Every day, my senses get better. Most of these improvements are subtle. I doubt anyone else would ever notice. But compared to my disorienting first few weeks here, there are days I can fool myself into thinking I'm just on a well-deserved vacation instead of trapped on an island without my heightened senses. It's been slow, tedious work. Admittedly, I've spent more hours retraining myself than socializing. But it passes the time, so I can't complain. (I'm sure Foggy would have a few things to say about my habits. In turn, I'd argue they're a lot healthier than anything I was getting up to in the Kitchen
( ... )
Even after all that James has told her, she expects Matt to recognize her the instant he turns the corner into view. Her heart leaps at the sight of him, surprise and pleasure beating out a rhythm he should know at once, but of course he doesn't. He can't hear her heartbeat anymore.
The mad thumping behind her breast begins to slow, replaced by a weight that sinks all the way to her toes. God, the sight of him. He's walking well enough, with more grace and certainty than she's seen in other blind men, but not like himself, and certainly not like Daredevil. Those short, careful steps pain her to behold, but Natalia doesn't mean to show it. Matt craves no one's pity, and she will offer none, instead sliding down from her perch
( ... )
I'm met with the same assortment of feelings every time it is I run into someone else from home. Surprise that I didn't recognize them right away. Frustration. And, given that so far everyone's already known who I really am (and not because they read it in the tabloids), a tinge of embarrassment. I'm capable of so much more than this, and barring maybe Peter, who's had to pass himself off as Daredevil in the past, there's no one else on this island more aware of that fact than the woman apparently standing in front of me.
Natasha Romanova. The Black Widow. My ex and friend.
"Babette," I greet instead.
The act is a familiar one, even if there's nothing else about her that is, her smell all wrong, the steady beat of her heart (one of my favorite sounds in the world) entirely absent. I wonder when she arrived. Recently, obviously, but the game suggests she's been here long enough to have given someone else the honors of explaining the nature of this place.
"Matt," she exhales, and though she moves with less enthusiasm than she'd like, not yet sure what will startle him, she can't keep herself away for long. Pressing her hands light against his arms first, Natalia slides them up and over his shoulders, embracing him the way she's wanted to since he showed her the first hint of a smile.
She wants to ask him how he is, but watching him has already told her so much, and Natalia holds her tongue. This place has taken enough from him - she won't demand anything more, will wait for him to tell her all he wants. "It's good to see you."
He hasn't seen her before. To someone else, that might not count for much, but for Eames, the realization of it, sinking in as his gaze skims over the figure seated on the edge of the trampoline, gives him two reasons to very quickly reach one conclusion. First, he would remember someone who looked like that, and second, as someone who studies people, can no longer do so as a profession but has made up for that by using it as his chief source of entertainment, it seems unlikely that he would be idly walking by a complete stranger.
Unless she were new.
"Settling in alright, love?" he asks lightly, as if the question were the most natural thing in the world. Whether she'll make anything of it or not, he has no idea, but he never can resist the opportunity for a little fun.
It's reasonable that he would recognize her newness so quickly. The island population is small, their efforts and organizations grassroots, personal by necessity. A new face among them could certainly be a novelty, but still, Natalia marks her new companion for quick witted straight away.
"As well as can be expected," she says, showing him a friendly smile before she pulls her eyes away, not wishing to appear too curious. Touching the hem of her dress, Natalia adds, "I've only been here a few hours yet."
"Very new, then," Eames says, head tipping to the side, returning her smile easily, though deliberately. It isn't like he thinks it much of a feat, but it's still nice to have confirmation that he was right, that he hasn't lost his touch entirely (not that he'd ever think he has, but with so little to do in a place like this, he'll take what he can get). "Well, I'm sure you've heard it already, but allow me to say welcome."
"Thank you," says Natalia, smiling up at him again. "Natalia. You're only the third person I've met." Her eyes pass over the Compound, its toolshed, the chicken coop and the barn, the pub in front of them. If she breathes in deep, she can catch the scent of baking bread on the air. "You've all found no shortage of ways to keep yourselves entertained."
The house is done. It wants for glass, but I understood going in that that was a luxury that would take time. I'm still working on furniture with Duck, because there's time, and lots of it, but the house itself is finished, and I can't say that knowing that has created any more of a sense of permanence for me than I felt when I was holed up in the clinic. I know the island better but still not well. Its flora and fauna, its topography, the places that are more and less populated- I'm learning what this place is, but the knowledge hasn't endeared itself to me.
Although I appreciate the quiet.
I have a small bag of laundry that needs doing, hanging over my shoulder in a green army duffel, my green army duffel from Camp Lehigh, that had been rolled up in the bottom of my foot locker. As I come up the path I notice, peripherally, the redhead perched on the trampoline. The fact that there's a trampoline to perch on is still a head scratcher, but then, so is the curling rink
( ... )
Natalia's not one to shy from anything, and yet if given the choice, she'd have delayed this meeting. She's on excellent terms with Steve Rogers at home, handpicked for his elite team of Secret Avengers, but this Steve, the one who arrived here dying...his last memories of her will be those of her perceived betrayal, of a Black Widow who stood on the wrong side of the very war that got Steve killed.
She slips from the trampoline, greeting him with her spine snapped tight. He's still her commander, no matter what he believes. "Steve. It's good to see you." In spite of everything that's happened, that's still true.
I look at her for a long, silent time. The last time we spoke, I was calling her out in an alley way. I didn't say anything pleasant, but then, I was hurt, badly. Of all the friends who weren't standing with us, to watch Natalia siding with Tony, to only be able to guess at what game she was playing... I was angry. I find I'm still angry.
There's no war here, though, and I know now that eventually things come around, after a fashion. I also know, the same way I knew it was her before I even really saw her, that Bucky has to know she's here. I shouldn't assume it, but I can't believe he doesn't. I feel like this place doesn't work that way. And if he doesn't, he will soon, and that will (I dearly hope) mean a world of difference for him, for his life here
( ... )
"And you," answers Natalia, standing silent for a long moment afterwards. There are so many things she could say, but she's bound by James' secrets. Right or wrong, whether or not Steve could bear them, and Natalia believes he could, she won't give them up, but neither can she pretend she's come here from a time she hasn't. Under his steady gaze, Natalia gives all at once.
"James debriefed me. I understand that I come here from some time in your future."
I still don't like the Compound, in principle. Feels too much like a bird feeder. Maybe whoever's setting all this up can see everything, everywhere, but maybe they're a little more limited than that. And if they are, you can bet they're looking square at this joint.
But it is near one of the only places to drink -- aside from getting your own -- and I'll risk showing up on whoever's radar for that. Let 'em look. All they'll see is me, still mad...
Slowing down as I pass the trampoline.
Apparently redheads from my past are a zero-sum game, around here.
"You very well may," says Natalia in Russian, but it's with real joy that she leaps down from the trampoline, "looking at me like that." A few quick strides are all that is necessary to close the distance between them, Natalia beaming all the while. She can think of few instances in which she wasn't glad to see Logan, and those few instances don't bear dwelling on right now.
With a laugh, Natalia throws her arms around his neck. "You look well, little uncle."
Can't deny it's nice to see someone genuinely glad to see me for once, instead of begrudgingly accepting. Still, not exactly the circumstances I'd've liked. Means another person stuck here. At least it's another one I can rely on.
"I can't help it if you grew up well," I grumble, giving her a slightly begrudging hug back. I have a reputation to maintain. Women I've known since they were kids hugging me and calling me uncle don't help.
As if sensing his hesitation, Natalia releases him with a final squeeze, resisting the urge to press a kiss to his surly cheek afterward. As grumpy as ever. It's reassuring. "Before first light," she says. "I gave James a bit of trouble, but everything is all right now."
There are two tasks that Zhuge gives himself every day. The first, the easier of the pair, is to learn something new and unfamiliar, something that he can engage with using all five senses. The second is to bring something of home to the island, whether that means sharing a story with the handful of people who speak his language, or to leave little trinkets about the Compound for people to find- a sheet of calligraphy pinned here, a bamboo mat left there. Today, to Zhuge's great delight, both tasks have involved food. It's always a bit of a gamble, eating something entirely new and nonexistent in the China of his time (he's suffered many a painful trip to the bathroom for it), but Zhuge feels that it's better on many levels to get his information from fellow citizens of Tabula Rasa while they're around. Small though the chance is, there still exists that risk that one by one, the other citizens will disappear, leaving him the only soul left to walk the sandy shores
( ... )
"Hello," Natalia returns, an honest smile on her face as he sits next to her, bold as brass, as if the trampoline was his intended destination all along. But then, she knows little of him yet - still learning English, Chinese if she's marked his features correctly, polite but direct - perhaps the trampoline truly is his favorite place.
Her Mandarin isn't perfect, but it's more than passable, Natalia having been sent to China on many occasions. That the missions were all business and not pleasure has no affect on her tongue. "Natalia," she says, "I've only just arrived."
When one so closely works with war and battle strategy, part of the job description is to unnerve the opponent. It's not quite the same as looming over the other like a direct threat (doing so would only draw the enemy to pull out the greatest weapons, the strongest soldiers, and while brute force isn't enough, anyone who underestimates the strength of it is foolish), but Zhuge has learned over the years how to best sneak under another person's skin, uses the skill so frequently that it often bleeds into his regular life. There are certain boundaries that don't stop him anymore, not unless he actively stops himself, and the fact that this woman doesn't respond negatively to his simple company, like a few others on the island have, only draws a wider smile from Zhuge's lips. He gazes upon her with some curiosity- her features really are quite striking.
"The beautiful maiden speaks Chinese; what a pleasant surprise," he remarks, no suggestion in his voice, in spite of the language. There are certain customs which he stubbornly holds to
( ... )
If it's the pleased tinkle of a laugh he's after, he gets it, Natalia going so far as to cover her mouth with her hand as she returns the bow. She's been at the receiving end of men's charms more times than she can count, and yet can count the number of times it's worked on one hand. This man, however, is quite adept, and all because he has no design to be, his comments genuine and without guile. Natalia likes him at once.
"Natalia Romanova," she says, giving him her true name, "likewise at your service." Tilting her head towards his bowl, she asks, "Have you come from the little bakery?"
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The mad thumping behind her breast begins to slow, replaced by a weight that sinks all the way to her toes. God, the sight of him. He's walking well enough, with more grace and certainty than she's seen in other blind men, but not like himself, and certainly not like Daredevil. Those short, careful steps pain her to behold, but Natalia doesn't mean to show it. Matt craves no one's pity, and she will offer none, instead sliding down from her perch ( ... )
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Natasha Romanova. The Black Widow. My ex and friend.
"Babette," I greet instead.
The act is a familiar one, even if there's nothing else about her that is, her smell all wrong, the steady beat of her heart (one of my favorite sounds in the world) entirely absent. I wonder when she arrived. Recently, obviously, but the game suggests she's been here long enough to have given someone else the honors of explaining the nature of this place.
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She wants to ask him how he is, but watching him has already told her so much, and Natalia holds her tongue. This place has taken enough from him - she won't demand anything more, will wait for him to tell her all he wants. "It's good to see you."
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Unless she were new.
"Settling in alright, love?" he asks lightly, as if the question were the most natural thing in the world. Whether she'll make anything of it or not, he has no idea, but he never can resist the opportunity for a little fun.
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"As well as can be expected," she says, showing him a friendly smile before she pulls her eyes away, not wishing to appear too curious. Touching the hem of her dress, Natalia adds, "I've only been here a few hours yet."
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Although I appreciate the quiet.
I have a small bag of laundry that needs doing, hanging over my shoulder in a green army duffel, my green army duffel from Camp Lehigh, that had been rolled up in the bottom of my foot locker. As I come up the path I notice, peripherally, the redhead perched on the trampoline. The fact that there's a trampoline to perch on is still a head scratcher, but then, so is the curling rink ( ... )
Reply
Natalia's not one to shy from anything, and yet if given the choice, she'd have delayed this meeting. She's on excellent terms with Steve Rogers at home, handpicked for his elite team of Secret Avengers, but this Steve, the one who arrived here dying...his last memories of her will be those of her perceived betrayal, of a Black Widow who stood on the wrong side of the very war that got Steve killed.
She slips from the trampoline, greeting him with her spine snapped tight. He's still her commander, no matter what he believes. "Steve. It's good to see you." In spite of everything that's happened, that's still true.
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There's no war here, though, and I know now that eventually things come around, after a fashion. I also know, the same way I knew it was her before I even really saw her, that Bucky has to know she's here. I shouldn't assume it, but I can't believe he doesn't. I feel like this place doesn't work that way. And if he doesn't, he will soon, and that will (I dearly hope) mean a world of difference for him, for his life here ( ... )
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"James debriefed me. I understand that I come here from some time in your future."
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But it is near one of the only places to drink -- aside from getting your own -- and I'll risk showing up on whoever's radar for that. Let 'em look. All they'll see is me, still mad...
Slowing down as I pass the trampoline.
Apparently redheads from my past are a zero-sum game, around here.
"I'll be damned," I say.
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With a laugh, Natalia throws her arms around his neck. "You look well, little uncle."
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"I can't help it if you grew up well," I grumble, giving her a slightly begrudging hug back. I have a reputation to maintain. Women I've known since they were kids hugging me and calling me uncle don't help.
"You just show up?"
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Her Mandarin isn't perfect, but it's more than passable, Natalia having been sent to China on many occasions. That the missions were all business and not pleasure has no affect on her tongue. "Natalia," she says, "I've only just arrived."
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"The beautiful maiden speaks Chinese; what a pleasant surprise," he remarks, no suggestion in his voice, in spite of the language. There are certain customs which he stubbornly holds to ( ... )
Reply
"Natalia Romanova," she says, giving him her true name, "likewise at your service." Tilting her head towards his bowl, she asks, "Have you come from the little bakery?"
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