2014-05-11 - Catching Up With An Old Friend?

Normally, on a night like this, Natasha and America would be sitting on the couch at Natasha's place eating ice cream, drinking beer, and watching some sort of action movie with a ridiculous plotline.

But since her return, her rescue from the Agenda, Natasha had strangely not arranged for such diversions. True, Clint had likely mentioned Nat might disappear for a week or two in order to handle some issues with her safe houses, but it was long since that time, and she was still maintaining her distance.

Though Clint had likely neglected to mention exactly how long Natasha had been in the grasp of the Agenda. As much as he had neglected who else had been.

Natalia is home for the evening, alone for once. James was gone... doing what, Natasha was unsure, but in truth, she and James did not keep much in the way of tabs on each other. But his presence was very much obvious in the apartment... a pair of boots, well-worn but cared for, by the door; the bookshelf beginning to gather a collection of old westerns and movies from the same era; a men's jacket hanging on the back of a chair; a shaving kit and the like on the bathroom sink.

Natalia is resting on the couch, in her own way. A glass of vodka, poured from a bottle of Magnum Grey Goose that had been until a few minutes prior in the freezer, sits on the coffee table, while she sits on the couch, reading from a StarkPad and taking notes... even 'resting' she is at work.

It wasn't the Natasha she knew--America knew this. When the change had occured she wasn't certain, but she knew that the Natasha she knew, the one pregnant by Tony Stark, was not the Natasha that was here now. Part of her worried what happened to the 'clone' and as time went on with no word as to what the situation was, that worry only deepened. Clone or not she had been a friend and she was accustomed to dealing with enough 'duplicates' from various dimensions that it was easy for her to accept a different 'version' of someone at least.

It was time to throw caution to the wind and find out what the hell was going on.

Rather than taking the more common way through the window, knowing of Natasha's rather... paranoid nature... America instead knocks on the door and even goes so far as to wait for a response instead of trying the door itself.

The spy moves to the door, mentally lamenting for the briefest moment how her safehouse had, at some point over the year she had been gone, become a normal apartment.

If normal apartments had walls, doors, and windows reinforced to handle bullets and explosives. Still, she opens the door, and with a pleasantly polite expression greets America, though without the slightest hint of recognition. "Good evening. May I help you?"

America says nothing at first as she meets the eyes of the woman at the door with no recognition at all. A simple 'Hmm' is all the response that Natasha receives before she speaks after a moment of thought. "Remind me to hit Clint. Trust me he deserves it. Anyway. I'm America. Thought I'd come say hello and stuff."  America says, "it was either that or 'Is Bucky home?'"

"He usually does," Natasha says dryly. "What did he do now?" She doesn't move to invite the girl in, and trained eyes would spot the brief onceover she gives America, assessing her threat level.

Paranoia. It's a thing.

"For one he didn't tell me how long you'd been a spy-cicle, but given the fact that you don't seem to know me from Adam I think I've figured out a basic timeline at least." America always was blunt, though in retrospect that phrase didn't work so well when there was, in fact, someone by the name of Adam that they both knew. Knew of. Whatever. She shrugs a bit indifferently only to fill in, "I was... Friends with your double."

"I see." Natasha's eyes narrow slightly. "He has always had issues with keeping information from women he is sleeping with." She's observant. Or knows Clint. "This... spy-cicle. Is classified." At that, she steps aside, allowing America in so that any further discussion is private.

"Vodka?" Natasha offers, and though her tone is polite, it is not friendly. Still, she pulls a second glass down to fill if the other woman says as much.

America quirks an eyebrow at mention of 'keeping information from women he's sleeping with'. Oh, joy, it was going to be this again. When the offer to step inside comes she does however not saying another word until the door is shut. Even if Clint might not have any subtlety she could at times. "No, thanks. Vodka and I don't get along well." No mention of being under-age. "I'd like to think that it's more he trusts me, but either way there would have needed to be an explanation for why you went from six months pregnant to not, and having no idea who I am. If it helps at all I'm used to weird shit like this."

"I am sure there are many ways to explain things," Natasha shrugs. "Celebrities do ridiculous things often, and whatever else he may be, Stark is so much as one." As to further discussion of Barton, she doesn't engage. She doesn't seem jealous, or angry. Or anything, really.

"I return to point A of 'We were friends.' Not just someone I knew in passing," America points out only to gesture toward the movie shelf which did have quite a few on there. "Went through most of the movies on that shelf with her." The hand drops away with a short huff of breath. This was always awkward. "I didn't come here for that though. I came here to check on you. Since it's obvious we never met, but I know a great deal about you, it only seems fair if I offer to tell you some about me. That /is/ what you spies like after all. Information, right?"

Natasha looks moderately discomfited. "You misunderstand, I think. It did not have friends-- it was using you, likely, for whatever ties you had to whatever it is you do." She shrugs. "Is common mistake. As for information about you? Give me ten minutes with Barton. He will talk." She takes a drink of her vodka, then rolls the glass in her fingers. "Whatever you 'know' of me is likely not accurate anyway." And if it was, she wouldn't say anyway.

America crosses her arms over her chest to regard this Natasha with a small frown. "Given she was just as paranoid and suspicious of ME, I think that whatever she may have been created for may not have been activated. She started off as you and became someone more of her own. And given she tried to kill me a couple of times... Pretty sure your theory doesn't hold up." She regards Natasha a moment before speaking once more. "You love Clint Barton, or did at one point, which is why you shot him in the chest. You purposefully missed his heart. He has taken awhile to trust you after that but you two are so damn close it's ridiculous. Though from the look of things," she adds glancing over to the doorway where the boots are, "You've probably picked up with one of your other guys." Looking back she continues, "You trained in the Red Room and are afraid that the creatures inside it may try to get out into this world someday and feel it is your duty to ensure that never happens. Along with your many other 'duties' to your job and Fury. Should I go on?"

Natasha is silent. "I should have put a bullet in it," she says after a moment. "What she gained by telling this I am not sure. Perhaps trust... yes." She considers. "It did work, at least. She brought Mockingbird and the twins to the damned Agenda..."

She regards America. "Likely she would have tried to have you taken next. Clint doesn't tend to women without powers or abilities, so you must have been a potential target."

Ever pragmatic.

America snorts with faint derision, "She didn't tell me. It didn't take a genius to figure out the first part, and the second is ..." She trails off, closing her mouth to simply regard Natasha with a tight-lipped expression. There were some things she didn't want a repeat of. "It came up in a fight." Again she shrugs. "Oh, chica, no one can 'take' me without more of a fight than they want to deal with. Be funny if they tried."

"Do not be so sure. Everyone has weaknesses." Natasha finishes her vodka. "I will have to go kill Bobbi soon," she says off-handedly, musing. "I considered asking Barton, but he would not have the heart. I may have to take James." She drums her fingertips on the counter, looking displeased with the prospect.

"Clint doesn't kill. YOU kill. He's your concious that keeps you from overdoing it.... Which is amusing given he's about as subtle as a brick of explosives in a fireworks factory." America frowns at the woman though asking after a moment, "The hell did Bobbi do?"

"Is clone. Not the real one. The real one is back on the helicarrier." Natasha shrugs. "She was very pleased to have Clint rescue her. I thought I saw tears on Barton when he played Prince Charming to her Sleeping Beauty." She seems darkly amused. "I think it is bad for her to face herself-- so I will do so."

America narrows her eyes some knowing that Natasha was digging, but at the same time... How much? Lies were never something she enjoyed much of. "Ah. Huh." Her arms cross again as she makes a mental note to ask Clint about that. Prince Charming to Sleeping Beauty her ass. That was clearly trying to dig into her. She shrugs it off with a faintly amused smirk. "He knows the rules any way. No cheating unless he shares." Which wasn't the rule at all. Not at all. Nope. But two could play that game.

Natasha's response to that is... nothing at all beyond a shrug. She either wasn't trying to dig (and since she's yet to show any signs of jealousy or possessiveness, it's possible) or she's really playing some game.

The Russian spy slides the bottle of vodka back into the freezer, glancing at the door and frowning slightly. Still no James.

She glances back at America, then continues, "In any case, he would likely not be good to accompany me on this mission."

"No, you're right, he wouldn't be a good choice." America lingers just a moment longer before turning to head for the door, "I'll let you get back to waiting for your boyfriend. You're welcome to stop by the Aerie sometime, though. If you ever want company."