[She doesn't think that he needs her approval, or would even ask for it, but she wants him to have it anyway. Because he mattered. He'd been one good thing in fourteen years of varying degrees of horror. And they'd already had the talk about what she thought of SHIELD, of knowing that they weren't good people and deciding that she was okay with working for them anyway if it kept her out of a cage. And she wasn't going to try and take that back now, to pretend that the name on it was what made a difference; it wasn't.
She'd already decided that she was okay with it in the way that mattered. And she might be hypocritical in some ways, but she owned what she believed. She was far more interested in what he believed than she was in trying to argue that it was horrible and wrong. And his answer is one that she can understand. In honesty, it had been part of why she'd stayed with SHIELD, aside from raw survival, self-preservation. That line they sold of being able to change the world, that she could be someone, that she was special.
So she understands. She might agree a little less if she knew what their plan entailed, but she could still understand the logic of it. Peace by stripping out the chaos; order through pain on a mass scale. The important thing to her, is where he goes from here, what he does in a world where that system that he'd grown up in has been torn apart. So she listens and she nods, and as those last words echo, she's about to say something. There are words on her lips, something warm, maybe hopeful, but then there's a voice that cuts through it. Words in Russian, cooing soft on the wind, and for a moment there's a disconnect, where she thinks it's still one of Rumlow's memory.
<< I know you can do better, show me what I taught you. >>
But no, as the shadows shift, there's a pair of young girls, and a man in a Russian military uniform, with just a hint of ink from above the collar. One of them is unmistakably Ava, but younger even than when Rumlow had met her out on the tarmac. She's not that quiet girl, not yet, instead here she's almost feral, young and angry and stubborn. And she still cared too damn much.
She's sparring with another young girl, a brunette, only a little bit older than her. She has the girl pinned beneath her, a hand on her throat, the other girl's eyes are glassy, almost disoriented. But Ava's hand slips and the girl manages to slip from the redhead's grasp. It's not accidental, and Ava is good but not good enough for it to be convincing to someone that knows better. The girl had been straggling, and Ava knew what that meant, had been trying to keep her from slipping too far.
And she hasn't yet learned to associate that soft tone to his voice with danger. He eventually calls the match and the two girls get to their feet. Ivan doesn't say anything, but Ava clearly already knows how it goes, can feel the weight. Has calculated the number of fights she's lost, and she knows. You can see the flicker in her brown eyes, the way that her shoulders set, the way she's clearly almost learned to hold her tongue, but not how to do it well. Not yet. And she knows that she's guilty here too- coddling her, trying to save her. But she doesn't know when to cut her loses.
Outside of the memory Ava's fingers shift, away from Rumlow's face to curl at the back of his neck, like he's something that she can hold onto, an anchor as her body tenses because she knows where this goes. This wasn't a mirror that she needed or wanted held up. But somehow, he's maybe the most acceptable in some fucked up way. There are reasons no one knows about this. She doesn't want judgement or pity, and she knows without having to test it that almost everyone would offer some variation on the theme. Except maybe him.
<< She isn't the worst. >> Ava ventures, her voice quiet. Spindly limbs and a bright shine in her eyes. The man in the uniform seems to regard her, considering something, and he smiles at her. It could be mistaken for something kindly, but it's more sadistic pleasure than any kind of positive feelings. This is where they tried to cut out her ability to care. When he shoots the brunette, it's sudden, shocking, drips a mist of red on Ava's bare shoulder.
Her small body suddenly tenses in rage, eyes hot with anger as the dead girl, hardly much older than Ava slumps to the ground with a wet thud. He throws a knife toward the redhead with an almost doting smile on his face. << Do you want to kill me, Ptenets? >> As if he doesn't know the answer. Ava knows this is a test, but it's hard to choose if it's worse to show weakness or emotion; although the truth is that she was already in deep from the moment she cared, from the moment she gave him something to carve out of her.]
warning for child murder, torture, and creepy wrong red room shit
She'd already decided that she was okay with it in the way that mattered. And she might be hypocritical in some ways, but she owned what she believed. She was far more interested in what he believed than she was in trying to argue that it was horrible and wrong. And his answer is one that she can understand. In honesty, it had been part of why she'd stayed with SHIELD, aside from raw survival, self-preservation. That line they sold of being able to change the world, that she could be someone, that she was special.
So she understands. She might agree a little less if she knew what their plan entailed, but she could still understand the logic of it. Peace by stripping out the chaos; order through pain on a mass scale. The important thing to her, is where he goes from here, what he does in a world where that system that he'd grown up in has been torn apart. So she listens and she nods, and as those last words echo, she's about to say something. There are words on her lips, something warm, maybe hopeful, but then there's a voice that cuts through it. Words in Russian, cooing soft on the wind, and for a moment there's a disconnect, where she thinks it's still one of Rumlow's memory.
<< I know you can do better, show me what I taught you. >>
But no, as the shadows shift, there's a pair of young girls, and a man in a Russian military uniform, with just a hint of ink from above the collar. One of them is unmistakably Ava, but younger even than when Rumlow had met her out on the tarmac. She's not that quiet girl, not yet, instead here she's almost feral, young and angry and stubborn. And she still cared too damn much.
She's sparring with another young girl, a brunette, only a little bit older than her. She has the girl pinned beneath her, a hand on her throat, the other girl's eyes are glassy, almost disoriented. But Ava's hand slips and the girl manages to slip from the redhead's grasp. It's not accidental, and Ava is good but not good enough for it to be convincing to someone that knows better. The girl had been straggling, and Ava knew what that meant, had been trying to keep her from slipping too far.
And she hasn't yet learned to associate that soft tone to his voice with danger. He eventually calls the match and the two girls get to their feet. Ivan doesn't say anything, but Ava clearly already knows how it goes, can feel the weight. Has calculated the number of fights she's lost, and she knows. You can see the flicker in her brown eyes, the way that her shoulders set, the way she's clearly almost learned to hold her tongue, but not how to do it well. Not yet. And she knows that she's guilty here too- coddling her, trying to save her. But she doesn't know when to cut her loses.
Outside of the memory Ava's fingers shift, away from Rumlow's face to curl at the back of his neck, like he's something that she can hold onto, an anchor as her body tenses because she knows where this goes. This wasn't a mirror that she needed or wanted held up. But somehow, he's maybe the most acceptable in some fucked up way. There are reasons no one knows about this. She doesn't want judgement or pity, and she knows without having to test it that almost everyone would offer some variation on the theme. Except maybe him.
<< She isn't the worst. >> Ava ventures, her voice quiet. Spindly limbs and a bright shine in her eyes. The man in the uniform seems to regard her, considering something, and he smiles at her. It could be mistaken for something kindly, but it's more sadistic pleasure than any kind of positive feelings. This is where they tried to cut out her ability to care. When he shoots the brunette, it's sudden, shocking, drips a mist of red on Ava's bare shoulder.
Her small body suddenly tenses in rage, eyes hot with anger as the dead girl, hardly much older than Ava slumps to the ground with a wet thud. He throws a knife toward the redhead with an almost doting smile on his face. << Do you want to kill me, Ptenets? >> As if he doesn't know the answer. Ava knows this is a test, but it's hard to choose if it's worse to show weakness or emotion; although the truth is that she was already in deep from the moment she cared, from the moment she gave him something to carve out of her.]