nexus_crossings | The Silence of the Storm

Rations have been cut. Again. Everyone is on one bowl of watery soup a day. Sometimes with crackers, sometimes not. Most people are too tired and weak to do much more than sit around and talk, and nobody discourages them in the slightest. Work has to be rotated constantly as people weaken quickly, but the fires still need to burn, people still need to guard the cooks and rations, and the sick still need to be tended to. Soon the hardest job is keeping up morale while the big expedition comes back. All the gods and heavens of the multiverse help them if they don’t come back with supplies, and soon.

The boundaries have tightened to an almost suffocatingly small space. It doesn’t take much to imagine where they will be by the end of Winter, which at least makes planning a little easier. People are already relocating to deeper in the Plaza. Unfortunately it means that those who have enough energy to often end up fighting with their neighbours, as the close quarters tests everyone’s patience. There are a few spaces carved out for like minded people to shelter from the dreary situation. Mechanics and those like them have set up a nice little place close to the Crossroads Café, and a break area for those helping the sick is sheltered in a room behind the injured and ill. Zandros moves from groups to individuals, looking for help in creating some form of morale boosting display that will adhere to Isidor's instructions. People are surviving in whatever ways they can, but it's reaching breaking point.

((It's the Final Event Post, everyone! OOC Post is here! This is for those stuck at the hub while the Main Expedition is going on. There will be a second part to this post for the Return of the Expedition. In the meantime, have fun!))

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Matt asks his question and Natasha's heart rate spikes as her stomach plummets into her feet. She can hear it still. See the coolants leaking and she made the only choice she could make it was the right choice--there was no other choice. Her breathing stays steady and so undoubtedly does her expression but Matt knows better than the even voice Natasha uses.

"Blaze-37 and her Ghost. I think one of the scouts is missing yet too." The Washington kid Natasha could care less about. It's a goddamned blessing that psycho is gone so far as she's concerned. "And Azwel."

Her reaction is so wrong that it cuts right through Matt's pain and fatigue, her heart betraying what her voice won't. It sounds like guilt. Over not being able to save them? Or something else?

"You were there." He feels confident enough in guessing that much. She doesn't strike him as the type to blame herself for not acting if she wasn't able to. Especially if she didn't know any different, at the time. No, whatever happened to put that hiccup in her heartbeat, she was a participant in it.

"I was. With Blaze and Ghost, at least. I don't know about the others."

Natasha hadn't exactly been discreet in sticking to Blaze's back the entire ride up there during the start of the Expedition, nor after the fighting started. Up till the last moments she looked for another way. When none could be found...

"She should be back by now." Ghost should have gotten her up. Unless Blaze is still Out There chasing down the Fallen leader like she threatened to but then wouldn't she reply to Natasha's radio? Even if her memory or something Tony fixed for her a while ago was damaged because of this Ghost knows what happened. Ghost should have gotten her up and checking in.

She's nauseous and exhausted but her mind won't let this go.

"They both should be back by now."

He'd lost track of most of the fighters, once the melee had started. Too much to track the entire battlefield, forced to focus on what was an immediate threat to himself and nearby allies, and he still ended up blindsided enough to bench him for probably the rest of winter. Matt frowns, unable to recall whether he'd heard anything from either of them, during the fight.

He doesn't know Blaze, or her Ghost, not outside what's been necessary for the raid. But she'd seemed a competent warrior, and he would've thought her mechanical body would've given her an edge over the squishier organic fighters in the party. "You got separated," he guesses, hesitant. Something about that doesn't seem right. "When did you see them last? Maybe the scouts could go out looking." Unlikely, though. They'd all known when they left that if they didn't make it back under their own power, rescue was vanishingly unlikely.

"No. We parted ways."

Circuits sparking. Coolant leaking. Ghost's optic widening as he stared up at her. What are you doing, Natasha? And she couldn't explain, not then. Not while Reynard or his agents could hear. How could he have found out about her plan?

But he must have.

Because Blaze isn't here and neither is her Ghost.

"The Spirit controlling the Season was there. Close by. He was watching us, thwarting us. He's the one who assaulted Azwel. He would have buried the entire convoy underneath his wrath if he hadn't gotten what he wanted."

Parted ways.

That sounds ominous even before she continues speaking, and the more Matt hears, the less he likes. Though it makes no difference to him which way he's facing, he turns in her direction more fully, his frown deepening as a shiver finds a home in his spine. Her heartbeat thuds heavily in his ears, an irregular beat of guilt guilt guilt.

"What he wanted? Natasha. What did you do?"

"I gave him a show. I killed someone who can't be killed."

It should have been a show. Ghost knew well enough to make sure it was safe before he resurrected Blaze. How could Reynard have found out? What is she missing? It's sending her round in circles and the guilt only gets worse. But Natasha isn't a coward. She had the nerve to pull the trigger.

She'll have the nerve to admit it.

"Her ghost should have brought her right back once he was gone. I don't know why they're not back yet. This is a woman who clears minefields by walking through them. A life that could be renewed versus everyone else? The choice is obvious."

It's not going to stop Natasha from hurting over it. Blaze is their good friend. When Steve finds out about this...

Edited 2019-04-21 02:08 (UTC)

For a moment, Matt doesn't even know how to respond. He already knew damn well that she's a killer, that it's what she's trained to do, but killing an enemy is one thing. Executing an ally? Sacrificing them to some pagan spirit to appease Winter? That's something else entirely. Even if this ally could supposedly resurrect herself.

Which, apparently, she hasn't.

Matt's jaw tightens, and he bows his head and crosses himself with his good arm, offering up a silent prayer to Saint Michael. Out loud, he says nothing for a long moment, struggling with the disbelief and the anger, and the terrible logic of Natasha's decision. "If she's not back, then she's not coming back."

Natasha doesn't need Matt to tell her how monstrous what she's saying is. The spy is well aware of it already. But she's also apparently just fine with piling on the guilt so she watches every tic and repressed emotion that flits across his face because it's the least of what she deserves and Natasha knows this.

When Nocturnal told her the choice and its consequences would be hers to make, Natasha knew what would be waiting for her if she couldn't find a different way out of this.

"You and I can't know that for sure. But it doesn't look great. And. That's on me."

Everything that comes with it.

"Yeah. It is." She doesn't seem the type to expect reassurances that she's not at fault despite all evidence to the contrary, and Matt doesn't feel inclined to do it anyway. The constant throbbing of his broken bones isn't helping his mood any either, fueling his ire.

"Does anyone else know?" he asks, his voice like steel as he listens to the thump of her heart, the one tell she can't hide from him.

She doesn't flinch or shudder at Matt's retort. There's acceptance in every breath she takes even if regret is a constant companion. Whatever's coming to her Natasha's more than willing to take. Shirking responsibility for her actions hasn't been an option for a very long time for the spy.

"Now? You. Isidor Durant. Ghost. Rogers will as soon as he wakes up. That'll be fun."

"Good." If she'd asked him to keep his mouth shut, he's honestly not sure what he would've done. Not that he would tell all who would listen, but he does not want to be the sole person responsible for keeping this under wraps.

Harsh as it is, though, he's not entirely without compassion, though more for the missing than for the one who killed her. "Maybe we'll still get lucky."

The Silence of the Storm

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