entrancelogs | [Semi-Closed] Event Aftermaths

Entry tags:

[Semi-Closed] Event Aftermaths

Who: Natasha Romanoff and various friends/teammates
Where: Around the Manor
When: The days following the Mirror Event and Hunt for the Sword
Rating: PG-13ish?
Summary: Catch-all post for Natasha touching base with the newly-returned people who got sucked to the Other Side
The Story:

With the sword handed over to the Queen of Hearts and the Mirrors now returning to their own side, Natasha's both a little relieved and more than a little worried about what this will mean for the returningReals who were trapped over there. The fact that she's one of the only few on her team that didn't end up transitioning over at some point is not lost on her, has her wondering why and for what purpose, but she suspect she knows all the same. Which is why she spends the immediate first few days once more combing the Manor, this time searching out her teammates and friends she knows were drawn to the Other Side and making sure they'd returned mostly unharmed.

And if she had to start composing apologies for what her Mirror might have done over there. At the very least, she wanted to know more, if they were willing to tell her.

[[OOC: This is a Semi-Closed log for some pre-arranged threads to deal with the fallout of encounters with her Mirror Side, or the visit to the Mirror Side in general. Interested in threading out something with her, feel free to ping me!]]

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I think it's my turn to offer you a drink, if you're up for it.

At this rate, I might demand an entire keg. Or three.

Three kegs? Careful, you might get a little tipsy this time.
Your place or mine?

[ She glances around her room for the moment, the one she's still setting to rights. The couch is a lost cause. She sighs and types out a quick reply. ]

Better make it yours. Mine's already seen too much action this week.

Give me ten minutes to clean up. Door's open.

I'll be there.

She wanders over a short while later, dressed simply and comfortably in jeans and a loose shirt. It's been enough days since her encounter with most of the mirrors that any remaining bruises are fading and most of them were fortunately placed in such a way that they wouldn't be immediately visible anyway. She's still looking tired, however, because sleep hasn't been easy in coming of late and its visible to anyone who looks close enough to notice the faint shadows under her eyes.

Still, she thinks that's all a little warranted, considering. She raises her hand to knock, trying not to feel nervous about this encounter or what she might have to apologize for this time. She supposes it's wishful thinking that maybe he never ran into her mirror, or maybe that her other self wasn't feeling quite as talkative as his was...

Bucky answers the door in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that's a little too big for him. His arm is in a sling and, where his fingers peek out, they're pressed against his ribs like it's an effort to stand up straight. He's still clean-shaven, his hair slicked back, but it's more out of routine than anything else at this point. There are deep shadows under his eyes that match hers, but he still smiles a little when he sees her -- the real her.

She looks worse for the wear, but she's still whole. Still alive. Some of them haven't been so lucky.

He steps aside and wordlessly inclines his head for her to come in. "What do you say we drink first and talk later?"

"Or we could just drink," she supplies as she steps inside his room and nudges the door behind her, pausing to props her hands on her hips and give him a once-over with a slight frown. "Although you look like you might need a little of both, to be honest. Do I want to know who happened to you?"

She was just hoping it wasn't her. What else was she going to have to apologize for this week?

He knows what she's thinking. He's had the same thought too many times already.

"Scott's mirror," He replies. "You okay? Make any new friends, yourself?"

He settles a little gingerly on the couch, letting her take her pick of places to sit and watching for any signs of hidden injury. He's got a few different bottles set out on the table - the wine is still sealed, something he pulled out for her, but the scotch is mostly empty and the rum is getting there, despite the fact that he's clearly completely sober. Definitely too sober for the conversation they'll need to have eventually.

It's harder to take his eyes off her, with the contrast of her mirror at the back of his mind. She said a lot of things, most of which Bucky can't really gauge the truth behind.

"Scott's Mirror," she replies dryly in answer to his question. "The boy gets around, apparently. So did the rest of the team, although I suppose I'm partially to blame since I went looking for most of them."

She eyes the bottles on his table with a skeptical look and an arch of one eyebrow. "Oh no, that's not nearly enough. What's your poison of choice for the evening?" she asks as she saunters towards his closet with a purposeful stride.

Wine wasn't going to cut it for what she was suspecting was coming from this conversation.

The corner of Bucky's mouth twists down. Hearing about Steve's mirror, then meeting Natasha's, hadn't been any more comforting than hearing about his own. Frankly, he's lucky she didn't find him with with an interest in taking him on. Natasha clearly wasn't that lucky - granted, she has an interesting idea of 'luck' sometimes.

He digs his hands into his pockets and follows her to the closet, stepping up beside her to help her carry bottles.

"Guess that depends on how much of tonight I wanna remember," He murmurs. "Surprise me."

Edited 2014-10-09 21:36 (UTC)

Or maybe how much of tonight she wanted to remember. And if this was going where she suspected, she'd rather erase the entire last week of memories instead. Except not really, since that more than bordered on things she was uncomfortable with, so much so that it was impossible to even make a joke about it.

Instead she came up with a selection out of the closet a moment later - a bottle of rum, a bottle of vodka and, surprisingly, a very old bottle of port, boasting a specific date for the vintage and looking rather expensive. She stared at this last one a moment, because she hadn't requested that and yet here it was and she suspected that the magic in this place was laughing at her. She tried not to linger over it too long, however, handing two of the bottles over to Bucky before carrying the port back over to the table.

"That'll probably do for a start."

Bucky followed her back, accepting bottles wordlessly, though he wondered about the Port. Any other time, he'd think she was joking, even with her tolerance. Right now, he thinks he understands. He sets the bottles on the table and takes up a place on the couch.

"How about... no talking until we're through the first bottle of something?"

She gives him a wry look as she sinks down beside him and opens up his bottle of run so they can finish off what he's got first. "I've seen how you hold your liquor, Barnes. If I wait until you get through your first bottle, we're going to end up in the ocean again and we'll have gotten nothing accomplished."

Still, she slides a glass over to him before pouring herself one as well and leaning back on the cushions beside him.

The reminder draws a low chuckle out of Bucky. That's the Natasha he's gotten to know over the past few months - the one who'd go skinny dipping with him when they're drunk in the middle of the night, who can tease Steve into flirting shamelessly, who could have anyone in the world that she wanted, who'd protect and listen to anyone that she cared for, and still show up at a party for lonely people. The one who he knows virtually nothing about.

He takes a swallow of rum with a faint grimace and sets the glass down on the coffee table. It's probably better that he doesn't drink too much until they're done talking here. There may be no truth at all to what Natasha's mirror said to him, but he wants to understand exactly what's going on. Like the last time they talked about secrets, there's no good place to start.

"So I met your mirror," He says, after a moment. "And I'm guessin' you ran into mine?"

And there's the words she was dreading, the slim hope she'd been holding onto that maybe this was one uncomfortable complication she could avoid, but no. Especially not after her encounter with James - a distinction she could make with ease, because the man beside her was definitely not him.

While he puts his glass down, she abruptly knocks hers back and starts wishing for far more alcohol than she's already pulled out. Suddenly escaping this topic and going skinny dipping instead sounded much more appealing.

She gives him the truth, though. because she owes him that, at least. Especially not knowing how much her Mirror had said. His had certainly had plenty he wanted to discuss.

"You could say that."

"He was that friendly, huh?" He says it lightly, giving her a moment before he tries to press.

The doubts he has about what her mirror said are slowly being replaced by a sinking feeling. The Winter Soldier isn't a surprise to Natasha. She's encountered him more than once, knows him better than Bucky does, so he doesn't expect that alone to be the reason she's shaken. She usually makes a good play at pretending to be invulnerable - at least in front of him.

"Turns out our mirrors share a past." He says, watching her face. "Did he -- do something? Say something to you?"

He remembers what happened to Steve, so he isn't quite willing to jump to conclusions or demand answers just yet. He wants to know what happened and see how she's handling this first, and not just the part of it that she wants him to see.

"It would have been a very short encounter if he hadn't," she drawls, and there's a hint of sarcasm in her voice that's more self-depreciating than directed at him. It had not been a short encounter. Or perhaps just not short enough for her tastes. Which might have been nonexistent actually, had she been given a choice in the matter. James was an uncomfortable shadow from her past that she still didn't know how to work around. Especially with Bucky sitting at her side and watching her with far more intentness than was safe for either of them.

"What happened to you on the other side? With my Mirror?"

There. Blunt and straightforward, because she needs to know. Anything and everything she can say in some way hinges on that answer. She wants to hope that perhaps he'll chalk up all the information given as something unique to their Mirror selves, but she's not the optimistic sort in general. Her luck never runs that way.

"Nat," He says. That wasn't an answer, and she knows it. She's stalling, and that only makes him worry more. He knows, like Steve, Natasha can take care of herself. That doesn't mean she should have to, when things like this come up. He looks down at his glass, but he doesn't reach for it. "She wasn't all that impressed with me, but I don't think I'm the one she was trying to hurt."

In the heat of the moment, he'd been... well, a lot of things. But he's had some time to cool off and think about this. And he's been thinking about it a lot.

"She mostly just talked; about you, about... us. If she was telling the truth..." He looks at her again. Natasha isn't particularly famous for telling the truth - only parts of it, enough of it to let her move, like the open joints in a suit of armor. "You're really missing out on a lot of good senior citizen discounts, you know.

How old were you when we met the first time -- the very first time?"

Edited 2014-11-05 23:38 (UTC)

Which hints at a lot of what her Mirror might have enlightened him on, much to her dismay. Although she's careful not to let her frustration with that show on her face. She does, however, look away. Her gaze moves to a distant point in the room, staring at nothing for a moment before she exhales softly and lets her eyes slide closed.

One answer, and a million more questions it unlocks the path to. Questions she's avoided with all of them until right this moment. She could lie. She has cover upon cover built into her files from SHIELD - some are hers, others were Fury's. They were a safeguard to protect who she was. What she was.

But she can't. Not when he's sitting there waiting. He deserves more than that.

"Sixteen." She speaks the word softly, still staring across the room. Not meeting his gaze right now because she didn't know how much this was going to give away. How much she should give away. it was a constant complication with him.

She does a good job of hiding any expression, any feeling she might have about what she says. But even her neutral expression, the way she looks blankly into the middle distance, speaks volumes for how uncomfortable she is.

"Sixteen." He repeats, taking that in. Sixteen when she met the Winter Soldier. Sixteen during the height of the Cold War. Sixteen and training to be an assassin. It seems too outrageous to be anything but the truth. "What did they do to you?"

What didn't they? That's a very broad spectrum right there. She tries to narrow it down.

"I was different from you. I was brought in as a young child, trained to it all my life. I'd already been on dozens of missions by the time they tapped me to train under you, but that was mostly as an informant. Or occasionally as bait. They wanted more than that, and you were one of the best assets they had. So you were tasked with picking one of us from our training program to instruct. You chose me. You said I showed the most promise."

What he knew about Natasha was limited mostly to what she or Steve had told him. It was easy to see she'd been at this a long time, but apparently he had no idea of just how long - and at just what cost her skills came.

Then there's the Winter Soldier's involvement. Steve had been adamant about how little of it was under Bucky's control, but he'd been cognizant enough to pick a sixteen year old girl to train. He doesn't know what's worse -- that he'll kill so many people for something he doesn't believe in, or that he'll teach someone else how to do the same.

"And what happened after that? She said you and I... did a little more than training."

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[Semi-Closed] Event Aftermaths

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