EVENT #010

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam and any other megacity the Displaced happen to be in/travel to!
WHEN: May 28, 2512
WHAT: Golden-eyed monsters stream into New Amsterdam and other megacities the world over.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, death, body horror, mind control, and transformation.

> EVENT #010

It starts in the middle of the night, when most everyone should be fast asleep in their beds, whether they're still taking up a cot in the safehouse or staying in their own apartment. One moment it's quiet, with most of the rest of the city having also turned in for the night, and then in the next? It isn't.

There will be mass confusion as the scope of the situation becomes clear. Monsters stream out onto the streets, thundering up the stairs of a train station, skittering out of construction sites, or climbing up the walls. Some of them fly. Others slither. Others run, loping forward with only one goal in mind: to find something to sink their teeth or claws into and to leave destruction in their wake at every turn. They are a horde, a swarm, a teeming mass of creatures that have no intention of stopping. All of them have eyes or bodies that shine gold and wherever they go, they seem to leave decay. Concrete turns black and porous where they step; plants wither and die.

There is no real preparing for an attack of this scale. New Amsterdam will awaken as the sound of these monsters crashing down on cars or bursting through storefronts or into homes forces people to run screaming from their dwellings or places of work. There is no discrimination in who these beasts might target, and no discernable pattern in where they go.

All that one can really tell is that they seem to want to spread out. They're constantly on the move, leaping from victim to victim, and they're relentless. No one knows why they've come, where they're come from, or what will make them stop. At least for now, the only option seems to be to cut down their numbers. It's time to fight the horde.

The first night will be utter chaos as everyone reacts to the monsters' sudden appearance, but by the morning hours news reports will start streaming in. This is not only happening in New Amsterdam, or wherever else a Displaced might be staying, but seemingly everywhere. Some cities seem harder hit than others, but practically every megacity is overrun with the creatures.

With no way of knowing who might have unleashed the monsters, all of these cities have essentially been turned into battlefields. Not many civilians are prepared to fight for their lives, and it will take a mobilization effort from the police, Morningstar, the Displaced, and anyone else who's willing to take up arms in order to survive.

◉ As a note, this attack starts simultaneously in multiple cities. While it's the middle of the night in New Amsterdam, the monsters will appear at other times of the day in other parts of the world depending on the timezone!

> BESTIARY

So as to not make this post overly long, we have compiled all of the monster descriptions into a Google doc here for everyone's reference!

> (NOT SO) SAFEHOUSE

For those Displaced who stay at (or spend any time in) the safehouse under the hoverbike shop or the Red Wings bar, they may become aware of the presence of the monsters sooner than others, due to the fact that at least a few of the giant mole monsters will end up burrowing up through the concrete basements to wreak havoc. The screeching noise of steel claws tearing through the floor will be sure to wake up even the deepest of sleepers.

This won't just be an occurrence on the first night of the attack, either. Unless something is done to deter them, tunnels leading straight into the safehouses will continue to be created, allowing even other types of monsters to find their way through (the smaller ones, that is). Where exactly they're coming from won't be entirely clear, though it's a safe bet to assume that they must have originated in the cave system somehow.

Suffice to say that El won't be happy about the safehouse being compromised in this way, though this isn't a possibility that ze or anyone else could have really prepared for. While ze can't do much to physically help with containing the invasion of the monsters, ze will offer whatever resources ze can—though Morningstar is going to be busy in plenty of other locations, as well, and they only have so many resources.

The Red Wings, being a Displaced-operated location, will also be in need of assistance, especially if it's meant to be a point of safety and a hub for handing out supplies. Speaking of—

> RED WINGS HQ

As things begin to deteriorate, Clarke Griffin and Stephen Strange sink their resources into Red Wings, adapting it into a base of operations for the Displaced. Clarke also called in PRESERVE to set up a checkpoint here, too, and anyone—from the Displaced to civilians—will be able to seek aid here. (Of course, Red Wings will be just one of a few locations throughout the city where they attempt to set up shop, but Red Wings may prove to be more fortified thanks to the talents of the Displaced.) Civilians will not have access to Red Wings' safehouse, however. That's still something that Clarke and Stephen want to keep under wraps, for now.

In the bar proper, there will be medical aid, supplies, and even weapons for those who can use them. During rare moments of downtime, the gang at Red Wings will also work on reconnaissance missions to find safe spots throughout the city to provide much needed protection and safety for the people of New Amsterdam. This task may be much easier said than done. Gathering intel on the monsters is a high priority, too, and for anyone who tries to capture a monster to learn more about them, the basement might be a good place to hold them. If the Displaced are going to be able to fight back, they need to know exactly what it is they're fighting.

However, the truth of the matter is that this attack happened quickly, and in the middle of the night to boot. As much as the group at Red Wings tries, resources are stretched thin, and they didn't have time to prepare as much as they wanted to. Supplies need to be rationed, bandages and stitches used for wounds that really need them, and if you're not a great shot, it might be best to let someone with more training take that gun you're eyeing.

More than anything, despite the difficulty, this is a way for the Displaced to help out as many people as they can, and a way for them to cement their humanitarian efforts and affect the population's opinion of them. The citizens of New Amsterdam are sick of this cycle of destruction, and are just waiting to be empowered. Now's the time to teach them to fight back and help them protect their city.

Red Wings' safehouse underground will be damaged by burrowing monsters as well, and will need protection. The bar itself will escape relatively unscathed.

> INVESTIGATING / GATES

Maybe the best way of dealing with the monsters isn't violence at all. Maybe there's a more strategic way to deal with this.

The monsters will be moving from city to city via the gates, just like the Displaced do. There might be a way to keep them from spreading, or at least slow them down, by shutting down the gate network. Of course, with the mag trains shutting down, getting back home could be an issue. One option is the delivery network of hover trucks. They'll still be running to get supplies from city to city, but their batteries don't run indefinitely, so these will be relatively local trips only. No getting from New Tokyo back to New Amsterdam with this method, unfortunately, and convincing a driver to let you hitch a ride might be a challenge, but it's doable.

Of course, there's also the question of where these things are coming from. Intrepid characters might be able to track them back to their nests, which are tucked away in wildly different places depending on the city. In New Amsterdam, they might be in the caves below the city. In other places, they might not be in the city proper at all, but just outside of it. It's important to keep in mind that the nests are far away from any of the action taking place elsewhere. Tracking these origin points may provide some answers, but the cost would be less involvement in the crisis taking place.

And then there's the matter of the monsters themselves. How can you fight an enemy you know nothing about? For those determined or crafty enough, capturing them might be an option, although this will take some creativity. Once these creatures are captured, they'll need to be kept contained, and kept alive. Just because they're monstrous doesn't mean they don't have to eat, after all, and some will need special environmental considerations as well, such as the mind control slugs.

What happens after that is up to the Displaced. Is dissecting them the best bet? Their internal anatomy won't be wildly different from most "normal" animals, with the exception of some creatures who have strange appendages or the like. Still, this might give the Displaced a better idea of how they operate and what their weak spots are. Sending samples to a lab is another possibility, if the Displaced can figure out how to safely store those samples. After all, the world is in a crisis, and no one is running tests at the moment.

All monsters, though, seem drawn to the blue light. When a Displaced uses a power or activates the empathy bond, the creatures will lock onto it, utterly transfixed, and if this is done enough times, that gold glow of theirs will intensify. What does it all mean? Maybe figuring that out will be a pathway to stopping their attacks.

> PITCHING IN

While all of this is going on, it certainly won't be just the Displaced who are heading out into the streets to try and stem the flow of the monster attack. These creatures are certainly not holding back, and no matter how much work might be put in, their numbers are overwhelming. Plenty of people will end up dead as a result, ripped to shreds or dragged off somewhere to be eaten. Yet, for some reason, these monsters are not as vicious toward the Displaced. They'll engage them in a fight and injure them, but they never go so far as dealing a fatal blow.

Seeing how that's not the case for the rest of the populace throughout the world, however, some groups and organizations will be rising up to do their part.

Police departments will be mobilizing in every megacity to put the monsters down, and while they are armed, it's not on the same level as the UNA. They also don't have any sort of training that's prepared them to fight monsters, but they'll still be putting their lives on the line to put a dent in the monsters' onslaught. When it comes to enforcing regular law and order, they certainly won't have the bandwidth for anything like that. Then again, most people won't be in any position to take advantage and commit crimes either, given the chaos that will be a constant everywhere.

Morningstar will also be jumping into action around the world. The New Amsterdam branch will be most likely to work alongside the Displaced and share some of their resources, particularly with those who are signed up as official agents or those who've supported them in the past. In cities like New Prague and New Beijing where the Displaced have made some contact with Morningstar before, they'll also be open to working with the Displaced. However, their resources are by no means robust. Morningstar is an organized rebel group, but they're hardly an official army in any sense of the word. They might be able to hand out a weapon here or there and they have a safehouse set up in almost every city, but beyond that, they'll mainly be getting boots on the ground to help with the fighting.

UNA soldiers who have been left without any sort of purpose or guidance will now have an opportunity to put some of that training to use. Their involvement will be much more scattered, though in some cases small groups of these soldiers who used to work in units together will reconnect in their effort to fight off the horde. However, having been cut off from the UNA in an official capacity, they won't have much in the way of gear or weapons. They're still formidable fighters, though, and now might be the perfect time to reach out and make a connection with some of them.

Mercenaries belonging to various different outfits, depending on what city they're based in, will also be joining the cause. Whether they're acting out of a basic desire to survive the attacks or if they're actually being paid by someone to go out there and risk their lives will be less clear, but they're some of the best-equipped fighters (other than the police). They also won't really find much reason to protest any of the Displaced pitching in to fight with them. The more firepower, the better, right?

A group of regulars from the New Amsterdam fighting rings will be rising up to add their fuel to the monster-fighting fire, as encouraged by Hawke and whoever else might know them well enough to reach out. Given that some of these people have illegal mods to enhance their strength or cybernetic attachments that can do impressive amounts of damage, some of them might hold their own against the monsters. Hell, some of them might even ask the Displaced to demonstrate some of their powers if they end up fighting together, as word of their abilities has become more known among their ranks. Either way, they'll be jumping into the fray with quite a bit of gusto.

PRESERVE will be involved on the other end of these efforts and will be doing their best to tend to the wounded and the dead, along with finding shelter and safe spots for people to barricade themselves from the attacks. It's not like the grand majority of civilians could stand a chance against these monsters, after all, yet not all of them can rely on their homes to be safe enough to stay in. They'll be quick to accept an offer of Displaced help, as they'll be doing their best to try and drag the recently dead to hospitals to get them put into medi-units before they're too late. Along with what's set up at Red Wings, they'll also be cobbling together other relief spots throughout the city for taking care of wounded and offering up what supplies they have (food and water, medical supplies, etc).

And what are the corporations doing in all of this? Well, suffice to say, mainly just panicking. Unsurprisingly, they're not much help during a crisis like this, with most of the super-rich opting to hide away in whatever highly secure bunkers they might have. Too bad that these bunkers might not prove so secure in the face of these attacks. Could that prove to be an opportunity if someone went looking?

> FINAL OOC NOES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event. Given the spread out nature of this event, as well as the amount of additional details provided here, please direct all questions to our QUESTIONS thread below. This is, naturally, a huge event in terms of scale, and so we're certain there are aspects of it we haven't covered and questions that have yet to be answered. We do encourage that all of our players use the event planning post for any additional ideas and for touching base!

Please do not begin to thread out any aftermath until AUGUST 8, 2020, which is when we will put up the aftermath log and OOC post. If this date changes, we will provide a gamewide update as needed! As a note, the August calendar will be posted alongside the aftermath!

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event, granted for a thread of at least 5 log/action comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way during the event itself. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by SEPTEMBER 11, 2020 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted AUGUST 1 at 12 AM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on AUGUST 8 at 12 AM UTC.

Have fun and fight some monsters! Or … whatever else you might do with them. 😉😏 Your secret's safe with us. 😙

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[freightcars]

[ Yeah, no, he could figure out with his eyes closed that she's bound to be uncomfortable talking about this. Hell, he's uncomfortable and he's not even the recipient this time. They do what they have to do to get by, though. A soldier's perseverance; whatever it takes, discomfort's a luxury.

Something slips into her tone. He can't answer the question yet, not so soon after hearing that.

It hollows him out a little, scrapes at his insides in a near-shattering kind of sympathy.

He's been in the chair. Had the guard in his mouth. Wipe him, start over. He knows the feeling that comes just before something is taken from you that you weren't ready to give.

He reaches out, curling a flesh hand around her shoulder. Hoping to catch her eye. He'll wait until she lifts them so he can hit her with an imploring look. ]

I'm not gonna touch anything you don't want me to touch. If you decide you wanna stop, we stop.

[ I understand. ]

You're in control.

[ Of what he does or doesn't do. готов соблюдать. ]

[bornrussian]

[It's survival -- her own, and the people who depend on her -- weighed against a memory. Against an ounce of privacy lost. Natasha knows what she must do. That doesn't make it any easier, just inevitable.

Natasha doesn't flinch under his touch -- she sees his hand coming out of the corner of her eye and choses not to move away -- but her muscles tense.

There's a beat.

Two.

She surrenders and looks up at him, a certain weariness etched around the tightness of her mouth. There is nothing she won't give for this fight. But in some ways, deciding to die was easier than this. They trained her to die for the cause, if needed.

This is different. This is allowing access to the very center of her. The one place that has gone mostly untouched.

It's allowing herself to be compromised.

There's a weight to the gaze they share. Unspoken words slipping between them. Beneath his fingers, some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders.

Natasha's chin dips down in the barest of nods.

Thank you.

Natasha's fingers twitch against the gurney, tightening as hard as they can before she forces them to relax and release their grip. She moves them up into her lap, rests them palm up. Her fingertips twitch again as keeps them from curling into tight fists.]

It's not long. But I will need it back. Once this is done. [There's an edge of steel to her voice. Resolution paired with need she wouldn't know how to put into words even if she wanted to speak it.]

[freightcars]

[ He nods. That's it, that's all it takes, he doesn't need to promise to return it. No more words to convince her.

He will, and that's it, because she told him to. She's in control of her mind, she's just letting him keep it company for a little bit.

He peels his hand off of her shoulder and holds it out instead, neutral body language, hers to grab when she's ready. ]

It's like the empathy bond, but you... focus on what you want me to see. You kind of just... push it through. It'll feel pretty instinctive.

[ It did for him, anyway, and for Steve.

It means that if she takes his hand she's going to get what he's feeling right now. Most notably fatigue, go figure, but beneath that is a deep sense of understanding and empathy, the need to reassure and comfort, a steady level-headed determination.

But seriously, Jesus is he tired.]

[bornrussian]

[Like the empathy bond. That would have been useful if her only experience with the empathy bond hadn't been Steve accidentally triggering it when trying to keep her from falling off a roof top what seems another lifetime ago.

Natasha breathes in slow and careful, exhales the same way. A stillness settles across her shoulders.

Acceptance.

Without letting herself think about it, Natasha reaches out and settles her hand in his. Her chest lights up with that soft blue glow, and his emotions rush into her. And it is a rush.

The understanding spreads across her like wings fanning out. Eases some of the knots twisting in her chest.

In return, he gets the mirror-image of his fatigue directed back at him. The exhaustion threads through everything Natasha feels or thinks right now. There's the fear, thick and immediate, kept in check with steely determination. The need to do what is needed to keep going. To live to fight another day. Below that, a deeper, unsettled ache running underneath everything like a current at the bottom of an otherwise placid river.

It slips away though, replaced by a tall mountain towering above them. It's not the exact site of her nightmare. But it's the same washed out gray scale, the same wind howling past them, the same oppressive pressure settling over her chest.]

Wow-- [Clint's voice, from somewhere behind her shoulder.] Under different circumstances, this would be totally awesome.

[Natasha feels her mouth pull up into a smile. An uncommon happiness blossoming through her. It's been too long since she had her partner at her side. It feels good. Right.

Together, they climb the mountain.]

[freightcars]

[ Bizarre as it may seem, there's a moment where all Bucky notices is how much smaller her hand is than his. Someone like Natasha has a presence about her, a reputation, a strength. She may use her petite figure to fool people who don't know any better, but the ones who do don't see her as small.

Now, though, with her palm slipped in his, his fingers close and practically wrap around the whole thing.

It's bound to be exhaustion and days of fighting to save people that has a fiercely protective instinct flickering into being for a split second, to be replaced immediately with a mountain. He stands beside her, their hands linked, watching as the world moves to suit the camera angle of their mind rather than requiring them to follow it.

They trail through her vision, scaling as she scaled, perfectly stationary. ]

[bornrussian]

[It's strange. In sharing the memory with Barnes, Natasha is somehow both participant and observer. She's watching the scene unfold before them, but she's also behind her own eyes, feeling the ache of her lungs as they climb the steep mountain.

They make it up to the open space at the top, between the carved spires reaching up at the grey and washed out sky. Barnes will recognize this one.

It's where her dreams start.

Except it isn't empty. The stone keeper swirls into existence, his rasped voice sinking into Natasha's spine like claws.]

In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul, for a soul.

[Natasha's fingers twitch in Barnes' hand. The part of her that's watching -- apart from the scene -- wants to pull away. It's too much. Every secret she's fought so hard to keep tumbling forward as they parse out the stone keeper's riddle.

Whatever it takes. [Natasha's voice.]

Whatever it takes. [Clint's voice, echoing her words.]

[Natasha stands up, her decision already made.]

If we don't get that stone, billions of people stay dead.

[It's an easy bargain to make. One life for that of billions. ClintLauraLilaCooperSamClint.]

Then I guess we both know who it's gotta be.

I guess we do.

[Clint's fingers thread with hers, and her fingers slip between Barnes' fingers, echoing the soft press she gives Clint's hand.

It's tender, the soft exchange between them, their bodies close, voices quiet as they argue over whose soul to trade for the stone.

Natasha feels splayed open. Laid bare. All her secrets spilling out through her skin. Her hand tightens against Barnes' as she fights the urge to pull away, break the connection.

But if she pulls away, he'll let her. So she has to be the one to hold on.

This is what needs to be done.

Doesn't mean it's easy.

Natasha just didn't expect it to be harder than choosing to give her life.

In the memory, Clint shoots her a shaded smile before he sweeps her feet out from underneath her and starts the desperate scrabble to be first across the ledge.

It's the feeling of gravel scraping across her tac-suit as she goes rolling across the ground. Her feet leaving the ledge. Their bodies slamming into each other mid-air. The jerk of the line holding. Clint's fingers digging hard into her wrist as he tries to hold on. The desperate look on his face as he realizes she's tethered him to the cliff.

The pleading note in Clint's voice breaks her heart all over again.

The push of her feet against the cliff face. The twisted look of agony on Clint's face when her wrist slips free of his grip.

The feeling of falling.

The strange sort of calm that takes over.

Freedom, for the first time in her life.

Natasha pulls her hand back, curls it into a fist and shoves it into her lap. They're done. She turns her face away so Barnes won't see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.]

Think you can get it all? [Her voice is so devoid of emotion it's obvious she's locking it all away.]

[freightcars]

[ The stone keeper fades into existence and Bucky's brow screws up immediately, bewildered, barely able to bite down a what the hell is he doing here? Doesn't feel right to interrupt the flow, but— what the hell?

The empathy bond still connects them. He can feel it, all that pain. That deep, dark ache. He can feel what her heart felt in those seconds before the fall.

The choice.

The yin to his yang, the polar opposite of how he felt clinging onto the railing of a speeding train reaching out desperately and shocked through with fear.

The fall feels the same, though.

She can pull back all she likes, she can tuck every bit of what she's feeling away so it doesn't display on her face, but they both know he knows better. They both know he knows exactly how she felt, how she feels, in the most literal sense of the phrase.

They don't know each other that well, but they're starting to, aren't they? Sharing a space, sharing dreams, sharing pancakes at three in the morning, and now she's letting him into her mind.

He used to be tactile, and he still is sometimes. Mostly with Steve, but that's because he's only really had Steve up to this point.

He crosses the barrier with her now, though he does it with a metal arm along her back to pull her in. No more skin to skin, she won't be giving anything else away, but he's reeling her into a hug against his chest just the same. ]

[bornrussian]

[It's like a crash course in friendship. Only it's just Natasha crashing into Barnes. Like he's a steady rock in the storm, and she is the crash of the waves beating across it. The rock stays the same, but the waves forever alter after impact.

They both know that he knows exactly how she feels and he is going to do her the kindness to pretend he doesn't, just so she can do the same.

This time, Natasha doesn't see the touch coming. She's too lost in her own head, in trying to lock everything back away before it overwhelms her. She flinches. Badly.

It only takes her a fraction of a second to clock which arm he's wrapping around her. They haven't spoken about it, but she's seen him switch to his metal hand before handing things to her and Steve. It doesn't count.

It's not that she relaxes. Her body is still tense. But she lets him pull her into the hug, careful not to accidentally brush skin. She screws her eyes up tight, and swallows against the tightness of her throat.

The warmth of his body seeping through the layers of their clothes helps. It doesn't diminish the lonely ache in her chest exactly, but it's holding a candle up against the dark. Her breathing slows and takes her pulse rate with it.

It's not that Natasha isn't tactile. It's just that normally it's been reserved for Clint and his family. Steve's been slowly inching his way into it. Just a lot of that progress was lost in the five years difference between them.

It's the last thing I remember. [The words are offered to the space between their bodies.] Should be pretty easy to find.

[freightcars]

[ He nearly backs off at that flinch, would if she showed even an iota more resistance, but that she comes in easily enough has him slowly relaxing that careful guard. As far as comforting someone goes, an unyielding band of metal across the back of your shoulder blades probably isn't the best experience in the world. It's a compromise, though, between what he thinks might help the most and what she absolutely doesn't want right now.

After a few seconds, the arm goes loose and lax. He doesn't peel away, he won't initiate the evacuation, he'll leave that to her. Instantly or lingering, whatever it is she wants.

Jesus, Natasha.

You're walking around here with a broken heart pretending like it's not worth talking about.

He can get the whole thing, he thinks. It's not a long encounter, he can take everything away working backwards from the last blink of life she remembers all the way up to before she even sets eyes on the the mountain top.

There won't be a trace of the desperation, of the choice she had to make. No fighting, no goodbye, no loss.

It's not that he'll ever advocate for losing memories, but just... maybe in circumstances like this, taking them away for a while can be a good thing. A temporary cure. He's gonna contemplate on this for a long time after this, churn on it, try and decide how he feels about it.

But not now.

He murmurs: ]

Say when.

[bornrussian]

[If he'd reached out with his real arm -- flesh, and blood, and skin -- the flinch away would have ended with her jumping off the gurney and putting enough distance between them to discourage a second attempt. So as hard as the metal is, it carries its own kind of comfort. Like the safety bar on a rollercoaster.

It's not worth talking about. It's in the past. A useless memory, she just needs to get over.

The moment he speaks, Natasha straightens and pulls away. If it's him giving tacit permission, or her not wanting to overstay her welcome is too nuanced an analysis for her to try to make right now.

As useless as the memory is to her now, the idea of losing it forever still wrenches at her aching heart. Twists it so hard she can barely breathe around it. But, she gave it to Barnes. He'll give it back to her when this is over. When she's got time to process and put it behind her.]

How does it work? [Logistics. Should she lie down? Do they have to touch again? Will she have to experience it all over again?]

[freightcars]

[ He lets her go, and if he feels any particular way about it nothing makes it to his expression. Steady, neutral, still tired -- though there's a new knit to his brow, weighed down by a burden that isn't even his.

Honestly, deep down... some part of him thinks this is...

Jesus, well it kind of seems like a mercy, doesn't it? Maybe it's just because he's got such a good quarantine on his own emotions, he wasn't fully prepared to facilitate hers. They just hit, and they hit hard, and the pain in them is staggering. Being relieved of it, but -- most importantly, to make this work -- knowing she can get it back whenever she wants it?

It's not a bad play. It's not. She might be able to sleep.

He seems a little less reluctant now than he was when he first pitched the idea. ]

I just touch you, and I... I don't know how to explain it. I find it and... cut it off. Like a film reel. Takes two seconds, maybe, and then it's done.

[bornrussian]

[Neither one of them is a stranger to pain. If they weighed the good memories against the bad, Natasha's pretty sure the scale would tip over sharply towards the bad. But she's usually better at locking away the bad. At cutting it away by the root and tossing it down in the dark recesses of her mind.

This time, she can't. It's going to get her killed if she doesn't do anything about it. Really, this is the only logical play.

It's not like anyone is getting a solid eight hours or anything here. But when she can carve out two or three hours to grab some sleep in relative safety, she'd like to actually get some rest in.

Hell. When she's standing right next to Steve, she doesn't want them standing on opposite ends of that chasm. The weight of Vormir bearing down between them.

Two seconds.

That's not so bad.

It's the space between inhale and exhale.

Natasha sets her hand down between them again. Closer to his thigh than her own this time. Fingers curved around the edge of gurney again.

It's not forever.]

Okay. [Do it.

Natasha breathes in and braces.]

[freightcars]

[ There's no more stalling, no more dragging it out to give her opportunity after opportunity to second guess herself. Those minutes are more painful, probably, than the act itself will be.

He reaches out, steady and deliberate, to press his fingertips to her temple.

Their chests glow blue, and she'll get a brief snapshot of his sympathy and intention before it happens.

It takes longer for him than for her. He hasn't done this enough to get used to the sensation yet; it's like someone fanning out a stack of Polaroid photographs, but it's in three dimensions and it's washing over him with soundbites and sensations. Maybe it's like being in a stack of Polaroids but you're the stationary constant as the background changes in every new flip.

It takes a breath to ground himself, and to pull the photos backward and forward and center at the same time for the one he wants.

The halo of red around her head, gone.
The fall, gone.
Pushing off the wall, diving after Clint, getting her legs swept out, Red Skull's face, the terms and conditions of the contract, the angles and flat planes of Vormir's crest, gone.

She will still know that she died, because she's talked about it and the fact of it is part of what has lead her here. She will still know that she's had nightmares, though they'll be faded blurry things as the association that created them is severed. She'll know what led her here, and she'll remember what she told him about it. The details are wiped away. It's like someone else giving you the summary of a movie you've never seen yourself.

It's gone.

His hand drops away, and he studies her face intently. ]

[bornrussian]

[It's a 'rip the band-aid off' situation to be sure. Better deal with the sharp and immediate pain than do it slow and let it linger and fester. She's done enough of that already.

The gentle touch to her temple is a surprise. Shouldn't be perhaps, but she expected he'd touch her hand again. Maybe if she'd braced for it, it would feel a little less intimate. But then again, maybe there's no way for someone slipping into your mind to feel less than intimate.

Except, she doesn't feel much at all. There's the light touch of his fingertips. Something she can't quite put her finger on, and then his hand drops away and they're done.

It doesn't feel big enough for what just happened. Sharing the memory with him was infinitely worse in comparison.

Natasha doesn't know what she expected. Maybe a blankness. A wall. Something cut out. It's neater than all that. She knows she's missing time, between being in the spacecraft with Clint, and waking up in the van with fake blood dripping down her chin and throat. But it doesn't feel like it. It's not a cut as much as a transition. Smooth. No jagged edges.

There are patches of her memory that are locked away from her. Not many. Just enough for her to notice, and they feel like a sore tooth. Something niggling and uncomfortable if she lets herself think about it.

This is different. She knows why it's locked away. Knows the shape of it. The weight of it. Knows it's waiting for her when she needs it. She feels lighter. Like she can finally draw a clean breath again.]

It's gone. [Natasha echoes unknowingly, turning her head to meet his eyes. No tears. No tension around her eyes. No impenetrable blank mask. Just her. Not open by any means, but not closed down tight either.]

[freightcars]

[ If the universe had to give James Barnes the ability to screw with people's heads, the least it could do as a consolation prize is to make it painless. If doing what he did left people screaming, gasping, hurt or disoriented, odds are he'd never use it at all. No exceptions.

But no, it's quick and light, a feather touch, done. Trimmed like hair, an intangible thing with no nerve endings to speak of.

He's not sure what he's expecting from her reaction. More of the same sadness, reluctance, fear, maybe. Maybe regret. Maybe confusion. Not this — this steady, almost light response. Some of the weight has slipped away in the span of the minutes (seconds, really) that it took him to do it. There's something just... different, somewhere around her eyes.

He thinks it's good. This expression, her face, her reaction. Thinks it might be good, and so he offers up a small, carefully tentative smile. ]

It's gone.

[ He confirms, because he knows somehow. Just knows confidently that it's left her. ]

I'll keep it 'til you want it back.

[ If she wants it back. Her choice. ]

[bornrussian]

[Natasha wants it back. Couldn't have done what she did without knowledge that he'll keep it until she's ready to take it back. (Bullshit, she would've done what she had to, she always does. But it made it easier.)

But for now, not having to hold it along with everyone else is a relief.

He's sick of hearing her say 'thank you' so she won't say it again. She's getting sick of sounding like a broken record anyway. She returns his smile, and for once there's not a sharp edge of sadness to it.]

I owe you one. [More like nine, at this point. (Except not like. Exactly.) The list continuing from setting her up with a job -- that'll be fun when all of this is over -- to middle of the night pancakes, and now this. Natasha has no idea how to repay any of it. It's not exactly like she has anything useful to give right now. But she'll figure it out. Hopefully sooner rather than later, she doesn't like owing debts.

The gurney groans softly beneath her as she pushes to her feet. Time to keep moving.]

[freightcars]

[ His smile pushes into his cheeks a little, tired but genuine. ]

No you don't.

[ Really. He doesn't see it that way. If anything, maybe they're approaching even for all the times he nearly murdered her. In any case, none of it took any sacrifice on his part to do.

He nods his head at her gently, a directive. ]

Go get some sleep.

[ Hopefully. He really hopes so. Hopes she'll keep him posted if it didn't work. ]

[bornrussian]

[The attempted murder thing is water under the bridge. Long forgiven. He wasn't exactly in his right mind any of those times. If he was in his mind at all, and the jury is still out on that one.

Interestingly enough, he is the only person to leave two scars on her body. Everyone else -- Clint included -- only got the one. There's something special there. He's the only person she's freely given access to her mind too. It's approaching intimate in a way that would probably freak her out a little, if she wasn't so damn tired already.

Natasha's smile gains a bit more substance.]

You're not the boss of me, Barnes. [If that's referencing whether or not she owes him (she does), or going to get some sleep (it sure is the plan) she's not going to clarify.

This is as good a place as any to try to grab an hour or two. Before the fighting starts a new. Except it's too crowded. Filled with people and noise. But it would be safer than trying to find somewhere on her own.]

You staying up to keep watch? [Here she is. Asking another favor. If he's keeping watch, she might be able to turn off the watchful part of herself, jumping at every last noise.]

[freightcars]

Yeah.

[ He's keeping watch. Whether or not he'd planned to before she asked can remain a mystery, his answer sounds confident, unfaltering. He can post up on this gurney for a couple more hours, he got enough sleep last night to get by. A second wind will hit him eventually.

He'll manage.

She needs it more than he does. ]

[bornrussian]

[Natasha will take it, because she needs it. Won't question if it was his intention all along or if he's doing it for her. Add another line to the invoice, she supposes.]

Wake me in two hours. [Earlier if something happens, obviously. And if she dreams again-- Well, she's not sure what else to take away. But at least he'll be right here and maybe they can problem solve]