WHO: Natasha Romanoff & Bucky Barnes WHAT: trading battle scars WHERE: Natasha's apartment in Brooklyn WHEN: September 12 - evening RATING / WARNINGS: TBD - It's these two, though, so probably some dark themes (i.e. forced sterilization, physical and psychological torture)
The glass dangled over the edge of the couch from her hand, where it hung listlessly. She hasn't moved from this spot for what feels like the entire week. If she checked her calendar, she would have noticed it was nearing two now. Thankfully, she had plenty of vacation time saved up and her boss owed her a lot of favors for putting up with his shit. She wished she didn't have to waste it on bumming around at home, but this last item and memory retrieval really took it out of her.
The other ones had been shocking, but somehow this had felt the worst. Being shot at by someone she recognized, the boyfriend(ish) of a friend(ish), that had been nothing compared to this. Finding out that the people she knew in this life played different roles in her former one or whatever it was, that was jarring, but she could start to bend her mind around that. Remembering going through spy and assassin training, that had been very alarming, but to know now that this is what laid waiting for her at the end of it made it that much worse.
Natasha took another big gulp from the glass. No pretending to sip slowly anymore. And she had moved on from red wine and gone for the vodka at this point. Bucky was coming over... at some point. She'd sent him her address. She wondered if he really would show up to talk and when.
Things were piecing together and falling into place, which was helpful.
They were starting to scare the shit out of her, which was not.
Another gulp of vodka down the hatch. Fuck. This whole thing was a mess.