sixwordstories | (no subject)

And Natasha wasn't exactly the nicest of playmates.

She had gone into this mission with the minimal amount of necessary details, the main objective being to procure the number at any cost. Dead or alive. She didn't think to question it, had never done so before, but Natasha was soon to learn that a few questions might have been beneficial. Might have prepared her better for what was in store. The redhead didn't do every assignment with ~~Clint~~ a team-mate, no red flags there. The level of danger wasn't a concern either. She could handle Cross.

Dawn was quickly approaching, navy blue sky giving way to salmon, sorbet, and honey. She approached his motel room and rapped on the door, altering her voice and claiming to be housekeeping. Her Widow's Bite was at the ready, wrists hidden by the cart. For all intents and purposes, the agent looked the part.

He'd hoped he'd get a few more hours. Aaron didn't need to sleep much, but he did need some, and with the number of wolves they'd sent after him uninterrupted sleep was hard to come by. A few hours here, a few there, and even when it stretched into days the instinct to keep moving, to put as much space between him and them as he could, was too strong to ignore. He was a survivor, it was coded in, and he had the raw stubbornness of a man who has everything to lose. Because he'd known what it was to have nothing, to be nothing. And he'd fight like hell to keep anything he got.

So the minute he heard the knock he was up and moving, grabbing the bag he'd stashed in the corner and heading out the window. He didn't even bother to check; he was alone, had sent Marta on ahead with a set of instructions because he'd known the place wouldn't be safe for much longer. It never was. Whatever was on the other side of the door, he didn't want to meet.

The window led to a fire escape, and he climbed up instead of down. Roof first, then follow the line of them as far as he could. Lead them away then double back.

Her hearing wasn't nearly as extraordinary as Barton's, but it was no doubt up to par. With her head pressed against the door, Natasha heard Aaron making his escape. She swore and kicked the cart aside, smashing the other window and swiftly moving across the one he had used. Poking her head out, she had to judge which way he had taken off in, listening for a clue...and finding one through the pair of pigeons that took flight over her head.

Natasha crept up the ladders and rolled onto the rooftop into a crouch, aiming her wrist as she determined where to shoot.

He dove the minute he heard it discharge, rolled out of the path of the energy bolt and kept going. A flash of red hair and slight form, and a blue flash. Girl with a taser of some kind, then. He couldn't get to the edge of the roof fast enough; he needed some distance, a place he could stop to get in his bag, get his gun and take out whoever they'd sent after him this time.

The edge came, and he didn't think, just jumped for the other side and left it to his body to figure out where it needed to be, what it needed to do. He landed shorter than he'd hoped, caught the ledge hard and had to pull himself up and over but he could keep going so he did, ignored the protesting of joints because they'd heal soon. It was more important to keep moving and he'd probably already lost some ground. He couldn't afford to lose any more.

How many were there, one? Two? Ten? He didn't know. He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of reinforcement, anything that could make things more difficult than they already were.

[So Rachel's seen a lot in the 3 years she's lived in New York city. But this? This shit takes the cake. She's cutting through an alley, hoping to get home in time enough to slip into the building before the creepy old neighbor that lives just across from her comes back from work. When the man lands in front of her, she squeals, dropping everything (but her keys and thankfully her pepper spray.), fully prepared to spray first and ask questions after she's run a full 3 blocks.]

[WAIT WAIT WAIT.

He raises his hands as he stands, a warding off gesture. Please no, don't. This is the last thing he wants to be dealing with today, but with a girl standing in front of him with a can of mace, he can't really afford to just ignore it.]

Hey. Hang on. It's okay. Just passing through, that's all.

...Just passing through? Off of the top of a 6 story building?! [Okay, so maybe she's a little pissed, but he scared the shit out of her and now her stuff is-....oh my god her stuff! It's all over the ground and they're in an alley and oh god, is that a condom to the right of his left foot? There's no telling what's gotten all over her scripts, but she doesn't drop the mace to start picking her things up.]

Sure. Why not. You know parkour, right?

[Yes. Because he can clearly convince her that he's just doing parkour. That this is an exercise in something FUN and not a need to keep his lead.

He glances up, knowing at least one of them had to have followed him that way, but the rest would have kept to the streets. Tried to find a way to head him off; they'll be close, even if they don't know it. He doesn't have much time.

So he drops to the ground, starts shuffling things together. If he can help her along, get her out of here, then maybe she won't end up caught in the middle.

Maybe.]

I wasn't aware it was so... [Utterly stupid? A 6 story building, really?] Extreme. [She may flinch a little, when he gets close, but when he bends to pick up her things, she lets down her guard (just a tad), pepper spray still in one hand as she helps him shuffle her things together.]

Aren't things like that typically enjoyed in groups? What if you get hurt jumping off of another building alone like that?

Call it conditioning. I've got a safety net, trust me.

[Yeah. If you consider a handful of wet guys a safety net. Personally, he doesn't, but it's a joke. Kind of.

He hands over the miscellaneous items, going out of his way not to draw attention to any of them in particular; it's not his business what she gets up to on her own time, they're strangers and he's got more important things to be worrying about.]

So where are you headed?

Well you would know better than I would, I suppose.

[Potentially breaking her ankle (again) or worse is not and never will be a past time of Rachel's.

Thanking him, she blows against the dirt on her script, trying to brush the various papers and make-up items off before she sticks them in her bag. It's a designer Marc Jacobs, and she does not want alleyway dirt inside of it.]

Well I was headed home, but there's no way I'll beat my neighbor back at this rate. So I suppose I'll do a little grocery shopping before I head that way. What about you? Is there another building you aim to nearly injure yourself jumping off of?

Nah, I'll be taking the street for now.

Where's home? And the store?

[Aaron needs to know if it'll be in his way. If he'll screw up her day more before she gets somewhere safe....although honestly he's probably already put her in danger by stopping. His life.]

Start walking.

[He doesn't see them yet, but they'll be there. They need to be moving.]

I'm about four blocks from here and there's a few stores in between.

[His sudden order makes her blink and stand up, back ramrod straight. It sounds too much like a threat or some sort of cliche line from a movie, just before the main character gets mugged or something.

She tightens her grip on her pepper spray and doesn't move an inch.]

Excuse me?

Listen. You can argue with me, hit me with that spray you've got and figure it all out in five minutes, ten minutes...however long it takes. Or you can start walking now and maybe enjoy the rest of your day.

Take your pick.

[Don't make him manhandle you in the right direction, Rachel. Neither one of you will probably like the results.

She can probably hear chatter down the street, if she's the type to pay attention. Somebody talking to a couple of cops. Maybe not anything you'd worry about normally, under most circumstances, but to Aaron's ears? He knows better.]

...What's going on?

[At least she's not threatening him with the spray anymore, but she still doesn't move. He doesn't seem out to hurt her, but the whole thing still sounds and feels like something out of a movie that she still can't quite place.

She does, however, recognize that cold dread creeping up her spine.]

[And now it comes to this part. To let her in or keep her in the dark, and she's not like Marta, she doesn't already have some of the pieces. They're not already after her. But they probably will be after this. Maybe just to have a conversation, to see what she knows, maybe to eliminate her as a potential leak entirely, and there's no predicting it.

Although the longer he has to talk to her the worse it might be. So they need to start moving now. So they can get a head start and he can figure out his next move.]

I might be in trouble with some people. Not my fault, it's a complete misunderstanding. But. Long story short, I have to go. And...it might be in your best interests, at least for right now, if you came with me. Now, if at all possible.

[Yeah, it's just sounding more and more crazy at this point, but Rachel at least recognizes that standing here, in this alley, a place where they could easily be trapped if he's telling the truth (and he might be able to parkour his way out but she's wearing heels.) isn't the smartest move.

Shouldering her bag (but not putting the pepper spray away), she follows him out of the alley.]

You sound completely insane. Did you know that? And this is coming from someone who spent the entirety of her high school career being called insane.

Yes. I'm aware that to anyone not familiar with the situation it probably sounds nuts. I know.

Still doesn't mean you shouldn't be moving already. Let's go.

[He grabs her arm above the elbow and pushes her on ahead of him, glancing behind his shoulder. Up at the rooftops above them. They're good so far, so long as they can get past the undercover suit talking to the cops still. He turns back towards the way they're heading and nudges her. Move faster.]

End of this block make a right. I'll be right behind you. And keep the spray out; anybody you don't recognize approaches you, spray them and start running.

[She squeaks when he grabs her, thinking maybe she should scream for help but...if he's right...so she just picks up the pace, following him.]

...Anybody?

[Yeah, that sounds a bit..uhm. She's reluctant to just pepper spray anyone just because this guy who may very well be out of his gourd tells her to.

Nonetheless, if she can get around the corner, she can just run anyway and then she'll be free of both crazy cakes and whoever might be chasing him so Rachel nods, deciding to play along.]

End of the block. Right. Got it.

Edited 2012-09-03 19:36 (UTC)

Good. Go.

[He'll give her a head start; he's got to deal with the surveillance team first anyway.

Ten minutes. That's how long it'll be before he catches up with her again. Five to deal with the advance team, and he waits until they pull their guns before taking them out. A few shots ring out, and then he's on the move again, back to the parkour, whatever he's got to do to make it to the meet spot because he can't just leave her. He's got too much morality, or at least too much nagging conscience, to cut his losses and let her be the distraction, and they never planned on that but then he'd exceeded all their expectations anyway. In ways they'd never planned on because they hadn't anticipated the man seemingly created to be the perfect soldier to ever be anything more than a tool.

She'll run into the second team, or at least the advance of it, the ones who were supposed to herd him. Cover the back exits so he couldn't get away. Just one guy at first, a nice, normal looking guy who reads as tourist but is too uptight to really sell it. He'll ask for directions, tell her he's looking for a friend, then show her a photograph of the guy she just left.

If she looks at all carefully, even a little, she'll see the handle of his gun hidden under his windbreaker.]

[She runs. The pepper spray is still in her hand and no one approaches her at first. Why would they? Women run in stilettos in New York all the time (you practically aren't a New York woman until you can), late for trains or meetings and such. She's sure everyone assumes she's just in a hurry and she wonders how many people she's passed like this, scared and confused and possibly in danger and just assumed they were late.

The guy who stops her throws up alarm bells immediately. Maybe he's a tourist, but what tourist stops someone who's obviously in a hurry to ask for directions when there's a cop just around the corner and a couple of people just milling around.

She doesn't need to see the gun in his windbreaker. The picture of the man she just left is enough. Spray anyone who approaches you and run.

She's practiced her aim with this thing. Mouth and eyes protected in her backyard, testing her accuracy and just how far the stream reaches with cans lined up on her fence, building up a bit of an unintentional tolerance as well. New York is a dangerous place. It takes her less than a second to lift her arm, hit the guy square in the eyes and take off running again.]

[He hears the shout, and that's enough to spur him on. Adjust his path for a more direct route, and he's dropping down the fire escape and darting out the alley to head them off, his own gun out and aimed squarely at the next guy's forehead when he catches up.

He notices the girl join the party and trusts that she'll stop, presses the muzzle harder against the guy's skin to make his point then pulls it away and gestures. Leave now or you're dead on your feet.]

Tell your handler he needs to stop sending people after me or he's not going to have anybody left. I'm out of the Program. Just let me go already.

[It takes a few minutes, but the guy stands down, takes off running the other way. Aaron doubts it'll be enough, but it should gain him a few hours at least. Maybe a little longer.

He sighs once he's sure the guy's gone, a slump of shoulders as he tucks the gun away again, then he shifts his attention back to Rachel, checking her over visually, making sure there's nothing obviously wrong.]

You okay?

I-I'm fine.

[There's guns. And threats and and...she doesn't realize she's shaking until she drops her pepper spray and she scrambles, quickly, to pick it back up. She has no idea who this man is, what's going on, but she gets the distinct feeling that not only did he simultaneously put her in danger and save her life, but it's not over either. At least for him.

See, this is why she likes Broadway. This never happens on Broadway. Her life is supposed to be like a Broadway play, not an action movie.]

D-did you-..they- [She takes a deep breath, free hand white-knuckled on the strap of her purse. It takes her three seconds to put her stage face on, even if her hands are still shaking just a bit.] Are they gone?

[A brief nod, even as he's glancing around. Double checking.]

Yeah. Doubt they'll stay that way, but I bought some time. They'll have to check with their handler first. At least a couple hours.

You sure you're alright?

[His brow furrows in what's probably unexpected concern. Hey, he got her into this mess and he's got enough interpersonal skills to give a shit about it.]

I'm Aaron, by the way.

[A name, a small connection. Almost an apology.]

Handler?

[Good God. Where has she heard that term before? Undercover cop shows? This is almost too much to handle and if she was a worse actress, she'd faint.

Instead she nods and smiles weakly, brushing a hint of dirt off of her skirt.]

Rachel Berry.

[It occurs to her as she extends her hand to shake his that it's probably not a good idea to give him her full name, but she hasn't introduced herself any other way since she was 11.]

[ This is bad. Very bad. She has to get inside soon because if she doesn't get off the street to shift there's going to be huge problems. The young werewolf is trying to figure out what is setting off the change so fast and strong but she has to get away before people get hurt.

She finds a building that looks cleared out. Her head is pounding but she manages to pop the lock. She feels guilty for doing this but she has no choice. She won't let anyone get hurt because of her. By the time she makes it into a side room she is staggering from pain and the fact her body is starting to go through the initial changes and it hurts.

Holding back would be foolish at this point unless she can figure out what triggered the change. If it was an outside source she might get to calm her inner-wolf down if she's lucky. If it was something that happened to her? Well, she's screwed. ]

[Boots make contact with the roof with a clang, and he stops long enough to catch his breath. Pause, gather himself. Figure out the next move while he's got a few hours' start; he's been on the run for a few days now, since they caught back up with him, and he might be bleeding but he's not sure. He doesn't exactly have time to stop and take care of it, and it'll heal sooner or later. He'll deal with it when he's got the time.

Except there's the sound of someone in the place under his feet. There shouldn't be, not with the way the roof looks, the way it creaks under him, but his hearing's been above and beyond since he started taking greens, there's no mistaking it.

Did they catch up already? Or is it just somebody passing through, same as him? There's any one of a thousand things it could be. More than a few reasons he should keep moving on top of it, but...he's always had a problem with curiosity. Ever since he could, ever since his mind had been flooded with all the things he'd never thought to ask before, it had been an issue, although always one categorized as such by the people around him.

He's got a head start. Best case it's nothing, worst case he stops the advance scout. A couple steps to the edge, then over he goes, checking his footing below before dropping to the ground, and then he's creeping to the door and slipping inside, hand on the handle of the handgun stuck in the back of his jeans under his shirt.]

Those guys were from a government group that technically doesn't exist. Their handlers tell them what to do, where to go.

[He'll shake her hand, nice and firm with a smile in return.]

Edited 2012-09-04 22:37 (UTC)

[ Shit there's someone here. Her hearing has gone up way too much for her to not catch the way the roof creeks because of the weight of another body.

Trying to get herself to focus so that she doesn't shift. The problem is her head is spinning and she has no idea how to get this to stop. She bites her lip in thought trying to decide what her next move should be. This building is big enough that she could try sneaking around to get away from whoever is here.

Deciding that might work she stumbles to her feet. The world seems to be spinning but she moves peering out the door checking both sides then running on the balls of her toes to cut down on the sound in a direction she thinks the other person won't go.

She ducks down a bit when she sees the worst thing ever for remaining sneaky. A long hall way of windows. Sure they are dirty and stained brown but enough light is filtering through that someone could catch sight of her from the outside if she isn't careful. ]

[On the plus side, he doesn't see her from the outside.

On the downside, he notices her scampering around inside the building. Not distinctly, but he catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He could head back out, continue on his way while he apparently hasn't been noticed himself.

Or, he could stay where he is. Follow the movement and see who else is here.

He chooses the second. Better to clear the place before he moves on, make sure it isn't anyone he needs to worry about. Out comes the gun, and he follows the direction of the movement, using whatever's nearby as cover.]

[ She doesn't hear or see him. She is tarting to get towards another room she can pass through. She is very careful when it comes to getting the door open. Only someone with enhanced hearing like hers would pick up on that she thinks. She searches he room and sees a ladder going up to the next floor though some kind of crawl space.

Her head is still reeling but it's starting to get under control. Good. She won't shift unless she's in real danger. She climbs up the ladder and stays low as she moves along the crawl space in the wall searching for where it comes out on the second floor.

The smell of old things that should have been trashed long ago fills her nose and it makes her curl her lip in annoyance because she can't smell the other person. The air isn't moving the right way and he's very sneaky. How will she stay out of his reach? ]

Quick little fox, wasn't he? But that was fine, it made the chase all the more fun.

She wasted no time tearing after him, not at all distracted when he made the terrifying leap that would give pause to others, when he landed in a fashion that likely left injuries. They had warned her he could heal, too. Briefly, Natasha had wondered if he might be another serum victim, but she hadn't dared to ask, and now, well, it just wasn't the right time.

Natasha soared behind him, extracting her gun from one of only two places it could have been hidden, and waiting for that one moment she could either put it to use and take him down, or make a threat of it. She quickly scanned their surroundings and took the high(er) ground, climbing atop a storage unit so that she could pounce down on the other runner.

A glance behind him to see how far he had left, and against the odds she was gaining. He couldn't get enough distance, she was going to catch up...

So he stopped. It was the only thing he could think of, even with his mind going a million miles an hour trying to find a solution...standing his ground seemed the only way to get out of this. Bag off his shoulder, dropped by his feet, and he bent to unzip it, pull out the handgun and then he was back up and facing her. Gun up, trained on the direction he knew she'd come from.

"I was wondering when they'd start sending us against each other. C'mon out, I'm sick of being treed."

Sounded familiar.

[She laughs. Because honestly, what else can you do in this situation? Except cry, run and possibly get seriously injured and/or killed.]

[Glancing around, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder.]

...So. What happens now?

Edited 2012-09-04 22:39 (UTC)

Sending us against each other? Natasha's brows practically knit together, but she chalked it up as some means of throwing her off, words to worm under skin. She clicked the bullet into place, ready to shoot without waiting, without hearing whatever sugar spun story this guy had, only when the redhead flipped down, she finally saw his face.

Gobstopped was a pretty good description for how the assassin felt. Dumbstruck. Blind-sided. Absolutely-fucking-confused.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

It wasn't Barton. It couldn't be. Minor details were off for it to be her partner, and yet the resemblance was eerie. The voice. His training. Had she somehow...no, no possible way had she lost him and instead been tailing an agent who shouldn't even be here.

"What am I doing here?" He scoffed, half laugh, have annoyance because if he'd expected her to actually say anything, it certainly wasn't that. It was enough to check his own aim, cause him to pause longer than he should have because what kind of assassin stopped to ask why the mark was there?

"Running from you. What I've been doing since you started tailing me. Or is that your thing, you get existential right before you put a bullet in their brain?"

He didn't recognize her. Couldn't possibly have, he'd never seen her before in his life. If she was expecting so much as a shred of it, she'd be disappointed.

Barton would get a kick out this; put in a similar situation, she'd been forced to make a different call. And that he shared his face? She could hear him laughing already. All the more reason she was grateful her voice went unheard on the earwig.

She kept her gun steady, too, frustrated with this stand-still, that it had even occurred. But now that she knew he was still her target, Natasha eyes hardened and her mind slipped back where it needed to be.

"No; if I had it my way, you'd be horizontal by now."

Which...could be taken the wrong way, of course.

"Why not make this easier on yourself and drop that weapon? Willingly is a lot better than unconsciously."

"So you can take me out unarmed? Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.

Why haven't you shot me by now? You got close back there. Had your shot."

It was odd. They'd never stalled before, they'd always been the type to shoot first and worry about the story after. She was either an outside contract or this was her first job.

Either way, he didn't lower the muzzle.

Regardless, Tasha took two steps forward, keeping a direct line of sight on his shoulder. At the moment, she had no intention of killing him.

"The orders were by any means necessary; it's not yet necessary to kill you, though we're quickly approaching that time frame."

Like hell she'd admit it was his face that tripped her up.

"Why did you stop running?"

Since they were already talking, mind as well toss her own questions back at him.

He shook his head. "I know the kill order's already out. It's been out. You're supposed to neutralize me, because that's what your handlers want. Hell, it's what my handlers want. I've outlived my usefulness, and now I'm just a thorn in their side because I won't go back and they don't know how to leash me. I stopped running because I had to sooner or later. You're not going to stop. You can't.

Except you still haven't taken the shot yet, which is starting to make me wonder. Do they know you've lost it yet, or am I somehow just a special case?"

His mouth got away from him, putting the pieces together before he could consciously recognize them, but he let it. He was right, he knew he was. It was something he could use, something he could maybe exploit long enough to get away, and he wasn't about to waste it.

The more he spoke, the closer to home he hit, and it was becoming all the more unsettling. Not so much that it hindered her ability to finish the job, but enough to turn this from easy to 'why isn't this over yet?'. No doubt, Tasha would be venting to Barton in the utmost physical form.

Pissed that this number would even suggest she had lost the capability to perform, she shot the gun, deliberately missing as a means of distraction in order to get a Widow's Bite off, aiming for Aaron's torso. The voltage was set for minimal damage to knock him unconscious.

Clearly, she didn't take too well to such remarks.

He moved to dodge the first shot, instinctive, action and reaction, faster than normal human reflexes would seem capable of, but where he avoided the first one, he couldn't compensate in time for the bolt of electricity. It hit him full in the chest, stopped him in his tracks, dropped him to his knees with a frustrated grimace right before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped the rest of the way to the ground.

He managed to get a shot off before he went down, but only a grazing one, nothing serious.

A search of his immediate person would yield little aside from the gun in his hand and fake I.D. for one Justin Corbet, a wad of bills of low denomination, and a business card for a furniture salesman. Searching the bag would give a little more; a few changes of clothes of varying types, a larger roll of money of bigger denominations, a plastic bag filled with various other I.D.s, passports, all with his face but different names. A few spare clips for the handgun.

Everything you'd need or want if you were on the run.

Edited 2012-09-05 16:59 (UTC)

Natasha expected him to fire as well, but deemed the damage necessary and worth the cost. She could shake the stinging off and eventually, it'd heal.

Clamping one hand over the wound to staunch the blood flow, Natasha didn't make a move to search anything at first. Instead, she set her feet on either side of the crumpled man and crouched over his body, simply staring down at him, hard, as if it was all his fault. Which, in part, it was. She took his chin between her fingers and turned his face. He lacked Clint's scars, something she already knew, and yet...it was a mild comfort.

Tasha spoke into the earwig and confirmed that the subject had been apprehended, though something just wasn't sitting right. The redhead dug around his bag, finding nothing out of the ordinary. She used one of his shirts to tear into a makeshift bandage, uncaring of Aaron's feelings in the matter. She returned to his side and dragged him near some piping, cuffing his arms to the metal. And then she began to pace; time was short. It shouldn't be a consideration, his fate was sealed. So why was she pondering waking him?

He stirred only once, a stuttered breath and momentary jerk as the cuffs took his weight, but then he stilled again.

She'd need to make her decision. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and then he'd be awake on his own and set to make his own choices.

And they wouldn't be the most convenient for her. He might have been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt before, but now? His only game plan would be getting free. Getting out. Getting away. And he'd do whatever he'd have to, no matter the mess.

What the fuck was Fury getting at with this? Was it a test? To see if she could be as gracious as Clint, to see if this face played a role in her methods and how they were carried out? Could she make the call? How many times had that ridiculous question been raised? And it was after she spewed all these questions at herself that she changed her mind. Where before she doubted and considered letting Cross go, the anger at such an assumption (from both him earlier, and now Fury) was enough fuel to say fuck it. She knew where she stood with the others, with Clint, and it was no business of anyone else.

He was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s problem now.

(no subject)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I couldn't resist the crack.

totally fine!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Because action hero types need more action

ALWAYS. also Amber Tamblyn. ironyyyy and such

no subject

Just what we need to start the day!

absolutely!

no subject

LoL icon. <3

I triedddd but alas. there's still crossover trololol

no subject

Pssh, it works.

no subject

no subject

no subject

Ignore the blonde.

ignoring!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject