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aa_natashaI've been doing this long enough to know that the dossier is never the whole story. It's not even most of the story. And I'm not easily surprised. I can't afford to be.
But I did not expect that from him.
Faith in his own judgment, может быть, but not the disobedience. Not the willingness to throw it all away for one man.
I did not ever expect to like Steve Rogers. Or to have anything in common with him.
http://aa.mudmagic.com/w/index.php/2012-08-20_All-American
=NYC= Great Room - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The Great Room at Avengers Mansion earns its place namely by its size: the dining facilities are rather expansive, and consolidate several different purposes in one area. Apart from the large dining area, there is also a sizable kitchen off one end, stock full of buffed metal and shiny appliances. An entertainment room is on the other, with a television that is almost /too/ big, and just about every entertainment and video game console known to man.
It's evening, though not too late in it, and Steve has abandoned Tony to his workshop in order to -- come upstairs and explore the wonders of modern television. It's debateable whether he's worked the technology with or without Jarvis's help, but either way, he's managed to find the YES Network (that is, Yankees Entertainment and Sports, that is, baseball, even if it's Yankees baseball; he can root against them). He sits on the sofa with an orange tabby kitten curled around his thigh, and he pets the cat's ears absently while he watches the game, still with a hint of awe.
Natasha moves down the stairs with not-quite-silent feet, which probably means that she's making an effort not to startle whoever's tucked away in the living room watching television. She has an oversized purse slung over her shoulder and a rolling carryon in one hand - Natasha Romanov travels light, but Nancy Barrington doesn't. She pauses behind the sofa, brows lifted a touch before she clears her throat to further announce herself and inquires, "Big baseball fan, Captain?"
"They sold the Dodgers," Steve says in a sad sort of voice, not looking over at her immediately. "I don't even know what a 'Met' is, but I sure can't root for the /Yankees/."
"They used to be in New York?" Natasha asks with very mild interest. She circles around, settling herself into a lean against the arm of a chair with her arms folded across her chest. "Well. At least you can argue /that/ like a New Yorker."
Steve looks over at her, a little pained. The kitten yawns and burrows against him. "Yeah," he says faintly. "The Brooklyn Dodgers."
Natasha is Russian. He's lucky she knows what baseball /is/. "Ah," she says with a breath of understanding for the 'Brooklyn' part at least. "I--" She breaks off abruptly and straightens, crossing toward Steve with a brow-furrowing frown. "You have a /kitten/?" she checks. Just in case it's actually, you know. A gamma radiated mutant or something.
Steve looks down at the cat as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh," he says. "Well. You know when Thor got back, and he kind of smashed up the place around SHIELD? I was helping make sure nobody was trapped in this cab, and it was just -- this cat."
"Just a cat," Natasha says, her voice low and dubious as if she's never heard of such a thing and can't quite trust it.
"Well, I had to get him out of the cab," Steve says a bit awkwardly in the face of her dubiousness. "And then I -- didn't really know what to do with him." Other than take him home and cuddle him forever and ever because he's adorable.
"So Stark's letting you keep him?" Natasha asks, eyeing the cat with obvious distrust.
"I didn't think to ask," Steve says, a little surprised. "Do you think he'd have a problem?"
"He probably won't notice if you keep it out of the lab," Natasha opines after a moment.
A quick grin tugs on Steve's lips. "You're probably right," he says. "You know, I was just sitting down there for hours making sure he wasn't going to /actually/ attach rockets to my shield."
Natasha blinks once, twice, and then settles her expression into something dry. "What did he think you would /do/ with rockets?"
"Something about getting my shield back if I dropped it," Steve says with a shrug. "I didn't really feel safe until he moved onto his next project. Which took a while."
Natasha considers this for a moment, watching Steve in what may be a disconcerting silence before she abruptly asks, "Why do you use a shield, anyway? It seems so-- cumbersome."
"It's saved my life more times than I can count," Steve says with a faint, fond smile. "I went in for my first real mission -- against orders, that is, so a rogue mission -- and I took that stupid prop shield from the USO costume. And Howard figured I had a liking for it, so he mocked me up a bunch of options. Most of them were a lot fancier. Mine wasn't even a serious option; it was tucked away on a different shelf. But I liked the simplicity of it. And -- the message."
"Against orders?" Natasha says, brows rising in what looks, very briefly, just the slightest bit like 'impressed'. It smooths away quickly before she tips her head and says, "What message? The United States against the world?" Her tone drops just a little dry, her accent just the slightest bit... Russian.
"I was still doing USO tours," Steve says, quiet in the recollection. "I got to Italy and I was a joke. I found out that there were men behind enemy lines. Bucky. Colonel Phillips said it was too dangerous to send a rescue, that they'd lose more men than they'd get back, so--" He pauses briefly, swallowing and composing. "Peggy got Howard to fly me over and drop me off." He glances very briefly at her, jaw firm. "The difference between a shield and a gun," he says. "My duty was never about killing people. It was about defending them."
Natasha watches Steve in a silence that draws out between them, stretching seconds and tumbling into minutes. She remains still and quiet in her lean, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"Doctor Erskine asked me if I wanted to kill Nazis," Steve recalls quietly. "I asked him if it was a test, and he said yes." He drops his gaze back to the dozing kitten and draws a finger gently under its chin.
Natasha blinks slowly. "What did you tell him?" she asks.
Steve considers the question, although there doesn't seem to be any difficulty with remembering evident on his expression. But eventually he answers, "I told him I didn't want to kill anyone."
Natasha's brows twitch just slightly. "But you did," she says.
"I did," Steve agrees.
Natasha smiles then, an expression that slips and trips across her face as if unable to get a firm grip. It's gone before she speaks. "It's good to know that you're willing to break an order or two when it's important."
"It's every soldier's responsibility," Steve says solemnly.
"Most soldiers wouldn't say so," Natasha answers.
"Well." Steve just shrugs.
There is a very long pause, and when Natasha speaks she is almost tentative, as if the words fit uneasy on her lips. "I'm sorry you had to."
Steve lifts his gaze once more to her face, his smile faint. "Thank you," he says, respectful of whatever effort it cost her. "Sometimes the world simply makes it necessary."
Natasha swings her arms free and straightens away from her lean in a single, graceful movement. She turns away, hair swinging forward to shadow her face, and says, "Better get going. Barton's waiting for me."
"Of course." Steve's smile firms into something more determined. "Take care of each other, all right? And good luck."
"We always do," Natasha says with something hard in her voice. She swings her back up again, hefts her carryon into her free hand, and disappears toward the door without further comment.
But I did not expect that from him.
Faith in his own judgment, может быть, but not the disobedience. Not the willingness to throw it all away for one man.
I did not ever expect to like Steve Rogers. Or to have anything in common with him.
http://aa.mudmagic.com/w/index.php/2012-08-20_All-American
=NYC= Great Room - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The Great Room at Avengers Mansion earns its place namely by its size: the dining facilities are rather expansive, and consolidate several different purposes in one area. Apart from the large dining area, there is also a sizable kitchen off one end, stock full of buffed metal and shiny appliances. An entertainment room is on the other, with a television that is almost /too/ big, and just about every entertainment and video game console known to man.
It's evening, though not too late in it, and Steve has abandoned Tony to his workshop in order to -- come upstairs and explore the wonders of modern television. It's debateable whether he's worked the technology with or without Jarvis's help, but either way, he's managed to find the YES Network (that is, Yankees Entertainment and Sports, that is, baseball, even if it's Yankees baseball; he can root against them). He sits on the sofa with an orange tabby kitten curled around his thigh, and he pets the cat's ears absently while he watches the game, still with a hint of awe.
Natasha moves down the stairs with not-quite-silent feet, which probably means that she's making an effort not to startle whoever's tucked away in the living room watching television. She has an oversized purse slung over her shoulder and a rolling carryon in one hand - Natasha Romanov travels light, but Nancy Barrington doesn't. She pauses behind the sofa, brows lifted a touch before she clears her throat to further announce herself and inquires, "Big baseball fan, Captain?"
"They sold the Dodgers," Steve says in a sad sort of voice, not looking over at her immediately. "I don't even know what a 'Met' is, but I sure can't root for the /Yankees/."
"They used to be in New York?" Natasha asks with very mild interest. She circles around, settling herself into a lean against the arm of a chair with her arms folded across her chest. "Well. At least you can argue /that/ like a New Yorker."
Steve looks over at her, a little pained. The kitten yawns and burrows against him. "Yeah," he says faintly. "The Brooklyn Dodgers."
Natasha is Russian. He's lucky she knows what baseball /is/. "Ah," she says with a breath of understanding for the 'Brooklyn' part at least. "I--" She breaks off abruptly and straightens, crossing toward Steve with a brow-furrowing frown. "You have a /kitten/?" she checks. Just in case it's actually, you know. A gamma radiated mutant or something.
Steve looks down at the cat as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh," he says. "Well. You know when Thor got back, and he kind of smashed up the place around SHIELD? I was helping make sure nobody was trapped in this cab, and it was just -- this cat."
"Just a cat," Natasha says, her voice low and dubious as if she's never heard of such a thing and can't quite trust it.
"Well, I had to get him out of the cab," Steve says a bit awkwardly in the face of her dubiousness. "And then I -- didn't really know what to do with him." Other than take him home and cuddle him forever and ever because he's adorable.
"So Stark's letting you keep him?" Natasha asks, eyeing the cat with obvious distrust.
"I didn't think to ask," Steve says, a little surprised. "Do you think he'd have a problem?"
"He probably won't notice if you keep it out of the lab," Natasha opines after a moment.
A quick grin tugs on Steve's lips. "You're probably right," he says. "You know, I was just sitting down there for hours making sure he wasn't going to /actually/ attach rockets to my shield."
Natasha blinks once, twice, and then settles her expression into something dry. "What did he think you would /do/ with rockets?"
"Something about getting my shield back if I dropped it," Steve says with a shrug. "I didn't really feel safe until he moved onto his next project. Which took a while."
Natasha considers this for a moment, watching Steve in what may be a disconcerting silence before she abruptly asks, "Why do you use a shield, anyway? It seems so-- cumbersome."
"It's saved my life more times than I can count," Steve says with a faint, fond smile. "I went in for my first real mission -- against orders, that is, so a rogue mission -- and I took that stupid prop shield from the USO costume. And Howard figured I had a liking for it, so he mocked me up a bunch of options. Most of them were a lot fancier. Mine wasn't even a serious option; it was tucked away on a different shelf. But I liked the simplicity of it. And -- the message."
"Against orders?" Natasha says, brows rising in what looks, very briefly, just the slightest bit like 'impressed'. It smooths away quickly before she tips her head and says, "What message? The United States against the world?" Her tone drops just a little dry, her accent just the slightest bit... Russian.
"I was still doing USO tours," Steve says, quiet in the recollection. "I got to Italy and I was a joke. I found out that there were men behind enemy lines. Bucky. Colonel Phillips said it was too dangerous to send a rescue, that they'd lose more men than they'd get back, so--" He pauses briefly, swallowing and composing. "Peggy got Howard to fly me over and drop me off." He glances very briefly at her, jaw firm. "The difference between a shield and a gun," he says. "My duty was never about killing people. It was about defending them."
Natasha watches Steve in a silence that draws out between them, stretching seconds and tumbling into minutes. She remains still and quiet in her lean, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"Doctor Erskine asked me if I wanted to kill Nazis," Steve recalls quietly. "I asked him if it was a test, and he said yes." He drops his gaze back to the dozing kitten and draws a finger gently under its chin.
Natasha blinks slowly. "What did you tell him?" she asks.
Steve considers the question, although there doesn't seem to be any difficulty with remembering evident on his expression. But eventually he answers, "I told him I didn't want to kill anyone."
Natasha's brows twitch just slightly. "But you did," she says.
"I did," Steve agrees.
Natasha smiles then, an expression that slips and trips across her face as if unable to get a firm grip. It's gone before she speaks. "It's good to know that you're willing to break an order or two when it's important."
"It's every soldier's responsibility," Steve says solemnly.
"Most soldiers wouldn't say so," Natasha answers.
"Well." Steve just shrugs.
There is a very long pause, and when Natasha speaks she is almost tentative, as if the words fit uneasy on her lips. "I'm sorry you had to."
Steve lifts his gaze once more to her face, his smile faint. "Thank you," he says, respectful of whatever effort it cost her. "Sometimes the world simply makes it necessary."
Natasha swings her arms free and straightens away from her lean in a single, graceful movement. She turns away, hair swinging forward to shadow her face, and says, "Better get going. Barton's waiting for me."
"Of course." Steve's smile firms into something more determined. "Take care of each other, all right? And good luck."
"We always do," Natasha says with something hard in her voice. She swings her back up again, hefts her carryon into her free hand, and disappears toward the door without further comment.