As far as she's concerned, moving is better than staying still. Walking in search of a border at least gives both of them something to focus on instead of just the tableaus the machine is plucking out of their minds for them. So she shrugs and falls in step alongside him. It's weird to know that some of the worst things she's done won't appear here, because she'd been a very effective operative for the Red Room. The assassinations. The intel. The people she'd betrayed.
She remembers having a conversation with Steve after she dropped all of HYDRA's files on the internet, and her own service record along with it. He has a way of always seeing the best in others. And she knows he'd meant well by saying that she wasn't that person anymore. The fact of the matter is that she is always going to be that person, and she will reach into that toolkit when she has to. There's already so much red in her ledger. What's another page if she can spare someone else from cracking the spine on their own book?
There have been flashes of her from all over her timeline as they walk. But Rocket in the lab is the youngest she's seen him yet. Her eyes dart around the scene, taking in the casual, professional air of the adults in the room juxtaposed against the absolute fear on the boy's face. Dread might be flooding Rocket's stomach.
Natasha is furious.
She swallows it, all but actually bites her tongue. This is years in the past. But she's always been the most haunted by the things that happen to children. Her head turns when she hears him mutter, and the discomfort is written through every line of his body. She turns to stop him, her hand on his chest as she looks up at him, her expression thoughtful.
Something about the moment reminds her so strongly of Melina that for just a second, that sand washed air field in Cuba shimmers into focus behind her, the scene of her defending Yelena frozen in time as it just as quickly dissolves. "It doesn't matter if you were born in a cage or if a cage was built around you," she says finally, her voice low and measured. "It's not your fault. And it's not your fault that you survived it." Someone like Steve would have had a better speech on the fly - maybe something about not caring if he's pissed to hear it, that she'll say it again and again until it sinks in.
She doesn't think she'll have to. He's seen the evidence play out all around him in this damn...shared mind space. She knows exactly what it means to say that to him. Arriving at that conclusion about her own life has taken years, and there's still days that it's harder to swallow than others.
no subject
She remembers having a conversation with Steve after she dropped all of HYDRA's files on the internet, and her own service record along with it. He has a way of always seeing the best in others. And she knows he'd meant well by saying that she wasn't that person anymore. The fact of the matter is that she is always going to be that person, and she will reach into that toolkit when she has to. There's already so much red in her ledger. What's another page if she can spare someone else from cracking the spine on their own book?
There have been flashes of her from all over her timeline as they walk. But Rocket in the lab is the youngest she's seen him yet. Her eyes dart around the scene, taking in the casual, professional air of the adults in the room juxtaposed against the absolute fear on the boy's face. Dread might be flooding Rocket's stomach.
Natasha is furious.
She swallows it, all but actually bites her tongue. This is years in the past. But she's always been the most haunted by the things that happen to children. Her head turns when she hears him mutter, and the discomfort is written through every line of his body. She turns to stop him, her hand on his chest as she looks up at him, her expression thoughtful.
Something about the moment reminds her so strongly of Melina that for just a second, that sand washed air field in Cuba shimmers into focus behind her, the scene of her defending Yelena frozen in time as it just as quickly dissolves. "It doesn't matter if you were born in a cage or if a cage was built around you," she says finally, her voice low and measured. "It's not your fault. And it's not your fault that you survived it." Someone like Steve would have had a better speech on the fly - maybe something about not caring if he's pissed to hear it, that she'll say it again and again until it sinks in.
She doesn't think she'll have to. He's seen the evidence play out all around him in this damn...shared mind space. She knows exactly what it means to say that to him. Arriving at that conclusion about her own life has taken years, and there's still days that it's harder to swallow than others.