bornrussian | From Bad to Worse

In the seventeen hours or so that's passed since Natasha asked Rush to bring her to his superior, she has had ample time to regret that decision. Back then she had near unlimited access to the ship, now, there's a guard outside her door and a floating bowling ball -- which is apparently a camera -- following her around. With the exception that Earth is being contacted on her behalf and that she's been given a second ration of food (useful since the first stands where she left it in the room that's been deemed "not secure enough" for her), her position has hardly improved.

Rush wasn't kidding when he said that the balance of power was complicated. Of course, what it mostly manifests as -- as far as she can tell -- is two grown men bickering with each other like schoolyard boys. Colonel Young seems like a competent enough soldier, but Natasha takes an instant dislike to him when she learns that he wants to take her weapons and lock her up. The resulting argument gave her a headache that has yet to fade.

Thankfully, Camille Wray -- who turns out to be a no-nonsense woman who's just as tall (or short, depending on where you're standing) as Natasha -- negotiates a sort of compromise which allows Natasha to stay armed and with limited freedom, as long as there's a guard and one of the bowling-ball devices following her at all times. Somehow, Wray and Rush manage to convince the Colonel to keep Natasha's presence a secret from the rest of the crew, at least until they've gotten more information on her. That doesn't matter much to Natasha, it makes no difference to her either way, but the Colonel's promise to get in touch with Earth does.

But after that, it all becomes a waiting game. It would be so much easier if Natasha could simply sleep through it. But every cell in her body trembles with tension. She's in an unknown place, surrounded by strangers; her trust issues won't let her sleep. So she assembles and disassembles her guns fifteen times each. She does yoga on the bare metal floor, leaving her body tired but not raising a sweat.

Finally, as her Lady & the Tramp watch tells her she's approaching the wee hours of the morning, she gets a couple of hours of fitful sleep out of sheer exhaustion. But she wakes too soon and she's left once more with her thoughts.

Now, what seems like an eternity later, the door to the sparse quarters she's been assigned opens, and there's Rush, wearing the same thing he was yesterday. But then again, so is she. She hasn't seen him since her guard escorted her to her new quarters and she finds herself strangely relieved when she lays eyes on his gaunt form on her threshold. Out of Young and Rush, she certainly prefers the latter. She sits up sharply in the bed, and follows his every movement with keen eyes. For all her efforts to stay neutral, there's a sense of eagerness as she asks, "Did they get through?"

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In the past nineteen hours he's had a gun pointed at him by a woman who by rights should be three billion light years away, discovered the possibility of a route back to Earth, been involved in several blazing rows with a man who's tried to kill him on more than one occasion, and a couple more with a USAF General. There was also a rather eye-opening crash course in recent Earth history re: alien invasions, with specific reference to who exactly their guest is. Today's been an interesting sort of day.

Greer, standing guard outside their guest's door, gives him an impassive look as he approaches and stands aside with the facial equivalent of a shrug.

"They got through," he confirms with a nod, the door sliding shut again behind him. "SHIELD were very happy to hear you're still alive. And less happy to hear that if they want you back they'll have to work for it."

Relief floods through Natasha and allows her shoulders to slump forward as she exhales shakily. Thank god. Of course, it'd be stupid to take his word for it, and Natasha has never been especially trusting. But, for now, she shoots him a quick, if pale, smile.

"Well, research and development have to earn their keep somehow." Unlike the Red Room, SHIELD cares about its agents. If one is lost they do try their damnedest to retrieve them. Natasha? Isn't just any agent. She's an Avenger. If they can get her back, they will. If anyone can figure this out it's Tony or Banner. And if they can't, there's a whole horde of researchers, scientists, engineers and even physicists at SHIELD's disposal. Someone is bound to have a very clever idea. If they don't, there's Thor and all of Asgard. Surely someone must know how to make the tesseract open a portal for her. Or, hell, Thor's people can travel in space. They might be able to get something sorted. Hope crowds her throat and the back of her tongue and for a moment her eyes shine with it. But she swallows it down quickly; hope is too dangerous an emotion.

"Did they send me a message?" Procedure states that they should, just to back up the claim that they've been contacted.

"They're flying in a Dr Selvig to consult," he continues, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. "Apparently he's SHIELD's expert on the device that sent you here. I'm meeting with him tomorrow." After years of determinedly avoiding the communication stones unless it was important, being back on Earth had been exceptionally strange.

He nods. "There was a message for you, actually," he confirms, and quotes directly with a raised eyebrow; "'Missing you already, Foxy, send me a postcard or something'."

Selvig. That's good. He's the only human on Earth who's had some quality time with tesseract. Even before Loki took over his mind, Selvig had worked on it for months in New Mexico. He'll find a way-- Natasha digs her nails into the fleshy parts of her palms and stops that thought before it finishes. Getting home can never be a certainty in her mind. That is just too dangerous. Here and now, that is all that matters. "Selvig's a good man," she confirms with a slightly stiff nod.

Natasha's eyes light up for the barest of moments. The message sets her mind at ease like nothing else could. Clint's the only one who could've sent it, and he's the only person she trusts completely. He wouldn't use that nickname if things didn't look legit on their end. "My partner," she says, by way of explanation, fighting a smile. "He's an idiot." She scoots back in the bed and leans against the wall, looking over at Rush, looking more relaxed than she has since getting here.

"Think you could do me a favor and get a message back to him?"

Rush shrugs. The name hadn't meant anything to him - their former fields hadn't really overlapped, and everything after that was a dozen different kinds of classified - but what he managed to glean in the short time he was at Homeworld Command seems very promising. And the initial data on the tesseract he'd been allowed access to was extremely interesting. He's not willing to commit to 'promising' just yet; not until he's had more time to look at what they're actually dealing with here. But it's certainly interesting.

"The message was second-hand," he clarifies. It was passed on by the SHIELD liason, sans any mention of who it was from. But it's hardly surprising that she too has people waiting for her back on Earth. "They were quite specific about passing it on verbatim." At her request he inclines his head in an 'of course' sort of gesture. "I'm sure I can pass something on."

The wall hums softly against her back, the engines at a steady pitch, and Natasha shifts her shoulder blades restlessly against it. Either she'll get used to this or it'll drive her crazy before long.

"It would've been," Natasha agrees. She doesn't think for a moment that Clint would've spoken directly with Rush. But even with the code, those are his words and no one else's. She leans her head back against the cool metal of the wall, tilting her head up to look at him with the slightest of smiles. "It's coded," she admits, after a quick glance at the closed door. Hence the verbatim. "No offense, but I don't know you. You could've just spent a couple of hours doing the crossword puzzle and then told me you communicated with SHIELD. But, no one but my partner could've sent that..." The unspoken conclusion that she can at least trust him on this hangs in the air.

Natasha isn't even aware of the tension in her neck before it releases with his acceptance to get a message through. "Thank you." She ducks her head and watches her fingers smooth out an imaginary wrinkle on the knee of her battle suit. "You can just give it to Selvig. Ask him to pass it on to 'the Hawk'. He'll know what it means." Selvig might not care much for Clint (a feeling which is definitely mutual), but he is a good man, he'll get her message through.

"I'll, uh, need mine verbatim as well," she adds, and there's a hint of apology to her voice. "Do you need to write it down?"

Over time the sound of the engines fades to background noise; by now the thrum of the ship's systems under his feet is as ubiquitous and no more worthy of notice than his own heartbeat. The low hum of the engines is a comfort, only truly audible when the sound of it is wrong. At the moment the particular pitch and volume of the vibration indicates that the FTL engines are operating at somewhat reduced capacity. Their energy reserves are depleted. They'll have to refuel before too much longer.

A hint of a smile curls around the corner of his mouth as she mentions the code. "You have an extremely suspicious mind," he comments, and though the phrasing could easily be an insult, the tone makes it unmistakably a compliment. A prudent and reasonable level of paranoia is certainly something he can respect.

"I'll need to memorise it one way or the other," he replies with a slight shrug. The transfer the stones allow is a purely mental one, and any notes he might make will be left behind when they make the switch. "Go ahead."

Perhaps it would be easier if Natasha let herself think of this as being on a huge cruise ship. She's always been able to handle the sound of the engines on those. But, right now, she's using the word 'spaceship' in her head as much as she possibly can. The quicker it becomes natural to her, the better.

"Yes," Natasha agrees simply, tilting her head back up to look at him with serious eyes. The coded message might not be a sign of extreme suspicion to her, but that doesn't make his statement any less true. "I've found that trust is a luxury I can ill afford." That is less true now, ever since she became a part of the Avengers and had to give up most of her spying. But, trust still doesn't come easy for her.

"Message reads: 'Bit low on stamps, I'm afraid. Keep the bunnies on their toes for me'." There's a brief pause during which Natasha searches Rush's face for any sign of confusion or misunderstanding. "Repeat it back to me, please."

From Bad to Worse

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