2019-10-21 - The Grace of Friendships


Steve in his WAND cell receives many visitors in the evening, including the infamous Black Widow, the stalwart Agent May, and the thunderous Thor. Nobody gets eaten except for the lamb gyro — woe betide it!

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Mon Oct 21 04:09:50 2019
Location: WAND Holding Cell

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Theme Song



The moon has risen again, but now having begun its stage of waning from full harvest brightness, there's less of an unconscious tug on Steve's attention span. With both Barnes and Banner having stopped by to offer duffel bags of necessities (and Loki to offer a diagnosis, twist of luck, and a meal against the Captain's expectations), it leaves the blond super-soldier much more comfortable than he originally thought to be throughout the duration of his confinement.

A brief spate outside of the glass-walled cell for a blood draw in the labs, he's been returned without fuss to the glass-walled cell. It's built for Hulk and protected by Class D warding spells, so no one's getting out of it save for through the cell door itself.

Steve's currently sitting cross-legged against the back wall of the cell with a charcoal stub in his fingers and working at finishing out a sketch on an unrolled piece of paper; its curling corners are kept flat by what appears to be a bottle of waterless cleanser and a toothbrush with squishable toothpaste containing body. By his frown, he's thinking very hard. It'll be easy for someone light of foot to show up without Steve noticing, even as with senses gone sharper for the lycanthropic virus still hot in his blood. He's wearing a plain grey t-shirt and black sweatpants now, having changed into clean clothing from one of the duffels.


Natasha has been one of the latecomers to go see Steve, she's heard the reports, she refused to believe them, and then she mulled it over. Steve has always had a place of prominenace in her life, whether he was aware of it or not. She was, first and foremost, created to be his equal, if not his better. Of course best laid plans…

At times he's been the most dangerous of foes, with his silver tongue of propoganda, at other times he's been the best of friends, and somehow, no matter what role he was playing, he's been a beacon of hope of a better future and the imminent defeat of all that is evil.

To see that man in a position that robs him of what he is at his core, was a rather striking experience. One Natasha sought to avoid for the longest time, until it finally struck her, he more than any other deserves to be shown support when needed.

So dressed in her Black Widow uniform, she eventually ventured to the holding cell made to contain Steve at his worst.

"How are you holding up…?" Natasha asks as she ventures quietly into the area, looking at the man in the cell with a deadpan expression. Always her instinct is to hide her emotions. A token trademark of the Black Widow. When she shows emotions, it's usually because she wants them to be seen, rarely because they are what she is feeling at a given moment.


The svelte figure in black appears and probably, in theory, could have all the time in the world to line up some nefarious deed at the unsuspecting Captain. As such, however, her words make him glance up sharply from his sketching. The stub of charcoal comes to a halt as Steve blinks at the red-head beyond the glass wall.

"Agent Romanov. Hey." Transparent as he tends to be unless absolutely necessary, his greeting is stilted. A darkened fingertip is lifted — one second, please — before he pull aside the weights on the corners of his paper. It rolls up equally on both sides to become a mirrored scroll. He places aside the stub of charcoal before rising to his feet. A swipe of his main drawing hand on his black pants won't be seen, after all. Barefoot, he pads over towards the visitor.

"I would claim I can't complain, though I could, but it wouldn't help my case." Widow gets a small smile as the tall super-soldier stands there, hands now in his pockets. "Skin's still got ants under it, but 'm not about to try chewing through a pillow or anything like that. Surprised to see you here. It's a good thing," Steve adds.


"So we find ourselves in reversed roles," Natasha quips with a playful grin on her lips, "I remember many years ago, having to look at you across such a glass holding." Needless to say, even then forces beyond her understanding were involved, just like they are on this instance. Unreasonable phenomenons and great powers somehow always manage to cross paths with her, and all who operate in SHIELD's superior ranks, for that matter.

"I was very displeased to hear of your misfortune…are there any breakthroughs on a cure?" She wonders, not having followed the reports closely. In fact, she distanced herself from this specific case, precisely for the phantoms it evoked.

"I'm surprised to be here," Natasha laughs at Steve's on point comment, "but what can I say, you inspire the best in people, Rogers."


Steve shrugs agreement with the Widow's statement and smiles; the expression's admittedly rueful and knowing in a sober way. Indeed, he'd been on the other side of the glass when they'd first met in controlled and confined circumstances.

"Thanks," the man replies to Natasha's compliment. "Imagine what I could do if I pranced around in tights again." How he deadpans this must be an attempt to make her masterful mask crack in unexpected emotion. His true-blues search her eyes before he again rolls one shoulder. Natasha will be able to read his body langauge easily enough before he even speaks, especially when his gaze slides aside: fatigue, resentment at his current state, worry, a distanced and distracted need to be elsewhere and not confined.

"There's progress, but not enough to count for a cure. Doctor Simmons has managed to come up with something like a tranq dart for the ICER guns. Best speak to her. It'd be good to have one on you until they figure things out." Natasha gets a searching look now. His nose twitches. Damn — unable to scent her beyond the walls of the cell. For a brief second, something feral shadows through the back of his eyes before humanity slides back in, like a scope briefly going out of focus.


Arriving a few moments after Romanov, and not even attempting to move quietly as the foil-wrapped something in her hands would likely make that a lost cause (the canvas market bag slung over one arm is less of an issue), Agent May approaches the glass wall. She offers Natasha a nod hello, then addresses Steve.

"I've brought lunch. You'd mentioned gyros." Shifting her foil-wrapped burden over to one hand, she pulls her ICER pistol and offers it to the red-haired woman handle first, a silent admonition to be on the alert as she hands off the food to Rogers.

Sadly, he's probably used to this precaution by now.

"Rogers, you really shouldn't smear drawing charcoal on your clothes."


"Is it true what they say about the affliction?" Natasha is quick to shift the course of conversation, as well as masterfully find the focus to steer clear of Steve's shrewd play. He was very close to steal an unintended smile out of her. "Does the beast force it's way regardless of your own wants? Something like what Banner might often describe?"

She nods at the tip about Simmons creation, "that is a good point, I'll be sure to arm myself when next I happen by the good doctor."

That brief shift in Steve's eyes is something that gives Natasha pause into silence, studying him for a moment, "…May…" she offers softly at the arriving agent, not turning her gaze off Rogers. "That's very timely of you," she says while taking hold of the ICER and keeping a cool aim at Steve. "No hard feelings, Rogers, you know that already…hopefully there's no need."


Again, the shadow flickers into view behind Steve's blue eyes. "It feels pretty similar to what Banner deals with, yes," the Captain confirms after another moment's intense attention upon his visitor beyond the glass wall. Her pause was telling in its way. Natasha might catch a reflection of behavior stemming from another agent both know, as friend and as companion, he of the metal arm and taiga-cold eyes.

May's arrival breaks the keen look upon the red-headed agent. Steve turns his head and nods towards the other woman. "Gosh, May, you spoil me." He removes his hands from his pockets to hold them palms-up out at his sides and rolls a few steps backwards away from the door to the cell. A slide of May's keycard and the eight-digit passcode blips before the lunch is handed off. With care, the man reaches out to take it and returns to the appropriate distance away from the cell door in order for May to close it and lock it once more.

"No hard feelings. I know better than to take on a Widow single-handedly." Natasha gets a small smile again; this time, he's aiming at her pride to try and break the mask. Someone's been bored in his temporary exile, apparently. "Or Miss May," the Captain adds, lifting the sack towards her in silent thanks.


Handing over the lunch delivery is, as expected, quick and effortless. May nods to Steve to acknowledge his thanks, even as her usual Vulcan-like expression reveals just the tiniest hints of apology. "No, I just remain aware of your metabolic requirements."

She did indeed pick up on the staring contest she'd interrupted, but she doesn't ask either of them about it. Either they'll explain, or they won't. She's not fussed either way.

With the door sealed again, she offers Natasha another nod and waits for her ICER to be returned.


There's a specific memory evoked at this very moment, in this specific scenario, that does draw a bit of a chuckle out of Natasha. "Not a Widow, the very best, top of the class," she winks at Rogers before lowering the weapon once May is out of the cell safe and sound. The ICER is promptly returned, along with a quip, "ever had to use it on Cap, May?"


"Yes," May replies to Natasha as she tucks the ICER away again. No, no explanation.


After her wink, Natasha gets another grin, this time with an element of delight to it, even if the circles beneath his eyes are dark. Victory, even perceived, he'll take now. It's proof of him still clutching at the scraps of humanity and interaction through the glass walls. The smile slides away as Steve then nods confirmation along with May.

"Unfortunately, yes, I've had the ICERs used on me. But…an A for effort on that quip," he notes with a flick of his brows. "'nd sorry, but 'm not sharing these feta-fries. They've been on my mind for days now." Steve settles himself down cross-legged on the floor again and digs into the bag. Mmm, lamb gyros — two of them to boot. The dramatically-increase caloric intake will be combatted this evening.

"Suggest you review the footage, Agent Romanov. Might as well be prepared for anything." The redhead is given another chary, semi-feral glance before he tucks into the first lamb gyro.


Natasha nods at May's quick reply, not asking anything further of the incident, though she does grin at Steve's suggestion. "Oh, I know, in fact I'll go see to it right now, before Fury puts me on a one way trip to China, Hungary or Iran," she half jokingly muses. She doesn't prolong the back and forth with Steve, allowing him the token win for the day.

"May, if you see Dr. Simmons before I do, inform of my need for an ICER? I'll try and speak to the doctor first…" with that, she heads out of the cell area, managing not to show any further reaction to what have been far more disturbing an experience than it may seem.


As Steve sits on the floor to dig in to the food, May seems to take a moment to mentally deliberate something, and then she's pulling the spare magazine for her ICER out of a pocket and offers it to Natasha. "In the meantime."

With a nod to the redhead as she departs, she turns her attention back to Steve, taking in the new things in his room with a brief glance. "I take it Barnes has been by."


"Take it easy, Nat." The murmur around his mouthful of gyro won't reach anyone's ears beyond the translucent wall. His gaze still tracks her along the length of the cell itself and lingers even when she's gone beyond immediate sight, as if he'd come to additional conclusions with senses still stymied by the contained atmosphere.

Steve's slow, contemplative chewing pauses when May addresses him. His eyes flick back to her. Swallowing, he nods. "Earlier this morning, around dawn. Banner stopped by as well. Art supplies came from him. Said he understood what it was like to be in a place like this. He would too. Both would."


May nods slowly at that. "More of us understand what it's like than you'd expect." Yes, 'us'. She pulls over a chair left in the hallway just out of eyeshot of Steve and takes a seat. She's done this before as well, so it's like not a surprise.

"So. What were you trying to figure out about Romanov?" Clearly, she noticed the way he was looking at the younger agent.


The crumpled foil wrapper from the first lamb gyro is set aside. Steve remains seated cross-legged in the center of the transparently-walled cell with his food brought by May. He's comfortable in his grey t-shirt and black sweatpants which hide the charcoal he rubbed from his fingers earlier; the rolled piece of paper appearing as a doubled scroll still sits over by the collected pile of pillows in the far corner alongside a well-used nubbin of charcoal.

The Captain looks up at May, ensconced in her chair, even as he pulls out the smaller baggie of feta-cheese fries that came with his gift of Greek food.

"She's always a mystery, May, you know that," he replies as both answer and evasion in one. Nobody needs to know how he was unconsciously weighing his chances against the limber Widow given the lycanthropic influence pegged her very clearly as 'fellow predator'.


Somewhere up above in the Triskelion reception area, that large prominent building with the multiple visible tiers of floors to the outside and the large sweeping vista rendered in brilliant clear weapons grade resistant tinted glass, there rests a hammer.
"If you would be so kind as to follow me, sir. And I'm afraid you must… you need to leave that behind?" Asked gently, nicely, politely. Just a single beadlet of sweat trickling down the agent's brow as he asks the Thunderer to relinquish his weapon.
And, to his credit, he had. Mjolnir now rests above, sitting down square in the middle of the large SHIELD emblem that dominates the floor, its great hammerhead straight down, the leather strap curled around its haft.
And with an exasperated look another agent is very gingerly setting out small orange safety cones around the artifact, to make sure people don't trip over it.
Which in turn led to /yet/ another agent being tasked to lead Thor through the labyrinthine halls, down the elevator to the holding area, through the security check. May might even have an instant message sent her way to her comm with a small image file that simply shows Thor there in jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, with his hair drawn back in a pony tail. He's smiling, flashing up a peace sign to whomever it is taking the picture though there is a little touch of something strained to his features as if he's being nice… but perhaps may not wish to be.
And if one were to check that particular agent's phone who took that pic they might even find a selfie that follows that one pic sent to May's.
It all in turn leads to Thor's arrival on that floor, emerging from the elevator and striding down the hallway, rapidly pursued by the agent…
And then the sound of his boisterous larger than life voice as he shouts, "Rogers?!" Stride-stride-stride. "Steven!? Where are you!?"


May received the notice on her earwig comm all right, and she gave no outward indication of having heard it even if Steve somehow picked up on the tiny device's audio. It's not until Thor's voice echoes down the hall toward them that she visibly reacts, by closing her eyes scarcely longer than a normal blink and then standing to turn and meet the boisterous Aesir who is clearly about to catch up with them.

Steve is tossed a briefly raised eyebrow as if commenting wordlessly about the number of visitors he's getting all of a sudden.


It is impressive how well the Thunderer's voice travels in the underground hallways of the holding cells. Steve's eyebrows nearly rise off his forehead by the amount of surprise it brings him to hear it. A feta-covered fry pauses in mid-lift to his lips as he leans outwards in his sit, all the better to crane his neck and see down the length of the hall itself.

"'m in here, Thor." Between the mechanical and magical speakers inset to the ceiling, one can hear his response well enough beyond the walls. "It's alright," he adds loudly, his tone holding a moderate amount of confusion. Content to remain seated in the cell with his food for now, Steve doesn't rise. Thor is, however, given a salute of two fingers from his temple upon his arrival at the cell, the gesture of friendly sarcasm and mockery at the Captain's current state.


The man's arrival is as bombastic as the man, though his volume lowers once he finds himself abruptly at the place where he was going, just not initially realizing it. Eyebrows rise as well as suddenly Steve, and then May? The tall blond man gives a stern nod to Melinda May, his breath exhaled slowly through his nose as if keeping whatever thoughts he might have in check.
But then he turns to cast that blue-eyed gaze upon Steve. "Captain." He takes a moment to look the man over. Up down, down up. "I see the utterances of…" He looks to May then adds, "Of others are true. You are held captive here."
A beat, as if expecting some elaboration. But then he adds. "Against your will?" Voice lilting up slightly to add that question mark.
Another… glance is given to May. And in a manner as to what passes for subtle with the Asgardian he asks, "Do you… wish to be?"
Then he sort of keeps facing Cap, though his eyes flick to May. Back to Cap. To May again. Once again to Cap. As if conveying a secret message.


May returns the stern nod, and then just watches the God of Subtlety over here. She's seen toddlers eyeing candy with less obviousness. But, she doesn't speak up, instead leaving Thor to flounder for that moment or three longer.

She does however move the chair back out of the way and crosses her arms, mostly so that she can pull her ICER that much more quickly if the Aesir decides to try letting Steve out without asking SHIELD permission.

And if the iCER is ineffective, she's got at least two kinds of taser on her person as well.


Chewing his fry slowly, the man frowns at Thor at first. The flicker of understanding comes as a twinkle in and out of his true-blue eyes, echoed by a passing shadow of influence decidedly lurking: oh yes, Steve does want out. Moonlight might not reach down beneath the Triskelion's stalwart architecture, but the virus in his blood knows the bright orb has risen hours ago.

"Not against my will, no." Reluctant, his answer, influenced more by his own bone-deep sense of morals than May's presence. The Captain watches the agent shift about before looking back to Thor again. "'s'better if 'm in here right now."


"Are you certain?" Thor says, he spares a look again at May, though this time a little more openly. He turns, sneakers squeaking a little on the metal floor of the holding area as he faces Melinda now. "In Asgard we are familiar with the kin of the Wolf. There are those who could be of aid if needs be."
A glance back is given toward Cap and he frowns a little, perhaps not knowing that this particular strain and manner of feral influence is not exactly the same as what the Wolf Gods of Asgard embrace. Though Thor is likely not one to split hairs in such a situation.
Then, to Steve, he asks. "Are you being treated well, Rogers?" Though the evidence that meets his eyes is not exactly damning, what with thy gyro and the artwork and the seemingly normal manner of the aforementioned prisoner. "Has Stark engaged his Lawyers Three?" The team that is often at his service as is so often the case.


May watches Thor more than Steve at this point, and speaks up when he mentions the possibility of assistance from Asgard. "If you're serious about wanting to help, ask to speak with Agent Simmons. She's in charge of the group working on a way to help Rogers."

And then, when Thor asks if Steve is being treated well, she finally looks at the latter, as if silently checking for herself that he's not in actual need of anything. If he complains about the food…


Kin of the Wolf? Steve sits up straighter and completely ignores his second unwrapped gyro held by both hands in a display of attention nearly supernatural in itself. After all, the meal is still warm in its foil covering and the scent rises in salivation-inducing wafts to his abnormally-sharp nose.

At the mention of Tony, however, the Captain laughs once, a huff. "No, Stark hasn't, but it's not necessary right now. 'm here because I should be."

Not because Steve wants to be.

"I've been more uncomfortable incarcerated before," comes the droll additional comment, complete with smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. The brief curl of lips fades as Steve continues. "May's right though. Doctor Simmons has been working on an anti-viral. 's'not working yet, but…I've got hope." The second lamb gyro now begins to disappear in quick, efficient bites.


A hand lifts to point at Steve as Thor gives a nod, solemn and stern. "Yes." He says, though exactly what point of Steve's making he is agreeing with is not entirely clear. He then turns to May, and that Agent who is still amongst them as he won the work-lottery of being charged with 'keeping an eye on' Thor.
"You there," Oh no. He's pointing now at the both of them, May and the poor Agent. "You will take me to this Simmons and you will take me now. Matters are pressing and I will not be delayed in rendering aid unto my comrade Captain Rogers. Is this understood?"
There is such a /weight/ of authority from the man. Such a heavy pressure of consideration when the full attention of the man's eyes rests upon another and it is clear he is /not/ happy. And for a moment all of that intensity is resting fully upon May and the young Agent.
Likely May weathers it better.
But then Thor turns his head slightly, "Bide." He looks to Captain Rogers, "You said May?" Then back to her. "We have known battle before, have we not?"
But then he shakes his head, "Forgive my manner, yet the sentiment is unchanged."


May still has her arms crossed. And she does NOT respond to 'You there'. So when he demands to be taken to Simmons, she simply looks at the younger Agent tasked with 'escorting' Thor about. It's clearly an order for him to do ask Thor has asked.

And then, FINALLY, the Aesir seems to get a glimmer of recognition at her name. "We have."

She looks at Steve at that point. "The usual stands, Rogers." The agreement that he can call on her if he needs or would like anything. Like Greek food.


Momentarily, the Captain pauses in chewing again when gestured at; his jaw is left notably off to one side before returning to center. A nod is accompanied by a quirk of his wheat-gold brows.

"May, yes," he confirms around a cheekful of gyro. His eyes slide from Thor to May and the accompanying agent. There's a bit of an amused squint despite himself — he knows very well what it's like to be under the scrutiny of the Thunderer.

Having finished his second gyro, he collects the detritus of the packaging all into the bag. Now reaching for the water bottle, he cracks it and depletes the contents by half before nodding at May in particular. "Appreciate that, thank you. Figure I'll be kept updated on matters?" He looks between the agents and Thor, eyebrows lifted.


"Indeed," Is all Thor offers at first, still looking pointedly at the Agents of SHIELD. But then he gives a nod in Cap's direction, "I know you shall not rest well in captivity, good Captain, but know that your stay shall be short at the least. For you may trust in the Mighty Thor."
At that he rounds again quickly on the agent tasked with showing the Asgardian around.
"Eep." Sayeth the Agent.
"Bring me to this Simmons! They shall know that their efforts are now under the scrutiny of Odin's Son."
And with that they depart.


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