[For Sam]
Natalya had lost track of the day. She had Croft's journal open in one hand and was pacing back and forth across her living room in a tank top and pair of cotton bikini briefs, idly turning a small throwing knife around her knuckle. She would take a few steps, drag the top of her foot along the smooth polished wood, then flip a page and turn back. A few books and random pages of notes were strewn across the floor and she navigated them without looking. All together, it was a tremendous amount of ambient data to be keeping track of, but as a sniper, doing so was second nature.
She enjoyed it.
Puzzling over the information she'd gathered, however, the feeling of wanting to go to Stark or Parker with it but not being sure of it, that was a little more daunting. She doubted Barnes would have much interest, and she'd already spoken to Cable about the hunch. It was time for the squints to have a look.
Or almost time. She wasn't a hundred percent sure of what she was looking at, and there was a sort of fear in putting forth a wrong hypothesis. She had been a problem solver of a very specific nature, and she had been good at it. All the more reason, really, to get the information into other hands as quickly as possible.
"Because even if it's true," she murmured to herself, the great white direwolf slung across the porch tilting its head at the unfamiliar language, "what good would knowing do?"
She enjoyed it.
Puzzling over the information she'd gathered, however, the feeling of wanting to go to Stark or Parker with it but not being sure of it, that was a little more daunting. She doubted Barnes would have much interest, and she'd already spoken to Cable about the hunch. It was time for the squints to have a look.
Or almost time. She wasn't a hundred percent sure of what she was looking at, and there was a sort of fear in putting forth a wrong hypothesis. She had been a problem solver of a very specific nature, and she had been good at it. All the more reason, really, to get the information into other hands as quickly as possible.
"Because even if it's true," she murmured to herself, the great white direwolf slung across the porch tilting its head at the unfamiliar language, "what good would knowing do?"