2014-03-26 - Cutscene: Stark Expo - Wake Up Call

Disorientation is the first thing one learns to get over when working in the line of business she's been in her entire life. And that was a good thing, because Natasha woke up disoriented as hell.

The last thing she remembered was drifting off to sleep back in her apartment in New York City. But these blankets are bright colored and impossibly plush, not the black-and-red bedding she had at 'home'. The window is large and the sun is impossibly bright, filling the room with light-- her own room had a window that was tightly draped against light and prying eyes.

The hotel suite in Malibu. The Expo. Of course. She had been connected to her LMD, dealing with /things/ back home, things that required a personal touch and could not wait several more days. She shivers. She had gotten tired enough she had momentarily forgotten she had been hooked up to the thing and fallen asleep-- not that it was dangerous by any means, she just didn't appreciate the reminder of her own weaknesses. She reaches up-- the control array wasn't on her head anymore, and a quick visual scan of the bed-- wait, how did she get tucked in?

The control array had been put away in the drawer of the nightstand. Someone had pulled covers up over her and unhooked her from the LMD. That someone was probably, if she had to guess, the only other person with a key to the suite: Stark.

The other half of the bed is untouched. She sits up, rubbing her eyes, her forehead where the array had been resting. She slips out of the bed, checking first the bathroom with a glance through the open door, and then opening the bedroom door into the main room of the suite.

A rumpled pillow and blanket lay on the couch. Stark is nowhere to be seen-- he must have caught a couple of hours and returned to the Expo. She sinks into the couch Tony had slept on last night, and curls up. Why was she so bad at this? Why was it easy to do when she was just pretending? A dozen conflicting 'answers' to how to 'fix' things shoot through her head; years of training on manipulation and seduction gives all the answers. All of them.

She dismisses them. She misses Steve. She didn't go to him often for advice, but when it was about being real, she knew of no one else who could answer her questions without judging her for asking them in the first place. Even Clint would often give her flippancy when she needed something more steady, more calming. Fury wouldn't talk to her-- he'd growl at her for showing weakness and demote her further. Or even, perhaps, force her into retirement. Bozhe moi... maybe she deserves it.

Her hand rests on her stomach, and her eyes close. Failure looms. Failure after failure, mission after mission going sideways. She is losing her edge. Maybe she's already lost it. She keeps making mistakes. Keeps being sloppy. She breathes, centers herself. Care for nothing but duty. Love nothing but your motherland. Trust no one but your comrades, and even then, sparingly.

Stark wasn't making her weak, she realizes, her eyes snapping open. He wasn't the cause. Her eyes grow colder, more calculating, and she nods slightly, to herself. The weakness was her own, and it was one she would purge herself.

She stands, moving back into the bedroom, choosing clothing for the day, and then stepping into the shower. She wasn't the same girl she was then, so long ago, with faith and a romantic delusion that what she was signing up for would be doing something special with her life. However, the reason she survived when so many others did not? She has always been willing to do whatever it takes.

She hums to herself as she gets clean, gets dressed, does her makeup, her hair-- just so. She has a mission to fulfill and duty to attend. Grasping for happiness only makes everyone miserable. She smiles at herself in the mirror before she leaves to join the others at the Expo.

She even fools herself.