pennysheets | Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

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Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

It had taken her a while to get far enough into the ranks of this... organization. They have half a dozen names for themselves, depending on where one gains entrance, and most people don't ever go beyond those half-dozen entrance groups. Natasha is good, but these people are paranoid, and death cults are not a thing that you get access to immediately.

But because she is good, here she is finally, fresh from the ritual bath and dressed in undyed cotton, barefoot, ready for her first ritual. She's the only new one today, but there are other junior members walking in their two lines from the baths to the ritual room and its five sealed coffins. Natasha has yet to be told what's in them, only that they are very powerful.

"Which one is it today?" the young man who'd introduced himself as Stolen Moon (junior members tend to pick very pretentious ritual names) asks, quietly, of the senior member walking in front of him, who was known by the (slightly less pretentious) name Fox.

"You'll see when we get there," Fox says.

"Don't ask questions in front of the initiate," adds the senior at the head of the second column, an older woman called Hawk.

There are already three senior members waiting inside: Raven, Star, and Shimmer. Fox and Hawk motion for everyone to take their places, in an outward-facing ring inside the circle of coffins, and then join them, each standing between two of the coffins.

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Natasha exhales something like a laugh. "I'm not sure I know what that is."

But she rises, rolling her shoulders to dispell some of the stiffness that's settled into them. "You should pick up a burner phone before you get on the road. It'll make it easier to keep in touch."

She gives him the security codes and directions before she actually leaves; the system will ping her phone once he arrives, which will at least let her know where to find him if he opts not to avail himself of any convenient means of communication. In the meantime, they both have work to do.

When he does arrive at the safehouse outside of DC, he'll find it as secluded as she'd promised, and comfortably furnished. There's a bedroom in the basement, windowless and secure behind solid walls - and, when engaged, a door that could withstand nearly anything short of an enraged Hulk - in addition to the two upstairs. It isn't new. The clothes - not a lot, but two pairs of sturdy jeans, and several shirts in soft fabrics - are.

He does get a phone. He does not send her the number immediately, but he does get one.

He hits the safehouse about two weeks later. He takes a short detour to ransack an empty temple, destroy some of the delicate spellwork there and steal some shit to supplement his cash and make it look like a robbery more than a rogue vampire to the unfamiliar, stops in half a dozen libraries in an attempt to find out more about Carter and the SSR with a surprising lack of success, and meanders around a little to make sure he doesn't have any kind of tail. But he does wind up there, circling for almost an hour before he decides it probably isn't an elaborate trap.

He has a moment of too many emotions at the sight of fresh clothes. Though he had used some of that cash to get himself some clothes, too, it's still thoughtful.

He texts her from his new(ish) phone the next night, once he's settled in, had a meal, and made sure hell wasn't going to descend on him now that he's in somewhere Natasha controls.

well im here

If he had the cultural context he would've made a "hi honey I'm home" joke, except he kind of doesn't know about old tv shows.

It would be unfair to say that Natasha is climbing the walls. She has too much to do to sit and fret - her job and her own research both. But she keeps careful tabs on operations, watching for the sort of scramble that would mean a high-level target's been found - because while the vampire's not officially on that list, as badly as SHIELD's been compromised, she expects its resources would be put into play immediately to secure him.

She keeps even more careful tabs on Pierce, and on Rumlow, pulls Clint in to watch the latter, and while he complains about her source - he's a professional. Ignoring information just because it comes from someone he dislikes is a good way to die.

It's a relief when her security system alerts her to someone entering with her codes. It's even more of a relief the following night when the text comes in from an unfamiliar number. She considers her reply for a moment, before sending a message back. Innocuous, in case anyone checks her phone.

I was starting to miss you.

The first thought to cross his mind is no she didn't, except by "miss" she probably means more like "worried you disappeared". That he can see as being true. He stares at his phone a moment, lying on his back on the bed in the basement, then texts back something equally innocuous but at the same time pointed.

not too busy to think about me huh?

You're never far from my thoughts.

Which is true enough, though it has nothing to do with the mask of mild flirtation carried in her messages. He's at the heart of the largest threat SHIELD has ever faced - even when she's not focused on something directly pertaining to him, he's involved.

Should have an evening free this weekend. Want to meet, catch up a little?

He'd expected the suggestion, even kind of hoped for it, so long as it doesn't lead to agents surrounding him wherever they wind up. Unlikely, really, since it would've been easier to have them waiting for him here. Anyway, he has papers for her. She might have intel for him. She might have an ETA for taking out Pierce. And he finds he does kind of want to see a friendly, or at least familiar, face.

love to, just pick a place and I'll be there

She sends an address, a little hole in the wall the next town over, near the boardwalk. The sort of place that affords privacy, and where it would be easy to spot a tail, or a trap, in deference to the paranoia they both share.

I'll let you know my ETA when I roll out.

I'll look forward to it

And until then he'll figure out how to keep himself occupied. Maybe there's a used bookstore in that town. And he'll need to eat again, so he's not hungry when Natasha shows up.

He might wind up texting her again if he gets too bored before then. Or maybe lonely, but that sounds so much more pathetic.

There's a bookstore, and an off-run cinema that shows movies that have fallen out of the box office, along with older classics on Thursday nights. And a number of bars, frequented by a mix of locals and out-of-towners, though given the time of year, it skews a little more toward the former than the latter.

Whether he winds up texting her again or not, she sends him a message about an hour before dawn on Saturday morning, to let him know when to meet that evening.

She arrives early enough to case the place, and make sure she isn't followed, before entering to find a table in the back, selecting a booth both for the slight cover it offers, and for the good angle on the mirror behind the bar to see the rest of the room.

He visits the bookstore. He visits the movie theater, too, watches a dumb romcom that he absolutely does not understand and feels like he ought to be offended by, actually. He does text her twice, but it's with pictures of random shit around town rather than actual words. Nothing that might give away where exactly he is: a picture of the stack of books he bought, and a picture of a bundle of snakeroot flowers from a path outside town. Mostly he thought she might find them funny.

He's later arriving than she is, just barely on time in fact, because catching a meal and getting far enough away afterwards meant a tight schedule. But he's presentable, and he drops into the opposite side of the booth with a wry little smile, one not big enough to show fang. "You were up early this morning," he comments.

She's ordered them each a bottle of beer by the time he arrives, knowing he probably won't drink his, but not wanting to draw any undue attention. She wasn't followed, and she's paying cash so there won't be a credit card trail, but certain habits are ingrained for a reason.

She meets his comment with a mock-sheepish look and an admission of, "I'm morning person. It's one of my few flaws. You settling in all right?"

He does pick it up and flick the cap off, at least to smell it. Maybe trade it with hers once she's had some, so it looks like they both drank half their beers. "Yeah, it's a nice place. Quiet. Definitely better than the last place."

He clinks their beer bottles together with a soft tink. "You gonna be in town long enough for a visit? Or you got some other plans you're thinkin' about roping me into?"

"I'll be around for the weekend," she says. "There's a nice little hotel on the beach that does an amazing brunch."

And means she won't be intruding on his privacy - or, more importantly, staying in the same place he is, and risking drawing notice to it if anyone manages to track her position.

"But I am planning a trip soon. Taking in the sights, visiting some old friends. You should come."

If he had a working heart, it would be beating harder now. She means Pierce. He knows she does. She's gearing up to take him out, so it's time to get his own ass into gear and get prepared, himself. He needs to not be fucking terrified of it.

He looks up from his beer, at her face, and quirks a smile, just a hint of fang. "Sounds like fun. I wouldn't mind going somewhere with company, for once. Got any idea when you wanna do this trip?"

"Not for a couple weeks yet. I need to make arrangements for the kids."

Which she hopes he'll interpret correctly - she has a plan to draw off at least some of the operatives within SHIELD's structure, she just needs to get the pieces in place. She doubts they'll be able to get him entirely isolated, but the fewer guards, the better their chances will be.

And the less chance he'll have to use any of the truly nasty magic he might have to hand.

He understands. There are still plenty of preparations to put into place, which he probably should've guessed. That's going to be a long couple weeks of pacing and fretting and imagining horrible ways all of this could go wrong, though. "I'll make sure I'm free," he promises, which comes out a little wry. What else is he gonna do, anyway?

"I tried looking up our old friend, from overseas?" he says. "Marge?" Another nickname for Margaret, which hopefully she'll know. "Not a lot of luck. All her old numbers are out of service. Don't suppose you've got a new number for her, do ya?"

"She's been staying with family," Natasha says. "I might be able to get her new number from her niece - she's on my Christmas card list."

SHIELD, she means, and clean.

All this spy talk is going to get exhausting, he can tell, but it's necessary for now. Maybe for a long time. He doesn't think there's any cultist spies in this town, but it's still not something you can really talk about out in the open.

So he does nod. He'll trust for now that Natasha knows who's safe. "I'd appreciate that. I miss her, you know?" Or what knowing about her might tell him. If she's hinting Margaret Carter is actually still alive, though... she might be able to tell him a lot.

"She hasn't been in the best of health," Natasha warns, which is a dire understatement. She doesn't know the precise extent of Carter's illness, but Sharon had mentioned memory care, which never bodes well.

Still.

"But I think she'd be happy to hear from an old friend."

"Not sure if she'll really still think of me as a friend," he says with half a smile, almost self-depricating. "But I'll give her a call if you can get the number. See if she still thinks fondly of me. Thanks."

He looks around, offers, "Feel like a walk?" Because yeah. Spy talk is running out his nerves.

There's a brief flicker of sympathy, little more than a slight tilt at the corners of her eyes and mouth. It may be second nature to her, speaking entirely in implication, but that doesn't mean she's unaware of how awkward it must feel for anyone not accustomed.

"Sure," she says. "It's a nice night for it. Along the shore?" Where the surf will interfere with any attempts to eavesdrop on them, should anyone have managed to evade both their notice

"That sounds nice," he agrees, and plucks the beer bottle up to take with him as he slides to his feet. That way no one can see that he hasn't actually had any. He can leave it out on the beach and someone else can happen upon it and have a good time. "I've been doing a lot of walking around, but I haven't really been down by the shore much."

"Well, we definitely need to fix that." She stands, dropping a few bills on the table to cover their drinks and tip, then heads for the door, angling a teasing smile his way over her shoulder.

There's no one watching them closely, but there's also no reason not to ensure anyone who does take note comes to the obvious conclusion about why they're leaving after only one drink, and not even the entire drink, in his case.

He smiles, back, only just small enough to keep the fangs behind them. It manages to look fond rather than strained, at least. They're old friends, old flames maybe, reconnecting. Slight better role than the random hookup they'd played last time, but not any easier.

He does offer his arm for her to slip hers through once they're outside, but what he says, quietly, is, "No sign that anybody knows what you're up to yet?"

She tucks her arm through his, leaning in close like she's snuggling up to take advantage of his warmth against the breeze coming in off the ocean. There's a little private amusement at the knowledge that she's the one with body heat to spare, though she doubts either of them would choose to be quite this close if it weren't for the fact that it makes it all the easier to speak quietly.

"None," she says. "I'm good at covering my tracks, when I'm not trying to be found. There's still some exposure risk, but so far, so good."

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