576/The Soldier and the Cop

The Soldier and the Cop
Date of Scene:	23 May 2017
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	Karrin Murphy left her last encounter with the Winter Soldier with an offer to bring him up to speed on the happenings in Gotham. He takes her up... and she winds up reaching something in him she does not expect.
Cast of Characters:	Karrin Murphy, Winter Soldier

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Karrin Murphy has posed:
It's late. Like, the gun range only stayed open because they trust her to be a keyholder late. There's no one else in the parking lot and Karrin has been at target practice since about 10 pm. With the force no longer on strike, she's actually working full time and then some, so it means her range hours are strange. Still, this is discipline. Going three times a week, preferably more. Trying out every new and different firearm that comes her way. Practicing drills. Keeping her eye and her hands sharp on every weapon in the book. So, tired or not, frustrated with life or not, she was at the range.

Well after midnight, Karrin kills the lights inside, carefully locks up everything with the detail oriented touches of a lover, and finally disappears out the side door. She's just a shock of short blonde in black tank, leather jacket and jeans now. She looks like any other tom boy coming out of the range, just probably a few inches shy of looking like a tough. She's heading up towards her little Mazda in the parking lot, the long rifles bag across her shoulder and a gun case in her left hand.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Ostensibly, Karrin is alone in the parking lot. There's barely any other cars left out there save hers, and certainly no other people around. If she were anyone other than Karrin Murphy, she might have felt unsafe out on this moonless night, alone, after midnight. But a woman of her skills really doesn't have much to fear out here, though the chaos still gripping Gotham -- even with the police force back on duty -- assuredly still has everyone on edge.

Well, at least, she doesn't have much to fear from anything mundane.

She'd probably feel it as she draws nearer her car -- the sense that someone's eyes are on her. It's a well-developed instinct among those who live their lives in danger. It serves her well in this instance, because it'll draw her eyes to look up towards the trees overhanging the edge of the parking lot where she's left her car.

There's a figure lounging in the fork of two branches, black-clad and black-masked, familiar and insolent and as indolent as a leopard in his perch. "If I used ranges," the shrouded figure comments, amused, "I'd use this one."

Karrin Murphy has posed:
Those instincts also show how trained she is, because the moment that itch of feeling like she's being watched comes in, she looks up. That's what untrained people always forget -- to look up. But she knows that people hiding, really hiding, don't do it in obvious paces. So, it's still ten feet from her car when her pale blues land straight on the dark clad man in the tree above her car. She cocks a curious brow, but she recognizes that black mask in the dim glow of the street light across the way. And that voice. It was hard to forget that voice.

"If I had somewhere to shoot any of my babies that didn't risk civilian injuries, I might not. But this is the safest place. And it's a damn good range. You don't keep in practice by letting a rifle collect dust on a shelf. And they have the longest range here anywhere east of the Mississippi." Where guns are a little less popular and cities a little more crowded, so getting a military regulation range is nearly impossible outside of the military.

She keeps her eyes on him another moment or two, trying to decide just how much of a threat he is, but it seems she settles on the fact he is not. At least, not a threat to HER. So, she keeps going to her car and pops the trunk so she can get the rifle and case in there. It also leaves her hands more free to get to the guns still holstered beneath her jacket.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He is assuredly armed -- a practiced eye like hers can tell even though he's carrying concealed -- but his weapons are all holstered for the moment, and his hands are empty. He leans forward a little in his perch when she speaks up, bracing his right shoulder against a branch and folding his arms. Equally-blue eyes study hers, across that ten-foot distance she's keeping.

His eyes flicker with amusement at mention of civilian injuries, but he doesn't refute or comment on her calm rejoinder to his remark. Instead he just holds her gaze, head canted slightly, waiting to see if she'll come closer or not. How much of a threat she'll assess him as, and whether she'll risk proximity. Eventually she decides boldness is the only way to deal with predators. It's the correct choice. He watches her, but makes no hostile motions.

"Cleanup went OK from last time, I assume," he says. The memory of that point-blank execution -- extrajudicial as hell, but also //efficient// as hell -- plays briefly in his eyes. "I was told it was mopped up sufficiently. Done deal. City benefited too. Right?"

It's impossible to tell, with the mask, but he might be grinning, proud and unrepentant as a lion at his own prowess. "Now... you said if I wanna know what's what in the city, ask you," he says instead. "Well, I'm askin'. I got more work to do in Gotham, but it's crazy in there. The force is back on duty, at least, or so I hear."

Karrin Murphy has posed:
The big guns away now, Karrin slams the trunk of her car shut and looks back up to him. Not only did she have the courage to get closer, but she's got enough to take her eyes off of him for the second to do that. Of course, she's constantly aware of her surroundings. Not staring right at him, perhaps, but she'd be able to tell the moment he made a sharp enough gesture to pull a weapon. Watching out of the corner of her eyes is simple habit after all these years.

She then steps around her car and, while it might shock the heck out of him, suddenly reaches for those few knots on the tree's trunk that make climbing it ALMOST possible. It'd be tough for someone not in as good a shape as she is, and is still challenging for her height, but the little blonde is all trained muscle and she monkeys her way up the tree to shift onto a branch next to him within about two minutes. She's not even really breathing hard. An amused smirk crosses her lips at the pure ridiculousness of the situation. She shows no fear.

"Clean up is what it is in this city. It was handled. Some dangerous people are off the streets. I won't complain, but I also won't ever say I condone vigilantism. We have enough of that bullshit in this city already." But she doesn't tell him to stop. She simply isn't giving her blessing. SHe lets her legs dangle down, one hand always remaining free, in case she needs to draw that gun, but over all she is relaxing. "...And yes. I am the person to ask. So... ask. I'm not just going to puke the whole city history at you because you winked those pretty blues at me. Tell me what you want to know and I'll figure if it's safe you knowing."

Winter Soldier has posed:
The strange thing about it is... the Winter Soldier is more shocked than even she might expect. Karrin shows no fear in scaling the tree to perch beside him, but the Winter Soldier suddenly balks at //her//. He tenses and draws back, wary, with the sudden cagey quality of an animal fearful of being touched. There is a twitchiness to his recoil that suggests being touched means pain, to him. His surface insolence wavers, revealing something deeply confused beneath.

Then his mind seems to jerk back on-course. His demeanor frosts over. His blue eyes study her watchfully as she settles, ready to back up if she tries to get closer.

She won't complain, but she won't condone vigilantism. He recovers enough to huff a laugh, muffled through his mask. "Vigilante is such a self-centered kinda word," he says, regaining some of his aplomb. "Not my style. I flatter myself I got a more coherent purpose than that." Yet just moments before, there was that confusion in his eyes -- that deep lack of comfort in his own skin. Puzzling.

She invites him to ask, however, so he does. "You got Ukrainian mob in your city," he starts bluntly. "I need 'em dead, or at the least chastened. You're not gonna miss them. It's hard to track them down with all the noise, though. If the force has any intel they just haven't been able to act on, you pass it to me, I'll do all the acting you could want."

Karrin Murphy has posed:
One doesn't get to be a cop, much less a cop who cares, this deep in the force without being able to read people. The damage behind the man's eyes, that recoil at the fact that she might even TOUCH him, much less simply sit near him, it surprises her. There is something far more wounded and broken about the man than she ever thought about before. The blonde doesn't move closer, just taking that perch one branch over, and one hand comes out, palm forward, as if to say it's alright. She won't hurt him. She won't even touch him.

Once he's settled back into his own skin, her expression remains a touch concerned. She doesn't push it, but she's certainly taken note about it. "..Ukranians. I... have some information. But I can't condone wet work more than I do vigilantism, you know? If you're...scaring them out of town, fine. RObin hooding whatever drugs they are pushing into the sea? No issue. Chastise them, sometimes they need a whip better than being tossed behind bars a bit. But... I can't give you information to just kill people. I won't." Karrin states flatly, even if it pains her to protect criminals. The woman clearly has principles.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The strangest part is the sheer degree to which he reacts. It's the most pronounced reaction she's seen out of him in their admittedly brief interactions. He is otherwise a creature of extremely spare economy of movement, maximally-efficient in that every motion he makes is completely lethal. There is nothing held back in his pinpoint focus on the kill, nothing extraneous, nothing wasted.

But then there's this. This twitchy, confused recoil, apparently entirely instinct, which suggests that he is only accustomed to associating touch with pain. And not just any pain. An extreme pain so debilitating it could overcome even his usual cold, collected self-control.

It's there and gone. Then he's speaking again, that smirk audible in his voice, though there is a haunted quality in his eyes a little slower to fade. "Can't and won't, huh?" He sits back, keeping his perch on his branch effortlessly, despite the fact he's now got both hands shoved in his pockets. His sense of balance is preternatural. "Fair enough. How about I just scare 'em shitless, then? The sight of me'd be practically be enough to do that on its own." His eyes glitter. "I guess I'd get too obvious if I leave corpses everywhere, and I don't need them dead, I //guess//. Just to stop sending money where they shouldn't."

Karrin Murphy has posed:
The woman's eyes narrow a bit more on him, partially to figure out how much she actually trusts in his words about simply scaring the mob, but also partially to try and figure out just why or how bad this fear of touch goes. Karrin's head tilts a bit and then she carefully turns her hand, palm up, in his direction. It's a gentle offer, not forcing touch on him, but the smallest bit of outreach. A strange bit of reassurance that her touch wasn't near so awful. That he could take that risk with her.

"...Shake on it? Promise me you won't go killing on my word and...I'll give you everything I know. I promise I don't bite. I mean... there's a few callouses, but... I'm not completely disguisting to touch. Promise." Karrin offers those words just as gentle as her touch. Her heart is too soft. She's now almost more concerned with getting him to open up to the tiniest bit of touch than she is settling some mob war. But if she can get the Ukranians out of town as well, all the better.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier goes silent as she reaches towards him, still as a curled snake trying to determine if the incoming touch is a threat or not. He alternates his gaze between her face and that palm-up hand. A flicker of understanding of what she wants appears in his eyes when she explains: shake on it?

He hesitates. He is so still that the branches and leaves of the tree move more than he does, wavering in the intermittent wind around his silent frame. He is a carved figure in the dark.

Then he laughs, as if at some private joke, and he reaches forward. With his left hand. The whir of metal that accompanies the movement of his arm is suddenly and startingly explained when Karrin feels cold steel close around her hand. His entire left arm is some kind of prosthetic --
"Promise," he says, his voice a low, mocking absolute in the dark. His left hand is cold as the air, cold as his eyes, cold as his deft little dodge of skin-to-skin contact. But it is gentle. The power in the steel is obvious -- but even then, it does not come even close to gripping hard enough to hurt.

Karrin Murphy has posed:
The woman doesn't push closer. She lets him accept the shake on his terms, even if he ends up going for her left hand instead of her right. Thta was a bit odd, but a moment later she realizes why -- she's still not touching skin. That strange mechanical whirring she heard the first night they interacted just makes more sense. Karrin's head tilts curiously, brows slightly arched, but not in fear. Just in surprise. She gives his hand a firm squeeze and a warm shake. "...Interesting. That prostethic must be... Damned nice for you to still be able to shoot as well as you did. Impressive." She's not judging him or grossed out by a man with a metal arm. SHe's, more so, fascinated.

She then reaches up, gently, to rest her free hand on his shoulder. She was going for an attempt at gently touching skin, but that is met with hard metal as well. His entire arm was metal? Fascinating. still, she gives the smallest squeeze. "I'm keeping you to those words." SHe states firmly, but she seems to trust him enough to go foward. "...The Ukranians operate out of China Basin, believe it or not. About five blocks south of here. THey have at least two warehouses they ship out of there. The family name is Andreiko. They have at least two gangs, run by cousins... They generally run low level street drugs. Cut heroin, some weed, some pills. There stuff is never good enough to make huge amounts of money, so they have been at the bottom of the drug task force list which pisses me off, because they probably kill more kids with the cut street shit than the pure heroin the Italians run."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Perhaps unsurprisingly, she focuses on the aspect of his prosthetic that enables him to still shoot with such precision as he did the first time they met. Her interest seems to puzzle him -- it is not the normal reaction most have to a man half-metal -- and after a moment he lets go of her hand and pulls back, a little at a loss as to how to continue this transaction, and transparently uncomfortable with her proximity. Pain happens when people lean close over him, when he's on the table, when he's opened up under blaring surgical lights --

Or he tries to pull back. Perhaps it's impulse, perhaps that bleeding heart, perhaps both, but she reaches up with her other hand and tries to clasp his shoulder. He goes very still at the contact, even though Karrin finds herself still touching metal -- how much of him is no longer human? His eyes watch her warily as she offers that squeeze, as if comforting touch or reassurance were something entirely alien to him.

But he doesn't recoil, or worse -- attack.

Ultimately, those touches seem to be the price of her delivering the promised information. Perhaps she finds it hard to trust a man, or to go out on this kind of limb (quite literally), until she's made some sort of contact, felt and really seen what kind of man they are. Perhaps.

He listens in silence as she offers what she knows. His eyes lid slowly afterwards, in the sleepy look of a big cat before a planned hunt.

"They'll be out of business soon enough," he says, before he moves to pull back.

Karrin Murphy has posed:
The woman watches his eyes as he looks at her warily. She doesn't jump on him or force him to touch her more, but she also doesn't pull away. She nods quietly, "Patrik is the head, right now... or was the last I heard." And then, while he might completely lose it, her fingertips come up to brush against his not metal shoulder. Very gently, inch at a time, but she's trying to give him skin to skin warm, gentle contact. "Hey... I...I don't even know your name, but... you aren't alone. Not all of us are going to hurt you, okay? You... you can trust me." She murmurs firmly.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He files the name in silence. Patrik Andreiko. A name is good enough to start.

But then she reaches for him with her free hand. Not for his steel shoulder, but his flesh one. It's not skin to skin, not quite -- skin to heavy rough cloth, more like -- but it's warm contact, far more human than touching steel.

It's too similar to how men touch his shoulder to push him back into the conditioning machine. His eyes flare, and in the next moment his left arm -- with a furious whir of articulating mechanisms -- snaps up, his steel grasp moving in a bid to close about her throat. All that force turns on her in an instant, descending on her, crashing forward with inexorable violence --

-- and then comes to a halt. He holds on, but no more, a grasp that does not actually throttle or bruise -- but unequivocally warns.

"I do not have a name," he says, his voice edged in steel. I gave it up years ago. I am not the one who needs to worry about being hurt -- "

His expression twitches. He recoils, turning away, sliding down from his perch with a gracelessness he has never displayed before.

Karrin Murphy has posed:
Part of her expected that reaction. She knew how jumpy he was at even the hint of touch and Karrin took a measured risk. She could probably break his good wrist, if she needed, get out of that lock hold. So, the risk was worth it. Still, her heart jumps up into her throat the moment he grabs for her. Karrin doesn't pull away, though. Prey runs. Prey looks scared. She tries to swallow her pulse as he races a mad beat, but her eyes show no fear. She just meets his gaze, calm and quiet, waiting for him to pull himself back together.

A slow, deep breath comes, chest rising and falling with it. She keeps steady and close to him, fingertips remaining, if momentarily, on his arm. "I can handle being hurt. I'm trained. I can take care of myself. But... everyone needs a name. I don't know who you are. I don't know whatever they've done to you. But... I know it was awful. I can tell. They...made you a weapon. A soldier. I see it in your eyes. You are MORE than that. So... My name is Karrin. If you're doing good, I'll always fight on your side. If you want out of this misery... whatever you're caught up in, tell me. I'll help you out of that too. But... if we work together, you get a name. You are a person."

Karrin follows him down the tree, leaping with a gynmast's sort of grace, but not letting him quite escape so quickly.

Winter Soldier has posed:
I can handle being hurt, she claims. His expression splits in a snarl, the look of an animal being backed into an unwanted corner, hackles raising, ready to bite.

"I don't think you are clear," he says. He does not seem to even remember his own brief lapse of earlier, whatever hint of something else there was now swept back under the tide of the Winter Soldier. "I am not authorized to kill you. It would be annoying, and inconvenient, and sloppy. But I am allowed occasional lapses."

He lets her go and slips down. Her words hit his turned back. He pauses briefly, a cold blue eye appraising her over one shoulder.

"What was done to me, I asked for," he says. He even believes it. There is a fevered, too-strong conviction there. "There is no misery in my service."

He walks away from her, into the night. The red star on his shoulder winks a goodbye before he vanishes.