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As always, Ana keeps her word.

She shows up to the appointed place and time to meet up with Alan, only her dart gun hidden under loose fitting clothing. The city has proven to be relatively safe during the day, and she doesn't distrust Alan, but old habits are hard to break.

She's also carrying a small parcel tucked under her arm: lunch, since he's been so keen on making her tea. It's about time she returns the favor.

"Alan?"

As always, she keeps her word.

Bruce is there much earlier — as usual — scoping out the place. There's an establishment nearby. He's friendly enough with the waitstaff, who know to let him be when he'd been here with Diana and Clark. They'd like to know his order, but he's been working his way through the menu at random.

He has two mugs already, kept warm by a thermos.

'Ana,' he says, with a smile. 'How are you doing today?'

She smiles back at him in response, takes in the thermos and the cups and his attire for the day. "Not bad. Are you growing your beard now?"

He was clean-shaven the last time she saw him, more or less. (He's like Jack, always a little shadow in the line of his jaw.) She settles in opposite him and sets the container down on the table. "You look handsome. Like you're here to sell me an expensive bottle of whiskey."

Bruce shrugs. He thought he might — it's noticeable, it keeps attention away from other facial details. He found a pair of brass knuckles waiting for him, his own design. The suit is a matter of time.

He's patient, when he wants to be.

'I am here to sell something,' he comments wryly. She likes to wrong foot people with sincerity, it's sweet, and it'd work on an amateur. 'Why don't you enjoy your tea first?'

Sometimes a compliment is just a compliment. Sometimes it isn't. He is attractive, just a little on the young side for her.

The truth is, she's here because her instinct is to trust him and she wants to see how wrong or right she ends up being. She takes her tea, her thumb settling against the rim of the mug, stroking back and forth. An old habit.

She raises her eyebrow. "I'm not getting any younger."

Not annoyed, just blunt.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Or is that not how it goes?

Bruce shifts in the chair, glancing sidelong at the waitstaff. He waits until she's lowered her mug. 'I'm sure you've been wondering about those in the pods,' he says, quietly. 'The ones we'd rather weren't awake.' He doesn't ask her who, he assumes they'll become a problem should they awaken. 'And what others here have talked about doing.'

For the first time, when she thinks of the pods, she thinks of Gabriel first. (She thinks of Fareeha always.)

"What about them?" She asks, mildly. She takes another sip of her tea. She doesn't want to make assumptions about where this will lead, but there's a reason she's stayed out of those particular discussions.

'There's not a lot I won't do.'

It's thoughtful, matter-of-fact, unapologetic. The way his life has been led up to now. He has a code. He's followed it, and over the years he walked closer and closer to the edge, until he fell.

He can't say he wouldn't snap every bone on an enemy's body if they awoke. He's stood there and thought about it while he counted how many he recognised. What they might do if they knew the monster they feared was a man, and that too a man whose history was a matter of well-known public record. It's why he has the little device from the Orbiters. None of them will look at him and think, Bruce Wayne. Better a man, anonymous, anyone.

Bruce taps his fingers on the table slowly. He hasn't blinked, holding her gaze.

'What would you do?'

"There's a difference between putting a bullet in a man's head in the middle of a firefight and walking into a prison to kill indiscriminately. There's a difference between protecting those who can't protect themselves, and deciding that the law hasn't done enough - that you're now judge, jury, and executioner. That your own moral code is incorruptible."

Ana's posture has changed not at all. She's calm, self-assured. She's in the breath before she pulls the trigger on a rifle that has never missed its mark.

"I want you to understand, Mr. Foster, that this difference is very important to me. If perhaps it's less important to you, you may want to reconsider."

I wasn't always the man I am now. That confession is for Clark's ears alone. She's calm, self-assured. She's not making a threat, and she won't hesitate if she has to take him down in broad daylight, in the middle of coffee.

Bruce's mouth curves slowly. 'I don't think I need to reconsider,' he replies, amiably. In the breath of movement, out of a bullet's path. It means his instincts — and hers — are right about each other. Bruce can trust his, but he's been through a process of evaluation. Sometimes perspective needs to shift; he's ruthless in its pursuit.

'I know what it's like to rebuild a life,' he says, after that, shoulders lowered from their even, stoic line. He believes in that, in mercy, and now too, in hope. 'But they're not ones who take second chances when those are offered. And you?'

"I know what it's like to watch everything that you believe in fall apart." It's her finger moving from the trigger, the shrug of a shoulder where her rifle's strap hangs. "But that pain is not an excuse to become something irredeemable."

It feels hollow, saying it aloud. Tired, resigned where she had once been so righteous. It's harder now that she knows so many monsters who had once been her friends.

"I've known people who only understand violence. We'll do what we must, if they wake and threaten to do harm again."

We. She uses it deliberately, but there's a hesitation buried in it.

"What are you trying to do here, Alan? You haven't really told me yet."

Resigned. The world leeches from them all. Bruce can read between the lines. To survive to their age in their business is often just lucky, more so than skill. Though, skill can't be discounted.

'We're trying to protect what we have here.' What can they can build. 'And we're trying to find out more about this place and those who brought us.'

Goals they can agree on. Still, Ana takes another swallow of her tea before she inclines her head.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to build a team."

His smile flickers. Bruce sips anything but casually.

'Just like to make friends, I guess. Anyone you want on board?'

Ana rubs the bridge of her nose and thinks, very clearly, fuck.

But where else was this going to go?

"I have a partner." There's the barest hesitation over the word, but it's as close as she can come to something accurate. "He's not the friendly type, but he'll be willing to share information."

'You know how to reach me.' That's all that needs saying. This isn't a draft or a contract — she doesn't have to agree now, and she doesn't have to stick with it all the way through. He relies enough on her discretion that he knows this isn't going to go public.

She nods. It's not so much that she expects him to try to strong-arm her into anything - it's more that she feels like she's watching herself make the same mistakes all over again. Maybe it will be different this time. Maybe it won't.

"Who else have you got?"

'Four others, not including myself.' He pauses not because he doesn't want to share their names, but his loyalty to them is each warranted. It's besides the point whether Ana's met Diana or not, almost all the refugees know Diana or recognise her. Bucky had asked too, but Bucky is like him, preferring to stay in the shadows. Charles keeps his powers secret for a reason, and John — a workaholic to give Bruce a run for his money — is going at a frenetic pace.

She doesn't begrudge him that. It's safer to do things this way. She doesn't want to know, unless they want to reveal themselves to her. She can't, after all, share Jack's name either.

"Enough to save the world," she says, with another rueful smile. She meets his eyes again. "I hope that this goes better for you than it did for us."

His expression flickers. Sympathy, regret, hard to say — he looks down at his cup, brows drawn in thought. It's a risk. Every bit of trust is. Every mistake costs in blood, nothing less.

'I'd like your story someday,' he says, quietly. 'Perhaps, somewhere like this.' As friends.

"I'll trade it for yours. The real one." She doesn't expect that will come easy. Her story has been a matter of public knowledge for so long, she finds herself at a loss when it comes to telling it. She doesn't expect it to be easier for someone as carefully contained as Alan.

"After all, you still owe me dinner."

He expects she's heard it before. Not because his story is an old or typical one, but... something about shared life experience.

Wryly, 'I hope you're not expecting me to cook.'

"We can get some takeout. Or I can show you the basics." She shrugs. "It's a good skill to have."

Ana isn't an expert by any means, but she can make a few things without struggling.

'I'll get takeout,' he says, although it's light, it has a note of finality. No cooking, thanks a lot, unless it's soup.

"Men," she says, but it's lighthearted too. "You do make a good cup of tea, though."

She finishes hers, and sets it aside, then readies herself to leave. "I'll see you later, Alan. Don't get into too much trouble."

Ana is in the simulation room an hour before her appointment with Alan's friend. She means to spend the time getting a feel for the simulation and the rifle it provides her, but what she actually does for most of the hour is wander through her old haunting ground like the ghost she is.

She's set them up in Giza, a cool night in the desert with the city lights twinkling in the distance. The Necropolis, where she's spent so much time living, is exactly a she remembers it. Jack's cot is there, tucked away in their underground hideout. Her pictures and her rug and the two places she'd set out for tea are all in perfect order, like she's just woken up from a strange dream. Like she's home.

It's hard to think of it as a place that may no longer exist. It's just an idea she'll have to get used to, sooner or later.

Maybe Bucky will be able to think of something better, but for the moment she takes the best vantage point and waits for him to arrive. He'll find her. Sharpshooters have an eye for this sort of thing.

The cafe is crowded when she arrives. She thinks about leaving and coming back a little later, but she's been out most of the night and all she has in the apartment is cheap tea. Ten minutes in a crowd isn't going to kill her. Probably.

She chats with the hostess on the way to a table, but it's only when she's standing there beside it that she finds out it's occupied. The hostess - Emily - makes apologies to both of them for the mix-up, but Ana waves it off, unconcerned.

"I can come back later, if you don't like to be disrupted." She tells the man. Her accent is thicker when she's this tired, and there's a dark circle under her visible eye, but otherwise she looks like a relatively unassuming old woman.

John's buried deep in scribbling something into one of three journals spread out across the table when it actually occurs to him that the footsteps and conversation approaching through the hubbub of the place have stopped, and stopped somewhere that implies he needs to pay attention. So it's only a second before the woman starts speaking that he actually tunes back into the outside world, and he blinks at her dumbly once or twice before what she's said actually sinks in.

When it does, he's all belated motion, closing up books to make more space, pulling the empty coffee cup he'd pushed out of his way to make room for a fresh one he hadn't actually got around to buying back onto his side of the table to leave the other clear for her. During all that, there's a garbled but earnest reply. "No, sorry, help yourself. I'll just— no, yeah, please."

A gesture to the free seat: please do.

She orders tea from the waitress - black, with honey - and a fresh cup of coffee for the man who's kindly moved his things. The one he's got looks full enough but it's gone cold.

"Thank you," She says, after she's settled. It's good to sit down. She hates thinking it, but even Ana Amari can't just keep going indefinitely.

She inclines her head, indicating the pile of journals he's gathered to himself. "Getting some work done, Mister..?"

With the initial kerfuffle of emerging from concentration back into the world of social responsibility done and dusted, the table duly shared and his new tablemate having kindly ordered him a new coffee, John settles.

"Oh. These, yeah." Come on now John, catch up. "Watson. John Watson. Pleased to meet you."

And out is offered a hand to shake in greeting, to seal the meeting deal.

John Watson? Someone's parents had a sense of humor.

Ana shakes his hand, her grip firm and steady.

"Likewise. I'm Ana." She hasn't given out her family name since she arrived, but it's easy for that sort of thing to be unremarkable in a city like this. It's not that she's hiding. Not exactly.

She laces her fingers in front of her on the table. "What are you working on? If you don't mind my asking."

A novel maybe? She's not expecting anything hefty. Even Jack has taken a few steps back from his usual levels of obsession now that the conspiracies have taken on a new and currently indecipherable shape.

A nod of acknowledgement, something in it suggesting that the information, once nodded in, will be remembered, and he sits back into his seat. At the question, John glances at the mess of notebooks gathered about himself— and huffs out a laugh. Does look like a bit of a project, doesn't it?

Well, no harm in following that along a path that might only be a partial lie.

"No, that's— I blogged, back home. That's not quite as easy now, but I'm trying to keep track of experiences anyway. Which takes some doing."

A somewhat hopeless gesture to his multiple books. There's plenty of to keep track of.

Edited 2017-09-28 07:19 (UTC)

"Ah, I see." Ana doesn't have any reason to question the answer that he gives her. She's from a time when professional bloggers are common, and while she's not particularly interested in that sort of thing, she doesn't expect that it's simple or easy. At least he doesn't look like the type to be involved in gossip.

"There must be a lot to write about after everything that's happened. Is that what you did for a living? Back home, I mean."

Despite her initial hesitation, Ana has really warmed to the sim tech, to the point that she now makes frequent visits. Her schedule isn't terribly regular, so she finds herself there at odd times of the day or night, whenever she feels the urge to do something useful. It's better practice than wasting her limited ammunition, even if it seems to have replenished itself.

She isn't the only one there when she arrives. She's glad she's worn her mask today, just in case. Sometimes a quick, anonymous round of target practice is a good way to get to know people.

She only sees the stranger's back, but calls out as she walks up to them. "Hello there. On your way in?"

Edited 2017-09-07 17:31 (UTC)

Two things Cayde happens to be a big fan of are technology and shooting, there isn't much of either planetside and most people don't take kindly to being shot at (even if they deserve it,) so even on the ship there aren't many opportunities to shoot things. Hence, his fondness for the simulations. It's not real, but it feels like it, so he'll take it.

The voice catches him and he stops on his way into the room, glancing back over his shoulder. "Sure am," he answers, eyes narrowed at the mask briefly but it's not the first one he's seen, "you doin' the same?"

An omnic. Ana doesn't quite tense. Mostly, she's just surprised - she hasn't seen a single one since her arrival, though it makes sense that the Natha would have brought them as well.

Ana nods. "I thought I would do some target practice. Would you like to double up?"

"Who doesn't like a team-up?" Cayde shrugs his shoulders and gestures openly as if to say he likes a team-up. He turns to face Ana, walking backward towards the consoles, "what're you shooting?"

Well, he's a cheerful sort.

"I haven't decided yet," Ana replies. A little bit of warm humor colors her voice. "We could choose for each other, then we'll see how much of the simulation survives us."

It's only a game after all, and Ana generally finds it useful to get the feel of a new weapon whenever she can. She never knows what she'll run into around here.

He's a delight, don't listen to what anyone says.

"Alright," he nods, "people're always telling me I need to get out of my comfort zone."

Nobody tells him that. Mostly they're telling him to shut up. But he's gonna leave that lie out there and turn to look at one of the consoles to flit through the list of simulations. Something with bandits, maybe. It's a classic.

"What're you gonna give me?" He's got a pistol holstered at his thigh and a knife on his hip, so it's easy to see what he favours usually.

"Are they?" She's skeptical. She's known soldiers like him, and they tend to be the sort of people she has to drag back to safety by the scruff. Sometimes literally.

Ana takes the opposite console, looking at weapon configurations. She keeps in mind that he seems to prefer close or mid-range weaponry. "Something fun, don't worry. Is there anything you want me to know about your preferences?"

She hasn't brought her own rifle, only the small sidearm strapped to her thigh.

Edited 2017-09-17 14:03 (UTC)

"Nah, make it a surprise." He's pretty good with most weapons, so long as they're relatively "modern" for want of a better word. He might struggle with a bow and arrow, but he could probably figure it out. Maybe. "Same question to you though."

Cayde pauses what he's doing to look Ana over; her garb reminds him of a hunter and hunters tend to favour precision over raw power. But a) he could be completely wrong seeing as he doubts she's actually a Guardian, and b) favouring something doesn't mean it's all you know.

Still, it's all he's got to go on right now if he's gonna guess where this mystery mask person's comfort zone is.

From the look of his weapon load-out, she thinks they probably have a similar definition of the word 'modern.' It's good for her too - they should be able to choose weapons for each other relatively easily.

"If it kills, I want it to be quick and precise. Otherwise, I don't care." She shrugs. She doesn't mind if her life is a little difficult. It'll keep things interesting. "What about enemies? Anything we should avoid? Spiders? Antiheroes played by Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

"Heh. You sound like one of my hunters." It's a comforting familiarity, even if she isn't one, it makes Cayde feel a bit at ease. Plus it makes the whole weapon selection a little easier. His first thought is a sniper rifle, but if she doesn't know her way around one then it's gonna be a rough time, and if she does then he's basically handed her easy mode.

"Nothing with too many teeth," he answers a little absently, and when he looks up at Ana he raises his hands in little claw shapes, "they give me the willies."

"Hunters? What do you mean?" Ana can make an educated guess, but she's always curious about other sharpshooters, and the fact that he refers to them as his. She wouldn't have pegged him for a team leader, but then, she doesn't know anything about him yet.

Ana chuckles at the gesture, but she nods in agreement. He's already got their scenario handled, so she picks a few interesting creatures to populate the world alongside his bandits, and it looks about ready to go. "If we're going to be partners for this, we should probably have something to call each other."

Cayde waves a dismissive hand at the question; it's a whole thing to explain and he doesn't wanna get into it now, "how about you buy me a drink after this and you can ask me all the questions you want?" He lifts his hands, gesturing as if to say that's a great deal, and then adds, "can't guarantee I'll be honest, but I'll answer 'em at least."

He glances down at the console and then back up at Ana, double checking everything, "ah-- name's Cayde."

"I'm Ana," She replies, with a nod. "And that's a deal you'll probably regret."

She tends to ask a lot of questions. For now, though, she's ready to shoot something.

"Shall we?"

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bruce

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bucky (mcu)

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cayde

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