[If anything, Ava's world might even be a bit more grey than Natasha's. Natasha had decided- maybe even needed- SHIELD to be the good guys when she joined. Ava had no such illusions, just like she had no such illusions about Natasha herself. Or about Rumlow. He wasn't a good man, she could all but guarantee that he'd done bad things, killed people, probably even innocent people. But he'd been good to her. And years later, now, that hadn't changed. So she meant it, when she said it. Glad that he was alive, that he was here. She didn't feel quite so alone.]
Jesus. [A slight murmur of the exclamation as he explained how it had happened. He says aircraft and she's thinking a quinjet more than a helicarrier, but it's still horrifying. And he certainly is lucky; all that rubble, and the igniting jet fuel, and she's surprised his injuries aren't worse. Maybe been near a window when the building went up, given the flames a way to vent out, reduced the amount of concrete on his body. She knows he must have been in surgery for hours if not days following, but she doesn't ask about that. She can tell from his scars, from his story, and there's no details there that would change anything, so it's not a question worth asking.
She doesn't know about him and HYDRA, is just thinking of some mission with SHIELD where everything goes to Hell. He might have failed the mission, but it doesn't make him a failure. And she just wants to make sure he can see the difference. Not that she can remember him ever seeming low on confidence, but being in another world, where there's no SHIELD, nothing familiar, no easy places to fit into as far as she's seen.
And then there's that comment about putting his ugliness on the outside, and there's a flash of something in her eyes, her other hand coming up, just slightly resting against his shoulder. Because he's allowed the first touch, and it feels somehow like it's easier, a way of anchoring what she says. Maybe anchoring herself, when there's a not insignificant sort of vulnerability there.]
Hey. Anyone who thinks that is wrong. You were one of the only good people to me. Even when I'd forget who you were, you took risks for me. I know you're not sweetness and light, that you've done bad things, but you're not an ugly person. Working for bad people doesn't make you a bad person. Besides, the scars aren't even ugly. I mean, I'd rather you hadn't been hurt, but I don't mind them.
[She traces the scarring, the uneven and too-smooth skin under her soft fingertips. Starting against his cheekbone and then up around, touching the uneven lines that made her think there must have been metal on his face. Dripping lines of molten metal or heated wires. She looks a little bit horrified as he tells her about the last woman before her to comment on his scars.] Well, she sounds insane, and you need better friends.
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Jesus. [A slight murmur of the exclamation as he explained how it had happened. He says aircraft and she's thinking a quinjet more than a helicarrier, but it's still horrifying. And he certainly is lucky; all that rubble, and the igniting jet fuel, and she's surprised his injuries aren't worse. Maybe been near a window when the building went up, given the flames a way to vent out, reduced the amount of concrete on his body. She knows he must have been in surgery for hours if not days following, but she doesn't ask about that. She can tell from his scars, from his story, and there's no details there that would change anything, so it's not a question worth asking.
She doesn't know about him and HYDRA, is just thinking of some mission with SHIELD where everything goes to Hell. He might have failed the mission, but it doesn't make him a failure. And she just wants to make sure he can see the difference. Not that she can remember him ever seeming low on confidence, but being in another world, where there's no SHIELD, nothing familiar, no easy places to fit into as far as she's seen.
And then there's that comment about putting his ugliness on the outside, and there's a flash of something in her eyes, her other hand coming up, just slightly resting against his shoulder. Because he's allowed the first touch, and it feels somehow like it's easier, a way of anchoring what she says. Maybe anchoring herself, when there's a not insignificant sort of vulnerability there.]
Hey. Anyone who thinks that is wrong. You were one of the only good people to me. Even when I'd forget who you were, you took risks for me. I know you're not sweetness and light, that you've done bad things, but you're not an ugly person. Working for bad people doesn't make you a bad person. Besides, the scars aren't even ugly. I mean, I'd rather you hadn't been hurt, but I don't mind them.
[She traces the scarring, the uneven and too-smooth skin under her soft fingertips. Starting against his cheekbone and then up around, touching the uneven lines that made her think there must have been metal on his face. Dripping lines of molten metal or heated wires. She looks a little bit horrified as he tells her about the last woman before her to comment on his scars.] Well, she sounds insane, and you need better friends.