sixthiterationlogs | 01. arrival

Entry tags:

01. arrival

WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: South Village Fountain, Inn, Town Hall, aroundish.
WHEN: afternoon of Oct. 16th, the few days after
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: none yet, will header in comments if anything pops up

Fountain arrival: open to first two

They had been in Wakanda. She's sure they had been in Wakanda. Barnes had just gone back into cryo while they waited for test results, something to undo what HYDRA had done to his mind for all those years. Steve had been with him. Natasha had been...she'd been...

She hadn't been underwater, and now there's water all around her, and she's choking on it as instinct kicks in and she propels herself to the surface, all thoughts of where she'd been and how she'd gotten here lost for the moment in the rush for oxygen and survival. There's the surface, and she breaks through with a gasp and a choked cough, and every limb feels so heavy she could just sink right back below the surface, but there's an edge right there--is she in a pool? It doesn't matter, she hauls herself to the edge and then out, sliding to the ground and waiting for breathing to feel a little less like a foreign concept. This is definitely not Wakanda, she thinks, and she is definitely not where she went to sleep the night before. There's a lump behind her back--a backpack?--and she immediately pulls it around, going through the contents looking for answers and finding nothing but more questions.

If T'Challa had wanted her out of the country, he could have just offered her a ride, she thinks, vaguely ironic. It's fine. It's fine. She'll take a moment here to catch her breath--just a second--and then she'll be on the move again. She's woken up in worse places before.

Inn: OTA

It hadn't taken long after that first conversation for her to start feeling the itch to move, the exposure in the open space highlighted by the chill of damp clothing. The inn had been the obvious answer, and the bathroom upstairs had afforded her a better look at herself and the contents of her pack before drying off and changing into a fresh set of scrubs. The color seems to mean something, if what she's seen so far is any indication, but what exactly it's supposed to mean still evades her. At least she's always looked good in black. After a quick change, Natasha makes her way back downstairs. She isn't in Wakanda, she isn't anywhere anyone seems to have heard of, but that doesn't mean anything. Time for a little recon of her own, she thinks, and starts her exploration in the front room downstairs. It doesn't take long before she finds the village census and public records. There's a lot of information to unpack here, but she keeps finding herself going back to the same pages, over and over. How is her name in this book, if she's never been here before? There have to be answers somewhere.

Open locations: OTA

It doesn't take long for Natasha to start trying to familiarize herself with her location. Even if she's stuck here, that doesn't mean she has to stay blind. You're likely to run into her over the course of the next few days in any number of places, both public areas and maybe a few less-public. Empty houses are also a safe bet, as she tries to find a place to set up a home base, as it were, and frequently the inn, as she keeps returning to study the public records and census. No information is bad information, right? Anyway, before she goes looking for this bunker she keeps hearing about, she wants to have a better idea of what to expect out there, which means approaching people (more often than not the ones she doesn't recognize) to ask questions and hear about other peoples' experiences with the uncomfortably-named 'Observers.'

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Bruce has spent most of his time in the schoolhouse lately to try and organize his thoughts on all the needs and ideas floating around at the moment. It's easier for him to have a place where he feels comfortable thinking, and they don't exactly have a lab here. Still, one of the biggest things he's doing is transferring all the information from the inn into his own series of notes and notebooks, newly gifted to him by the Powers That Be (whoever they are). So he's been going back and forth between the two, lost in the pages and the big picture of what they had to do next.

He's comfortable there now too, which means he doesn't really think much of wandering into the inn, not looking up from his notebook right away. His glasses are permanently on these days as he's always reading now. He has tea with him and to all appearances seems like this is an ordinary day, not the extraordinary situation they are actually in. His hair is shorter than she'll remember; it was cut close by the Grandmaster but it was growing out since getting there. It still has that natural curl on the graying edges.

Bruce finally looks up and only sees the back of her head, and that's all he needs. He has this sense that if they were in a dark room, he'd still be able to recognize her outline, and that's the kind of strange observation he keeps to himself. "Nat!" He saw her only once before she and Clint disappeared, and while his mouth moves first, his mind already knows that this is a different version. The hair is a dead giveaway. "...hey."

Between scavenging, the kindness of strangers, and not giving a shit, Bobo has at least found clothes he's comfortable in. Not that red scrub, a tee shirt, and a long fur coat is entirely fashionable, but he at least feels at home.

He's possibly one of the few that hasn't gone to the bunkers, already having found one person here he would rather not be in this place, and he isn't in the mood to be wary of others.

The Inn is much more useful to him, enough so that he takes regular hikes down from the North village to check the storerooms and rummage things he can use for his house. Which is why he's carrying a skinned badger with him, gaze sharp as he looks for a familiar face and seeing, in the end, one he's never seen before.

Head canting, watching her curiously and openly, offering a nod. Every time it's one less person he actually knows before this place, the better in his mind.

When Natasha does eventually gather her necessary intel, when she does all of her researching and she packs a bag to take the long trek toward the bunkers, she does it on a day that coincidentally Barnes has taken up Bunker Duty. They switch off between a select list of people, sending one a day out there to check on the status of things. If they can catch a new member of the population while they're still in a stasis pod they let them out, clean them up, give them the rundown. It's generally a less jarring experience than nearly drowning, and they like to intercept when they have the chance.

After that, or if nobody hovers in fluid waiting to be awoken, they do a precursory check of the place. Search the terminals, do a sweep of the floor, check the vending machine that apparently dispenses powers for anything new or useful. It's unfortunate that Natasha slipped through the cracks, but it's hard to catch everyone before they wind up getting shot up through the ceiling like Augustus Gloop.

He hears the mechanical whirring of the transportation pod that signifies a descent into the bunker, and he makes his way toward the entranceway to greet whoever took the time to come here. He can't imagine someone made a mistake reading their assigned day, tough shit for them if they did because it's one hell of a walk.

He's startled as hell when her form comes into view, almost can't believe who it is he's seeing at first, and he seems suitably stunned when he finally finds words. "Thought you were gone?"

That had been the reigning decision, what with no sign of her and no response from her wrist device for days even after direct messaging.

Frank had once gone out of his way to make his ugly mug the first thing New Arrivals saw in Reims. He had a dedicated newbie booth and all the information they would need to survive that bleak place. He supposes it isn't so strange then that he became mayor of that depressing, lonely place. The Villages here should be better, in every logistical way they are. Still, he's taken it upon himself to walk past the fountain at least once in a day to make sure no one new is coming up. He checks the bunker too, but he had just gone down there last night to use that powers vending machine - probably a mistake though it seems so far to be working out alright.

The splash of her cutting through the surface of the water startles both the man and his dogs, the croc-dog in his arms springboarding off of him and hiding behind the slim gray pitbull who is currently hiding behind Frank's leg. The black-and-tan bloodhound takes a more active approach, braying close to the edge of the fountain. Business as usual for her, and Frank to some extent as well. He reaches an arm out to catch hers just above the elbow, hoping it doesn't scare her.

"Natasha," he mutters softly before he can edit himself, helping her out of the fountain if she'll allow him to. The dogs all rush to her sides, lapping fountain water off her clothes and hands. He gives her a shrug, knowing she probably won't recognize him, even if she is a closer mark looks-wise to the Nat he'd known in Reims. Frank worries his lip as he searches for the words that once so readily sprang to his lips (or to his hands, in the case of Reims.) He finds himself missing sign language in moments like this, though he does manage an even quieter, "You OK?"

Sometimes, Peggy feels as if she's on a carousel, in which she stays still and around her, everyone moves ever-changing, taking old friends and then returning them back to her. She'd heard a rumour that Natasha had been sighted around and Peggy instantly wanted to see if that was true, given that she'd been missing the other woman.

Of course, it also meant they had to start all over from scratch, something that she wasn't so pleased with. Heading to the inn, she has to see with her own eyes whether she's really there, but lucky for Peggy, it doesn't take long to verify.

"It really is you," she says, as if Natasha somehow needs the warning (when she probably had already had Peggy clocked the moment she walked in). "Hello again, Natasha."

She's seen his name in this book. His name, and Tony's name, and Clint's, and Steve's, others she knows, too, but reading a name and hearing a voice are two completely separate and distinct things. She'd always thought she'd be prepared to see him again, whenever he came back. And yet, here they are, and he's calling her name and the look on her face as she turns is full of unguarded surprise, rarer than anything else as she automatically answers. "Bruce," she starts, and is uncertain how to continue. This place--she doesn't have the right syntax yet. Doesn't have context for timelines or theories or anything but the fact that she's relieved to see him. "It's...been a while."

An understatement. It's been a year. A lot can happen in a year. Just look at him. She is. She can't seem to not.

Bruce looks at her and he's never been great at hiding a single one of his thoughts. Their relationship is complicated to say the least, but he will always be happy to see her. He always wants to see her. Which is not a great instinct, in a place like this, but it's not like he can help it. He's so busy looking at her and trying to gauge what emotions he's allowed within the boundaries of their relationship, that he forgets he's holding a hot mug. He kept moving it from hand to hand until it cooled before, and it stuck too long in one hand. The burning is too long and he feels the sting of pain and winces, quickly setting the mug and notebook to the side.

Smooth as always.

They had no time to talk when he landed back on Earth. There were a lot of things he owed her. A lot of things he needed to hear now. And no idea how to approach it, how much they could now. For a time she was someone he felt himself opening up to, even before their stolen and brief moments. He never knew where to start. "Yes, uh, can I ask how long of one?" Because she's not the Nat who was here, but she also is not the Nat from the fight with Thanos. What he really wants to know is if she's before or after Ultron, and he knows what he wants to hear, and how selfish that would be.

The fur coat is new. She's seen some folks in things that aren't these color-coded scrubs, and she's been able to pick up that sometimes, the inhabitants of this place are given other items that wouldn't normally be here. It's useful information, she thinks, and casts a particularly practical eye on the coat. She's not sure what the winter's going to be like here, after all, and it's pretty apparent that the autumn is well underway at this point.

He nods at her, and Natasha nods back, not at all bothered by the eyes on her. It's not like she'd made any pretense of her own assessing gaze. "Nice coat," she offers, and it's not condescending in the slightest. "Any chance I'll find one like it somewhere around here?"

A hand is a hand, and any hand is a way out of the cold water threatening to drag her back down. Any actions beyond that...well, she's never been unable to take care of herself, no matter the situation, and once she's got her feet under her, she'll be fine. She's always fine. This situation--it's just one more to figure out. So she lets that hand grab her by the elbow and pull, her own fingers finding purchase on his wrist and holding tight as she hauls herself out of the water and over the lip of the--fountain? Is this a fountain?

It looks like a park, she thinks vaguely, her first impression one of flashes as she gasps for breath. Open plaza, man with dark hair and eyes looking at her like he's concerned, like he knows her, he says her name like he knows her, and she knows for a fact she doesn't recognize him. That's as far as she gets, the look on her face just this side of accusatory, tense, before falling into something more like shock at the sudden surrounding of dogs. She's never had a problem with dogs; animals tend to like her, or at least accept her presence, but she's not used to being surrounded like this, and her heart is still pumping with adrenaline as she looks for an exit, some place to gain a little space as she pulls her hands up and out of tongue range (is that a dog, she isn't sure, not when it looks like that), looking instead to the man once more.

"I just need a second," she says, instead of what she's really thinking. "I'll be fine. Sorry-do I know you?" Should she?

As she grabs his wrist, she might notice the leather bracelet he wears on the opposite hand from his bright teal communicator: it's obviously handwoven, the knots Celtic though he seems anything but Irish. He takes a step back from her when she's on her own two feet and gestures for the dogs to do the same. The weird-looking one hops back up into his arms instead and he rolls his eyes, holding the chihuahua-sized creature under his arm. So, definitely not the Nat who was here before. What iteration does that make her? Or is that only of one version? That list rose many more questions than it answered, and that's only if it's not bullshit to begin with.

Frank works his jaw as both dogs edge behind his legs, though Aretha looks about to burst forward again any second. She loves people as much as Aloe is wary of them. And Frank, naturally, lies somewhere in the middle with attention to both. He offers up a pithy OK symbol, his favorite way of expressing himself, and waits for her to calm down some. Once it seems she's taken a breath, he shakes his head 'no' at her question.

"We should get you dry," is all he says, and that's after a long lapse of silence. He turns away from her and the dogs follow him, though the bloodhound still looks like she wants to go back for Natasha. Frank acts like he doesn't care if she follows, mostly because he can't. Besides, if he doesn't help her he knows the other Avengers will. It really isn't his responsibility, right? But Nat was a friend of his. She helped him once, even if it wasn't this version of her, and/or she doesn't remember it, that's never mattered to him before.

Natasha finds herself almost grateful for that mug of tea, for the broken eye contact, because it gives her a chance to put herself back together, to find the words she'd lost before. There have been so many left unsaid between them, and so many more said when they shouldn't have been, or misunderstood, and months ago she'd thought she'd never get the chance to say any of them.

The moment he takes to turn and put the mug and his notebook down give her all the time she needs to at least put her face back together--look like you're fine, and the rest will follow--and his question does the rest. Right. He's right. It's better to focus on the more practical questions, isn't it, better to move instead of considering which move to make. That's what had gotten her in all this trouble in the first place. "About a year," she says, voice more confident, matter-of-fact, as if she couldn't count it to the day. "A little less, since Sokovia." A ghost of a smile floats over her face, there and gone almost before it's seen. "You got a haircut. It looks nice."

The footsteps aren't familiar. Give her time, and they will be, she's always had a knack for this sort of thing, but right now...no. The face, though--she recognizes that face as she turns around, even if it isn't in the context that Peggy might hope for. She remembers that face from a faded photograph in a bunker in New Jersey, a memory of a more optimistic time. She hadn't known that face then, and Steve hadn't said. It meant she'd had to work harder for the name than she'd expected. Good thing Natasha had always appreciated a challenge.

This is a different sort of challenge, she thinks, and while her answer is pleasant enough, the phrasing is careful. "Agent Carter. I'm sorry--I don't think I'm the woman you were expecting." As odd as it is to think. The idea that she isn't the first one, the only one. The idea that Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, co-founder of SHIELD, can be standing here in front of her, looking like she just stepped out of 1946. It's a big multiverse, she's read Dr. Selvig's papers, and yet one is rarely confronted with proof that their identity isn't actually unique, and that time isn't quite as linear as you've always thought.

There's a moment when she sees him ahead of her, sees the light glint off that metal hand, and suddenly she's back in the UN building with that hand around her throat, in the streets of DC with a bullet burning through her shoulder. Never mind that he isn't that soldier anymore, isn't the soldier--зимний солдат, she thinks, and some habits are hard to break--and never mind that he, like all the others, thinks she's a version of herself she isn't and has never been. Never mind that he seems as surprised to see her as she is to see him.

It's the bunker, she thinks. They've both spent too much time in places like this. The thought helps a little, helps her keep her face level, her tone just this side of casual. "She might be. I'm new," she says, and below the surface the words dare him to disagree. "Last time I saw you, you didn't have that anymore," she says, with a nod towards his arm. Maybe that will give him some context. She could use some of that, herself. He seems much more...psychologically sound, than the last time they ran into each other.

Bruce sees her expression mask over, and it aches somewhere in his heart, since there was a short time where they dropped masks around one another, but that was gone. And he respects her need for it now. The relief he feels when she says the time seems selfish, but he can't imagine how he could react if she didn't remember. If the layers of their relationship were one sided and he'd have to navigate an entire new way of talking to her like nothing happened. This is easier and harder at the same time.

At her mention of his haircut, he immediately puts a hand up to his hair and through it. "Oh, it does?" Maybe he shouldn't grow it out then. "Thanks, I --- it was done to me. Thor has one too, I guess it's part of the process of being kidnapped on an alien planet." Bruce is simply letting his mouth get away with him, a product of nerves and too much time pent up thinking of what he would say to her if they saw each other again. He makes a face. "Sorry, I kind of jumped forward. I shouldn't start there."

This part at least he knew he wanted her to know, had rehearsed it a few times, and none of it rang the right way. It's better to simply say it as he went. Bruce takes in a deep breath and lets it out. "To me, Ultron was maybe a month ago. It's ... it's still processing. But it's been two years in, um, our timeline. This place takes people from all over the timeline." He wrings his hands, never sure what to do with them, and then stops that to cross arms against his middle instead. "After Ultron, the Hulk took that whole running thing to a new level, we were in space. We crashed on a planet, and um, enslaved for a gladiator ring. And he was in control for those two years. So for me, no time really passed, for him, years."

This is hard to talk about, harder with her. He's very good at sounding clinical when talking about the things that have been done to him, but his hatred of Code Greens meant that being stuck in the Hulk was a waking nightmare. She knew that. Tony knew that too, had sympathized with him, and he tried to push the way it all made him feel aside. "When Steve saw me here, he said he thought I was dead, he's from, um, the Accords, I think, after the Avengers ... broke up. Same as you?" If he figured out the timeline when he was gone right. "I don't know if you thought ...." Who knew what she thought. He wished he was better at talking. "Well. I'm sorry. I promise if it hadn't happened, I would have told all of you I was alive. I wouldn't have let you think that."

Edited 2018-10-21 16:51 (UTC)

He shakes his head no, the weird...dog??...nestled in her arms, and Natasha can't quite help the way her brow furrows at the answer. If she doesn't know him, he's got to know her, he knew her name. Unless she imagined that--but no, she's got a good sense for what's happening in her head versus what's happening outside of it, it definitely happened. It bothers her, the fact that he knows her and not the other way around. It's always bothered her.

But she's not going to get answers from nothing, and he's not wrong. Natasha shifts her shoulders, finds the pack there, opens it long enough to see the dry clothing inside. That presents more questions than it does answers. But he's moving away now, him and his weird herd of dogs, and it only makes sense to follow. For now. "You know my name. I don't know yours," she says, a step or so behind him, catching up without looking like she's hurrying. "You feel like sharing?" She has to start somewhere. Who are you, what is this place, how did I get here, what the hell is that thing in your arms--all valid questions, all questions she plans on asking, if she can.

She has to, though, doesn't she? After the way they left things, how can she know what's safe to show and what isn't? In this place, even more than back home, can she afford the risk? She doesn't know yet. Too many variables. There are too many things to consider here, and she doesn't yet have her bearings, and she isn't sure yet what the best approach is for any of this. So, a mask. He'll understand. She most definitely doesn't, not yet, and that's evident when she blinks again at the mention of an alien planet, and Thor, him being kidnapped--

Bruce has always had restless hands, she thinks, eyes scanning him as he talks, as she files the words into a timeline she hasn't experienced yet, or has only experienced part of. She doesn't know if she'd say he fidgets, but he's never quite sure where to put his hands, what to do with his energy. She'd found it endearing, once. She's just glad now it gives her something to watch when she needs to look away from his face, to put the words together. Two years as the Hulk. Two years lost, on another planet, fighting as a gladiator. That Steve is here, from roughly her time, is an incidental fact, to be filed away. It isn't as important as what she's really gleaning from this whole thing.

He's apologizing, she realizes belatedly, looking up from his hands and into his face, her own arms still at her sides. She's never developed that habit, of fidgeting. She's always cultivated stillness, another mask. Sometimes, she wishes she had been better at setting them aside. Now, at least, she tries, eyes searching his. "I did that to you. Pushed you over that edge." The words are matter of fact, even if they're painful. "I'm the reason you were him for two years. And you're apologizing to me because I might have thought you were dead." She didn't, of course; she never did, she couldn't, just didn't let herself think about it at all. But here he is, apologizing for living his worst nightmare, and to her of all people.

When Tony mentioned something like that before as Bruce told his story, he'd been shocked at the suggestion that anything could be blamed on Natasha. His friend was thinking of him, able to see perspectives that never would have occurred to Bruce, and it seemed as unfair now as it was then. "No, Nat, no." He shakes his head quickly, stepping closer to her, stopping only when he realizes he's on the boundary of her personal space. He hovers on the outline of it, uncertain of his welcome, and knowing he doesn't have the right to push when she's already being more open than comfortable. It's as if he hit an invisible wall.

He remembers that moment like it was a freeze frame. He was too afraid that the Hulk would cause more casualties to turn, and beyond that, he wanted to run. He wanted to believe they could walk away. It was the most selfish thing he'd done in years. The world was falling around them, and he was making a choice, asking her to make a choice, that was wrong. She kissed him, and pushed him, and in that moment as he fell, he did feel betrayed. And then he felt angry at himself for being so wrong. "I created Ultron. It was my mistake, my responsibility. I didn't see it then, but I couldn't have lived with myself if I walked away and more people died." Bruce was a very short sighted person, for a genius. He saw numbers and science and facts, but his issues so often got in the way of being clear headed. Nat was rational. She saw the big picture, even at great personal sacrifice.

"You did the right thing." His eyes are so sad, his expression full of compassion and guilt. It wasn't a decision she should have had to make alone. "Natasha. I don't blame you for what happened. I can't. I won't." Her actions leading to his imprisonment was a moot point. The fact the Hulk believed they had nothing left on earth for them could very well be a factor in going to space, but it didn't matter.

Her smile is sad, though unsurprised. She hadn't expected Natasha to know her, though she can't say that she isn't a touch disappointed, of course. "No, I know," she assures her, hoping that Natasha won't feel compelled to be that other woman when Peggy truthfully doesn't have any expectations for her to do so.

She's just glad to see her back, even if she finds herself at the base of a hill, knowing she'll have to work uphill again to earn her trust. "I'm not sure if you've found out yet, but you've been here before. I knew you, then."

There's not as much trouble to get into as Jason's used to, so ever since the appearance of the library, he's defaulted to spending a lot of his free time reading instead. Perched on the porch of the little red house he's claimed is a favored spot, and he's still squinting over an instructional guide on knitting when Natasha approaches him.

"Tell you what," he says, one eyebrow arched, holding up the open book in one hand, "I'm pretty sure this is in English, but I can't make heads or tails out of it. You tell me if this page makes any sense to you, and I'll answer a question. Deal?"

It was a slip, but that doesn't mean he won't tell her the truth. In his own time. Right now the best he can do is breathe out through his nose and grunt the answer.

"Frank."

It's clipped, but not unkind. Bruce has been trying to show him how to offer his help without giving too much of himself away, and maybe this is his opportunity to strike a balance. He lets the little one back onto the ground and introduces them starting there.

"Bruno." He points to the pitbull, then the bloodhound. "Aloe. Aretha."

Well, that's new, so points to her. It's so second nature to himself, he doesn't think about the fact that in a few months, it'll be a hot commodity.

"There were some capes in the storeroom, and another one like this in a house..." He pauses, considering. It's only been seven weeks, but time in this place just feels different. Likely being out of Purgatory for the first time in over a hundred years. "South village, near the fountain. We didn't walk far. Probably one of the empty ones over there," he says, pointing.

In truth, no one had asked before so not reason not to share.

Edited 2018-10-22 19:42 (UTC)

Wanda had lost Clint and then shortly after that Natasha had disappeared as well. Her home had gone from being nearly full to almost empty. Picard and Beverly were always there and they were trying their best to help Wanda but it wasn't the same. Clint and Nat knew her and understood her in a way that very few could. They'd seen the dark sides of war and had done horrible things, deciding later to turn their lives around. They were people who Wanda looked up too and now they were gone.

Her thoughts were troubled and turbulent when she once again spotted Natasha in the village. She wasn't the same person, her hair was the same color but there was no doubt in who that was. Wanda felt her heart seize as it turned through an emotional whiplash. It hurt and as she approached, she knew that there was a chance that Natasha wouldn't know who she was or believe that she was on the wrong side of the fight.

Even so, Wanda couldn't bring herself to just walk away.

A large dog walked at her side and while he smiled at Nat, he was trained to stay with Wanda until she told him otherwise. Clint had spent a fair amount of time training Arado to help them hunt. "Hey," She tried to smile but the expression looked forced. "Looks like you're back. You don't remember being here, do you?"

She's incredibly good at hiding her tells, she's inscrutable when she wants to be, she belies no fear. They're incredibly alike in that, they practically speak the same body language sometimes, and for just a second he can see a shift. Just enough to know that no, in fact she isn't the one who recently left. They hadn't gotten close despite their shared time here, but she'd been friendly enough. Bandaged up his wounds, introduced him to her dog which... still baffles him that she'd even gotten one, but the point is she'd gotten accustomed to his presence enough not to steel herself when she saw him anymore.

It's gone now.

He suspects their environment isn't helping her feel any more welcome. His lips press into a line, but the rest of him stays impassive. He glances down at his arm, back up at her, and... ah. So she's from around the same time as Steve then. She doesn't know about what's to come.

Maybe that's for the best considering they can't do anything about it here.

Best to blow past that subject, and to not make her feel like she's an amnesiac or something. He's been in her position — out there, yeah, but in this town too. There was another him right before he got here. It's an uncomfortable feeling, viscerally. So he opts for the 'act like everything is normal' approach, like this is a briefing. He gestures behind him vaguely, murmurs, "You been in here yet? Crazy stuff."

It's an offer and an out. He'll show her around if she wants, or he'll give her space.

Tony would have his own reasons for placing the responsibility on Nat's shoulders. They'd never had the smoothest relationship, she was pretty sure he was still holding a grudge from that first assignment years ago, and then the way that things had ended a few weeks previously--she doesn't blame him for this, though. This thing with Bruce, it's all on her. She wouldn't argue. It's just a fact.

So is the next part. "Ultron wasn't just on you," she says, shaking her head, although she at least has the grace to avoid mentioning names. "We all played a part in how that went wrong. And we were all responsible for what happened after." And the rest...she doesn't know. He won't blame her. And it was if not the right thing to do, then the necessary one. She's always done what's necessary. What's needed over what's wanted. She doesn't know any other way to be.

Maybe that's why she doesn't lift her arms, doesn't invite him any further into her personal space. He'd been welcome there once, and still would be, she thinks, but now--there's too much happening. Too many questions she doesn't know the answers to, too many answers to find. She can't leave a vulnerability like that open, not now. But she is glad to see him. More than she can show. "Bruce--" What can she say that he doesn't already know? She could argue with him about blame vs. responsibility, she could brush the whole thing off. Now's her time to set that boundary. And yet, she doesn't know if she wants to. "I'm glad you're back," she says after a moment, and he knows her at least well enough to see just how much she means that. "And I'm glad you're here."

Tony had his reasons for a lot of what he felt these days, and Bruce understood all of them. But the two of them always understood each other, even if it didn't make much sense to anyone else. Ultron happened because of that connection, something they both knew, and perhaps would be smarter about now. A lot of the issues between them were discussed and set aside to just be happy they were both alive after what happened with Thanos.

"I know he wasn't. But ...." He sighs and looks down. "I'm not sure I can explain this right. Or if it makes any sense to someone else. Ultron was Tony's idea, but he couldn't do it without me. Of all people, I know what happens when you try to play God. I have the experience of creating something wrong, and I swore I would never do that again." It's not that Bruce doesn't acknowledge Tony's part in things, and he's certain that Tony personally takes the lion's share himself. It's different to him. He created the Hulk and that was a lesson he was supposed to learn. But he had an impossible time saying no to Tony, and it blinded him. After a beat he looks up at her again. "I haven't said that out loud to anyone else." It's not a surprise to him he still is too open with her. It was a short time ago in his mind. It's an adjustment.

Bruce smiles at her, warm and sad all at the same time. "I'm glad you're here too." There are few things in this world he wants more than to go into her space, to take her hand or breathe her in, and he can't, he knows that. "I can explain as much as I know about this place, if you have questions. And there's something you should know." He takes in a deep breath, blowing it out. "The Hulk is gone. When I was brought here, whatever they did, they removed him. It's just me in here now." It was his dream for so long. He tried everything possible to cure himself of that burden. Without the Hulk he is weak and vulnerable, but he's free.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 7

01. arrival

Inn

Near to the Inn

Open Locations: Bunkers

snagging a Fountain Arrival pls

Inn

no subject

no subject

no subject

yes, awesome :D

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

outside house #9.

no subject

no subject

Bunker

no subject

no subject

no subject