Ava had come back to Brooklyn because it was the only place she could really call home, even if that home involved a single friend, and a city she mostly knew by its streets and by the whispers of a better time that felt so long-gone. Cart vendors she knew that would spare her a hot dog or a pretzel if she came by when they were closing up for the night, on special occasions scrimping up enough money to be able to share a malt at Eddie's with Oksana, riding the subway together, walking to fencing practice, the first time the other girl had found her behind a dumpster in a mice-infested alleyway only to realize they both spoke the same tongue.
She might have been poor and penniless, but she had memories here. And even if she didn't yet trust the world enough to tell Oksana she was back, she could wander close enough to keep an eye on her, watching from the shadows. She wanted to tell her, but she'd endangered her once before and she couldn't bring her to do it again. Not when she was still working out where she stood. Shield had files on her, if not the whole story, enough of it she's even more a liability for Oksana, though they text. It's a burner phone she's never used it with anyone else; she ditched her SHIELD-issued one as soon as the Academy came apart.
The warehouse wasn't where she'd lived before-- then, it had been the basement of the Carlton Nursing Home. Many decades ago it had been a YMCA for the racially unfavorable, and somehow the basement had survived as a dusty collection of over-worn yesteryear sports gear. Her bed had been a plywood board on cinderblocks with a stolen sleeping bag, and a string of vintage Christmas lights had been what she drew her sketches by. For safety's sake, she'd found someplace new, but the aesthetic is much the same. Natasha had been keeping an eye on her then, and when Hydra had come into the light, she couldn't trust that anywhere she knew was safe.
She tells herself that they have no reason to come after her, but it doesn't stick. Between Ivan, the Red Room, the pieces of Natasha left in her head, the years she spent imprisoned by SHIELD in an off-the-books safehouse, the tests run on her powers... there are nights she finds herself asking who was really pulling the strings.
So when Bucky follows her back, she doesn't look entirely surprised. He can probably track the way that her eyes gauge his position relative to her exit strategies and discards each and every one of them. The only way out if he wants to stop her is through him. But there's a knife in her hand anyway, but the grip is defensive, rather than signaling for an attack. She has her blades in the duffle bag, but their length would be a detriment, even if he allowed her the time. And she doesn't really want a fight. Not with him.
"It was a test," she says in realization, looking across the distance, her blue eyes bright as she looks at him, almost a light in the dark given the edge of tensions in her five-foot frame. "I'll admit it was part reflex, but I knew something wasn't right. Which meant I couldn't risk they'd give it to someone that might know what to do with it." There's a pause, then she continues. "What do you want?" She asks, but what she's really asking is: are you going to take me back?
Her tone is almost neutral, but not entirely. It's not hard to pick up on the fact that she would fight bone blood and steel even if she knew she'd lose.
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She might have been poor and penniless, but she had memories here. And even if she didn't yet trust the world enough to tell Oksana she was back, she could wander close enough to keep an eye on her, watching from the shadows. She wanted to tell her, but she'd endangered her once before and she couldn't bring her to do it again. Not when she was still working out where she stood. Shield had files on her, if not the whole story, enough of it she's even more a liability for Oksana, though they text. It's a burner phone she's never used it with anyone else; she ditched her SHIELD-issued one as soon as the Academy came apart.
The warehouse wasn't where she'd lived before-- then, it had been the basement of the Carlton Nursing Home. Many decades ago it had been a YMCA for the racially unfavorable, and somehow the basement had survived as a dusty collection of over-worn yesteryear sports gear. Her bed had been a plywood board on cinderblocks with a stolen sleeping bag, and a string of vintage Christmas lights had been what she drew her sketches by. For safety's sake, she'd found someplace new, but the aesthetic is much the same. Natasha had been keeping an eye on her then, and when Hydra had come into the light, she couldn't trust that anywhere she knew was safe.
She tells herself that they have no reason to come after her, but it doesn't stick. Between Ivan, the Red Room, the pieces of Natasha left in her head, the years she spent imprisoned by SHIELD in an off-the-books safehouse, the tests run on her powers... there are nights she finds herself asking who was really pulling the strings.
So when Bucky follows her back, she doesn't look entirely surprised. He can probably track the way that her eyes gauge his position relative to her exit strategies and discards each and every one of them. The only way out if he wants to stop her is through him. But there's a knife in her hand anyway, but the grip is defensive, rather than signaling for an attack. She has her blades in the duffle bag, but their length would be a detriment, even if he allowed her the time. And she doesn't really want a fight. Not with him.
"It was a test," she says in realization, looking across the distance, her blue eyes bright as she looks at him, almost a light in the dark given the edge of tensions in her five-foot frame. "I'll admit it was part reflex, but I knew something wasn't right. Which meant I couldn't risk they'd give it to someone that might know what to do with it." There's a pause, then she continues. "What do you want?" She asks, but what she's really asking is: are you going to take me back?
Her tone is almost neutral, but not entirely. It's not hard to pick up on the fact that she would fight bone blood and steel even if she knew she'd lose.