arm has got to be going numb, and she just slammed him face first into the floor. She's impressed, which means she's still smiling, even as he manages to throw her off of him and into the wall. She hits the metal hard, because fuck, he's like a freight train. She can feel the elevator car shudder with the force he puts behind that move, and it hurts, and it helps.

He knows she’s fast, she’s faster than he is. So if he’s going to act he needs to do it now, while he still has the element of surprise and she’s still reacting to having been thrown away with all his strength. Don’t worry, Natasha no one expects Illya’s strength. He’s able to literally rip cars apart and lift them and that’s not even his full strength, of course he’ll be able to throw her entire weight against a wall with only one arm.

The arm she was twisting feels kind of numb, so he uses his other shoulder to basically tackle her against the wall and try to knock the wind out of her.

For a moment, she's wondering just how far back the KGB was experimenting on children, if it's possible that Illya went through a program like hers. Is this why it doesn't seem to bother him, the way Russia chews people up and spits them out? She thinks of some of the other girls, ones who took to the doctrine more easily, or who were broken down all the way through and more successfully rebuilt to the ideal specifications. The ones who believed in the cause, in their purpose, in the good those in charge insisted they were doing. Maybe he believes the lies, too.

Then he's got his shoulder against her chest and the breath is being knocked out of her. She briefly considers using the Bites, knowing that he can probably handle the charge. It won't kill him, at least, she's fairly certain. It will make all this less fun, though. It might make him stop entirely, and it's not that she wants to win, she just wants to fight. "You're good," she gasps out, then moves to wrap a leg around him. She doesn't want him to be able to pull away from her, build up momentum to hit her again.

If he knew what she’s keeping herself from doing he would probably laugh. And he doesn’t laugh often… or nearly at all. But the idea that she’s enjoying the fight so much that she would refrain herself from using something that would actually stop it… yeah, he’s found his match.

“So are you.” He retorts. She doesn’t have anything to worry about though, Illya is as human as it gets. He just pushed his body to the limit and is always so angry his body is permanently in adrenaline-rush mode. He slams her against the wall again for good measure, making sure she doesn’t have time to recover even when she’s pressing herself against him. If she gets out of this situation she’s going to kick his ass again, he has a very specific advantage and he’s not letting go of it.

But at least being so close to her makes him realize something.

“...You’re enjoying this.” He says, like it’s not obvious how much he’s enjoying it as well. Like it won’t be obvious to Nat now that she’s this close.

"So are you," she says, rolling her hips slightly to let him know that, yes, she knows. She doesn't harp on it, though. Mostly because she's afraid that it will make him stop, or try to talk about this, and she doesn't want to. So, instead, she jabs down into his back with the heel of her boot. The thrill of it pushing more words past her lips. "People are honest when they fight. You see how low they're willing to sink, what they can't put behind them. You might be just as fucked up as I am. It's the only reason I haven't electrocuted you yet."

Well, fuck. More than she wanted to say, and she takes a very mature and reasonable next step. She head butts him. Hard.

She mentions electrocution and he frowns, instantly on edge because that means she has some sort of weapon in her that could knock him out if she wanted to. Which means she doesn’t want to, because she wants to draw this out. He wonders if it’s because of the firefly bite, a way to make sure she doesn’t say more than what she wants to say. Or the same reason he’s fighting: simply because it makes him feel good.

“I am not ‘fucked up’.” Is all he manages to get out before she basically headbutts him. Right on his nose. It hurts like hell, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t broken. But the pain does make him take a step back, which should be enough for her to get out of his grip. He’s aware of that, though, and he’ll be quick to slam his elbow right between her breasts unless he moves quickly.

"Yes you are," she hisses out, still smiling, dodging out of the way of his attacks, side-stepping each one neatly, rebounding off of the walls, coming back to take quick jabs at him. She still moves to hit hard, but because she knows he can take it. He can take a whole hell of a lot. "It's how you survived. I know, because it's how I survived." Damnit. This is supposed to keep her from needing to talk, it's not supposed to spur her to new confessions. "The things they do to make people like us, it breaks anyone normal, breaks them beyond repair."

She dodges another wild attack of his, aware that she's struck one hell of a nerve, because he wants to shut her up. "We survived because we were already broken, because we can't live normal lives." It's not only speculation on her part any more. He's so easy to read, and it's probably mostly because he has no choice, but she's still picking up on every little micro-expression and vocal inflection. He's like her, and she can sense it.

Any sense of just enjoying the fight, of just doing it for the hell of it is flying away quickly as she keeps talking. It’s not that she struck a nerve, it’s that just like when she mentioned Russia she’s shaking the very core of his beliefs. Considering the bite in his arm, she should know for sure he means every word of what he’s saying… just like she means every word herself.

“I choose this life.” He spats out. He tries to attack her legs, since it seems like the quickest way to get her to stop moving around so quickly. Her speed is his advantage, just like his size is his biggest disadvantage and they both know it. “You know nothing, absolutely nothing. They gave me a life when I had nothing, they gave me a reason to keep on going.

They gave me a chance to clean my father’s reputation. If I fail, if I give my back on them I will have nothing.”

He believes it. Absolutely. He wouldn't be able to say it if he didn't, right? He's in the same boat she is. "They gave you a choice the way someone drowning has a choice to swim or give up." He doesn't knock her down, but in dodging away from his kick, she ends up close enough for him to throw his shoulder into her again, the weight of him slamming her against the wall before she brings her knee up to connect solidly with his chest. "The choices they gave us--" She grunts with the effort of breaking away from him, comes in angry with an elbow aimed at his sternum. "They weren't real, and I didn't even know it until I got out. Until someone gave me a real choice."

“I had a choice!”

He says instantly, with the same kind of desperation a man uses when he knows he’s latching onto the last thread of a losing argument. But he doesn’t stop fighting, if anything he reacts more violently to every hit of hers that lands. He’s pushed away, her legs are surprisingly strong so he uses that to his advantage and uses the momentum when he gits against the wall to go back towards her, arm stretched out to try to hit her head- he doesn’t want to knock her down, it kind of feels like cheating to do that to someone who fights like this. But he hopes it will be enough to give him some advantage.

“I have friends- people I was supposed to eliminate and I choose to befriend them. They convinced me to make the hard choice. To not look away for once and accept that even Russia itself makes mistakes.

You. Know. Nothing.”

The problem with the both of them being unwilling to stop, to give in, but also unwilling to actually put the other out of commission, is that there is no way to win this fight. She could electrocute him, and that would normally be her end game. He might have a trick up his sleeve he's not using. Or maybe he doesn't, but that's not the point. The point is, the way they're fighting now, they're a match. They trade off the upper hand, they don't make real progress, and the only thing it ends up accomplishing is exhausting the both of them.

Natasha has already had a full day at work, already sore and tired before this began. Trying to keep the words in is also exhausting. The harder she fights against her desire to talk, the more it takes out of her. Eventually they both end up out of energy, tired and sore and bruised, but conscious.

There's no discussion, no plan behind it. It just happens. She gets a good shot in on his knee, he's quick enough to take her down with him, and instead of springing back to their feet, back to fighting ready, they just... stay there. Natasha is sprawled on the floor, attempting to keep herself propped up with shaking arms, breathing heavily, and she has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. "That choice you made. That wasn't Russia. That was yours. You saw the flaws in the system, and someone showed you a different way. That's--" She takes a deep breath, licks her lips. "That's how life really begins. It's when we start being human again."

“Shut up.”

He’s just exhausted, and not just because they have been fighting for who knows how long by now. He can handle that kind of exertion, he pretty much thrives on it and h could go on for hours if he had to. But the combination of fighting in such an aggressive way and having to hold back so much, to avoid talking even though the poison in him keeps pushing him to is really doing a number on him.

“Stop assuming our lives are the same. Stop assuming you know me at all. You don’t.”

An almost bitter laugh, something in her hurting, she huffs out a breath and then lets herself flop back, giving up on holding herself up with arms that are now burning. A damn good fight, and she'd thank him for it there wasn't something much heavier fighting to get out from her chest. The thought of lying down on the floor of this elevator, as though she isn't already doing something she finds so much more distasteful, is a line too far. So she leaves her head resting against his stomach. She doesn't ask, she just uses him to make herself a little more comfortable. They're to that point, aren't they? Just in case they're not, she bends her arm up and rests the back of her hand against his chest where she'll be able to feel the muscles move if he tries to go for her, with just enough lead time to get away.

"Of course I do. I used to be you." If not for Clint, she might still be him, or she might be something so much worse. "That's why I know..." That he can do this? Does she really know a him well enough to know that he can? That it gets better? Well, it can. "There is more for people like us, but you have to be willing to risk for it." All he has to do is believe it. That's all he needs to take the first step. Which sounds easier if you don't know what it's like to be there, how far there is to fall. She gets that. She'd love to stop talking, to stop caring, but that's not in the cards today.

He’s had a few moments to… control himself, to put it simply. So he doesn’t even react to her using his stomach to make himself comfortable. They were fighting each other ruthlessly and carelessly just a few moments ago, but they both know that neither of them used every weapon in their arsenal against each other. They were fighting for the sake of fighting, they were both enjoying this- and it was very clear they didn’t want it to end earlier than it had to.

“That is not shutting up.” He says with a sigh, because he’s too tired to be angry now that the adrenaline is leaving his system. He’s always angry, always so this is a new feeling for him. But he’s definitely calmed down and he doesn’t really wants to keep on fighting… he just wants her words to stop hitting so hard.

“I don’t care what you went through. But whatever it is, you obviously had an option.” He licks lips, letting his head rest against the wall. He kind of wants to run his hand through her hair, but decides that wouldn’t be wise.

“It is not for me.”

Her gaze shifts from the ceiling of their elevator car to his face, and her eyes are full of emotion that it's just too damn tiring to stuff down. "I can't. And you know that." She sighs, her knuckles tapping gently against his chest, like she's thinking, trying to order thoughts in her mind. "You think you know my life. You're smart enough to know that if you're good enough to read me, I'm good enough to read you, and that neither of us needs to be particularly skilled right now thanks to that damn bug."

She takes a breath deep, shaking a little on the exhale. "I'm-- so sorry you believe that. I'm sorry you really believe you don't have the choice. No one should--" She sighs again, wets her lips and looks away. "Clint should be here. It shouldn't be me. I'm no good at this."

She does consider the possibility that he's just better at resisting the effects of the bite than she is. That would just figure. Maybe it gets worse, the more you're exposed to their toxin. Just her luck.

She cannot stop talking, just like he cannot stop telling her to shut up because that’s really what he wants. But just like her he’s really aware that they are both naked right now when it comes to their honesty. He has to be very careful about what he says and how he words it… but he will still always end up telling the truth either way. He wants to say he doesn’t want a choice, that he’s fine the way it is- but of course he cannot say that out loud. Especially not after Italy, not after the mission where he met Gaby and Solo. Not after making a pact with Solo that basically was them turning their back to their respective countries.

“Don’t be sorry for me. I am not to be pitied.” He can at least tell her that much, to begin with. Because if there is something he hates is people being sorry for him.

“I don’t know Clint. But he wouldn’t help me either. You can’t help someone you don’t know, and you don’t know me yet.” He shakes his head. “Not after just a single fight, a single conversation, no matter how honest.

I meant it. You don’t know me. You just have formed an imagine of me out of your own experience.”

Natasha would love it if she could shut up, if they could sit in silence and just wait this out. There is almost nothing she wouldn't give right now for a little bit of quiet. It's not going to happen, though. "I'm not sorry for you. You're a formidable person with a strong will to survive. There's nothing to pity there. You're a fighter."

Actually, Natasha is fairly certain she could shut up, at least for a very short while, if she really tried. Thing is, if she's silent, will he start talking? She feels like one of them needs to. As much as she hates the fact that she's clearly hurting him, she doesn't want this spotlight turned on herself. "One conversation to form an image of you, but that doesn't mean I'm not right." She wants to stop there, but it's too ambiguous, and her stomach lurches. She almost feels like she has to vomit, like it doesn't matter if it's words or bile, but something is going to come out. So she swallows heavily. "Tell me I'm wrong, if you can, and then maybe I can stop." Not stop talking, sadly, but it might let her jump the track.

Illya’s approach to a conversation he doesn’t want to have is to either walk away from it as soon as he’s able to, to punch them so they will shut up, or to stay quiet and glare at them until they get the message. He can’t leave, he tried punching and it didn’t solve much… and he’s aware that glaring won’t help when the poison is running through both of their systems. So he’s out of ideas here.

She asks a direct question, and of course he can’t give her the answer he really wants to give. He hasn’t quite accepted what she’s telling him, not really, not yet. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an inkling that she’s completely right, specially deep down inside him. It takes him a few minutes to reply, he’s biting his inner cheek so hard he can taste blood in an attempt to keep himself from answering. But in the end...

“I can’t. I... can’t tell you you’re wrong.” Through gritted teeth, but he does let it out at least. But he isn’t a dummy, and he can tell she’s going to pounce on that if he lets her. So he changes tactics.

“What did Clint do for you?”

A direct question, and she can't ignore it any more than he could. Unlike Illya, she doesn't bother trying. She is resigned. Or maybe she's just tired. She sighs, turns her head slightly to stare at the ceiling again. She can't avoid talking about it, but she doesn't have to look at him while everything she's feeling plays out across her face. "He decided to go against his orders and refused to try and kill me. He offered me a new life, a purpose, a chance to atone. He gave me hope."

More than that, he taught her to relate to people. Slowly, and with plenty of backsliding, but he helped her to learn how to relate to people as herself, not as the part she chose to play. He didn't save her life, he helped her to create it.

That much, she manages to hold back, but she won't be able to keep it up forever.

He’s not going to say it. He’s absolutely, determinedly not going to say it. He even bites his tongue, trying to keep at least some modicum of privacy between them for now. He has to be honest, yes, but she didn’t ask a question, there’s nothing for him to answer to, nothing for him to be honest about. So he’s absolutely not going to share-

“I met someone like that, as well. His name was Solo.” He… absolutely said it. He sighs, reaching to rub his eyelids because he can already feel a headache incoming from this conversation. He hasn’t shared any of this with literally anyone in this place, Natasha is the first.

“We were supposed to kill each other, but we… reached a truce instead, lying to our bosses. I’d never lied to my boss before.”

When he looks back at her, he looks less frustrated, less angry at the situation. And yet more vulnerable at the same time.

“You said he gave you hope. But you were telling me you were rotten, earlier. It doesn’t sound like you are very hopeful.”

He doesn't want to hear that his bosses have no problems lying to him, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from saying it. He's in a delicate stage. She remembers this time, when accepting that her entire life had been-- it's a trial, and not easy to go through on your own, let alone with a stranger bearing witness.

The words have to come out, but she has the ability to direct their subject matter, at least a little. She doesn't have to talk about Solo, though her steady breathing for a few moments speaks to that struggle. Unfortunately for her, what comes out is more personal. "Even a person who is fundamentally bad has a choice. A bad person can choose to do a good thing. I can still make the world a better place."

These are things she doesn't even talk with Clint about, mostly because there is no fixing them, they just are. She's made her peace with it, more or less. She can work to balance her ledger, doing enough good to clear the debt of the evil in her past. She doesn't believe it will save her, but it's penance. It's something. It keeps the nightmares away.

Illya, who just a moment ago had used a piece of information to try to get get to stop digging into his own pain without regard on how she may feel about it he feels a slight pang of guilt. He can tell how much she’s refraining from using Solo’s name against him- and he’s definitely grateful. Because even if he was forced to be honest, he wouldn’t really know how to explain Solo to her. Or Gabby, though he’s managed to keep her name under wraps.

Gabby wasn’t asked to kill him, Gabby… Gabby made sure she saved their lives even when she was spying on them, even when they had nearly ruined the mission she had trained for for years.

“I…” Well. She didn’t ask directly but there’s no harm in what he’s going to say, is there? He considers his options, considers what he should be able to say. He knows he can’t let the silence go on for long, not if he doesn’t want to feel sick or forced to say something very embarrassing. So he decides to say something that’s slightly embarrassing, but at least he has some control over it.

“I don’t think you are a bad person. You’re very obviously trying to help me even if you just met me. I don’t know Clint, but no one would put their life on the line like that, no one like us would refuse to do a mission if they thought you’re bad.

And I wouldn’t let a bad person lie on my stomach like you are.”

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