1099/Red Memories

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Red Memories
Date of Scene: 22 June 2017
Location: New York City
Synopsis: Natasha and the Winter Soldier meet to speak and Natasha learns that things aren't always what they appear.
Cast of Characters: Winter Soldier, Black Widow (Romanoff)




Winter Soldier has posed:
Since he first landed on their radar many years ago, SHIELD has always kept out a 'report on sight' order for the Winter Soldier, if not an outright 'kill on sight' order. Over the many decades, he has been ephemeral enough that the order is rarely relevant, but in recent weeks there has been enough activity presumed to originate from him that it's become very much active again.

There hasn't been much to say, however, since that point of first contact. He was always a ghost, and a ghost he seems to remain. No one has been able to conclusively stake down a sighting of him, or respond to a confirmed incident until he is already long gone. Nobody-- until now.

It is passed to Natasha Romanova that there has been a potential sighting in Queens, in the Jackson Heights area. There was not much more information to go on than a provided several-block radius, but that was likely enough for someone as driven and skilled as the Black Widow. It's still a fairly wide area to sweep, admittedly, and there's always the chance that he's moved on... but there's also the chance he hasn't.

One particular street, dark and dank from recent rain and the encroaching night, will draw her eye in particular, whether by some sixth sense or some hint of something out of place. Her gaze will be caught by the sight of a familiar broad back and brown hair-- dressed casually and indistinguishably from the normal men around him, but still familiar-- stubbing out a finished cigarette and disappearing silently into a still-quiet bar.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The rooftops were the best way to look, giving a birds eye view of the surroundings without putting her on ground level to be spotted. She parked her bike about six blocks away then used her line to access the roofs. Block by block, she has worked her way along. Not a straight line. She learned long ago to trust her gut. That's what she does. A block west. Two blocks north. She takes her time examining the people below, not thinking she's going to find anything at all.

Somethings instinct is better than thinking. This street. It looks like all the rest but her gut is screaming. She scans the people below and when she sees the back, the dark hair, the jacket covering a build that looks so familiar. She uses her line to drop into an empty alleyway, straightening her clothes. She's dressed down, not in her uniform since it can draw attention. Her hair is pulled up atop her head in a tight bun. Jeans, black boots, a green button up shirt and a light leather jacket over the top. As she steps out on the sidewalk, she looks like anyone else. A professional will know she has a weapon or two under that jacket. Her bracelets that peek from under her jacket are actually her gauntlets, containing their own array of goodies in case things go south.

Considering who this is, she expects it to.

She doesn't bother sneaking in the back door. He'll be sure to have a view of all entrances to the room. It's ingrained in them. So even if she came in through the back, he would see her enter. So she takes the front door, immediately ducking to the right side so she isn't blocking the passage of others. Thankfully it's already getting dark so she doesn't have to wait for her eyes to adjust to the interior.

Winter Soldier has posed:
On entering, Natasha will find that her one-time teacher and tormentor has indeed, out of long habit, positioned himself at the bar in such a way that he can watch all the potential exits. For some strange reason, however, he isn't doing so at the particular moment of time she comes in the door. He doesn't seem to be as on top of his game as usual, in general. If he was, he wouldn't have gotten dinged by SHIELD surveillance in such a pinpoint way at all.

Whatever the reason for his odd carelessness, it gives her the advantage of being able to work around at an angle to get closer. Close enough she can overhear some of what is being said, because he seems to be in muted conversation with one of the bartenders.

You want work, I might could put you in touch with somebody.
Yeah. You know what kinda work I'm asking about? I need... discretion.
So does my contact, pal. So does everybody. You don't say nothing, he won't say nothing.

The bartender excuses himself, presumably to dig up his contact. The Winter Soldier is left alone, hunched over the bar counter. Nowhere in his aspect is there the cruel confidence she would associate with him. There is only an absent look in his eyes and a furrow grooved between his brows. He's nursing a glass of whiskey, though its undrunk state seems to indicate it's more for appearances than anything else.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She should've already been shot. Something is so off here it makes the hairs at the nape of Natasha's neck stand on end. She works her way around, ending up at a table a little behind him. Yet he doesn't seem to care that his back is to a stranger. He should have turned, made sure to keep her in sight. Yet, he didn't even notice her entrance.

As she listens, she watches her former teacher, picking up on his body language. At odds with everything she knows about him. Her mind is telling her to take him down. Hard. Fast. No one would call it a bad kill if she shot him in the back. He's that notorious.

Her gut is telling her to hold back. There is more here to learn and understand before she makes a move to apprehend him. Or eliminate him. Somewhere inside her is a little girl torn, wanting to hurt him as he did her, yet he was her father figure, what she had aspired to become. The conflict continues even after all this time.

She slips onto the barstool to his right side, so he will be forced to turn fully to bring that metallic arm into play. It would give her time to dodge by choosing this particular seat. It's two spaces away, giving a little more range. Her gaze is at the wall behind the bar but peripherally she watches for his reaction.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He is sloppy. Very sloppy. He did not notice her entrance, did not notice her work around behind him, does not even seem to feel her eyes on his back. If she had been this sloppy while she was under his tutelage, he would have shattered several things she sorely needed, and let the pain teach her of her failure for the next few weeks. That was how things went, in the Red Room.

She could shoot him in the back as recompense for that suffering, now.

Yet she doesn't. For in the end, is she not what she currently is, in part because of his brutal shaping? That kind of imprint is not so easily shaken off.

In the end, she takes the middle ground. A wise choice for an operative, even were there not other factors at play in her thorny mental landscape. She slips onto a seat two places down, on his right side, watching and waiting. He finally notices her, without it being obvious he's noticed her; his head does not turn, but his eyes flicker. His right hand shifts a little on the bar surface, turning to make way for the easy pull of a hidden knife should it be needed.

"I remember you," he finally says, after a few moments. His voice labors as if under a great weight-- struggles out of him, through a tangle of thoughts so thick that every word spoken, every assertion made, must be cross-checked against confused decades of contradictory memories. Does he fully remember her, Natalia Alianovna Romanova? Perhaps not quite yet, because his next statement is, "I was supposed to... bring you back." His left hand-- gloved, but she would know what is under the glove-- presses against his forehead, as if the cool steel knuckles could force some semblance of order to his mind.

"You did not want to go," he recalls. His left hand lowers, and turns his glass aimlessly on the counter. He doesn't ask, but the question is implicit: why?

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
For long moments, Natasha doesn't move. She saw when he noticed her. The tightening of the hand, the shifting of his posture ever so slightly. Her own posture shows the same as she leans elbows on the surface of the bar. A shift and she can draw a weapon.

What stands out? He doesn't attack. He doesn't run. He remains. For a moment, she thought he finally knew who she was but that momentary flare of satisfaction is crushed immediately as he continues.

She doesn't turn her head toward him. Just two strangers at the same bar, voices so low they don't carry to others in the room. "No, I do not want to return," she says, making it present to go with his past tense. "They controlled me. For most of my life. They used me and gave me nothing but pain in return. Physical, mental and emotional. Why would I wish to return to that?" She pauses half a moment then asks her own question. "Why do you stay?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He is silent as she gives her answer. His blue eyes stare down into the amber whiskey in his glass, not seeing the alcohol but rather looking through it-- his gaze on some faraway half-remembered memory. Some inkling of a thought that keeps teasing within his reach, only to vanish when he tries to grasp it.

They controlled me, she says. They gave me nothing but pain. His expression twitches, his features hitching like hearing that jerked at some half-formed thought in his head. He finally lifts his glass and finishes half of it in a go, before he fumbles in his jacket. Not for a weapon, though it might seem so at first; what he ultimately produces is a battered pack of cigarettes procured from who-knows-where. Fortunate for him it's one of the few bars left in NYC where you can smoke.

His hands shake a little as he taps one out and lights up. Whatever happened to the Winter Soldier between their last encounter and now, it fucked him up.

"I don't know," he finally admits. "More and more, I find people who're surprised that I do. They tell me not to go back. They kept me from going back, and since then--" He inhales sharply, lets smoke trail out on an exhale, like the breath of a troubled dragon. "My mind comes apart when I don't go back," he confides, and the pathetic part is he has no one but a relative stranger in which to confide. "There are memories that come... not mine-- or so I thought. Some of them have someone who looks like you."

He does not look at her. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. The hand that holds it is unsteady; the man, an island with nowhere to turn for answers save a potential enemy. "You remember me?"

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The entire situation is surreal.

When he moved for the cigarettes, she tensed but she waited. His body didn't indicate hostility, although he could just be hiding it. Yet something about all this has her not leaping off the barstool. Her hesitation is rewarded when no weapons are drawn. His explanation has her heart picking up pace. At one time, her life had been erased from her memory. She believed that her youth had been normal. Until that programming gave way and she rememered everything. That they had taken her as a child and created a deadly tool to be used against their enemies. He was part of that shaping, molding a child into a weapon of destruction.

He doesn't remember.

His mind tries to regain those memories unless he goes back.

This can't be. He cannot be a victim as she was. Her fingers twitch, as close as she'll get to curling them into fists and pounding on the bar. She refuses to believe it. Dismisses it.

"I remember you. From the Red Room." Their last confrontation, bringing up memories bothered him, caused confusion. "You were our trainer. My trainer. You once said I was the greatest of your accomplishments in that place." She turns her head, having to look at him, to see the demon's face when she explains. "You were proud of me and I reveled in that, worshipped you as the father I didn't have. You gave me the skills to become the best. Do you not remember at all?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He does not remember. But it is clearly not for lack of trying to remember.

The strain of it is visible in his face: a modern-day, metal-armed Tantalus, constantly reaching for memories which eternally slide just barely out of reach. It is visible in his hands, as he shakes out a cigarette. He has to know how dangerous the action is for himself-- that she could interpret it for hostility and attack or kill him-- and yet he does it anyway. Perhaps he is too distracted to realize. Perhaps he has reached a point he does not care.

That strain is audible, too, in his voice when he speaks. There is an edge of desperation to it, because if there were ever someone less suited, less appropriate, for him to confide in, it would be this woman. A one-time victim of his hands. A young girl broken and remolded by his tutelage. She is in no position to help him; and, at the same time, perhaps in one of the best positions.

She answers his question. She looks at him as she does, looks on the face of the man she hated and revered and despised and aspired to be. And this demon of her past-- looks tired. Every one of his hundred-odd years weighs visibly in his eyes.

"I did not remember," he says slowly. His mind ticks inevitably towards an unpleasant supposition-- that his entire reality as he understands it may be false. That the world itself may have set itself up to lie to him from every angle. "I did not remember until the day I did not go back to them." He holds his cigarette like an old soldier, cupping it so the embers won't be seen. "The girl who looked like you. Her name was Natalia. I remember no others, but her."

His voice is hushed to a murmur. "It is not a lie?"

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Her breath catches.

She might as well have screamed. It's a revelation of her feelings, of her surprise. She shouldn't show it. Shouldn't give it away. It's too late now. He knows she is shocked to hear this.

Every emotion is running madly through her system. All at war with one another. The pounding of her heart is loud in her own ears, adding to the turmoil already within.

"No, it is not a lie," she says in a softer tone of voice than she intended. "Her--my name was Natalia Alianovna Romanov. You named me the Black Widow although there were others given that moniker after me."

She shouldn't care. She shouldn't feel sympathy. He's a pawn just as she had been and it makes her so angry she wants to break someone. No, not him. As much as she despises everything he stands for. Only, he doesn't necessarily stand for it. His brain has been tampered with, just as hers had been so long ago.

She shared hers so she decides to chance it. "Do you remember your name?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He knows. But will it be the fatal error it would have been years ago, when any mistake on her part would earn her pain at his hands?

It doesn't seem so. Her erstwhile teacher takes note of her shock-- not just the sharp intake of her breath, but the racing of her heart-- but it does not seem to surprise or affect him, save to bring his shoulders to slump more deeply. He hunches over his half-finished glass with the wary confusion of an animal displaced from everything familiar, unsure what to trust or who. Unsure which of the thoughts rattling in his mind are real or not.

Her answer comes in a gentler tone than she means. He tenses up, some instinct or half-remembered memory telling him this is no tone that he deserves, though he could not say why he felt that way if asked.

"Natalia... Alianovna," he says again, more slowly, testing each syllable. He is silent a time. "I made you. Through pain." It is not said with remorse, nor relish. It is said as a fact, only recently rediscovered, for which he does not-- /yet/-- have enough accompanying memories to properly form the guilt.

His right hand scrubs over his face in a frustrated gesture. Does he remember his name? "Yakov..." he starts promptly, giving the name the Russians gave to him. The name he used even in the Red Room days. In the latter days of their work together, when the dynamic of master and student blurred more into operative-to-operative, he let her call him Yasha. "Yakov Aleksandrovich..."

No. The madness clamoring at the back of his mind intrudes, saying that's not right. His brow furrows. His fingers curl in his hair, pulling painfully.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"Don't..." Natasha reaches for him and stops herself. Contact could be construed as attack. Yet every instinct in her is saying to comfort him. To help him. Just as she had to be helped. "Don't push too hard. It will come in time," she says as she forces her hand back down, resting it atop her leg. The way he keeps touching his head, grabbing it, putting pressure, she knows that there is pain involved in this for him. Mental, physical. It doesn't matter which. If he pushes too hard, he might damage himself.

He's close to breaking through. He just is going to need time. Or other things to jar his memory. She's just not sure what.

"Yes, pain was one of the tools you used. If I made a mistaken. I learned not to make them and that has kept me alive all these years." Letting him know that even with the dark, there is light. "I have you to thank for that." She makes sure to spin to the positive.

"When I became the Black Widow, we worked together as equals." She isn't sure he will remember but the seed is planted. Even if it doesn't cause him to remember more immediatetly, it might later. Her voice goes soft again. "Yasha, you cannot go back to them. Remain free until you regain your memories. Then make a choice instead of having it made for you."

Winter Soldier has posed:
It is good Natasha stops herself. Her former teacher shies at her movement, tensing visibly, ready to defend himself. His wary eyes track to her, and in them is a familiar look. The look of someone who is never touched unless to be hurt, and never touches unless to cause hurt.

Yet her intended contact is not painful, and the tone of voice she uses is not harsh. After a moment's wary regard, he relaxes again, very slightly.

There is a look of confusion in his features when she speaks of the pain he put her through. A pain that ultimately translated into the skills to keep herself alive. Her thanks twists that confusion into a strange look, a look that tries to reconcile this tale of hurting her, abusing her, with her holding any kind of gratitude. Should she not hate him? Perhaps both emotions live in her, at the same time. "I don't..." he starts. "I can't remember. They told me... who I remembered being wasn't me. But..." Time, she says. How much time? his worried gaze transparently wonders.

She tells him the same thing as Claire told him, as Mercy told him. Whatever he does, he cannot go back. "I didn't go back. I won't," he murmurs, as if that shocks him to contemplate even now. "--They will look for me."

That remembered worry startles him to his feet. He stands there, his mind in a whirl. "I should go."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She should stop him.

"Don't come back to this neighborhood. It's compromised for you. That's how I found you," she admits as she remains sitting, not moving to get up. Not moving to try and interfere with his exit strategy.

What is she doing? He's the last person she should help. Only, she now sees herself reflected in eyes filled with questions. He isn't the monster. As much as she expected him to be.

She does carefully reach into the pocket of her jacket, movements slow so he can see what she is doing. A card is pulled out. She offers it to him. "This is my private number. You can contact me if you need help." If she does this, she's putting her own head on the chopping block. She's helping a fugitive.

It's the right thing to do.

"I have multiple safehouses you can use if you find yourself in need of one. If not, when you remember, call me then."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Even the Winter Soldier thinks she should be stopping him, if the surprise in his blue eyes is any indication. But he does not argue with her help. He does not refuse her number, when she gives it to him, though he takes it with the same tentative wariness he has displayed all throughout this transaction.

"Natalia," he says eventually, testing the name on his tongue. He does not say it with the familiarity he once used to say it, his voice lingering uncertainly over each syllable, but there is some grain of remembrance there. Some hint that among his resurfacing memories, there are some in which he shows a redhead, willowy with youth, how to fight, how to move, how to bear pain. Some in which he runs alongside her, older now, on missions that blur in his recollection.

He does not know which are the lies: these half-remembered images, or the memories his mind currently insists are true, and which his handlers reinforce. They tell him they are the only ones standing between him and some devolution into a madman-- a crazy person believing he is someone he is not. And yet--

"If this is real," he finally says, "I hurt you. Yet..." Yet you help me.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Now she does stand. She has to move, to not remain sitting as she tries to escape her own feelings. Her hands remain at her sides though she wants to shove them in her pockets, the curl in on herself. The turmoil is too much.

Yet...

Natasha knows what she is. There have been times of doubt and confusion but she always had confidence in who she what she was. What she could do. Though it was a painful birth to become the Black Widow, she knows that it was necessary. Was there another way? Perhaps. She doubts it. Any other way, she would've come out weaker.

"I am helping you because I was you," she says simply, her green gaze holding his blue one. "I broke free of it. I think yours is different from mine but I know how strong you are. I know you can overcome it."

She considers for a moment then tilts her head. "If you tell me where your contacts meet you, I would very much like to meet them." She smiles. Not a bright smile full of sunshine and happiness. It's dark, filled with that edge of danger they both carry. It's a predatory moment, showing she's ready to go hunting.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The signs of her own tension and turmoil do not escape him, though he is not equipped to help her now when his own mind is currently so broken. This man, who Natasha knew first as the Winter Soldier-- monster, shadow, living weapon of the State, the brutal teacher at whose hands she learned skills that would ensure her survival for decades on end-- and then, more familiarly, as a fellow operative. As Yasha.

It is sad to see him cling to that name, when even it is probably false.

Her answer for his unspoken question hollows out his eyes. His gaze goes bleak. She speaks of his strength, but he cannot feel any of it. Only the confusion of his mind pulling in two different directions: one laden with certitude, but also the gloss of fakeness, and the other with uncertainty... but the ring of visceral truth.

He tells her what he told someone else, standing in her place. "I mean to figure it out, one way or another." And briefly, in his eyes, there is that same danger that reflects in her own green irises. The look of brutal people with brutal skills, who will do whatever they deem necessary.

He has to shake his head to her inquiry about his contacts. "It varies," he says. "They stay mobile." He hesitates, before he adds, "Yet if I were to call on them, or them on me..." The corner of his mouth pulls upwards, and for a brief instant he is there again: the cruel, amused, confident creature she knew. He slips her card into his pocket. "I have this number, now."

He hesitates. His paranoia urges against him offering her any way to find him, but there is some scrap of memory that arises when he looks into her face that calms that worry. "There are sometimes places I stay. I... there is a nurse, in Hell's Kitchen. A mechanic, in West Harlem."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
As long as he will include her on the hunt, Natasha will be satisfied with that answer. When the time comes. He has a lot to work through before that point. She does as well but her own turmoil is nothing compared to the confusing labyrinth of memories he has to work through to find the truth. She had someone who helped her move past her programming. To remember the person within the monster. She will offer to be the same for him, an ally he can count on until he finds his way out of the dark.

He already has shared much more than she would have expected. Even mentioning those who have helped him, though not by name. He knows she likely could track down the people just by that little bit of information if she chose. In a way, it is an offering. Perhaps a return for her taking a chance on him.

"Give me two minutes. I'll be sure the coast is clear. If I don't come back inside, you are safe to leave." If she does, they can plan for all hell to break loose."Until the next time, Yasha."

She looks at his face a moment longer then turns and simply walks away, her back to him. Putting herself in the same vulnerable position he was when she entered.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It remains to be seen how much the Winter Soldier-- in his confused, hyper-paranoid state-- will trust Natasha Romanova. But his offering of some information about himself seems to be a positive indication. And there is something there in his eyes as he regards her, some hint of recognition struggling to surface, that suggests that even if he cannot consciously remember her, she left enough impression on him over the years that she has become a part of his true memories. Suppressed, overwritten, replaced... but incapable of being erased or held at bay for long.

Two minutes, she says, as she turns to leave. He watches her, with the wary curiosity of a half-domesticated wolf waiting outside the ring of light of primitive man's first fires. Then he nods once, and turns back to the bar so he is not watching her leave. The gesture is the accepted answer to the small courtesy she has done him, a wordless nicety peculiar to shadow killers like them: she shows him her back in a tacit presentation of trust, and he does not stare overlong at the offered vulnerability.

Stepping back out, at first it seems everything is clear. But a trained eye like Natasha's will quickly pick out certain irregularities in the street outside. A group of men walking slowly down the street, more slowly than most of the rest of the traffic. Another knot of men and women lingering outside the shop next door, looking at the clothes in the window longer than should be necessary to make a decision.

The slight glittering glint of movement, high in a window across the street, that suggests a turning scope briefly catching light.

Back in the bar, the Winter Soldier's right hand turns slightly on the bar surface, a light shake of his wrist loosening something in his sleeve. He must hear something, because a moment later he's on his feet and kicking one of the round tables clear across the mostly-empty floor.

It lodges perfectly in the frame of the bar's back door, sideways, forming a rudimentary shield at center-of-mass height. A moment later, its surface absorbs a burst of gunfire.

"Looks like we're already at 'next time,'" he calls, as Natasha's new friends outside pull weapons and start to hustle towards the bar's front door.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
It was a given. If SHIELD was able to get a bead on the area he was in, of course his people would. For these are not SHIELD personnel. She had hoped.

She keeps doing that when she knows better. Hoping.

There are two choices she can make. Walk away. Leave him to deal with it on his own. She's his enemy so that would be the wiser path. He's not her friend. Not her ally.

That doesn't sit well with her. She doesn't want to leave him vulnerable. From her own meetings with him and the information she has learned recently from Sam Winchester? The Winter Soldier might be worth saving. Might be salvageable. She was. Why not Yasha?

Her choice is already made. She flicks her gaze toward the window with the glint of light. Rookie mistake not covering the lens until they were ready to take their shot, moving it once in place with a sight on the door. She moves across the street, taking her time, letting Yasha deal with the interior for now. But she's not going far. As soon as she reaches the alleyway, her line is fired, anchoring in the roofline above her. Then she hits the retract button, drawing herself to that rooftop where she catches the edge and flips over. To the front of the building, leaping, line firing and swinging directly into the room with the sniper, crashing through the window and rolling to her feet. She doesn't hesitate, just takes him out. He wont't be getting up anytime soon although he is left alive. The difference between her past and present in that detail.

A moment later, she has the sniper rifle slung over her back and she's leaping out the window.

The agents biggest mistake is letting themselves get caught between the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The sniper, like most snipers forced to roll without a spotter to help defend them, is practically helpless once aggressed upon in close quarters. Doubly so when the aggressor is the Black Widow. He has a sidearm, one which he tries to bring to bear as Natasha crashes through the window, but he has no time to try to get off a shot before she's knocked him the hell out and taken his weapon.

The rifle, on closer inspection, seems to be some kind of tranquilizer rifle. The drug of choice is a custom mix, powerful enough to lay out an elephant. They came prepared for their intended quarry.

It is unlikely that he is the only person armed in this way-- redundancies are important-- but he does seem to be the only person stationed at a remove. The rest-- a strike team about twenty strong-- are on foot and rapidly closing in on the bar, half from the front and half pincering in from the back.

Further sounds of gunfire pierce the night. People are already running panicked in every direction, clearing the area. From the sounds of it, the team going in the back has made it past Yasha's impromptu barricade. More gunfire from within the bar, the sharp metal sounds of bullets ricocheting off steel--

--and then a body goes flying straight out the front door, hurled by someone extremely aggravated, whizzing clear across the street to hit the wall of the building opposite the bar. The ten men and women trying to go in the front part for this projectile, look at one another, and then form back up. Five try to enter to assist the team already within. Five keep watch where they saw Natasha vanish, carbines tensely lifted, because they are aware now there's another factor tonight. A factor that could change everything.

It is clear that the interference of the Black Widow was not anticipated. The force Hydra and the Russians have sent might have been sufficient to have a shot at taking the Winter Soldier in-- especially in his confused, suboptimal state-- but against the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow working in tandem...?

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
As Natasha flies out the window, she fires a line across the street. Her body swings in an arc as the agents open fire, trying to hit the moving target. But she isn't staying on a set level as they would expect. She allows the line to extend as she's swinging, bringing her lower than they anticipate, dropping further with each second so they cannot draw a bead. When it seems she is going to hit the ground, she hits that button at the edge of the gauntlet, severing the line completely. She is aligned with them, a projectile traveling at velocity and she hits one of the agents square in the chest.

A moment ago an agent flew out that broken door. Now one goes flying in, hit full force and all the wind knocked from him, flying a good ten feet into the interior. Natasha lands in a crouch for an instant then she's moving, spinning around to take out the legs of one agent, her weight on her left hand. She aims her right hand at a third agent, firing that electrical charge and sending her falling to the ground riding the current. It's a stun setting so she shouldn't be gettin up, unless she's enhanced. Always possible. Two down, three to go. She flips to her feet, spinning around to make sure that her body is kept out of the line-of-sight from across the street, in case there were more snipers. If so, they are likely to hit their own people.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The man who only knows himself as 'Yasha' is just starting to wonder if this is the last he's seen of 'Natalia' when, right before his face, a flailing body goes flying past a few inches from his nose and impacts the far wall of the bar. His head turns a little, his brows raising in surprise, but he doesn't really have time to do much more than that before he has to return his attention to the fourteen remaining people attacking him from both sides. They are hampered by their strict orders not to kill or excessively damage the asset, but at the same time authorized to do whatever necessary short of that point.

Natasha's erstwhile teacher seems to have lost none of his touch, for all his confusion. He is a blur as he weaves through close-quarters gunfire, thrown punches, and questing knife blades. His metal arm snaps out at one point, seizing one of the men by the throat, lifting him, and slinging his body as an improvised weapon against two others, knocking all three out in a bloody tangle across the bar counter, but a knife finds him high in the right arm during the opening this maneuver leaves. A few agents are actually standing back, clear of Yasha's reach, trying to slow him down with tranquilizer darts, many of which are finding purchase through his clothes.

If not for Natasha, it would have been even more, but she makes very short work of two of the five people lingering near the front entrance to try to deal with her. Instinctively, the Winter Soldier moves towards her, the long habit of squaring up with her to fight as one unit emerging from the clouds veiling his memories. It is easier for such ingrained habits to emerge, in the trance of combat.

Seeing the Widow make her entry, more of the Hydra agents turn towards her, taking some of the focus off the Soldier. One of them-- one of the ones lingering farther back, against the far wall, starts to chatter into a communicator about interference, send backup or else they have to abort--

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The one with the radio is the next one to get the electrical shock, hopefully shorting out the radio in the process. With the bodies to block her sight from anyone on the outside, she moves through the doorway. The three outside are forced to deal with her singly through the opening, trying to gain entry. Each is taken down with a punch, a pressure point or a kick. Then she turns to the room, taking in the numbers, the sheer mass of bodies in the small space. And for a moment, she smiles.

Close quarters. The pair of them. It is a reminder of another time, another place. They've done this dance before and immediately, she is back in synch with him. There is no chance to stop moving. She is already spinning, taking out another with a kick to the face, snapping his neck back sharply before he falls. A leap, while that leg is still extended, spinning in the air and taking another by a strike to the side of the head. She blocks two body blows coming her way as she lands, grabbing the arm of one and stepping into his hold, twisting, tossing him over her shoulder into another. Each step is taking her closer to the Winter Soldier. So they can cover each other's backs. A slice is seen but not felt, too much adrenaline but there is a line of red where a knife made contact. The man's arm is grabbed, pulled, her knee brought up as the limb is brought down. A satisfying crunch and a scream of pain as the man is released so he can pull away. Now she has his knife, holding it in her right hand. She looks to her ally in this mess, closing ranks.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She looks at the room, at the chaos of the eleven men still standing after a minute of engagement with the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow. And she remembers, the sudden moment of vivid memory crowned with a fierce smile.

For these scant few moments, moments of blood and chaos and frenzied violence, it almost seems that he remembers, too. He moves identically to how they used to move, first in the steps of training, and then in the dance of field operatives carving their way through the enemies of the Red State.

There still isn't that deep recognition in his eyes when he passes her a swift glance through the broiling conflict, none of the things she would remember seeing in his face in decades past: neither his wild, hot-eyed insouciance, nor his fierce pride in her performance as his greatest protege. But there is a glimmer of something in his gaze, something that suggests he finds all this familiar. There is the fact that his motion towards her through the crowd is identical to how she would remember him moving.

She mows through four men with practiced ease to reach him. He cuts through four of his own to meet her in the middle, and it is clear he does not trouble himself with nonlethal methods. There is a brief moment where their eyes cross, as the three remaining men start to reconsider the wisdom of sticking around.

Then he turns smoothly and spins into a kick, driving an agent still trying to get the drop on him straight into the opposite wall. His body dips to a horizontal, his left arm humming as it extends in counterbalance, and without thinking-- by long habit-- he offers it before Natasha like a balance beam for her to vault from, a move they often did in the past. A natural use of his metal arm's strength and stability to give her smaller, slighter form a springboard from which to gain air for an acrobatic assault.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
As they get within arms reach, they are down to three opponents. They are now within feet of one another. The arm is offered and she is moving without thinking about it.

In a move that resembles that of an Olympic gymnast, she takes a few steps to close the distance. She leaps, hands landing atop his arm. Her arms bend at the elbows, her body continuing its forward motion through the air until she is doing a handstand. She continues the flow of movement body tilting in the direction of their oppoents. She pushes off with her arms and she feels it. The movement of his arm, his helping add to her momentum. It's a move they have done countless times, his strength added to her agility into a lethal combination. She is thrown while using her own strength, feet hitting the first of their two opponents in the face. As he starts to go down, her arms catch the neck of the second, using him to slow her own movement even as she drags his body downwards with her. He lands on his back, she on her feet in a crouch next to him. She punches him in the throat as he lands, all her strength behind it, breakiing his windpipe. But he won't suffer for she follows up, her open hand coming to his nose and driving upwards. He stops moving.

Just that easily, she is turned back into the killer. The familiar feel of it all. The battle with an ally who she knows almost as well as she knows herself. Her lips are parted as she breathes, the smell of sweat and blood, a heady fragrance that is strangely comforting in its familiarity.

She rises, standing, looking around then to the Winter Soldier.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It is familiar, terribly familiar. He remembers everything, even down to the weight of her on his arm, and the precise amount of force he needs to employ to launch her exactly as far as she wants to go. It is not a conscious remembrance-- not even now-- but rather the kind of bone-deep muscle memory that the machines and drugs and horrific injuries were never quite able to erase.

He balances her as she bends up into a handstand on the metal of his prosthetic, himself balanced on one leg midway through his last attack. He follows through his kick, spinning back upright, the gesture simultaneously propelling her up off his arm with the kind of fluidity seen mostly in paired gymnast routines. He recovers back into a loose stand, stepping back one pace to just watch the Black Widow work. Three people are nothing. She does not require his help to put an end to this.

She puts a more conclusive end to it, in fact, than she perhaps strictly wanted. But old habits die hard, especially when contact with old relics from the past dredge them back up from the deeps.

In the aftermath, when she looks around, it will be to see him watching her. There is a look in his eyes that strains towards remembrance, and confesses her familiarity. He does not even look at the man she killed. Such does not concern or trouble him. In fact--

"Molodets, Natalia," he says, as the blood spreads. Well done.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
In that moment, she's his student again. Feeling that surge of pride that he is pleased with her performance. It makes her stand taller, shoulders back, chin tilted up that tiny bit. Just that simple. Back so many years ago, the first time she ever heard him say that to her after a training session. She'd killed then too. Her moves had been perfection and as the other young girl lay dead on the ground, he had said that to her.

It is only a second before Natasha comes back to the present. To the situation. What she has done will have to be examined later. They are surrounded by bodies everywhere. There are a few conscious ones who are moaning in pain. There are many who will never move again. This is their legacy, what they are, that for which they were created. Destruction, death, chaos.

"We have to get you out of here, before more come." She has no idea if the radio man made contact before being taken out. The cops probably are also on their way.

Winter Soldier has posed:
His eyes follow her reaction to his praise. That, too, is dimly familiar.

Those same images come and go briefly in his mind, there and gone, flashing in his mind and then vanishing like negatives exposed too strongly to light. He recalls her, younger, looking to him over the body of another girl. He recalls the pride he had felt to watch her flawless execution of all he had taught her. He recalls his cold satisfaction at the efficiency of the system. The strong becoming stronger by the winnowing out of the weak. At that time, it had not concerned the Winter Soldier in the least that a child lay on the floor with her neck at a horrible angle.

But now, the other part of him-- the part that woke in his mind the moment his conditioning was interrupted-- mourns that there is something wrong with such an image. Troubled, he suppresses the voice. His blue eyes refocus slowly out of those half-remembered memories, slowly taking in the violent scene of death and destruction around them. This too, is familiar.

She is telling him he has to get out of here. No-- that they have to get him out of here. He starts moving automatically, as if to clean the scene, recognizes quickly this will take way too long, and aborts. That initial confusion returns to him. "Yes. I should-- you should go. Before they come for you, too. They want me to go back. But I won't."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She watches that confusion return, so at odds with everything that just happened. "We get you out. Once we're clear of them completely, you can go your own way." Never leave a man behind. It's something she has always followed. Not truly out of the sense of loyalty as heroes do. No, if someone is left behind they can become a liability. A prisoner who can tell tales. They go together or one has to be dead on the floor. After all this work, she's going to avoid the latter option.

She is going to have a lot of explaining to do and in truth? She isn't sure she can. She doesn't understand it. How can she make someone else? Her feelings are too jumbled, too confused. She's identifying with Yasha.

And now she's killed. Not that she hasn't since she became a hero. Circumstances sometimes require it. Missions do as well. But this was a situation where it wasnt necessary. She's crossed a line she cannot uncross.

"I took out the sniper they had across the street out front. They probably have one at the back as well. Maybe more than one." She unslings the rifle from her back, holding it easily in a hand.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It is obvious that Yasha wants nothing more than to just cut and run. Run, from a tumult of confused emotions and memories that he cannot parse nor explain. But at the same time, mercifully enough, he seems compliant to her assertiveness for the time being. In an odd role reversal, Natasha finds herself taking command of her old teacher, deciding for him now that he seems to be in a state where he cannot decide for himself. They are getting out, together, and he can go his own way only once they're clear.

With the fight over, there are no more automatic responses to fall back upon, no more comforting cloak of violence and battle to lose himself in. A man who has never quite felt alive unless he is in the midst of combat, the silence leaves him visibly restive and unnerved. Tractable-- for now.

Besides, she speaks sense. Even if he remembers nothing about his past, he remembers how to operate effectively. He moves towards her as she outlines where she expects any remaining snipers to have set up and identifies the front door as possibly their best bet. Slowly, he nods his assent. "Out the front." Some of his usual assertiveness returns, with a plan of action in place. "I'll go first, block anything."

He continues to be predictably indifferent to the fact she has killed unnecessarily. In fact, after thinking a moment, he flicks a hidden knife into his hand and stoops by the nearest not-yet-dead man on the floor, ingrained by long habit to leave no witnesses among any who would attack him.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She has started toward the door when he drops back. She turns.

"Yasha!" The name and tone should be enough to call his attention because she knows that to touch him could trigger a defensive move. While they are currently allies and a few moments ago, they were once again partners in death, the truth of the matter is she is technically the enemy. She can't lose sight of that when gauging how he might react to something. "Nyet, leave him! I can't get answers from him later if he's dead." Wait, was that the reason? No, it was because it was the right thing to do. So why is she thinking in terms that have nothing to do with morality and everything to do with with being an operative. "I will be making sure the survivors go to the Triskelion. We will find out everything they know. Come."

She motions to the door, standing to the side of the open frame, rifle in her hands. "I need you to shield us on the way out." Her green eyes seek his blue, appealing to him to keep moving, so they can get out of here. Each of them is reliant on the other, her purpose to take out anyone on the outside, his to use that metallic arm to block any incoming shots. They are both already bloodied from their battle. She would like to avoid them getting shot or tranqualized.

Winter Soldier has posed:
His called name stops him in his tracks. He swivels sharply, knife blade lifted in reflexive defense. Not trying to touch him was apparently the right choice.

The tension and paranoia drain slightly out of him when he recognizes the sound is only Natasha, but he looks on-- narrow-eyed and suspicious-- through her reasons for why he cannot silence these men who have seen too much, and would likely see too much more in watching them leave. Framing it as a practical matter of future questioning seems to mollify him, as well as her appeal to his assistance in leaving.

He rises, mouth curling with brief and obvious contempt as he spares a last glance for the man slipping out of consciousness. This, too, is more like the Winter Soldier she remembers. "Lucky man," he says, turning away to walk towards the door.

He glances briefly down at Natasha as he draws alongside her. It is a searching sort of look, his blue eyes studying her green briefly as if in some last attempt to pull the memories of her from the sludge of his mind. His recollections, however, remain in fragments. He looks away, and his jaw grits visibly in frustration. A frustration he translates into restless energy, as he leads them out into the street, ready to block any incoming gunfire.

None is forthcoming. It seems that radio call didn't make it out in time, and Hydra and the Russians are falling back on just finding a more agreeable opportunity to try to recapture the Winter Soldier than when he has the Black Widow right at his side. Nonetheless he remains alert as they skim down the street and lose themselves back into the city, bloodied but intact.

Most of the way, he says nothing. But, blocks away, he suddenly ventures a question. "You will suffer for helping me?" He is confused as hell about so many other things, but he does know she is SHIELD, and he has opposed them for many long years.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The departure is tense. They are both on high alert but they are a good distance away before they even hear the sirens approaching the bar they left littered with bodies. Once the Hydra agents are taken in, she will have to have them transferred. A simple matter of a phone call. They are using back roads and alleyways, avoiding the main thoroughfares. Not like they can really hide their conditions although they do their best with their jackets. Natasha has cleaned her hands on her shirt then zipped her jacket to seem less obvious.

At the question, she shakes her head. "No, I won't suffer." It's not a lie. She won't suffer. So he won't pick up a falsehood although even for him, that might be a challenge. Will there be repurcussions? She's sure of it. She just isn't quite sure the level they might be. She's going to make sure that she's in a location she can vacate rapidly when it happens, not at the Triskelion. Which is a problem. When she starts seeing her own agency as a potential enemy, her brain is reverting to old patterns.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He absorbs her answer in silence. A brief troubled look crosses his eyes, as if he is not even sure why this should matter to him. Why should he really care if a SHIELD agent, a turncoat and traitor to Russia to begin with, suffers for rendering him aid? She should be lucky he took that help and did not kill her on the spot afterwards--

But why would he kill her?
No-- the question is-- why /isn't/ he killing her?

His eyes squeeze shut as the conflicting thoughts clash in his head. Memories of her as a girl, of her as a combat partner at his side, of her facing off against him-- a fierce enemy with fear and hatred and fury all mixed up in her green eyes-- all of them mix together into a muddle he can make no heads or tails of.

"Then," he says, his voice strained, "you should go back. I need... I need quiet..."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She watches him carefully, not knowing what is going through his head. Not knowing how torn he is.

Natasha knows her own confusion from all of this. His suggestion is probably the best she has heard. "If you want help officially, I will see what I can do. Unofficially," she hesitates, tilting her head to the side as she regards him.

"You know how to find me and I will do what I can to assist you. As long as you stay on this path to finding your truth. If you go back to them, we return to being enemies."

With that she turns, going back the direction they came. There is no need for niceties between them. There never has been.

Winter Soldier has posed:
At some point, during her contemplation of him, he takes her card from his pocket. He looks at it, as he did not have a chance to look at it before, reading the information on it. The name.

"Natasha," he says, testing it and its syllables. The diminutive is Americanized. Casual. It feels less familiar in his mouth than the more formal, more distinctly Russian Natalia by which he knew her, decades ago. Or so she says. He can only recall the barest edges of those memories.

There was never a need for niceties between them. He does not say goodbye as she leaves, nor offer thanks for her help, her empathy, her identification with the plight of this man who was once-- perhaps still is, in a way-- the horrifying spectre hanging over her grim youth.

He only promises, as she walks away, "I will remember what I did to you." In the end, with all that has happened between them now unchangeable as stone, it is perhaps the kindest thing left he can do.