driftfleet | Naviadna Mingle

he rock face has a reputation locally as a good place to visit—a good climb, if you're into that sort of thing. Today, Natasha is. Maybe it's a low-key kind of masochism, a way to poke at the wound of her recent memory, but she wants a workout and there's something appealing about the climb. It's the kind of thing you can accomplish.

Barnes isn't the first person she's run into today. When there's ledges or view points, she's usually run into someone or other. Anywhere good to catch your breath and get a drink. Still, it seems like a coincidence to run into him here.

She's got the impression he was avoiding her.

Natasha waves from her perch on top of a boulder with her free hand, finishing her drink before she holds out the water bottle, clearly offering if he's thirsty.

The climb is challenging enough to provide a workout and a welcome distraction both; he knows he's using the physicality of the activity as a way of escaping everything else but he doesn't much mind it. Neither do the few other souls he sees out and about; he can exchange the quick pleasantries here and there just fine because they're meaningless, uttered as they pass each other on the trail, moving on with their own lives and own climbs. It's easy, which of course means it's too good to last.

Coming around the corner he sees a familiar figure perched atop a boulder, and the hope of a nod-and-smile before continuing on is dashed by the way she waves. Fortunately he's had more than enough practice in keeping a straight face, and manages to keep his feelings on running into her here from his face. Unfortunately, he's not going to be able to avoid the encounter. He shakes his head at her offer; he doesn't strictly need the water, and has his own if he did. He has been avoiding her, and almost everyone else from their world-or-worlds, or whatever it is. Coming face to face isn't exactly something he would have chosen, but he supposes he can only avoid it so long.

"New hairstyle?" It's a throwaway observation more than anything else; new hairstyles, new appearances, don't mean much on a spy who can go anywhere or be anything. But it's easier to talk about the throwaway than to dig into the serious, especially with someone like her.

She can't say she's surprised when he refuses. And maybe it wasn't fair to offer in the first place. She wasn't trying to entrap him, but she's aware of what she's doing; even with all her new memories, apparently she just can't stop trying to reach out to him.

By now, she's let go of the idea that he's not intentionally avoiding her.

Maybe she ought to let go.

Instead she gives him a shrug and takes another sip herself before she answers. "Something like that. Sort of grew into it," she tells him, then dryly, "Do you like it?"

He’s surprised that she even bothers reaching out, or trying to. Why should she? It’s not like she needs him in her life, not considering what she has. A person doesn’t bother with a broken thing when there’s a perfectly functional alternative available.

He’s beginning to doubt that he’ll ever regain what he’s apparently lost, that the holes in his memory will ever be more than holes and blank spaces. He doesn’t know exactly how to feel about that.

“Doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” That’s not a real answer. “It’s your hair, the only one who decides what to do with it should be you.” Which is still not a real answer, but at least does ring of a very large truth: he can’t imagine anyone trying to tell her what to do and not encountering some kind of resistance. It’s an admirable quality.

"Mostly I've just been keeping it out of my face. Going to have to get out of that habit." He's not wrong about that, and his opinion isn't likely to influence what she'll do with her hair in the future one way or the other. Even her own Barnes didn't get much of a say in that, though she would certainly ask his opinion. She'd like him to enjoy it, but in the end, that wasn't necessary.

More often than not, her choices in hair style had more to do with being more or less recognizable, creating a persona whether public or an alias.

But that wasn't the point, and he knew it; that was why Natasha didn't call him out for not answering, even though she doesn't fail to notice his avoidance. Or his discomfort. Her smile in response is sad.

"Doesn't tend to be the best way to stay in fashion." But what's fashion got to do with the last five years? Or Barnes's life. "Still, I think I kind of like it."

“Out of your face is out of your sight picture.” Not that Natasha needs a clear sight picture to land a clean shot on a target; she might not be the kind of sniper he is but she’s still very, very good at what she does. He knows it firsthand and he doubts that whatever has traversed for her has negatively impacted her skill.

What he doesn’t understand is the emotion lurking behind her smile, or why it’s directed toward him.

“I suppose not,” he replies cautiously, knowing that she can probably hear the question in his own words: why are you bothering with me? He’s pretty convinced that she doesn’t need him; why would she? “If you like it, that’s all that should matter.”

"I suppose you're right about that," she says, pushing a sweaty tendril of hair back from her face. Leave it to Barnes to think about it that way. And leave it to her to agree, on some level.

Her smile fades quickly though, and her gaze drops. His confusion is palpable, and Natasha regrets it. She can't regret her James returning. Nothing's made her happier in a very long time. But she still wishes she'd had more time to earn this Barnes' trust first. Time enough that she'd believe she say him as something other than the man wearing the face of someone else, someone who she cared about.

"You know, I get the feeling lately you're not comfortable around me." She shrugs, giving him the privacy that comes with watching the view of the hills below instead of his reaction. "Not that I blame you for that, but... I'm sorry for it. I won't keep you if you'd rather keep going. Seems like a nice climb."

“We’re all right about something, once in a while.” It’s not really a statement about her hairstyle or its suitability to the kind of work for which they’ve both been trained, and he thinks she likely knows it as well.

They’re not really talking about her hair though, or what he thinks about it. He knows she didn’t ask his opinion because she expected approval or condemnation of her hairstyle. He’s not even really surprised by her question; it’d be bad form indeed to not take a clear shot at a notably difficult target.

His initial response takes the form of a shrug. “It’s nothing against you, if that’s your thought pattern.” The statement is true enough, it just doesn’t explore the entirety of his own thought process. He doesn’t know that he'll offer up those thoughts in their entirety either.

Following her line of sight, he looks out over the landscape. It’s picturesque, a reward for those attempting the climb. “Nice enough view too.”

"No, I don't think it's personal." She takes another drink from her water bottle, then puts it aside, hiding her mouth behind her hand briefly, then shrug. That wasn't what she was worried about, in a way she's not sure it's worth articulating. Sometimes it's better not to push, and she knows that. Natasha won't change his mind by pointing that out.

That leaves the question of how she can let him know she doesn't see someone else when she looks at him. And that she doesn't want to.

"It is a nice view. Worth the trip up."

He thinks he's supposed to ask what she thinks. That's how the conversation should progress, right? But it feels awkward to say those words, like he doesn't know how to shape the question that it's not an insult, or something to just be laughed away. It's especially hard considering who they are: two people trained to see what others don't, and aware of that talent in each other. It makes navigating these conversations even more difficult.

"There are people who wouldn't see it that way, I think." He frowns a little; they're talking about the view, but their conversations are never just about such superficial things. This is no different, and is just as hard to navigate. "They'd see the struggle only, and not the reward. Or they'd want the view given to them without the effort of finding it themselves."

"You're right about that. Not everyone appreciates the effort." Talking around the issue is more in Natasha's comfort zone than she likes to admit. When Agent Carter was in the Fleet, they'd used to circle each other in conversations like a pair of cats—until it got Steve lost patience with both of them.

She thinks Barnes is less likely to snap and demand they speak plainly.

"A lot of them don't get that the struggle is part of the reward," she says. "Seeing where your effort gets you."

"They don't." A more honest answer than he'd normally give, but the fact that she isn't pushing leads him to admit it. He's still not sure why she's bothering at all, save for the effort they're so determined to discuss as the view midway through a hike and nothing more.

It's easier, this way.

"Why should they see it?" He shrugs and looks out at the view; the landscape looks a lot different from up here than from standing on the ground but with the way this world has been tended so carefully, the ground view offers up its own beauty. "If they have everything they want out of something more easily obtained, what need is there for the effort?"

"And miss out on this?" She keeps her eyes on the horizon as she says it, but the meaning is clear. She leans back on her rock for a moment, chin up, a little bit of a smile touching her lips. She's not sure what else there is to say. "The view's different every time."

She huffs and rolls off the rock and back to her feet, stretching her legs in a quick recovery from her less than cushy perch. "Still got a ways to go, though."

"As I said," he replies slowly; there's really no mistaking her meaning at all. "They just don't think it's worth the effort." He's not sure at all how to feel about the potential implication that she might; it's something he's going to have to digest and compare it to his own view of their situation.

He steps back as she slides off the rock, but it's a simple slide, not a more acrobatic flip needing room. "Guess I'll have to get you a coffee sometime. For sharing the view." It's an awkward thing, not really an invitation but not not an invitation, and she'll probably be able to read that awkwardness clearly. But it calls back to their previous interaction and how he'd refused her own offer of the same.

Naviadna Mingle

Training

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