nommed | open rp post;

[ they are ten years of age and six years of age; theirs is the perfect gap in ages, which still allowed them to play together while yancy was still obviously the older, and raleigh still obviously the younger. it meant they didn't fight about what they were going to play — if yancy knew what he wanted to play, they played that. and if he didn't know or didn't care, raleigh'd make a suggestion and he'd humor her.

they were raised in a comfortable cottage in rural northern france. their parents fought a lot (their mother was outspoken and stubborn, and their father all too generous with the back of his hand) but kept them warm, clothed, and fed. the two of them were happy, if under educated for the most part; raleigh entertained few ideas of being taught to read, for she would only want to learn so as to read fairytales, but why learn when yancy could read to her? even before he could do his letters, he'd weave fanciful stories for her at night, and sometime she's pretty sure he reads to her from the same pages but changes the story each time.

(hindsight raleigh, 400 years from this date is convinced they'd had another sibling; that their brother or sister had died in infancy or maybe when they'd died; she does not remember well, and yancy insists there'd been no one else. when they were little and had fallen asleep together in their bed, it'd always just been the two of them, she's pretty sure, but doubts her memory more than she trusts his word.)

of course, when they weren't reading comfortably tucked to one another's sides, they were doing what country children did best; playing in the mud. ]

Prêt ou pas, ici je viens! [ ready or not, here I come! raleigh calls, pulling her face away from the fence of the paddock where they kept their two ponies (gipsy the palomino, and danger the old grey) and trudging across the muddy patch. ]

I'm going to find you, Yancy!

[ when raleigh wakes up, she wakes up cold. when she breathes, she gasps like she's trying to fill her lungs for the first time, and pitches sideways to wretch and choke and desperately fight for some semblance of normal. her insides feel off, there's something wrong with her; her chest is tight, and she can't tell if her heart is beating too quickly or to slowly.

or at all.

and who knows, it might not be. because the second that raleigh can concentrate on anything other than her hacking, wheezing, and disorientation, it's when she realizes that she is laying in a pool of blood. her night dress, a pale pink at some point, is saturated in the stuff. there's a lot of it, and it's everywhere. on her hands, on her clothes, slicking her legs, matting her hair. it's too much for whomever lost it to have survived, and she doesn't remember how she came to be drenched in someone else's blood.

...it was someone else's blood, wasn't it?

fear and shock gave way to hysterics, and raleigh began to cry. she shrieks for her mother, cries maman, maman several times over again. and when dominique doesn't come running, raleigh tries to stand up and ends up crumpling. she's weak, lethargic, and thinks she might be dead — or at least everyone else is — and she doesn't know why she's woken up at all if she's just going to succumb to injuries she can't feel and die too. she can't stand, can't walk, can't hear any other living creature in their country house, and can't focus on more than one thing at a time —

which is how she completely misses yancy sitting in the corner of her room, in an old arm chair. the crying quiets almost immediately, and raleigh does a grade-a double take, all tear tracks in blood, and bedraggled hair. she hadn't noticed him, and he'd just sat there quietly while she'd cried and screamed. and — and — was he okay? he appeared to be covered in just as much blood as she, and his tunic had rips akin to stab wounds in it. ]

Frère? Yancy — what happened? [ gorge, bile, blood... something rises in her throat, and she feels herself go cold. ] I do not — I don't feel good.

Come on, brother —

[ she's all excitement, forgetting to keep her voice down and forgetting that brother gave way to bro 40 years ago because they're climbing the back stairs of some posh, tall brick church in france. in france, and they haven't been in france in decades. decades upon decades, and raleigh really doesn't know why that is, because she loves france; loves the french — the language and the people and how freely flowing their wine is, because a drunk meal is a good meal.

in fact, some of her excitement may have come from that lovely young couple they met at the restaurant not 45 minutes ago, the copper of their blood still fresh on her tongue. most days they drink in moderation, but raleigh's lost track of the number of unsuspecting victims they'd left deep purple "hickies" on in the past 48 hours; she couldn't count them on two hands, and who could say if that was from sheer number or from how their buffet line trickled out of night clubs and fancy restaurants. it was a good time, here in france. the beckets are old blood (dead blood; congealed in the veins and only flowing freely when they've consumed enough of another parties blood), have taken to everything from hunting to dancing under multicolored strobe lights to high pitched techno music in due time.

but dangling from high places? that's something instilled in that cold blood of theirs, something that predates raves and the revolver, and what gets them on the roof of that church. the access door has barely slammed shut when raleigh's screaming; shrieking, more like, with delight — bolting to the closest edge of the roof to fling herself half off of it, precariously balanced and grinning down at the pavement below. heights never bothered her much. ]

How much of a commotion do you think I would cause if I jumped? [ arguably more importantly: ] Would you come get me in time? Before the morticians arrived? I hate being autopsied.

[ raleigh loved babies.

she loved the way they were wrinkly and squishy and red, the way their fingers flailed and latched onto everything dangly and shiny. she thinks it's adorable how newborns blindly sought to breastfeed on whomever was holding them and reeked of milk that had dribbled into their neck folds and went sour before their mothers bathed them. the little dresses and pants and shoes in the store windows made her cold, empty chest swell with something warm and happy, and the cribs had just gotten cuter and cuter as time had progressed. back when they'd been alive, raleigh had talked big game about how she was going to get married and have a lot of children; a house full, she'd sighed dreamily before rambling on about what she'd name them and how many would be boys, and how many would be girls; how they'd interact, and how the big brothers would always take care of the little sisters.

when they'd died — which raleigh doesn't actually remember much about; there'd been blood in her mouth and she couldn't breathe through it — and she'd stopped growing, stopped bleeding, stopped aging, there'd come a point when the very sad realization that she'd never have any of those babies crashed over her like a destructive wave. and she'd cried and screamed and rampaged, but she'd gotten over it. she'd never have a husband, either, she'd realized. but who needed a husband when she had an excellent and loving older brother who took such good care of her? always had and always would.

but that didn't mean she'd ever stopped loving babies. she gave candy to sad children at playgrounds (got away with it because she was a girl, and usually asked the moms first if she could find them), sometimes volunteered with day care camps, and always, always made small talk with pregnant women and toddlers in strollers. on one or two occasions, she'd even been moved to heroics when it came to small children and risked their exposure in the name of saving a couple of snot nosed brats from house fires. it'd been worth it though, at least in her opinion. every single time. including the most recent.

one of raleigh's favorite pastimes, apart from jumping off buildings to see if she'll actually die this time was wandering. there were days where she would leave and just go out walking; she didn't need sleep, didn't get hungry, and didn't get cold, so there would be good, healthy chunks of time that she was out and about. sometimes she went with yancy, and sometimes she went on her own, but she always came back. the question was usually just when, but raleigh couldn't even answer that one herself. she didn't know, and didn't try to predict; just gave in to the wanderlust and went wherever her feet took her.

which was apparently to the edge of a precipice in some snowy mountains or other. she stood in the gaping hole in the guard rail that a family car had torn through and looked down through the trees and snow. something bad had happened here, and blood hung heavy in the air even from up here. someone had died, many someone's had died. but maybe not... everyone. she leaves the slightest footprints in the snow while traversing the mountain side, is careful to pull on her leather gloves before climbing into the wreckage of the minivan and touching. she touches the mother (with the hole in her chest from the tree branch impaled through the window), the father (who is bloodied and broken), and the two little boys (who simply lay as if they were sleeping, but raleigh can tell by the way their heads hang that there is no waking them up). she almost doesn't register the faint sniffling from the third row of seats, almost leaves without peering into the small baby seat in the back where she finds the slight, frail infant who stares up at her with big blue eyes and just the slightest cut under his hairline. it's bleeding, and the baby is whimpering, but raleigh shooshes him; wipes her thumb along the nine month old's injury before sticking it into her mouth. and it's delicious, if not tinged with terror. but she's not hungry, no; she wants to help the little boy, not hurt him.

so she scoops the infant out of the carrier and extricates the two of them from the car. and two and a half days later, unlocks the door to the small apartment she and yancy had rented, baby bag slung over her left shoulder and baby carrier supported in her right. ]

Hey~ [ she sings when she doesn't immediately see yancy in the entry way or the living room that branches off. ] Hey, I'm back. I brought you a souvenir.

Edited 2014-04-23 05:21 (UTC)

[She what?

Yancy's lived literally hundreds of years with Raleigh, he knows her pretty well by now. And he knows that he is not going to like whatever she's brought home with her. He doesn't try to stop her from doing very much anymore, back when they were first turned, he had to keep a tighter grip on her, reign in her before she went on rampages and it didn't always work. There'd be nights where he couldn't resist the pull either, the scent of blood and they'd feast and feel guilty as fuck the next day, pull themselves together and quickly disappear before anyone connected the murders to them.

He doesn't stop her the first, second, time she brings home a child, a little toddler with blonde hair and blue eyes, babies that look so much like their little brother that she ripped apart her first night in this new life. Yancy knows she doesn't realize what she's doing, that she doesn't even know for sure if their brother was real, because he lies to her about it, to protect her. He loves her, he just wants to keep her from driving herself insane and he thinks it would, to know that she killed their sibling. It nearly destroys her the first time she slips, when the temptation is too great and there's blood on the floor when he comes home and no more child.

That time he doesn't tell her I told you so but the next time he asks if this is really a good idea and she gets snotty with him and he gets it, okay. He understands that she's not allowed the one thing she really wanted when she was alive but she's not normal and maybe she should realize that.

They don't speak for six months after that, not until she caves like he said she would and he comes back to pull her together because she's his sister, she's his best friend and he loves her, no matter what, and that's what family does. And she sticks to just cooing over babies in public after that, touching pregnant women's bellies and reading mommy magazines and he thinks, maybe just maybe it's passed for good.

Yancy comes in from the kitchen-- and knows that it's not. That the urge has come back to her and he's not letting this happen again. He has no idea how she got this child, but he doesn't care. It's not important because she's not keeping it.]

You've got to be kidding me, Raleigh. Was the last time not enough?

[ wow, way to make the glorious smile melt off her features. you're supposed to say oh wow, raleigh, look at that, you saved a baby not the equivalent of god, you're stupid, why are you setting yourself up for failure again? because no matter how he might mean it, that's what it comes off as, and that pisses her off instantly. raleigh'd been all prepared to pull up the fabric canopy of the baby carrier and show off her new best friend with pride, but with his complete and total lack of enthusiasm, now she just glares and brushes past him and body check him with the diaper bag.

raleigh breezes into the living room and sets up shop on the sleek black leather couch, depositing the diaper bag and then gently balance the carrier on the cushions. she expects the little boy to be asleep when she finally does flip back the canopy, but — oop! to raleigh's surprise, the baby is awake and blinking at her tearfully, wibbling slightly. jazmin doesn't cry, which is one of her favorite things about him; he's a trooper, who hasn't thrown a temper tantrum in the entire three days they'd spent together, and doesn't look like he was about to star throwing them any time soon. for all he's been through, and even when she'd fixed up the cut above his eye, he hadn't cried. ]

Hi, little man — hi, baby~ [ raleigh coos, unbuckling him and scooping him out of the carrier. raleigh drops a brief kiss above his boo boo and then picks up his little baby fist and making him wave at her brother. ]

Hi Yancy — can you say hi, Yancy? No, you can't; you're just a baby. And you're tired, we've had a long day, haven't we, sweetheart.

[It's going to be like that, huh. Yancy narrows his eyes at her and follows her into the other room, crossing his arms over his chest after a moment.]

Rals. [He says quietly, looking at the baby for a brief moment before sliding his gaze back to her. Don't skirt around the issue, little sister, don't pretend like you have no idea what he's talking about. Yancy is not a champion of humans, he doesn't care much for them except when he's thirsty but he doesn't hate them either.

But it makes even his stomach turn, the idea of doing nothing and just waiting until she slips up with this one and kills him too. Two children was enough.]

I'm serious. You know what happens if you keep him.

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-04-28 03:52 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-29 02:12 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-04-29 02:23 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-29 22:56 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-04-29 23:48 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-30 01:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-04-30 02:12 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-02 00:44 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-05-02 04:38 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-07 00:32 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

jockeying - 2014-05-07 01:25 (UTC) - Expand

Another thing is no matter how much
you love somebody, you'll step back when
a pool of their blood edges too close.

you'd destroy me
and i'd let you

Edited 2014-04-23 07:31 (UTC)

[There are times when Yancy doesn't stay hidden away, like a dirty secret inside his little brother's head, a parasite waiting for the right moment. Where he takes over and Raleigh never even realizes it, just seems to think he finally fell asleep for once and maybe Yancy would feel guilty for it. Except he doesn't because it's his brother, his best friend, the other half of his soul, this is Raleigh and Raleigh is his and they share everything and at the end of the day, he just wants to protect him.

He's going to protect Raleigh and that means even from pretty little Japanese girls because what does she know. What could she ever know what it's like to be Raleigh's copilot.

She couldn't. She can't. She needs to be taken out and Yancy is only irritated that it didn't happen when he pushed her towards her memories. Sure, she got benched but Yancy knows it won't last, he's in Raleigh's head remember, he knows what his little brother is thinking and planning and that's why he takes over now.

Raleigh will find a way to convince Pentecost, he always does so Yancy is going to Mako to convince her. He heads across the hall to her room and knocks quietly.]

[ as connected as she may now feel to raleigh becket, she does not exactly want to see him right now. the tears have dried, but the intense images that flit across her eyelids every time she closes her eyes and evoke visceral reactions have left her head pounding and teeth aching. now her eyes ache along with being red rimmed and itchy, and she can't sleep, but she can curl up on her bunk and pretend. the drift simulations never had this adverse of an effect on her and had never left so clear an imprint of someone else's' traumas on her psyche, and her head is reeling in a wash of loss, pain, and humiliation because she had wanted this so badly, and she had failed.

it's a tough pill to swallow, one she's choking on even as there's a soft knock on her door. and for a moment, mako considers ignoring it, curling tighter into her blankets and ignoring whomever is seeking her advice/assistance/company/help. but that would be shirking her duties, and she can't fail at that too.

she also knows exactly who it is outside of her door.

there's about seven seconds where mako just stands in front of her door, shoulders squared at a sharp angle and mouth set in a thin line as she struggles to regain her composure. and then it's a series of quick, concise movements that has her opening the door and slipping out into the hall, as if the misery in her room would infect any conversation they were to have and make it impossible for her to pretend she was alright with everything, including the marshal's decision. ]

Raleigh? It's late.

[ her dad tells her no, which chuck automatically translated to mean green light, go ahead. the literal translation is more along the lines of fuck you old man, you can't tell me what to do, which is basically what she spits in his face before he locks her in the hotel room in new york city and proceeds to attend the low key, high profile conference known as fleet week that was taking place in the hotel lobby below. for about two hours chuck manages to storm and stomp and complain to max the bulldog puppy, then amuse herself with on demand and room service.

but then fuck cheesecake and neverending chick flicks.

she amuses herself with the mini bottles of vodka and whiskey in the minifridge. the expensive bottles that her old man can deal with when they check out, because she's bored and stuck in this room and deserves a little bit of fun. she's not a lightweight, not really, so it takes most of the fridge to get her appropriately tipsy. but appropriately tipsy chuck still thinks she's capable of going swimming in the roof top pool, and dons her two piece and some shorts so she can stumble down the halls of the st. regis hotel with some semblance of decency. and stumble right into some tall wall of american muscle and blondness walking into his hotel room.

and oh the fun she can have. in her rather drunken haze it's not difficult to imitate an american accent after watching two american movies, and it's not hard to shoulder her way into his room. however, lurching into the bathroom and vomiting in the bathtub is hard on both of them, and is going to suck extra hard for her pride when she wakes up practically swaddled on the couch in his room. with a pounding headache. and a vague recollection of two men muttering about finding her owner. fuck.

it doesn't take too much of her hungover concentration to realize whose room she ended up in. the bomber jacket draped over the coffee table drives it home for her, and she hopes against hope that the two queen beds are empty when she sits up. but no. nope. not only does chuck nearly throw up from sitting up too fast, but her heart then also does her the courtesy of trying to jump out of her throat when she spots one tuft of blond hair above the dark red comforter. she should leave. she should get up and leave and go feed max. she should... drink water and pretend this never happened. she should not be creeping around the bed and peering at yancy becket's sleeping, drooling face with equal parts morbid curiosity and hero worship.

especially because she should know her father and expect him to call her cell, to set off the blaring alarm ringtone she set to announce his presence in her cellular vicinity. and of course she didn't put her cell on silent, and of course the pockets of her shorts are too tight to quickly silent it. ]

Fuck, fuck — shit. [ and yes, she answers it; any faux american accent from the night before dropping when she snaps into the receiver: ] What do y'want, old man?

[He's a natural mother hen, hard not to be when he's got keep a leash on Raleigh half the fucking time (don't act like you don't need it, idiot, no one is buying it) and it's not like he's complaining about it. He loves his little brother, Raleigh's his best friend and his stupidity is endearing really, really.

But anyway, he has this knee jerk reaction to look out for people and that apparently includes drunk off their asses girls who push their way into his hotel room without so much as a boob flash or a little frenching, isn't he a nice guy. It's pretty obvious that she's hammered out of her mind though, so really doing anything that's not holding her hair back or keeping her from knocking herself out on the edge of the bathtub. Yancy tells Raleigh to go out, have some fun, he's got this, bro you go see if those girls from earlier still think you're cute (spoiler they won't because you're ugly as shit) and there's the thing that he doesn't tell Raleigh, about who he suspects this girl is because she's not as smooth as she thinks and her accent keeps slipping in her drunken vomit mumbles and she looks like her dad in certain angles.

Somewhere around two in the morning she seems to settle down. She hasn't thrown up in a while and Yancy is pretty sure that if he leaves her on her side on the couch she won't die. So he carries her from the bathroom to the small couch in the hotel room, tucks her in with a blanket, leaves her a glass of water and tries to get a few hours of sleep himself.

Which he gets-- until her phone goes off right by his ear and Yancy can sleep through an alarm like a champion but there's something about that ringtone and the tone of her voice that draw him back to consciousness faster than annoying beeping ever could. This is Yancy making a noise under his breath and pushing himself up on his elbow to give her a look, part amused, part concerned, part tired as shit because he is so not a morning person and he needs some coffee about five minutes ago. And yeah, he's going to do just that, gets up after a moment, mouthing coffee? at her as he does.]

[ maybe this is the point where she's supposed to say thank you for braiding my hair while making sure i didn't get vomit in it, or be on her way, or tell her dad where she actually is so he can come get her. but herc's voice is sharp and agitated, and she barely cares to follow his orders when he's trying to be kind to her; when he's actively angry, she's much more inclined to just ignore him.

besides yancy becket is being kind and hospitable, offering coffee, ] No, that shit's awful — [ and back in the phone again ] — I wasn't talking to you. [ and getting up to make it no matter what kind of face she's making. and she can sit in the warm spot he left behind and listen to herc yap at her without really listening.

there's a lot of swearing, a few declarations of i'm a big girl, a lot of eye rolling, and a lot of chuck curling up with her knees to her chest in faux comfort (because no matter how angry you perpetually are with your father, it still hurts when he's angry with you) and eventually they hang up and chuck remembers that she's sitting grumpily in yancy becket's bed and wow, that's weird. maybe she should have taken him up on that coffee, because her mouth kind of tastes like stale vomit and that's gross. is it too much to ask to use his toothbrush? probably.

whenever he returns, she's still sitting criss-cross applesauce in his bedclothes, hair ruffled and chewing the inside of her lip because explaining herself sounds almost as bad as apologizing or thanking him. ]

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-27 19:08 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-04-29 08:20 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-29 22:51 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-04-29 22:57 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-04-30 01:44 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-04-30 08:15 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-02 00:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-02 03:11 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-07 00:32 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-07 01:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-15 03:47 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-15 05:18 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-17 03:23 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-17 03:54 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-18 16:11 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-19 07:26 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nommed - 2014-05-21 00:11 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

bombers - 2014-05-21 00:14 (UTC) - Expand

"am i dead?"
"yeah."
"i wanted to live."
"too bad."

[He doesn't remember who he really is and it's never bothered him until recently, until his latest mission that involved a blonde haired, blue eyed man who stared at him like he'd seen the dead come back to life, a hoard of kaiju rising from the depths of the ocean and he was the only one standing in their way, one against a thousand, million, impossible odds, ones that would kill him for certain and he was too stunned to do anything but accept that death. Didn't even have the instinct to fight back until the Soldier has his fingers tight around his throat, squeezing the life from him and then his instincts kicked in. He fought back and he was actually impressed with the kid, and his style, and for a moment-- it felt familiar.

Like they'd done this a thousand times before. Swing right, turn left, aim, duck, kick come on kiddo you can do better than that.

The kid's partner showed up, a fierce little Japanese girl that gotten in his way before, and it was getting too messy, too loud, too public and so the Soldier withdrew to regroup, try again later. And more than that-- he's unsettled, uncomfortable in his skin for the first time since he can remember. There's something about this kid that won't leave him alone, the way he whispered Yancy while his fingers closed around his throat, and who the fuck is Yancy?

Who the fuck is Raleigh Becket anyway?

He's never questioned orders before, and maybe that's what makes him the best. He kills when ordered, takes down politicians, spies, doctors, lawyers, judges, some person on the street because he's handed a picture and that's what he does, who he is. He's the Soldier. A name and an identity all rolled into one. He never learns anything more about these people he's ordered to kill but this time is different. This time he's searching.

What he finds is a hero fallen from grace, a dozen pages of articles about the Becket brothers, two of the stars of the Jaeger program, something developed by scientists to fight the kaiju, to make humans stronger, faster, tougher, better. It turned people into super fighters, made it so they could take on the monsters one on one, save lives, be heroes. Raleigh and Yancy Becket were two of the best, they worked as a team always, where some of the Jaegers fought solo, they never did because they were always better together. Yancy went missing on a mission five years ago off Alaska, no body was ever found but how long can a person really survive, bleeding out in the frigid waters of the north Pacific anyway.

Apparently-- even the Jaegers can survive something like that because one of the two faces in the photographs is the one he sees in the mirror every day.

The Soldier (Yancy-- Yancy yancy yancy why) breaks the computer, breaks the mirror, and an especially polished window, as if doing so ruins the reflection and thus, ruins the confusing truth that he's stumbled across. Is he this Yancy Becket? He has no memory of it, Raleigh seemed familiar and it's not hard to break into his apartment, much easier than it should be for a Jaeger, honestly, too easy to catch the kid asleep.

He closes his fingers over Raleigh's mouth, clamping down hard when his bright blue eyes open, wide and startled, don't make a sound. Call for help and it'll be the last thing he does. Maybe. Probably. Fuck this kid, fuck everything, he should just end it. Snap his neck and move on with his life again Raleigh Becket means nothing to him because he's not Yancy.

He would remember that.]

I'm not your brother.

Edited 2014-04-27 05:13 (UTC)

[He doesn't know much about himself. He doesn't have childhood memories, there's no elementary school or fights with siblings or screaming at his parents for being unfair or learning how to drive. And he's never questioned it, never cared about that sort of thing, not until this blonde kid stares at him like he's a ghost and put the name Yancy in his head.

But he remembers her. He remembers her because he trained her. There's a scar on the back of her left shoulder from a knife, one that he'd thrown at her in an exercise of teaching her how to dodge bullets and she hadn't been fast enough yet clearly because it hit. The scar is ragged and poorly stitched but she lived didn't she, and he knows her. He knows that she wears the scar as a reminder to be better, faster, stronger if she wants to live.

He knows she knows how to kill because he taught how, all her little tricks come from him but he's not afraid of her when she's there in his hotel room, even if she is smart and has undoubtedly tweaked them by now, made them her own and learned new ones. It's all over now, the organization he worked for is gone, and he's drifting, struggling with memories he doesn't want to admit are his own and now.

Now Mako has found him and he's not even a little surprised it's her.]

What do you want?

[Mako has built herself a new life on a foundation of lives thousands of times before, but none had tasted as bitter as the one she'd fed Raleigh Becket when she had acted as if she had never seen The Winter Soldier before. (Not all a lie, she'd just never seen him outside of the Redroom; HYDRA always put him back on ice between one training and the other, still in the beginning phases of their brainwashing.) She hadn't thought the identity of her training officer would ever come back to haunt her until she'd been put on the same team as Captain America, his younger brother.

She's smart enough to know that if she up and tells Becket that she knew who Yancy was and where he was this whole time, it'll do a hell lot worse than damage the way they work so well as a team, so she doesn't. He takes Chuck and they're on their way to search for Yancy in the aftermath of HYDRA's downfall, but Mako takes to the hunt on her own. It's easier. She knows how Yancy's mind works. (She knows how Yancy's killer instincts work, and she would not just wait for him to stop punching her.)

It takes her under a month, which is disgraceful for her usual records, but there is the part where she's meant to be marked by Director Pentecost's death, isn't there? HYDRA and SHIELD have eyes everywhere, and she knows that when you're on the run you walk, you don't rush. So she walks, and she finds him.

In a hotel room. (They've been in a hotel room before, during her initiation, when she'd been charged with the assasination of one government official - bad, good, you don't ask, Mori, because it doesn't fucking matter - and the bed had been slightly larger than this. She remembers that part, because she'd ended up spread on the mattress and Yancy -

Yancy probably doesn't remember that.)

So disabling his traps is easy, because she knows where he'd put them. And choosing to settle down against the wall is easy, because it reduces the chance of being shot in an armchair so there is also that. She waits.

And waiting, as in every good hunt, yields results.]

How was the Smithsonian?