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Really?

[ Natasha's lips quirk in an unassuming smirk. ]

But you're so friendly.

[ At least it sounds like he's resigned himself to the task regardless. She wants to touch the stuff, but shirks its toxicity for probably the same reasons Jason demonstrated its properties on a stick. That just makes her want to ask him how he'd spotted it, but it's a wasted effort.

She's noticed that he doesn't like to show his work or share his toys. At least, not fully. It means it surprises her that he's sharing this much. ]

[He's got better friends than her on the crew, certainly. (A few.) But there are friends, and then there is business. Even after striking out solo he'd still used Talia as a much-needed sounding board on occasion. (Not something he needs, he'd tell himself, but here we are anyway.)

Combing over crime scenes with the world's greatest detective does tend to teach you a thing or two in the process that translates over space and time. (Old habits.) If she's not keen to ask, he's not keen to tell.

Speaking of which—he pockets his lighter and spreads his hands, cowl pinned under an arm. With no small amount of opaque irony in his voice—]

You know what they say about criminals. "A superstitious, cowardly lot."

[But it's probably got more to do with the way he's made a hobby of picking up where the lawmen don't seem to be doing the job. (Again. Old habits.)]

Only the smart ones.

[ She gives a careless shrug of one shoulder and squints at the horizon. It's dark. If they dropped in on a camp now, it's unlikely they'd come up on much resistance. That makes it tempting, but it also means they don't have the access to rally as many people to come join them.

But if they went in small, and quiet …

She sizes Jason up and takes note of the helmet. She'd seen it in the room, but knowing that it's one of the few personal effects worth saving makes it more interesting. ]

I'm sure the mask helps the effect.

[Well, it had been a gift. Wouldn't do to lose it before he's had a chance to use it for its intended purpose. He drops the mask down into his hands and spins it between them, as if only now reminded of its presence. If she'd asked him about it directly back during their stay in the inn, odds are he would have deflected with some quippy comment about putting safety first. But put it that way, easily—]

It might just.

[Convenient how it works out. There's more practical applications and all, but bells and whistles and secret identity isn't something he's overly concerned about in this particular case. When you boil it all down, the whole cape and cowl game is really a matter of measured theatrics. (Bats doesn't wear the pointy ears because they're functional.) Since he seems to have resigned himself to chasing down this particular lead before it gets too cold, there's no time like the present to test that theory.

Since it isn't lost on him that she's sizing him up, looking out into the distance, making pointed comments about his gear—]

What d'you think?

[About the mask? Or the Effect, or the criminals, or the lead dangling in front of their noses or the way he may or may not have just wasted her time on nothing..]

That a wiser woman would have stayed home.

[ But that's been a character flaw of hers lately. When she was with the KGB, she would have prioritized herself in a heartbeat, forget the rest of them, but since SHIELD, since the Avengers, since … It's harder. She finds herself drifting towards the kind of stupid decisions the people she deems heroic make, as if it'll somehow be the thing to make her deserve a place among them. ]

And you're either digging for compliments, or trying to get an idea of how much I've already figured out for myself so you know what not to share.

[ Honesty. That's something, right? You have to give it to get it. Natasha has never been anything but honest, or so she'd say. The truth is as inconstant as water. ]

What are you afraid I'll see?

[Whoops. Well, can't get away with the vague act forever. She's a smart lady. Which is most of why he's found himself hassling her here in the first place. The danger with smart ladies, they see right through your bullshit. There's a beat. While he weighs his willingness to answer—]

Nothing wrong with fishing, is there? Maybe my self esteem could use a little pick-me-up.

[(it's ironic bc it's probably true.) Dodging, if a lot less deftly than his usual efforts. Less a sidestep and more a stonewall. Gotta give a little to get a little, but maybe he shouldn't be fooling himself into thinking he needs to do either to get by.

But it's not like he's bothered much with pretenses, just skimped on the actual explaining himself. Still, a direct answer seems to be long in coming.]

I don't know how they do the cape and cowl game where you come from, but there's not usually an overabundance of sharing.

[He sounds a little bitter about this topic!!! Who'd have thought. Given she'd commented on the mask, (and given at least a few people here find vigilantism to be a pretty common thread) he doubts it's a reference that'll be lost on her entirely.]

Some keep to themselves. Keep their secrets.

[ She can agree on that. She thinks of Peter, poor kid, and of Spider-Woman, who she still can't place. Children who could face some serious consequences if it were to get out. There are a few still lurking, too—metahumans, especially in New York, after the Incident. SHIELD had quite a few under observation, but …

Between Tony Stark and SHIELD, the majority of the world finds the whole concept … obsolete. ]

But most of us realize that there comes a time to drop the act. When cooperation and transparency matter more.

[ The fall of SHIELD really had done a number on her, hadn't it? She finds that she's surprised by the honesty behind her words—it's not just about making Jason feel like she's safe to trust (although, she'd be lying if she said it weren't in large part an effort to make him feel better about coming forward). There's real sentiment buried there, born out of the catharsis of outing herself. Born out of the betrayal of HYDRA. And of Fury. ]

[He snorts like she's said something funny, and it's the bitter edge on it that keeps it from sounding properly amused by the idea. Jason's no Peter Parker. He shows his age less in his concern over his civilian life (what civilian life) and more in the way he defaults too sharply back to defensive, shows his teeth more than warranted at the offered advice.]

You get that one out of a fortune cookie, sensei?

[Wow, for a guy who'd been bitter about a lack of transparency, he sure is touchy about the opposite, too. But apparently he'll bite.]

How's that approach been working out?

[He reads the network—even if he wasn't on Zeta-12 during Tony's little Avengers advertisement, he's seen it after his little side-mission had wrapped up—but even then, connecting point A(venger) to point B(lack Widow) isn't a leap he's going to make without actual grounds. Still, she did say "us," that's enough admission on certain professional levels to put it out in the open. (So much for letting the plausible deniability stand on that guess. His feelings on the hero kind of thing are complicated.)]

Will it matter what answer I give you?

[ The bitterness is stronger in him than she'd expected, and frankly, from the moment he forces her to introspection, she's not sure she has any business recruiting to the cause anyway. She straightens her back somewhat, and runs with the approach that keeps him on his heels instead. ]

If I say it's been free of problems, you won't trust me. If I acknowledge the bumps in the road, you'll feel vindicated in your opposition, in saying it can't work. If there's one thing cynicism does well, it's confirmation bias.

[Will it matter?]

Depends on what your endgame is.

[If what she wants out of this is for him to cut the dodgy crap and trust her. She's pretty up front about the options, if nothing else, which is one of the few things about this particular turn in the conversation that doesn't immediately pick his hackles up. (There is very little that would alienate him harder than feeling handled.) On such a small team, so far away from their own context, a whole lot of the normal confidentiality problems of the job become pretty moot. But handing out actual measures of trust is a personal problem more than a professional one for him these days anyway. Not a whole lot of line between Jason Todd the public face and Jason Todd the vigilante, anymore.]

Nothing personal, I just don't want you getting the wrong idea. I'm gonna go beat the crap out of some dirtbags to see if they've got a bead on who decided to light us up last night. If you're looking for Justice League material you're barking up the wrong tree. I don't do that anymore.

[ 'Justice League' is enough to arch her brow. It sounds like some Starz rip-off of the Avengers for profit. But she leaves it at that, accepting what sounds more like a caricature than an actual team. It's enough for her to figure that most people probably hear the Avengers and think the same. ]

Neither do I.

[ The unfortunate truth, which she supposes gives the straight answer to his earlier question. She shrugs her shoulders and offers him a piece of too-sharp honesty that leaves her voice somewhat thick. Losing the Avengers hurt worse, somehow, than visiting Russia again. Staring at graves. ]

I'm just trying to figure out where I fit in.

[From the society that brought you "Superman" and "Batman." Not much of a creative mecca for monikers.

His hands have shifted to clenched at his sides. Jaw tight, posture squared up like he's braced for a fight, and it eases only by inches at the choke in her voice and the late answer to his question and the fact that he doesn't get any one of the dozen canned do-gooder answers that he half-expects.]

So much for cooperation, I guess.

[He backsteps, spreading his hands at the wreckage of the saloon they're standing under. Conscripted into service on some alien world for the will of some opaque organization they never asked to back. From the moment his head broke above the waters of the Lazarus Pit he's been fighting to make sense of being alive again. And it was awful, a whole lot of hard truths and shattered foundations, but never without direction for long. Goals to work toward, plans to make. Scores to settle. Here, he's been cut off at the pass, a few universes away from Gotham and largely removed from every hard line goal that's kept him grounded since.

Helps to keep busy. Interdimensional timekeeping organizations to nose in on, genocidal goddesses to put a bullet in, arsonists to chase down. But give him some idle hands and hell if he's the guy to talk to about fitting in. Barking up the wrong tree for that one, too.]

Maybe you'll have some better luck fitting in around here. Me? I'm going to go ask our friends some questions before the trail gets colder.

[It's no invitation. He's not going to tell her not to come, either.]

[ She hesitates. She can't articulate to herself why—in part, she supposes, because it would mean slinking after him to admit that she's looking for it again, even if she's lost it. Following him like a stray.

Or worse, because she simply doesn't know where else to go, and she's accepted that she won't necessarily fit in with the Audentes any better than he has. She's come from too different a place from most of them, Koltira excepted. But she rallies to pursue him within a few seconds, decision firmly made. ]

Wouldn't want you to get yourself killed. A guy like you, out here all by your lonesome?

[ Her tone adopts a saccharine level of concern. Patronizing, in a smug way that mocks a sentiment she's doubtlessly heard in more genuine contexts. Rather than trail him, she starts a few paces ahead, keeping the lead for no reason other than the fact that she can. ]

[He watches her pass him a second longer than necessary, then picks a steady pace up behind her rather than trying to overtake her for the lead, back out into the badlands and away from the town proper. Watching her back like he's not sure if he wants to be vindicated or surprised or suspect of the way she follows up her talk of fitting in with choosing to join him in the noble pursuit of tracking down bandits to shake down for information. (Despite being the one to reach out to her about the arson in the first place. She's hard to get a handle on—he knows just enough about her to respect her and just enough to be wary of her. He likes her just as much as he chafes twice-shy and teeth bared against the ways in which she is trying to reach out.)]

Gosh, Nat, I didn't know you cared.

[He knows bullshit when he hears it, but they're too soon off the heels of a touchy topic for him to recover the quick quippy cadence she would earn on a good day. The sarcasm, however, is back. It cuts a little too harsh on the edges even as he rises to the bait and beats the mocking back at her.]

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100 years later

it's ok i just replied to a tag from november

you're a far stronger soul than I

or a much, much slower one

still impressive, probably.

ukw i'll take it

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