So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album by searching the title of this story and my user name. My apologies for not posting a link, but FF always seems to disable them.

CHAPTER EIGHT


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1107 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


NATASHA


I knew it would happen eventually, and now that she has broken herself out of her stupor, I wasn't at all surprised that she asked to see me. I was a bit surprised with how she did it though. As Nora she adored Steve, and she would have never hurt him like that, unless it has to help him somehow. Now, she barely seems to be able to tolerate his presence.

I was studying the footage of her 'waking' but I also had the live feed running muted on the monitor next to it. When I saw her wake up I took it off mute, and listened to her absolutely crush Steve before he gave up trying to persuade a statue and came to get me.

With that knowledge it was no surprise the words she chooses to greet me with. "You were watching." It's not a question, not an accusation. There's no hostility in that statement of fact, just the soft smile as her fingers continue to study the texture of modern art.


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1107 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


ARNORA


I can feel it under my fingertips, but I can not 'feel' it. Even the painting, and the canvas it is on is fake. They were very thorough with the room, right down to the acrylic paint, the heavily polyester canvas and the thick polyurethane finish on the floor. I can barely 'feel' anything in this room.

"Yes." Natasha, who is just as calm as she is unapologetic Natasha who in the absence of all other 'feeling' is something I can 'feel' most keenly. Natasha who stands safe in her own mistake, but perhaps not in ignorance?

Its that curiosity which finally draws the rest of my attention away from the environment around me to focus singularly on her. "And what do you see Agent Romanoff?"

The question makes her spare me a glance for a moment, before she resumes moving the trays of food from the cart to the coffee table in the small living room beyond the room I'm in. She's not keeping her eyes on me, she's showing me her back, she comes here dressed in casual clothes, tight off white pants with a rose and charcoal colored sweater. She comes here, and gives me displays of confidence.

Nora always new what Natasha was, a spy in the service of S.H.I.E.L.D, but is Arnora now, I have a better perspective because I'm looking at all of this with a analyzing lense of suspicion. I'll acknowledge that she will no doubt be better at this game then I am, because I was never trained, but I know enough to see it. My survival depended on that once.


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1108 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


NATASHA


Since it wasn't quite noon yet the kitchen was still making our actual lunch in the separate staff house. Nora's race has a much higher calorie intake then then an average human woman, so I asked them to throw together a meat and cheese platter while we waited. Given that these were employees of Stark, what we got was more than pepperoni with cheddar and club crackers.

I recognized peanuts, candied cashews, and dates. There was tangerine slices, raspberries, and grapes. It had Swiss Cheese, Monterey Jack, wedges of Blue Cheese, Brie and thinly sliced prosciutto with sprigs of fresh rosemary. That was only one tray. The next had a variety of crackers made from various wheats, wafers, and dried baguette slices. They also includes several pinches of organic pear juice, and the proper utensils, all of plastic.

What do I see? I see a clear and definitive shift between Nora and the woman standing in front of me, even though she is standing there in yellow socks and a nightgown whose blue sleeves don't match the pink collar or the pastel green dress.

I see all the potential I suspected might be there, finally coming to bloom. "I see confidence in you." I see a familiar face, with the wrong eyes. "I see control, the kind that necessity breeds." The festering coldness. "I see the way your calm belies your cruelty."


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1109 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


ARNORA


Observation and accusation. Hmm. She dislikes my treatment of Steve. That much is easy to see in those words. They also reveal a degree of camaraderie. In 'Nora's' memory Natasha and Steve never met, but it seems in my absence they formed a bond. She cares about how Steve feels. Interesting, given how much he seems to feel the opposite.

"I am not calm." I offer back, my words contradicting the lack of inflection in my voice. "I am rational. You built this room with lies because you knew I would not be calm. Everything in here is an imitation meant to lessen your fear of me." All knowledge I welcome, but sometimes I would still prefer a kick in the teeth.


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1110 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


NATASHA


She's absolutely right, and there's no point pretending she's not. "Your power is impressively frightening, yes." I admit without hesitation, then continue on and elaborate on the rest of what motivated that decision. "But we also did it to protect you. We can't very well keep you safe if you keep tearing apart the house."

I got her to laugh and smile with those words. I watched her as she took a breath and her eyes crinkled with her chuckle, before she tilted her head a bit to the side, regarding and studying me as she asked her question. "Are you afraid of me Natasha?"

"Yes." denying it is pointless. We both already know the answer. But there's still a question there. "Should I be Nora?"

Again, she give me a chuckle, though this one stops after one, and a followed by a small smile. "Cowards deny their fear, while the intelligent admit it." She follows that wisdom with silence, our conversation internalizing for a moment in what clearly is her making a decision. It's one I find myself rather okay with. "But you do not need to worry. While hurting you would calm my anger, it will do nothing to answer my questions. You will pay your debt for the years you lied to me another way."

I suppose there's some comfort in the fact she didn't jump right to wanting to kill me, and settled for hurt. "That's very considerate of you."

I meant that sincerely as a compliment, but her response gives me as much insight as it does surprise. "No, not consideration, just self control." There's a passive sort of resignation there, and it makes me wonder how long she's lived like that. Keeping her feelings on a tight leash?

My attention drifts from that train of thought though when I notice how her's fixates on something else. The way her eye trails slowly over the food suggests intense thought as much as confusion at its presence. "You're welcome to it."

That sentence is met by her eyes meeting mine, and a snort of amusement, which is replaced once again by confusion as she pick up a slice of cheese. "It's not poisoned. Why?"

That she called us out on poisoning her is both correct, and a miscategorization. Generally the goal of poisoning is death, but we have no desire to kill her. She's still right though that we did 'poison' to keep her weak and controllable. Our deception depended on the illusion that she was a normal human being.

To do that, S.H.I.E.L.D's biology department suggested a compound that would shorten the life of her cells. It was originally designed as a cancer treatment. They created a virus, that they could program to target certain cells, and quicken the rate with which they reached atrophy. In humans though it proved too effective, it often sent the patient into cardiac arrest from the shock to their system. In her though,because her cells were stronger then ours, it just kept her 'sick' enough that she passed as one of us.

"No. We won't be doing that anymore." We administered the drug by putting it in her pain killers, vitamins, and allergy medicine. We told her she had a sulfite sensitivity to explain the symptoms that arose from the drug. The levels of the drug always seemed to diminish after she ate, and as her body went through withdrawal, the symptoms often appeared. Given their similarity to the actual allergy it made for a convenient excuse and solution. "You can tell that just by touch?"

This time her breathed chuckle is matched with a small grin. "Yes." Then she closes her eyes, and lets her head rift in clear concentration. "I can tell this cheese is organic, and that the cows were grass fed." Then they open again with another chuckle. "If I knew your planet better, I might even be able to narrow down the region with enough time."

"That's impressive." That's also honest. "What made you learn to do that?" It's also curiosity, on top of my normal fishing for information.

It also is connected to bad memories. All the humor leaves her face, and something darker and sadder moves in. "There are different kinds of poison."


SUNDAY, JUNE 3RD 2012

1112 HOURS

PEPPER POTTS CABIN, WOODSTOCK NY

2565 ROUTE 212


ARNORA


She wants my memories, she wants the history they don't have on file. They want answers, that I understand. But I am tired, and I do not want these memories, not now. I do not want what comes with them. I want what I am missing. "Your masters have questions Natasha, and I'll answer them eventually, but I'm owed my own first."

"Well then..." The 'Master's' part stings in ways she doesn't know, and leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Its one I don't try to wash away though because its not completely wrong. From what I understand about Asgard, her assumptions makes sense for a woman who was no doubt born under a monarchy.

"What do you want?" The question is asked with a gesture of trust. I'm skilled in combat, no one here is stupid enough to doubt that, but I'm also sitting down now. I'm giving her the high ground, and the avantage.

She takes it, and then drops it as she sits down to on the couch angled across from me, nothing separating us but a coffee table and the plastic cup she holds out for me to fill for her.

We're both testing each other and dancing. She'd probably tear me to pieces if I verbalized this now, but I'm so proud of my 'little sister' right now.

"I was not S.H.I.E.L.D's" I can hear the 'leash' slacken by the tremble in her voice before she tightens it back up. There's strength in that, even if she has to close her eyes and clench her teeth to keep the pain inside."I'm missing half a century. I want to know what changed?"

That same strength lends its fire to her anger. "I want to know what you know, then I want to talk to someone who knows the rest. I want to know what S.H.I.E.L.D did to me!"