[He wasn't wrong. She tried to downplay it, but the truth was that Ivan had beaten her, tortured her, experimented on her. A lot of it she still didn't entirely remember, but there were pieces- the handcuffs, the screaming, electricity that arced through metal pressed to her skin. Pain and some strange emotion halfway between anger and resignation.]
To say I worked with him overstates the facts. Ivan thought he could build a new world by tearing down just about every intelligence apparatus and government agency from the inside out. Better for who, I don't know. He believed in pain, though.
[She doesn't think it's something he could do something with, not directly, at least. But it does have overtures to the OPUS project. That had been the method of it, after all. And sure that's a sideways reference to the fact that he'd tortured her, but if Pierce knew anything about the Red Room at all, which he clearly did, then that wasn't anything that he didn't already have on her.
He closes the distance and she stands still. Bravery, or maybe foolishness, but neither of them are afraid of a physical confrontation, which makes the subject of distance more of an allegory, the philosophical subject of what it says about them. He speaks and she's quiet for a moment, because that sentiment all but catches her breath, and not in a good sort of way.
We are the same, you and I. Natasha had said those words to her when she was nine years old. And again, when she'd been seventeen and angry, with Russian snipers taking position on rooftops. She'd punched her in the face, then. For daring to pretend at some connection when the woman had left her. Had given her a charm and told people to laugh at her to make her harder, colder. And now Pierce stands there in the kitchen, and there's those same words: we are the same. That echo in her memory of something that had always been a cruelty, a comparison, a legacy she could never achieve or escape. Мы такие же.
It makes her heart pound in her chest, makes her forget to breathe and for a moment her blue eyes glow. She makes herself blink, try to rein in her emotions but that's never been easy for her, and for a breath there's something on the air. That way that thunderstorms feel on a summer's night. She sighs, shakes her head and her eyes fade.]
It's getting late, isn't it? I didn't mean to keep you so long.
[Alexander drank in the information that she plainly provided, and he knew there was quite the story there about Ivan. It made him recall a project that had been associated with the man, one that a few agents had been looking more deeply into. Of course, Ivan wanted to gut the intelligence agents and governments; that was the quickest path to leaving people in the dark and being able to instate sleeper agents all around. No one would know who to trust and what information was correct.
He actually held his peace on that subject, aware that many in that area of the intelligence community enjoyed inflicting pain. The agents they produced were malleable and pliant, willing to follow orders, to endure, and to report back. It came as no surprise to him, and there was no sympathy that he could or would offer on the matter. It was her life, and she either dealt with it or let it take over what she was.
It seemed to him that his words had a profound effect on Ava, and that was perhaps the most interesting aspect of the night. Those blue glowing eyes, a link to something deeper he had no doubt. He would definitely be looking a bit more deeply into her, into what she was and why the Red Room had not kept her, instead parceling her off to SHIELD. What part of SHIELD? He was going to look into that as well.
She looked as if she struggled for control. At least she could. For now. There was no need to push her any further; he had good information and maybe she had a little herself. That she could shake whatever took root in her off was curious, and he nodded his head to her words, as if she hadn't come to him or he hadn't intended to stay up reading.
He moved to step passed her instead. That was that, then. She had no more questions to interrogate him with.]
No doubt we shall have more midnight meetings in future, Miss Orlova. Should you think of more questions, do feel free to bring them to my attention.
[He looked at her as he walked casually away, the file under his arm still.]
Don't stay up too late. Everyone needs a good nights rest. Another time then, Miss. You know where to find me.
[And with that, he left the kitchen to return to his bed.]
[There's something off-putting about the way that he invites her back, as if this had been some arranged meeting and not Ava sneaking in through the kitchen in the middle of the night. But he's right, this is the point where things get too brittle and she can't push further than this, and pushing her will just make her run.
But she stays long enough to nod in agreement, quiet, but that flare of emotion under control.] I'll keep that in mind.
[Pierce walks away and she slips away, silent as a shadow as she leaves the way she came. And tries to decide on where she can go to hit something. Repeatedly. He got under her skin and she doesn't quite know how to burn it out.]
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no subject
To say I worked with him overstates the facts. Ivan thought he could build a new world by tearing down just about every intelligence apparatus and government agency from the inside out. Better for who, I don't know. He believed in pain, though.
[She doesn't think it's something he could do something with, not directly, at least. But it does have overtures to the OPUS project. That had been the method of it, after all. And sure that's a sideways reference to the fact that he'd tortured her, but if Pierce knew anything about the Red Room at all, which he clearly did, then that wasn't anything that he didn't already have on her.
He closes the distance and she stands still. Bravery, or maybe foolishness, but neither of them are afraid of a physical confrontation, which makes the subject of distance more of an allegory, the philosophical subject of what it says about them. He speaks and she's quiet for a moment, because that sentiment all but catches her breath, and not in a good sort of way.
We are the same, you and I. Natasha had said those words to her when she was nine years old. And again, when she'd been seventeen and angry, with Russian snipers taking position on rooftops. She'd punched her in the face, then. For daring to pretend at some connection when the woman had left her. Had given her a charm and told people to laugh at her to make her harder, colder. And now Pierce stands there in the kitchen, and there's those same words: we are the same. That echo in her memory of something that had always been a cruelty, a comparison, a legacy she could never achieve or escape. Мы такие же.
It makes her heart pound in her chest, makes her forget to breathe and for a moment her blue eyes glow. She makes herself blink, try to rein in her emotions but that's never been easy for her, and for a breath there's something on the air. That way that thunderstorms feel on a summer's night. She sighs, shakes her head and her eyes fade.]
It's getting late, isn't it? I didn't mean to keep you so long.
no subject
He actually held his peace on that subject, aware that many in that area of the intelligence community enjoyed inflicting pain. The agents they produced were malleable and pliant, willing to follow orders, to endure, and to report back. It came as no surprise to him, and there was no sympathy that he could or would offer on the matter. It was her life, and she either dealt with it or let it take over what she was.
It seemed to him that his words had a profound effect on Ava, and that was perhaps the most interesting aspect of the night. Those blue glowing eyes, a link to something deeper he had no doubt. He would definitely be looking a bit more deeply into her, into what she was and why the Red Room had not kept her, instead parceling her off to SHIELD. What part of SHIELD? He was going to look into that as well.
She looked as if she struggled for control. At least she could. For now. There was no need to push her any further; he had good information and maybe she had a little herself. That she could shake whatever took root in her off was curious, and he nodded his head to her words, as if she hadn't come to him or he hadn't intended to stay up reading.
He moved to step passed her instead. That was that, then. She had no more questions to interrogate him with.]
No doubt we shall have more midnight meetings in future, Miss Orlova. Should you think of more questions, do feel free to bring them to my attention.
[He looked at her as he walked casually away, the file under his arm still.]
Don't stay up too late. Everyone needs a good nights rest. Another time then, Miss. You know where to find me.
[And with that, he left the kitchen to return to his bed.]
no subject
But she stays long enough to nod in agreement, quiet, but that flare of emotion under control.] I'll keep that in mind.
[Pierce walks away and she slips away, silent as a shadow as she leaves the way she came. And tries to decide on where she can go to hit something. Repeatedly. He got under her skin and she doesn't quite know how to burn it out.]