Road to War Part II: Yes, Anastasia

It's funny the things you find in the rain

She curls up on the couch to read. The dosage was hard to determine, and she doesn't know how long he'll be out. Eventually, she hears movement down the hall and feels her muscles tense. With effort, she relaxes and doesn't look up until he is close by. Then she smiles and takes stock of him. He looks tired, not angry, and maybe a little disappointed. His disappointment is not as effective as Steve's, but she feels that twinge of guilt nonetheless. Discreetly, she signals Clint that she's fine when they go to the kitchen.

After he gets his bearings and has a drink, she settles back and looks across the table at him. "So, what kind of work do you have in mind?"

He meets her eye, cocking his head to study her. "I need intel. I can't get it."

"You want me to get it?"

Shrugging, he looks away. "If you can. I don't have access to anything like recent whereabouts of people."

"Except me."

"Except you."

She waits patiently as he pauses, brow furrowed. "Who are you trying to find, James?"

He flinches almost imperceptibly at the name, and she smiles grimly at the reaction. She remembers being made uncomfortable when people said her name, too. He'll get used to it. "I... I want to keep them from doing this to... to anyone else," he says haltingly.

She wonders, painfully, how much talking he's been allowed to do in the last seventy years. His uniform made him look like a heavily restrained wild animal. "Or to you," she presses. He shrugs, looking anywhere but at her. "James. I get it. It's not revenge. It's self-preservation," she says soothingly.

His eyes meet hers and he frowns a little, but not like he is trying to think of something. He's studying her, and she accepts his scrutiny without responding. "I have nightmares."

Biting her lip, she nods. "I can imagine."

"Can you?" he asks a little sharply.

She is reminded of when she first met Bruce, and he snarled at her to get a reaction. She doesn't think that is what James is doing, at least intentionally, but it takes considerable effort not to flinch at his tone, especially given their history. It is too dangerous, it might bring Clint, and she doesn't think James would react well to that. Instead, she smiles grimly. "Yes, James. Mine used to be pretty similar."

"Used to be?" he echoes.

Nodding, she gets to her feet and looks out the window. She knows Clint is watching, which is somewhat comforting as she considers her past. "They stop, eventually."

When she glances back at him, he seems deflated, staring intently at the table. "So I just have to wait," he whispers.

Tentatively, she walks over to him and gently puts her hand on his shoulder. "There are some things you can do to help. But first, why don't you go get cleaned up and then we'll get to work."

He nods, not looking up.

"James. It helps to have work," she tells him reassuringly. Then she steps back and he gets to his feet slowly. She stands out of the way and watches him make his way back down the hallway, trying to push away the unexpected urge to show him she understands exactly what he is going through.

When he's clean, which she forces herself not to notice too closely, they search for information on her laptop. She prints him a copy as well as a digital one that will update itself whenever he plugs it into the network. He's grateful, and doesn't know how to show it. He doesn't like the intimacy of her knowing his mission, she thinks. Despite the fact that it's why he came here. But he understandably doesn't have a lot of trust for other people. She wonders if that's why he didn't go to Steve first. But she decides, at dinner, to keep the conversation light. Which is difficult, when he may not remember anything.