[Ava's quiet for a long moment, lets him ask his questions, lets them hang in the air for a long moment and then she sighs, dragging a hand through her red hair in a slightly uncomfortable gesture.]
It's a SHIELD bunker in Washington, DC. I called it 7B because that's the number on my door. It's where they kept me from the time I was nine until I was fourteen. So yes, this is- real. A memory.
[There's something that crinkles her brow at the words, though. Because knowing about Rumlow and HYDRA makes her think that SHIELD wasn't actually the right name on the tin. But there's something about saying it outloud, saying it to Steve that she can't help but shy from.
In the memory, Ava seems to get frustrated looking at the sketchpad, and tosses it to the floor in a fit of temper. Even with no one around, it only takes her a moment before she retrieves it, straightening the pages and making sure everything lays flat before tucking it back under her bed, with a small box of drawing pencils. It's not too much later when there's a sound at the door, a figure leaning in the doorway with a small plastic grocery bag.
Hey kiddo.
It's Rumlow. A bit younger in her memory than when Steve had first met him; in the SHIELD tac gear, but still working his way up the ranks. It's clear from his demeanor that Ava *should* recognize him, but she doesn't. She looks at him like she's never seen him before, looks through him, almost. She doesn't say anything, but her body language becomes guarded, on edge and defensive. He holds his hands up, open-palm, non-threatening. There's a flicker of a reaction as he looks at her, but it's gone almost too fast to catch.
You want some candy? I brought your favorite.
She knows what candy is, the wipe doesn't steal those sort of facts from her, just the memories, emotional associations: she has no idea what her favorites are. She's still cautious, her body language like a cornered alley cat deciding if the food being offered is a gift or a trap, but she nods, silent permission for him to come closer.
no subject
It's a SHIELD bunker in Washington, DC. I called it 7B because that's the number on my door. It's where they kept me from the time I was nine until I was fourteen. So yes, this is- real. A memory.
[There's something that crinkles her brow at the words, though. Because knowing about Rumlow and HYDRA makes her think that SHIELD wasn't actually the right name on the tin. But there's something about saying it outloud, saying it to Steve that she can't help but shy from.
In the memory, Ava seems to get frustrated looking at the sketchpad, and tosses it to the floor in a fit of temper. Even with no one around, it only takes her a moment before she retrieves it, straightening the pages and making sure everything lays flat before tucking it back under her bed, with a small box of drawing pencils. It's not too much later when there's a sound at the door, a figure leaning in the doorway with a small plastic grocery bag.
Hey kiddo.
It's Rumlow. A bit younger in her memory than when Steve had first met him; in the SHIELD tac gear, but still working his way up the ranks. It's clear from his demeanor that Ava *should* recognize him, but she doesn't. She looks at him like she's never seen him before, looks through him, almost. She doesn't say anything, but her body language becomes guarded, on edge and defensive. He holds his hands up, open-palm, non-threatening. There's a flicker of a reaction as he looks at her, but it's gone almost too fast to catch.
You want some candy? I brought your favorite.
She knows what candy is, the wipe doesn't steal those sort of facts from her, just the memories, emotional associations: she has no idea what her favorites are. She's still cautious, her body language like a cornered alley cat deciding if the food being offered is a gift or a trap, but she nods, silent permission for him to come closer.