mcu: "Therapy" (ch 2/?)
Sep. 16th, 2014 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fannishlissTherapy, chapter 2.
This is an AU where Shield made super soldiers, and Hydra made Agents. Agents have superhuman powers of perception and empathy, and now that the War is over, Coulson has set up a Therapy program so that ex-Hydran Agents can use their powers for good by helping Shield Soldiers readapt to peacetime life.
=====
Steve liked Natasha, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.
On the one hand, it was good. They hung out. They watched ballgames. They went walking in the City, Natasha wearing dark glasses and striding along down crowded sidewalks without any overt concern. When Steve went tense, as he often did, Natasha would casually take his hand, and his hypervigilance would slowly seep away in response to her Hydran Touch.
Steve tried to read up on how Hydra had adapted Shield’s Super Soldier Serum to create the perfect spies and assassins — Agents who could practically read minds, who could adapt easily into plausible cover identities, and who were able to convince their targets of almost anything. Steve could grasp the basic biochemistry, but once the theory trespassed into the realm of “animal magnetism,” “mesmeric current,” “xi,” and “etheric transference,” his eyes rolled back into his head.
“How does it work?” Steve finally asked.
“Truth or bullshit?” Natasha answered, stroking her thumb against his palm. To most observers, they were any couple sitting at an outdoor cafe, drinking coffee and leaning toward one another in private conversation. After six weeks, Natasha’s Touch remained casual, but Steve had agreed to let her go deeper to empathic level three.
“Truth,” he said. With Natasha’s Hydran energy running up his arm and warming him through his core, he felt almost contented.
“Okay,” she smiled wrily. “Truth it is. No one really knows how it works, or why the serum activates powers in some people but not others.”
“How do you think it works,” Steve probed with something like a smile.
Natasha lifted her shoulder in an eloquent Russian shrug. “You tell me,” she challenged.
“I can feel warmth,” Steve said, “passing into me, running up my arm and into my chest.”
Natasha shook her head, just slightly. “Subjects have reported this feeling of warmth, but it’s never been detected under controlled circumstances.”
“But I feel it,” Steve said. “Right now.”
“And how does it make you feel?” Natasha asked. A hint of a smile played on her lips, so much more thrilling than Mona Lisa’s.
“Better,” Steve admitted. “More relaxed. Like — like something was missing, and you’re helping me to become whole again.”
“Hypnosis?” Natasha hazarded. “Power of suggestion?”
“It’s not mumbo jumbo, it’s a serum,” Steve said.
Natasha lifted her unoccupied hand in surrender. “Placebo?” she offered.
Steve’s jaw tightened. Natasha lifted the hand she’d just waved, met Steve’s eye for permission, and slowly, gently, caressed that tension away.
“You just did that,” he accused. “Thanks, by the way. My headaches have really gotten better.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, avoiding his question.
“How,” he repeated.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Part of it must be power of suggestion, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. But I’ve never been very suggestible.”
Natasha scoffed. “You volunteered for the Super Soldier Serum!”
“I was five feet four, ninety-five pounds, and had a list of ailments as long as my arm!” Steve objected. “What’s your excuse?”
Natasha’s green eyes went flat, like the ocean under a thunderhead. “I don’t have one. My earliest memories are Hydran implants. I have no idea who I was, where I came from — whether I volunteered, or if I was sold or stolen. My middle name is a joke. ‘Alienovna’— daughter of strangers.”
“Natasha, I’m sorry,” Steve said immediately, full of contrition.
Natasha pulled the last of her iced latte up through the green straw, rattling the empty cubes.
“Not your fault. You were already at Shield, maybe, volunteering to try and solve the problem.”
The warmth of her hand had faded. Now it was just another hand, like a random unmodified human’s.
“I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean you had an excuse.”
“Maybe I did,” Natasha said, staring at Steve with her level gaze. “Maybe I volunteered, just like you. Unless I meet someone who knew me then, I’ll never know.”
Steve held on to Natasha’s cold hand, and finally raised it to his lips. Locking eyes, he kissed her knuckles.
“I do consider you a friend. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. I’m so much better now than when Fury first sent me.”
Natasha exhaled. “Even Therapists need Therapy, you know,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Wow,” Steve smiled. “I’d like to meet your Therapist.” Natasha was the best, Fury and Coulson both agreed.
Natasha’s flat gray eyes flashed white and she bit her lip.
“What?” Steve prompted.
“Don’t pull that thread,” Natasha said, and she extracted her hand from Steve’s grip. “Not yet.”
“What?” Steve said, frowning. Natasha never pulled back. She constantly, gently, encouraged him forward.
Her features were perfect, like a Venus in marble, brought to life. “Caution isn’t the fastest way to live,” she said, “but it’s a good way not to die.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Steve said after a moment.
“Come on,” Natasha said, and stood, and extended her hand, and they walked back toward Stark Tower, with a strange heat slowly seeping back into Steve from a woman more flawed, more complex and beautiful, than any marble statue.
This is an AU where Shield made super soldiers, and Hydra made Agents. Agents have superhuman powers of perception and empathy, and now that the War is over, Coulson has set up a Therapy program so that ex-Hydran Agents can use their powers for good by helping Shield Soldiers readapt to peacetime life.
=====
Steve liked Natasha, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.
On the one hand, it was good. They hung out. They watched ballgames. They went walking in the City, Natasha wearing dark glasses and striding along down crowded sidewalks without any overt concern. When Steve went tense, as he often did, Natasha would casually take his hand, and his hypervigilance would slowly seep away in response to her Hydran Touch.
Steve tried to read up on how Hydra had adapted Shield’s Super Soldier Serum to create the perfect spies and assassins — Agents who could practically read minds, who could adapt easily into plausible cover identities, and who were able to convince their targets of almost anything. Steve could grasp the basic biochemistry, but once the theory trespassed into the realm of “animal magnetism,” “mesmeric current,” “xi,” and “etheric transference,” his eyes rolled back into his head.
“How does it work?” Steve finally asked.
“Truth or bullshit?” Natasha answered, stroking her thumb against his palm. To most observers, they were any couple sitting at an outdoor cafe, drinking coffee and leaning toward one another in private conversation. After six weeks, Natasha’s Touch remained casual, but Steve had agreed to let her go deeper to empathic level three.
“Truth,” he said. With Natasha’s Hydran energy running up his arm and warming him through his core, he felt almost contented.
“Okay,” she smiled wrily. “Truth it is. No one really knows how it works, or why the serum activates powers in some people but not others.”
“How do you think it works,” Steve probed with something like a smile.
Natasha lifted her shoulder in an eloquent Russian shrug. “You tell me,” she challenged.
“I can feel warmth,” Steve said, “passing into me, running up my arm and into my chest.”
Natasha shook her head, just slightly. “Subjects have reported this feeling of warmth, but it’s never been detected under controlled circumstances.”
“But I feel it,” Steve said. “Right now.”
“And how does it make you feel?” Natasha asked. A hint of a smile played on her lips, so much more thrilling than Mona Lisa’s.
“Better,” Steve admitted. “More relaxed. Like — like something was missing, and you’re helping me to become whole again.”
“Hypnosis?” Natasha hazarded. “Power of suggestion?”
“It’s not mumbo jumbo, it’s a serum,” Steve said.
Natasha lifted her unoccupied hand in surrender. “Placebo?” she offered.
Steve’s jaw tightened. Natasha lifted the hand she’d just waved, met Steve’s eye for permission, and slowly, gently, caressed that tension away.
“You just did that,” he accused. “Thanks, by the way. My headaches have really gotten better.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, avoiding his question.
“How,” he repeated.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Part of it must be power of suggestion, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. But I’ve never been very suggestible.”
Natasha scoffed. “You volunteered for the Super Soldier Serum!”
“I was five feet four, ninety-five pounds, and had a list of ailments as long as my arm!” Steve objected. “What’s your excuse?”
Natasha’s green eyes went flat, like the ocean under a thunderhead. “I don’t have one. My earliest memories are Hydran implants. I have no idea who I was, where I came from — whether I volunteered, or if I was sold or stolen. My middle name is a joke. ‘Alienovna’— daughter of strangers.”
“Natasha, I’m sorry,” Steve said immediately, full of contrition.
Natasha pulled the last of her iced latte up through the green straw, rattling the empty cubes.
“Not your fault. You were already at Shield, maybe, volunteering to try and solve the problem.”
The warmth of her hand had faded. Now it was just another hand, like a random unmodified human’s.
“I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean you had an excuse.”
“Maybe I did,” Natasha said, staring at Steve with her level gaze. “Maybe I volunteered, just like you. Unless I meet someone who knew me then, I’ll never know.”
Steve held on to Natasha’s cold hand, and finally raised it to his lips. Locking eyes, he kissed her knuckles.
“I do consider you a friend. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. I’m so much better now than when Fury first sent me.”
Natasha exhaled. “Even Therapists need Therapy, you know,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Wow,” Steve smiled. “I’d like to meet your Therapist.” Natasha was the best, Fury and Coulson both agreed.
Natasha’s flat gray eyes flashed white and she bit her lip.
“What?” Steve prompted.
“Don’t pull that thread,” Natasha said, and she extracted her hand from Steve’s grip. “Not yet.”
“What?” Steve said, frowning. Natasha never pulled back. She constantly, gently, encouraged him forward.
Her features were perfect, like a Venus in marble, brought to life. “Caution isn’t the fastest way to live,” she said, “but it’s a good way not to die.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Steve said after a moment.
“Come on,” Natasha said, and stood, and extended her hand, and they walked back toward Stark Tower, with a strange heat slowly seeping back into Steve from a woman more flawed, more complex and beautiful, than any marble statue.
