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Ava is a busy young woman. SHIELD is a full-time job, even if she's managed to make a solid case for being out of the office for good parts of it. After all, it's hard to be a proper spy when you spend each day going to and from the spy agency in the Chinese restaurant. That get suspicious. And then there's her second job of sorts, heroics with the Contingency Plan. Which is a whole different issue.
It means that it's not unusual for her to be leaving SHIELD headquarters in the small hours of the morning, when even the streets of Chinatown are relatively quiet. With a knit cap pulled low over her hair, swathed in an oversized coat, she looks like any other urchin on the streets.
*
Natalie Rushman, in her black pencil skirt, trim-fit wool peacoat, and red high heels looks very much the career woman. Her red hair, in its large looped curls bounces with each plucky step she takes. And attention, she seems to garner as she moves. With a smile curved on her pouty lips, and a file tucked under her arm, she moves purposively towards one of the many restaurants in the area.
On the edge of a curb, she slips, bumping into a man in front of her. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry sir!" But watchful eyes probably notice her fingers in his pocket as she straightens, and can presume the very minor sleight of hand that happens with the change in position.
*
Ava is ever alert, watchful, aware of her surroundings. It's something they started to teach her in Russia. Something she picked up from the SHIELD facility where she spent more of her childhood. And something that became ingrained through an adolescence on the streets. So picking pockets? That she notices. But it's more than the motion - it's the voice.
Ava stiffens when she hears the apology, taking a few more steps down the sidewalk before she hazards a glance toward the source. And there she is. Steady steps lead her toward the other woman, shadowing her along the street.
*
Natalie straightens, issues the man another apologetic smile, and then continues on her way. She walks passed all of the restaurants without casting even a slight glance behind her shoulder, opting to just continue on her path. She does, however, turn at an alley. She moves down the alley, and waits.
When Ava should follow her, her head cants the side and she inspects the other woman carefully before quirking another smile. "Hello," she offers smoothly.
*
"It is you." Ava moves to the side of the alley opposite from the well-coiffed woman who waits for her, a ragged waif in comparison. Hands in her pockets, she leans back against the side of the building. "What are you doing in New York?"
*
"Sightseeing, clearly. Nat's eyebrows lift and she manages another quirk of her brow with that silent assessment she's become so good at over the years. "And what are you doing in New York? Last I'd seen you, you were tucked away somewhere."
*
"Yes. That was a very long time ago." Ava crosses her arms over her chest, gaze steady on the older woman. "I did not stay there forever." A few years, before she broke out. "I went to the embassy. More than once. But you must have been busy."
She reaches into her pocket, pulling out an ancient, crumpled, folded bill. One with the widow's hourglass sketched on it, barely visible through the faded ink and ground in grime. Something carried for a decade.
"Sestra."
*
Nat reaches for the bill. Her fingers run across it and she eyes the hourglass, and for a moment something nearly reminiscent crosses her gaze. Silence becomes her mantle and stillness her posture. Her hands clasp lightly in front of her and her head ducks into silent acknowledgment. "Sestra, you are resourceful," no question there, just an observation.
Her green eyes flicker with something unspoken. "Out of service," she notes as she eyes the other woman. It's not a question. "But here you are. Why New York?"
*
"Because it is easy to slip between the cracks in New York," Ava shrugs, stepping back and looking away. "Because I was fourteen when I broke out of the place where SHIED put me, and it offered the most opportunity to stay alive without being…shoved into something either worse, or more boring. This many people, there is always a place where no one is looking."
*
"Or there's always someone looking," Nat counters with a sly arch of her eyebrow. "Which isn't wholly terrible." Her eyes warm slightly. "But hiding in plain sight is far better than tucking away in some dark hole." Her gaze assesses the other woman, and it's clear she's considering something.
"So your resourcefulness has served you well." Her arms fold over her chest, "I suppose skills are skills regardless of where they're from."
*
"If I have them, then I might as well use them for something worthwhile," Ava agrees, something a little bit accusing in the way she looks at the other woman. "And I have been. As much as I can."
*
And if the accusation is noticed, it is summarily ignored. Natasha doesn't seem remotely phased, which is, possibly, unsettling enough. Her hands clasp a stitch tighter. "Be aware of each of the eyes,"she notes quietly. "There are more than you think. Far more than you can likely imagine." She hums softly, "Are your skills borrowed or for personal use? Secretarial work is always an option…"
*
Ava arches a brow in turn, a curl of her lip that expresses quite eloquently just what she thinks about secretarial work. "That is not the sort of helping people I had in mind," she drawls, shaking her head. "I look into things. I save people. I find them when they are lost, and I bring them home. Alive. That is what I do."
*
"I see," Natasha offers back casually. Her tone is even, plain, and collected. Her arms cross over her chest and she clucks her tongue. "Well, at least you're using your skills well. Just there's survival as well, and both are needed. Survival and thriving. Thriving and survival. And both require innovation. Sometimes survival is more important."
*
"I survive just fine." Frankly, the paycheck she draws from SHIELD is almost entirely squirreled away as soon as it arrives - just enough goes out to sublet a shared apartment which she barely uses. Ava's eyes narrow slightly as she watches Natasha, taking in the details of her dress, of her posture. "A secretary is a very personal job," she muses. "About relationships, if it's done well. How do you make an exit plan?"
*
Natasha hums at the question. "Not everything is intended to have exit plans," she replies. "And not all jobs are recoverable. The key is blending in the in between." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "And what about you? Exit plans necessary in your case?"
*
Ava shakes her head. "No. The people who know me know that…" She pauses, tilting her head as she considers her words. "There is enough distance." Distance. That's the key for her. It doesn't sound like she's let anyone close. Or maybe she's convinced herself that she's kept more of a distance than she has.
*
"Do you though?" Natasha asks idly, almost as if asking about the weather. "Not everything is ever meant to be long-term." Her lips purse lightly as if considering something, but she doesn't offer any other thoughts on the matter. Instead, she merely offers, "If you needed work, I might be able to help." Her throat clears, "But, finding a calling outside of secretarial work may speak more to your strengths anyways." It's hard to know what's code and what's real. And it's possible Nat can't even discern at this point.
*
"Nothing is meant to be long-term," Ava shrugs, stepping away from the wall. "Long-term means getting attached to things, and attachments can be used against you. Can be taken away. You can keep your charity, sestra," she shakes her head, jaw setting as she starts toward the mouth of the alley. "It's too late to make good on that promise."
*
"Some things are long-term without your permission. You would do well to mind that, small one." Not that Nat makes any movement following Ava's. And then, as an afterthought, she adds, "Charity work has long passed," Nat's eyes darken. "And, most work happens in ways we never could've expected. Or at timing we couldn't have controlled." Only with Ava's turn does she finally slide the wallet from her sleeve. A bemused expressed tugs at her features, and she actually fights the smirk that follows.
*
Ava glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowed as she weighs those words. Was that an apology? Almost? Regardless, she doesn't seem inclined to stick around and find out. Head down, she stalks off down the street once more, stewing in her own thoughts.