[ The roof top is quiet this late at night, and even down below the jazz club has started dwindling in its activity. Sam's sitting on a palette propped against a wall, head tipped back. There's not much in terms of star gazing to be done - too much light pollution. He feels home sick for Earth, for Louisiana, for the boat. Homesick for people, too.
Redwing's on perimeter duty, making sure they remain undisturbed. So Sam doesn't startle when the door opens and closes - knows it's Yelena already.
There's tension in his shoulders. His eyes are still a little puffy and a little glassy, but his cheeks are dry and he's gathered as much of his composure as he could. When Yelena approaches, he pats the palette next to him in invitation to join him as he sits up a little and looks at her, hands clasped between his knees. ]
[Yelena pauses when she gets to the roof and takes in the scene, noting Sam's body language. When he called her she assumed it was something mission related. They're both Featherstones, it would make sense for him to call her if he needed back up or something.
But it's obvious that this isn't about the mission. This is something more personal. She feels a knot of anxiety form in the pit of her stomach as she approaches him.]
Okay.
[She says the word slowly, her tone betraying her uncertainty and confusion. She does take a seat next to him, though.]
[ There's no easy way to say this, not when Sam knows he can't look as unaffected as he wishes - he does his best to tamp down on the hurt for Yelena's sake though. Pushes it down. Right now it's not about him. So Sam angles his body towards her, meets her eyes with as much kindness as he can put in there.
Braces himself. Worse than receiving bad news is having to deliver them, and knowing you'll wound someone who doesn't deserve this kind of hurt. ]
I have bad news. I spent most of the day making sure so I wouldn't put something on your shoulders unnecessarily. And now I know so... I gotta tell you in person, and I gotta tell you in private. Redwing's keeping the roof clear. We're alone. [ She'll have room for any reaction, any way to feel her way through this. Room for yelling, room for tears, room for whatever it takes. ].
I'm sorry, Yelena. It's Natasha. She's... gone. Not missing on a mission here. Not returned to the station. She's just... gone. No longer connected to Ximilia. Which... probably means she's back home. And that means...
[ Sam has to swallow, drops the sentence. They know what it means - it means Natasha is dead. Just like she was. Just like she wasn't here.
He reaches out carefully, brushes his fingers against Yelena's arm. An offer for contact - easily shaken off if she doesn't want it. Easy to pull her in if she needs it. ]
So, what she was here and then they lost her and now she's gone? Back to being dead? Just like that?
[That's a callously blunt way to put it. Sam is hurting too, and she can see that. It's not that she lacks empathy or that she's trying to be harsh. She just never had the socialization necessary to help her learn to regulate and express her emotions in a gentler way.
It's something she's still figuring out and it's most difficult at times like this.]
[ It hurts, the blunt edge of her words, but it doesn't hurt anymore than the spiral Sam's been on himself. It's not fair that this is exactly what has happened to Natasha. it's not fair that they lost her to the same death twice.
This isn't about his pain, though, and Sam keeps it carefully bottled. He had his little breakdown earlier, had his moment of grief. So he takes a deep slow breath, lets his eyes be wet, but not more than that, and nods.
Yelena reminds him of his sister, then. Younger than he's felt in ages, lashing out when he left for the Air Force. Lashing out when he went for a second combat tour, too. ]
I'm so sorry, Yelena.
[ He shifts to her, just a little, curls a hand very lightly around her forearm if she allows it, with the intent to rub his thumb over her skin. She might not be much for hugs, but Sam knows from experience that something in her must be breaking at this moment, and wants to offer at least even just this small comfort, if he can. ]
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[ He sends the coordinates to the high rooftop of a jazz club in the city. It's good for covert meetings. Isolated. With alcohol downstairs. ]
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[She will get dressed and meet him there in about half an hour.]
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Redwing's on perimeter duty, making sure they remain undisturbed. So Sam doesn't startle when the door opens and closes - knows it's Yelena already.
There's tension in his shoulders. His eyes are still a little puffy and a little glassy, but his cheeks are dry and he's gathered as much of his composure as he could. When Yelena approaches, he pats the palette next to him in invitation to join him as he sits up a little and looks at her, hands clasped between his knees. ]
Thanks. For coming. Sit with me?
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But it's obvious that this isn't about the mission. This is something more personal. She feels a knot of anxiety form in the pit of her stomach as she approaches him.]
Okay.
[She says the word slowly, her tone betraying her uncertainty and confusion. She does take a seat next to him, though.]
What's going on?
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Braces himself. Worse than receiving bad news is having to deliver them, and knowing you'll wound someone who doesn't deserve this kind of hurt. ]
I have bad news. I spent most of the day making sure so I wouldn't put something on your shoulders unnecessarily. And now I know so... I gotta tell you in person, and I gotta tell you in private. Redwing's keeping the roof clear. We're alone. [ She'll have room for any reaction, any way to feel her way through this. Room for yelling, room for tears, room for whatever it takes. ].
I'm sorry, Yelena. It's Natasha. She's... gone. Not missing on a mission here. Not returned to the station. She's just... gone. No longer connected to Ximilia. Which... probably means she's back home. And that means...
[ Sam has to swallow, drops the sentence. They know what it means - it means Natasha is dead. Just like she was. Just like she wasn't here.
He reaches out carefully, brushes his fingers against Yelena's arm. An offer for contact - easily shaken off if she doesn't want it. Easy to pull her in if she needs it. ]
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She stares at him blankly for a moment, then shakes her head.]
What? No, how can she just be gone?
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I... don't know. Sometimes people disappear from the station, sometimes people show up.
[ He holds her eyes, swallows hard. Lets her see that he's pained but honest with her, here. ]
She's... not here anymore.
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[That's a callously blunt way to put it. Sam is hurting too, and she can see that. It's not that she lacks empathy or that she's trying to be harsh. She just never had the socialization necessary to help her learn to regulate and express her emotions in a gentler way.
It's something she's still figuring out and it's most difficult at times like this.]
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This isn't about his pain, though, and Sam keeps it carefully bottled. He had his little breakdown earlier, had his moment of grief. So he takes a deep slow breath, lets his eyes be wet, but not more than that, and nods.
Yelena reminds him of his sister, then. Younger than he's felt in ages, lashing out when he left for the Air Force. Lashing out when he went for a second combat tour, too. ]
I'm so sorry, Yelena.
[ He shifts to her, just a little, curls a hand very lightly around her forearm if she allows it, with the intent to rub his thumb over her skin. She might not be much for hugs, but Sam knows from experience that something in her must be breaking at this moment, and wants to offer at least even just this small comfort, if he can. ]