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open post;
[Pulling out of the time loop seemed to have consequences. The timeline shifted and ground against itself, a car with a blown tire hurtling down an expressway. Whatever immunity the team had enjoyed before is stripped away, and Daisy will find herself in a darkened, smoking control room. She's alone -- but hadn't there been someone else with her a moment ago?
There's a creak, and then the banging of a body against metal. It takes a few tries, but Fitz shoulders open a door that wouldn't have enough power to let her leave normally. He's disheveled, his face drawn and paler than usual, his hair sticking out at odd angles. It implies that he hasn't had much chance for selfcare. He doesn't stop to explain why he's here, nor why Jemma isn't.]
Sorry about the rough landing. I had to pull you back early. Something's come up.
There's a creak, and then the banging of a body against metal. It takes a few tries, but Fitz shoulders open a door that wouldn't have enough power to let her leave normally. He's disheveled, his face drawn and paler than usual, his hair sticking out at odd angles. It implies that he hasn't had much chance for selfcare. He doesn't stop to explain why he's here, nor why Jemma isn't.]
Sorry about the rough landing. I had to pull you back early. Something's come up.
[ The time loops had been a special kind of hell that Daisy is more than glad to have sorted. They may still be hurtling through time chasing space robots, but at least she doesn't have to keep watching her friends die, or dying herself and having to do the whole thing over again from scratch. Fifteen plus deaths had really been a great way to spend a day—
And it just keeps getting better. Fitz showing up out of nowhere is simply the cherry on top of the wild ride that has become her life and all she can do is stare at him with her jaw dropped and a look of incomprehension on her face. Her brain grinding against itself just like the timeline and when it finally starts moving again: ]
Are you kidding me? What the hell, Fitz!
And it just keeps getting better. Fitz showing up out of nowhere is simply the cherry on top of the wild ride that has become her life and all she can do is stare at him with her jaw dropped and a look of incomprehension on her face. Her brain grinding against itself just like the timeline and when it finally starts moving again: ]
Are you kidding me? What the hell, Fitz!
The year is 2022. [He proceeds to rattle off facts rather than engage with either of her questions. It would be redundant to confirm that he wasn't in fact kidding her.] A little over four years ago there was another alien invasion. It didn't work out as well as the last one. [As if the Battle of New York could be considered to have gone well.]
And I was really hoping that your trip through time would have exempted you lot from what happened.
And I was really hoping that your trip through time would have exempted you lot from what happened.
[ Of course, he ignores her incredibly important question. And of course, he just launches right into things that, despite the last few weeks, leave her head spinning. 2022? Another invasion? ]
What do you mean, it didn't work out as well? [ Context, please. Are they at Destroyer of Worlds level panic here or just another decimated city? ] And where is everyone? Why are you suddenly here?
[ Apparently, once the questions start coming, they just won't stop. ]
What do you mean, it didn't work out as well? [ Context, please. Are they at Destroyer of Worlds level panic here or just another decimated city? ] And where is everyone? Why are you suddenly here?
[ Apparently, once the questions start coming, they just won't stop. ]
[ She stares at that hand, struggling to process what he's said. Fifty percent of... Her chest aches and she blames it on the smoke in the room; the stinging in her eyes on the pain in her side from that rough landing. ]
I'm fine. [ But she still takes his hand, keeping hold of it as she rises, and she doesn't let go after she's steady on her feet. In fact, her grip tightens as her expression turns serious. Angry. ]
Where are they?
I'm fine. [ But she still takes his hand, keeping hold of it as she rises, and she doesn't let go after she's steady on her feet. In fact, her grip tightens as her expression turns serious. Angry. ]
Where are they?
Dead. [His voice is flat, hollowed out by disassociation. The grief is overwhelming if is allowed to take a foothold. That can't happen.] As far as we can tell. There was magic involved and not many specifics past that. As you can imagine, we haven't been working at full efficiency for some time now.
[ Magic. We. There are so many pieces she's missing, fragments of information floating around her head like a puzzle trying to assemble itself. And the one piece that keeps coming to the forefront: dead. A piece that she refuses to accept.
She releases his hand but not her anger. If she lets go of that too, she'll drown in everything else, and neither of them can afford for that to happen right now. ] Tell me what you know, and then tell me how we fix it.
She releases his hand but not her anger. If she lets go of that too, she'll drown in everything else, and neither of them can afford for that to happen right now. ] Tell me what you know, and then tell me how we fix it.
Most of it is unknown. The Avengers -- the members who used to be the Avengers -- went to battle with an alien army. They didn't win. When the fighting was over, people began to vanish. Reports from eye witnesses indicate that they experienced a rapid degeneration. They died and decomposed so quickly it was as if they turned to dust. Whatever intelligence they have isn't disseminated well. It took us this long just to recover you, but bringing too many was a risk. I'm not sure whether the new timeline would retroactively be pulled into effect. [He's not prepared to watch Jemma die. She can stay in the past where this hasn't happened yet.]
Mack was supposed to be with you.
Mack was supposed to be with you.
[ Her head is spinning as she grasps at the pieces he's giving her, knowing there has to be so much more to the story and trying to be content with these fragments. She can barely handle this, how could she manage the whole story? ]
Okay... So why isn't he, then? [ Asking why she'd been pulled forward in time seems a little redundant. She's the one with powers, though at least this time the end of the world isn't being blamed on her. But why Mack instead of Yo-Yo... unless powers aren't the reason she's here. ]
Okay... So why isn't he, then? [ Asking why she'd been pulled forward in time seems a little redundant. She's the one with powers, though at least this time the end of the world isn't being blamed on her. But why Mack instead of Yo-Yo... unless powers aren't the reason she's here. ]
[ The Avengers had been imprisoned. Well, not all of them. Officially, they were the ones who opposed the Sokovia Accords and helped Steve Rogers aid an international fugitive. They'd been captured and taken to the Raft, which had been some of the most appalling news the team had heard in a long while. Coulson had insisted that the Avengers were the good guys, they didn't deserve to be treated like this, and not a single person had argued with him.
So, they'd decided to do something about it. After days of planning, they made their move. The team was small, only those closest to Coulson, and they only used resources that couldn't be traced back to SHIELD. Forged identities, stolen transport, unregistered and experimental tech — there were a million things that could have gone wrong. They might have ended up in the cells next to those famed superheroes... but they hadn't. The extraction had gone as smoothly as they could have hoped and everyone had been moved to another of Fury's off-the-books SHIELD bases, one of the last few they hadn't needed to dust off in recent years. Everyone had been settled with a bunk and a change of clothes and told that next steps would be discussed in a few hours; for now, get some rest.
It was easier said than done, of course. After checking in with Coulson, who was expertly covering up his team's disappearance from certain government officials who were having a real hissy fit about their prized prisoners going missing, Daisy just can't manage to settle. She keeps seeing them in those cells, these heroes who would have laid down their lives to protect others, and she's furious all over again. The Sokovia Accords are a mistake, registration is a mistake—
Abandoning all hope of sleep, she grabs her laptop and goes for a walk, looping her way through the base with a vague notion to set up shop in the kitchen. If she can't sleep, she can at least get some work done. So she sets up shop at one of the metal tables, shifting around in the chair to try and get comfortable. Her injuries don't help; she'd had to refrain from using her powers so she wouldn't be recognized, and a few of the guards had managed to get in some good hits before she'd taken them down. The bruises aren't quite as bad as when she used her powers without her gauntlets, but her left arm and side are already starting to turn a nice shade of purple. It was worth it, though. It will always be worth it to do the right thing. ]
So, they'd decided to do something about it. After days of planning, they made their move. The team was small, only those closest to Coulson, and they only used resources that couldn't be traced back to SHIELD. Forged identities, stolen transport, unregistered and experimental tech — there were a million things that could have gone wrong. They might have ended up in the cells next to those famed superheroes... but they hadn't. The extraction had gone as smoothly as they could have hoped and everyone had been moved to another of Fury's off-the-books SHIELD bases, one of the last few they hadn't needed to dust off in recent years. Everyone had been settled with a bunk and a change of clothes and told that next steps would be discussed in a few hours; for now, get some rest.
It was easier said than done, of course. After checking in with Coulson, who was expertly covering up his team's disappearance from certain government officials who were having a real hissy fit about their prized prisoners going missing, Daisy just can't manage to settle. She keeps seeing them in those cells, these heroes who would have laid down their lives to protect others, and she's furious all over again. The Sokovia Accords are a mistake, registration is a mistake—
Abandoning all hope of sleep, she grabs her laptop and goes for a walk, looping her way through the base with a vague notion to set up shop in the kitchen. If she can't sleep, she can at least get some work done. So she sets up shop at one of the metal tables, shifting around in the chair to try and get comfortable. Her injuries don't help; she'd had to refrain from using her powers so she wouldn't be recognized, and a few of the guards had managed to get in some good hits before she'd taken them down. The bruises aren't quite as bad as when she used her powers without her gauntlets, but her left arm and side are already starting to turn a nice shade of purple. It was worth it, though. It will always be worth it to do the right thing. ]
[ wanda had given up on help coming for them when they'd slipped the collar around her throat. even if it had come for the others, she knows how people view her, why she'd been locked away on the compound while the accords were debated by rogers, stark, and the others. wherever her loyalties align now, she'd once been considered an enemy. she'd once been an enemy. and whether or not people consider her one, she knows she's still dangerous.
help does end up coming, from a team she's unfamiliar with, but that turns out to be for the best. the extraction goes smoothly and one of the first things they do is take the collar off of her, and she breathes easier than she's been able to since things had gone wrong in lagos. when they get to the base, she showers, changes, and tries to sleep, as instructed, but everyone's minds and her own nightmares are too loud for her to get any rest. eventually she heads into the kitchen instead, feeling too confined by the bunk.
she's not expecting anybody else to be there, but can sense the other woman before she even steps into the kitchen. she's as angry as she is, wanda can sense that without even making the effort. it's oddly a little comforting. ]
Should I leave? [ the woman doesn't appear to be doing anything wanda would interrupt just by being there and making tea, but maybe she'd prefer to be completely undisturbed. ]
help does end up coming, from a team she's unfamiliar with, but that turns out to be for the best. the extraction goes smoothly and one of the first things they do is take the collar off of her, and she breathes easier than she's been able to since things had gone wrong in lagos. when they get to the base, she showers, changes, and tries to sleep, as instructed, but everyone's minds and her own nightmares are too loud for her to get any rest. eventually she heads into the kitchen instead, feeling too confined by the bunk.
she's not expecting anybody else to be there, but can sense the other woman before she even steps into the kitchen. she's as angry as she is, wanda can sense that without even making the effort. it's oddly a little comforting. ]
Should I leave? [ the woman doesn't appear to be doing anything wanda would interrupt just by being there and making tea, but maybe she'd prefer to be completely undisturbed. ]
[ Daisy's not surprised to feel the movement of someone else coming closer, though she's too distracted by her screen to look up until the person enters. Wanda, the one who had been experimented on by Hydra. The one who had been restrained with a collar like some kind of animal— It takes a great deal of effort to force her anger down enough that she won't accidentally quake the kitchen; Wanda doesn't need the stress of an unexpected earthquake on top of everything else she's been through, and Daisy doesn't need the extra stress on her injuries. ]
No, of course not. [ Tilting her laptop's screen down so it's not quite visible, she gestures vaguely at the room around them. ] It's a free kitchen, chock full of... Well, not a ton of fresh stuff because we only brought the basics with us, but there's enough canned goods and packaged stuff to last at least a quarter of an apocalypse.
[ The opened bag of Oreos on the table beside the laptop gives away that she'd already raided the pantry herself. She realizes she's rambling and grimaces slightly, folding her arms on the tabletop. ] Sorry. You probably don't need me going on about canned goods after the week you've had.
No, of course not. [ Tilting her laptop's screen down so it's not quite visible, she gestures vaguely at the room around them. ] It's a free kitchen, chock full of... Well, not a ton of fresh stuff because we only brought the basics with us, but there's enough canned goods and packaged stuff to last at least a quarter of an apocalypse.
[ The opened bag of Oreos on the table beside the laptop gives away that she'd already raided the pantry herself. She realizes she's rambling and grimaces slightly, folding her arms on the tabletop. ] Sorry. You probably don't need me going on about canned goods after the week you've had.
Edited 2020-08-28 06:37 (UTC)
[ It's been a few weeks since the world tried to end. A few weeks longer since the world was fixed. Somehow in all their jumping, their team had managed to come out the other side of 'the Blip' in one piece, missing the years of mourning and devastation while they were off trying to stop yet another threat to humanity's continued existence. In the time since their return, they'd helped to pick up the pieces as best they could, reconnecting with SHIELD and figuring out where to go from here.
The team had already started going their separate ways, but SHIELD was Daisy's life. Her purpose for being. So, when she'd gotten the call in the middle of the night asking if she'd mind checking out a report they'd gotten, she didn't hesitate to take the assignment. Sleep had been a fickle companion of late anyway, and the hotel where she'd been staying while helping set up one of the old SHIELD bases wasn't too far from the reported sighting.
A woman with green skin and possible anger issues. Her first thought is another Inhuman, but with recent events, there's really no telling. Still, she goes in civilian gear, black jeans and a leather jacket over her grey t-shirt, leaving her gauntlets in the car and hoping she won't regret the decision later. She's got her gun and an I.C.E.R. — if that's not enough to take down a potential threat, then they've got a bigger problem on their hands.
Emerging onto the nearly empty street, it's impossible to miss the green woman with red hair that seems like unearthly fire in the glow of the streetlamps. It's also impossible to miss the knife in her hands. Keeping her hands at her sides, ready to go for a weapon at a moment's notice, Daisy approaches slowly and calls out in a steady tone. ]
Hey, how about you put the knife away, okay? It's really not necessary right now.
The team had already started going their separate ways, but SHIELD was Daisy's life. Her purpose for being. So, when she'd gotten the call in the middle of the night asking if she'd mind checking out a report they'd gotten, she didn't hesitate to take the assignment. Sleep had been a fickle companion of late anyway, and the hotel where she'd been staying while helping set up one of the old SHIELD bases wasn't too far from the reported sighting.
A woman with green skin and possible anger issues. Her first thought is another Inhuman, but with recent events, there's really no telling. Still, she goes in civilian gear, black jeans and a leather jacket over her grey t-shirt, leaving her gauntlets in the car and hoping she won't regret the decision later. She's got her gun and an I.C.E.R. — if that's not enough to take down a potential threat, then they've got a bigger problem on their hands.
Emerging onto the nearly empty street, it's impossible to miss the green woman with red hair that seems like unearthly fire in the glow of the streetlamps. It's also impossible to miss the knife in her hands. Keeping her hands at her sides, ready to go for a weapon at a moment's notice, Daisy approaches slowly and calls out in a steady tone. ]
Hey, how about you put the knife away, okay? It's really not necessary right now.
[ she can sense the anger and...something else, something stronger. it's not enough for wanda to discern what it is exactly, but there's a definite power there, something almost physical. she hadn't been able to sense it before; first inhibited by the collar, then by the distraction of the rescue, but there's no mistaking it now. ]
No, it's fine. [ the distraction is actually welcome, in spite of the mundanity. wanda nods to the package of cookies set out on the counter. ] Mind sharing some of those?
[ who knows how well they'll go with tea, but she's starting to get hungry enough to not care. ]
No, it's fine. [ the distraction is actually welcome, in spite of the mundanity. wanda nods to the package of cookies set out on the counter. ] Mind sharing some of those?
[ who knows how well they'll go with tea, but she's starting to get hungry enough to not care. ]
[ Daisy doesn't know the full extent of Wanda's powers; there had been files available, of course, but so many of them included information pulled from Hydra testing that she just... couldn't. Better to hear it from the woman herself, if and when she was ever ready to share. Until then, she knows enough to understand why she'd been restrained in that way — and that makes her angry too. ]
Oh please, I need someone else to eat them or I'll go through the whole thing. [ After fully closing the laptop with a quiet click, she pulls the crinkly plastic tray free from the foil packaging, revealing that a good quarter of the cookies are already gone. She sets it back down on the table with a smile, an invitation to either join her or for Wanda to simply help herself. ] Have as many as you want.
Oh please, I need someone else to eat them or I'll go through the whole thing. [ After fully closing the laptop with a quiet click, she pulls the crinkly plastic tray free from the foil packaging, revealing that a good quarter of the cookies are already gone. She sets it back down on the table with a smile, an invitation to either join her or for Wanda to simply help herself. ] Have as many as you want.
[ It's been a while since Daisy Johnson did proper undercover work. Slipping into the uniform of the day— a perfectly tailored black suit and heels, she feels a thrill at the prospect of what lay ahead. Which was good; there's a lot riding on the days ahead, for everyone involved, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy the work itself.
Her path to Hell's Kitchen is a winding one through cabs, the subway, and more than one stop in a coffee shop, all purposefully meant to be confusing for anyone who might try to track her movements. Her hair and makeup are styled in a very un-Daisylike manner, very proper and controlled, to hopefully avert any bystander's recognition along the way — being recognized as Quake while undercover would put a swift end to everything she has planned. But finally she arrives, hefting the leather workbag a little higher on her shoulder as she enters the building and makes her way the office of one Matthew Murdock. She's calm when she knocks on the door and enters, not the least bit nervous or apprehensive about her mission, years of training to control her heartrate and emotional responses hard at work. There's a confidence in her step and voice as she introduces herself and that thrill is finally tempered by realistic caution. It's time to get to work. ]
Skye Johnson, here to see Mr. Murdock.
Her path to Hell's Kitchen is a winding one through cabs, the subway, and more than one stop in a coffee shop, all purposefully meant to be confusing for anyone who might try to track her movements. Her hair and makeup are styled in a very un-Daisylike manner, very proper and controlled, to hopefully avert any bystander's recognition along the way — being recognized as Quake while undercover would put a swift end to everything she has planned. But finally she arrives, hefting the leather workbag a little higher on her shoulder as she enters the building and makes her way the office of one Matthew Murdock. She's calm when she knocks on the door and enters, not the least bit nervous or apprehensive about her mission, years of training to control her heartrate and emotional responses hard at work. There's a confidence in her step and voice as she introduces herself and that thrill is finally tempered by realistic caution. It's time to get to work. ]
Skye Johnson, here to see Mr. Murdock.
The timeline was screwed and there was no fixing it. They'd managed to save the future, but going to the past had caused problems. Unintended ripples that had impacted things they never would have expected — like Daisy's very existence. They'd returned to a present that wasn't their own, where the events they all remembered hadn't transpired in the same way; those ripples were wider and more broadly felt, and in a strange way it was illuminating to see the impact her life had on the world. There were other unforeseen consequences that her teammates had to deal with, such as not arriving back at the right time as when they'd left, but in the end, she made a choice.
It was a choice that led her many places, using her shadow existence to help her move across the world without detection. HYDRA had been exposed within SHIELD just like in her timeline, and they had fallen here as well, but she knew better than anyone how many remnants still remained. If she could find them and stop them, or even simply undo even a small fraction of the harm they'd caused, then it would be worth a few years alone. It would only be a few minutes for her team, her family, but she would spend her years making this world a better place for them all.
With SHIELD's files being exposed to the public, it wasn't hard to choose her targets. She spent months tracking down high-level operatives, stopping their plans and delivering them to authorities, but all the while she worked on another search, one she wasn't sure would pan out. Yet, here she is, back in the DC area, comparing photos on her tablet before stuffing the device back into her backpack. The city was fairly removed from the metro area and the neighborhood was... not great, to say the least. The world had forgotten it and left it to rot, along with everyone who stilled called it something like home.
Pulling her leather jacket closer around herself, she enters the apartment building, the crumbling walls and long broken front door giving her a real sense of homey welcome as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. The hall is drab and dirty, half the lightbulbs broken or flickering, and she can hear a few televisions through the thin walls along with voices and shouting. Signs of life in an otherwise dying place. She glances at one door in particular as she walks past it, her boots making soft thuds on the linoleum floor, but she doesn't stop until she reaches the one beside it — the one she knows is empty. The lock is quickly picked and she slips inside, every sound she makes almost echoing in the empty apartment.
It's the furthest thing from 'home' she's seen in a long time, and it's a struggle to not let herself think she's made a mistake. This can't be a mistake.
It was a choice that led her many places, using her shadow existence to help her move across the world without detection. HYDRA had been exposed within SHIELD just like in her timeline, and they had fallen here as well, but she knew better than anyone how many remnants still remained. If she could find them and stop them, or even simply undo even a small fraction of the harm they'd caused, then it would be worth a few years alone. It would only be a few minutes for her team, her family, but she would spend her years making this world a better place for them all.
With SHIELD's files being exposed to the public, it wasn't hard to choose her targets. She spent months tracking down high-level operatives, stopping their plans and delivering them to authorities, but all the while she worked on another search, one she wasn't sure would pan out. Yet, here she is, back in the DC area, comparing photos on her tablet before stuffing the device back into her backpack. The city was fairly removed from the metro area and the neighborhood was... not great, to say the least. The world had forgotten it and left it to rot, along with everyone who stilled called it something like home.
Pulling her leather jacket closer around herself, she enters the apartment building, the crumbling walls and long broken front door giving her a real sense of homey welcome as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. The hall is drab and dirty, half the lightbulbs broken or flickering, and she can hear a few televisions through the thin walls along with voices and shouting. Signs of life in an otherwise dying place. She glances at one door in particular as she walks past it, her boots making soft thuds on the linoleum floor, but she doesn't stop until she reaches the one beside it — the one she knows is empty. The lock is quickly picked and she slips inside, every sound she makes almost echoing in the empty apartment.
It's the furthest thing from 'home' she's seen in a long time, and it's a struggle to not let herself think she's made a mistake. This can't be a mistake.
Edited 2020-09-04 04:58 (UTC)
He's been here over a month, now. Here being this particular apartment. He... he's not sure how long he's been out. Time is still strange in his head, rushing past and crawling by simultaneously. He's going to need to find another bolt-hole soon, but this is the best he's found so far; no one cares about the long-haired, defensive man who barely speaks and glares at anyone who gets too close - no one gets too close around here, anyway. He's not the only person armed in this neighborhood, and possibly not even the most heavily armed.
He can hear everything through the thin tenement walls, laughing and crying and shrieks and yells - both happy and scared - all manner of noises. But he... likes? He... wants? The words, the feelings they come attached with, are still a little foreign to him.
The point is: the noise reminds him that he's out in the world, not in another holding cell or cryo chamber. He needs that, if nothing else fits. He needs the constant reminder that he's not The Asset anymore. He's...
He's...
He's a person. Not a tool. Not a weapon.
He's possibly a person named Bucky, although that's still... It's all jumbled in his head. That's what the Captain called him though, and he remembers...
He remembers too much, but not nearly enough. Snatches of words, conversations, images, but with no context to them. He knows the Captain-- no, he knows Steve. He knows he knows him, but the things he remembers can't be right, because no way that muscle-bound all-American hero is the same as the Steve his brain automatically conjures up, shorter than him and so thin a heavy wind would blow right through him. But it's all he's got. Steve. And Captain America. An endless expanse of white. Pain. And Hydra.
He shivers, pulling the topmost layer of his stolen clothes around himself, even though it doesn't have much to do with the ambient temperature in the apartment. He's in the furthest room back, sat with his knees drawn up and back shoved into the corner. He doesn't need a lot of sleep, but what he does get ends up with nightmares 89% of the time, and then he has to regroup. He wishes he could tell himself they weren't real.
He needs to regroup. Pull himself together before he can go out. He's got food stashed around the apartment - along with more weapons, just in case, because he knows the protocol for if he goes missing on assignment, and he's not going back - but he's going to need supplies again soon.
But for now he sits, listening to all the life in the building, the footsteps walking in the hall.
In the hall just outside his door. And not moving further.
The shivering stops, he holds his breath, waiting... and hears the snick of the lock. His eyes are wide, but it's not the ordinary panic, or fight-or-flight reaction. It's never fight or flight anymore. It's fight then flight. Because anybody who comes after him, he's taking down, so they can never come after him again.
What he hears isn't the ominous shuffle of tactical gear, of a group of soldiers trying to move silently but unable to quite mask their presence. Just one. One person, and... they don't really seem to be trying to be quiet?
He thinks woman, and then he thinks Red Room and that phrase doesn't mean much to his thinking-brain, but some part of him knows that it's bad. That it means things have escalated. He's on his guard, leaning away from the wall before pushing up silently. A knife appears in his hand, and he moves over to behind the door to the bedroom. And waits.
There is a part of him - something he thinks might be the Bucky-part - that is telling him it could be someone innocent. The apartment is supposed to be empty, but he crashed here. What if it's someone else doing the same thing? Don't kill without making sure.
He's got the choice now. Nobody is telling him to kill anymore. And while he has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way, he's finding himself reluctant to do it unless necessary. And necessary is becoming a smaller and smaller margin lately.
He can hear everything through the thin tenement walls, laughing and crying and shrieks and yells - both happy and scared - all manner of noises. But he... likes? He... wants? The words, the feelings they come attached with, are still a little foreign to him.
The point is: the noise reminds him that he's out in the world, not in another holding cell or cryo chamber. He needs that, if nothing else fits. He needs the constant reminder that he's not The Asset anymore. He's...
He's...
He's a person. Not a tool. Not a weapon.
He's possibly a person named Bucky, although that's still... It's all jumbled in his head. That's what the Captain called him though, and he remembers...
He remembers too much, but not nearly enough. Snatches of words, conversations, images, but with no context to them. He knows the Captain-- no, he knows Steve. He knows he knows him, but the things he remembers can't be right, because no way that muscle-bound all-American hero is the same as the Steve his brain automatically conjures up, shorter than him and so thin a heavy wind would blow right through him. But it's all he's got. Steve. And Captain America. An endless expanse of white. Pain. And Hydra.
He shivers, pulling the topmost layer of his stolen clothes around himself, even though it doesn't have much to do with the ambient temperature in the apartment. He's in the furthest room back, sat with his knees drawn up and back shoved into the corner. He doesn't need a lot of sleep, but what he does get ends up with nightmares 89% of the time, and then he has to regroup. He wishes he could tell himself they weren't real.
He needs to regroup. Pull himself together before he can go out. He's got food stashed around the apartment - along with more weapons, just in case, because he knows the protocol for if he goes missing on assignment, and he's not going back - but he's going to need supplies again soon.
But for now he sits, listening to all the life in the building, the footsteps walking in the hall.
In the hall just outside his door. And not moving further.
The shivering stops, he holds his breath, waiting... and hears the snick of the lock. His eyes are wide, but it's not the ordinary panic, or fight-or-flight reaction. It's never fight or flight anymore. It's fight then flight. Because anybody who comes after him, he's taking down, so they can never come after him again.
What he hears isn't the ominous shuffle of tactical gear, of a group of soldiers trying to move silently but unable to quite mask their presence. Just one. One person, and... they don't really seem to be trying to be quiet?
He thinks woman, and then he thinks Red Room and that phrase doesn't mean much to his thinking-brain, but some part of him knows that it's bad. That it means things have escalated. He's on his guard, leaning away from the wall before pushing up silently. A knife appears in his hand, and he moves over to behind the door to the bedroom. And waits.
There is a part of him - something he thinks might be the Bucky-part - that is telling him it could be someone innocent. The apartment is supposed to be empty, but he crashed here. What if it's someone else doing the same thing? Don't kill without making sure.
He's got the choice now. Nobody is telling him to kill anymore. And while he has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way, he's finding himself reluctant to do it unless necessary. And necessary is becoming a smaller and smaller margin lately.
Well, she's not dead yet, so that's a good sign. Of what, she's still not entirely sure...
Stepping more fully into the main room, she debates yet again what to do. She could lie, slip into an undercover persona and feign innocence. Pulling on her dark, angry at the world past, she could easily try to earn a place in his good graces. It would give her a chance to observe him, to try to understand where he was mentally and emotionally... But she'd be lying, and hasn't he had enough of that? Layers of lies built up to wash away the truth of who and what he is. No one deserves that. No one.
So, Option B it is.
"I'm pretty sure you're here," she says in a low voice, knowing that he'll hear it but hoping it won't carry far to the other units. There's caution in her tone, but also sincerity and a hint of worry. She lifts her hands at her sides, not knowing if he can see her but wanting him to know she's unarmed. "My name's Daisy. I'm here to help."
Stepping more fully into the main room, she debates yet again what to do. She could lie, slip into an undercover persona and feign innocence. Pulling on her dark, angry at the world past, she could easily try to earn a place in his good graces. It would give her a chance to observe him, to try to understand where he was mentally and emotionally... But she'd be lying, and hasn't he had enough of that? Layers of lies built up to wash away the truth of who and what he is. No one deserves that. No one.
So, Option B it is.
"I'm pretty sure you're here," she says in a low voice, knowing that he'll hear it but hoping it won't carry far to the other units. There's caution in her tone, but also sincerity and a hint of worry. She lifts her hands at her sides, not knowing if he can see her but wanting him to know she's unarmed. "My name's Daisy. I'm here to help."
He tenses at the sound of her voice. Talking... He hates talking. He hates it when other people try to talk to him, because it just confuses him. Sometimes they know that, and try to use it to their advantage. Make him think things he's trying to push away, make him think he's The Asset again.
But she's not doing that. Not yet. Despite his heartrate increasing due to adrenaline, his breathing grows slower. He's ready, squeezing the handle of the knife in his hand for reassurance. His left arm whirs almost silently as it recalibrates, a reassuring sound of its own.
Staying silent isn't really an option, unfortunately. If he doesn't respond, he's almost positive she'll continue searching the apartment, and ultimately find him. She might continue talking the whole time, which will increase her chances of confusing him with words.
"I don't need your help. I'm not going back."
But she's not doing that. Not yet. Despite his heartrate increasing due to adrenaline, his breathing grows slower. He's ready, squeezing the handle of the knife in his hand for reassurance. His left arm whirs almost silently as it recalibrates, a reassuring sound of its own.
Staying silent isn't really an option, unfortunately. If he doesn't respond, he's almost positive she'll continue searching the apartment, and ultimately find him. She might continue talking the whole time, which will increase her chances of confusing him with words.
"I don't need your help. I'm not going back."
Wherever he is, he isn't moving and so she can't hear him or feel any vibrations. It's not until he actually speaks that she has confirmation he's even in the apartment — she considers it good luck that he is, because she might have lost him if he'd caught wind of her and run. She has one shot at this and she can't waste it.
"I'm not HYDRA," she assures him, though the words are like ash in her mouth. She can't keep her bitterness out of that name, the word alone evoking an anger that she knows she'll never fully shake. "I've been working to stop them. What they did to you was horrible and I don't want them to ever get their hands on you again."
There's no reason for him to believe her, of course. She can't prove a damn thing to him like this. But maybe, if she says the right thing and doesn't spook him... Maybe she can convince him to give a chance at earning his trust. Even that could be enough for now.
"I'm not HYDRA," she assures him, though the words are like ash in her mouth. She can't keep her bitterness out of that name, the word alone evoking an anger that she knows she'll never fully shake. "I've been working to stop them. What they did to you was horrible and I don't want them to ever get their hands on you again."
There's no reason for him to believe her, of course. She can't prove a damn thing to him like this. But maybe, if she says the right thing and doesn't spook him... Maybe she can convince him to give a chance at earning his trust. Even that could be enough for now.
"Bullshit."
The word is out of his mouth before he even registers it. It's true though, there's no way he's going to believe her just because she says she's not Hydra, and just because she says she wants to help him.
"Plenty of people have already 'helped' me. I get much more help, I'll be dead, lady. No thanks."
The Bucky-part keeps taking over his mouth. He doesn't like it. But he's also not saying anything the man disagrees with, so he'll let it go for now.
The word is out of his mouth before he even registers it. It's true though, there's no way he's going to believe her just because she says she's not Hydra, and just because she says she wants to help him.
"Plenty of people have already 'helped' me. I get much more help, I'll be dead, lady. No thanks."
The Bucky-part keeps taking over his mouth. He doesn't like it. But he's also not saying anything the man disagrees with, so he'll let it go for now.
Yeah, okay, it wasn't her best approach. But look, approaching a brainwashed supersoldier who used to be best friends with Captain America didn't really come with an instruction manual. She's flying by the seat of her pants and hoping for some outcome that doesn't end up with her dead and him back with the people who had put him through literal hell.
"I get it, I wouldn't trust me either. But if I could find you, then it's only a matter of time before it's Hydra at that door." He might be one of the deadliest assassins in history, but she's betting he doesn't know how to erase any sign of himself from the digital sphere. "I covered your tracks for now, but how are you going to handle this on your own?"
"I get it, I wouldn't trust me either. But if I could find you, then it's only a matter of time before it's Hydra at that door." He might be one of the deadliest assassins in history, but she's betting he doesn't know how to erase any sign of himself from the digital sphere. "I covered your tracks for now, but how are you going to handle this on your own?"
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