3581/Favors for Friends

Favors for Friends
Date of Scene:	26 September 2020
Location:	van Dyne suite, Mercy Hospital, NYC
Synopsis:	Natasha and Janet have a long talk about the Red Room and the experience brings them both a little closer as friends.
Cast of Characters:	Janet van Dyne, Natasha Romanoff

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Janet van Dyne has posed:
One of the jobs of being a billionaire is donating to hospitals. A perk of this is that when a few million dollars of medical equipment gets donated, the hospital is more than willing to set aside an ensuite for medical care. With the donor's name on it.

It's a top-floor view, too, and with enough room not just for Janet, but for Nadia, and also for Janet's private care team to have an office of their own specifically for the treatment regimine needed to examine the Wasps. After being cleared for any biological contaminants the two exhausted women were transferred to the hospital for early exams. Both had endured significant physical trauma from the prolonged abuses of the Red Room. Recovery would happen, but it would take a little time for the physical and mental healing to begin.

Janet's eyes flicker open and she reaches around in her hospital bed, looking for something. Once she realizes where she's at she props herself up on her hands and squints at the light coming in the room. Sleepy-eyed, bedhead and all, Janet finally spots Natasha in the corner. "Nats, go home," she croaks. "I told you last night, I don't need a babysitter while I'm taking a nap."

Janet's internal clock might be a bit off; her 'nap' had gone for almost 24 hours.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    One benefit of the - perhaps - overlarge space is that there's enough furnishings that Natasha was able to find a small table to steal, which she dragged into the corner along with the comfiest chair she could find.
    She's been sitting there for hours, her legs crossed at the knee as she idly polishes and cleans a pair of handguns; with a third wedged between her hip and the arm-rest just in case she suddenly needs to use it. From here, she can keep an eye on the door, and the nearest window to Janet.
    "Twenty two hours isn't a nap, Janet." Natasha says, pulling the trigger once while pointing the gun at the ceiling, hearing the satisfying click of the empty chamber. "It's a coma. I don't think a gunshot would have woken you up." Natasha finally looks at Janet and says, "So I figured I wouldn't disturb you if I had shoot anyone. How're you feeling?"
    She sounds dry and, honestly, kinda tired. Not that her face shows it, really.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's brows work up and down in confusion at Natasha's words. It takes a while for her sleep-addled-brain to put them in a sensible order.

"I feel like I went to Coachella and dropped way too much ecstasy for a week straight," Janet says, bluntly. "And then got tossed off the side of a steep, rocky hill."

Someone left some water nearby and Janet avails herself of it, drinking thirstily. "I asked Nadia's friend Ying to get us some modafinil for the breakout. I figured if she was as sleep-deprived as me, we'd need the pickup. I don't think she got the dosage quite right, though. My heartbeat was doing the triple slide right up until they started the detox clense." Janet scowls at the IV in her left arm and the blood scrubber she's temporarily anchored to.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha nods once slowly at Janet's assessment of her well being, and calmly concludes: "You're lucky." Natasha's eyes roam over to the sleeping form of Nadia, and she notes, "... I won't be in your way too long. I'm the last person she'll want to see when she wakes up." for reasons that may or may not be more apparent to Janet at this point, depending on what she's gleaned.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet browlifts. "Uh, gorgeous and talented, yes, but this is definitely not 'luck'." Her inward facing palm moves in a circle around herself. "This was a hundred percent because you absolutely kicked my ass to do all that sparring and the counter-intel work and the interrogation resistance. That thing, with the electroshock?" Her brows lift pointedly and she prompts a nod. "I totally did it, and it totally worked. I don't know how you came up with it, but the guard was suuuuuper uncomfortable."

Janet looks over at the door leading to Nadia's adjacent suite. "Nats, you literally and figuratively saved my ass. And Nadia's, too," she points out. "That goes a long way with her. And with me."

Fingers twist, then flop in her lap. "I mean, I literally don't know how to thank you. Do you want my yacht?" she offers with a surprisingly rare and earnest expression.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's eyes drift back to Janet as she speaks, her brow raising slightly. Nobody likes the interrogation training. That's the point, really. Unfortunately they live in a world where it pays off, even for civilians like Janet.
    'The problem is,' she'd said at the time in one session or another, 'the longer you last, the longer IT lasts. Sooner or later you will reach a point where the things you love no longer feel like they're worth the trouble. If you can hold onto anything, hold onto the idea that we're coming for you.'
    Natasha doesn't always love her work.
    She doesn't really know how to respond to Janet's assessment about her and Nadia, - not honestly, anyway - but her expression slowly gives way to a rare honest smile, a bit bemused as she answers, "I don't need a yacht, Janet. Thank you. Healing up in time for Rogers to stop causing a fuss will be enough for me."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Well... think about it," Janet hedges. "If you want something, say the word. Take my corporate card to Cabo for a month. God knows you need a vacation."

Her lips curl into a smile at the mention of Steve, who next to Natasha had been on 'perpetual fire watch' while the two women slumbered. Even Captains America need to get coffee and eat, though.

"I'm ... dealing," Janet admits, and pushes her sleep-dishevelled bangs from her face. As if aware of the bedhead she has, Janet wiggles fingers at a brush near Natasha's chair and snaps her fingers before making a 'toss-it-here' gesture. "I'm not gonna say it was fun, but I know it could have been worse. They were mostly smacking me around to fuck with Nadia. I'm kinda torn between--" She frets her lower lip between two teeth. "I know she's tough and resilient and she faced down some demons, and she got her friend Ying over here, and all that, but I still want to just like... I don't know. Put her in my lap and just hold her forever because a kid shouldn't have to go through that once. Let alone twice."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    "I'll think about it." Natasha answers, undecided as to whether she's lying, or putting a favor in the bank. Spy habits. She never has had a vacation, though.
    Natasha eyes the brush for a moment, before standing up and gently underhand tossing it in Janet's direction with as much control and accuracy as you'd expect from the spy. She moves slightly closer to Janet, her expression darkening as Janet speaks of her time in the Red Room.
    "That place..." Natasha says very softly, sounding almost haunted, before she speaks again with more control, "... That place; those people... they've made a science out of hollowing out little girls, and filling them back up with..." Natasha shakes her head, "... The worst kind of person. We brought a lot of girls home. They could probably all use it." Natasha looks down slightly, "... I'm not sure how many would know how to take it."
    Natasha sighs softly and looks at Janet with something like curiosity, "... The kid's grown on you, huh?" It wasn't so long ago that Natasha heard Janet speak of Nadia mostly in terms of lawsuit-proofing.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet starts fussing with her hair. It's a little awkward with the IV in her arm, which somehow keeps getting in her way every five seconds. "I mean..." Janet trails off, then her arms drop to her lap again. A little fatigue, but a little resignation, too. But as if a load's been lifted all the same. "The first time she showed up, I thought she was a scam. Then I figured, 'this is a Hank problem', and I was just gonna nope out of that. I'm not--" Fingers clench the air, looking for words. "C'mon Nats, you and me, I'd have said we're not cut out for this sort of... thing." The dreaded 'M' word is narrowly avoided. "But she's just like... so relentlessly optimistic. She's dealing with all the shit the Red Room put her through, and fought her way free to come here and find her dad, and then like... I don't know." Janet looks out the window. "After that it seemed like all she wanted to do was be like /me/, and given the size of my ego, that's kind of a hard thing to pass on," she says with dry self-deprecation.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha tries not to avert her eyes, but it takes a fair amount of effort not to physically react to what Janet says. Heck, the allusion to motherhood alone is a genuinely uncomfortable thought she hasn't had for... a very long time.
    "... I still... have trouble buying it." Natasha admits very slowly. "I don't understand how anyone can come from there... and be like her. But if she really has a chance to grow beyond where she came from, then..." Natasha gives a soft, frustrated little sigh. In a way she may well be jealous of the younger girl, that she has this opportunity. "... then maybe you can do each other good. You don't have to go..." Natasha shrugs and borrows Janet's vernacular "'full mom' or anything. Maybe just... be her friend."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Nats, if she was my 'friend', we'd be off the coast of the Seychelles snorting coke off supermodels," Janet points out wryly. "I actually felt, like... /bad/. When we were escaping. Getting her those stimulants. Feeling, like ... guilty?" she hedges. "Which is weird because like, why would I? And it's not like I'm losing sleep over Hank's opinion but part of me was going 'crap what will Hank say if I bring his daughter back with an Adderall addiction."

Janet's fingers twist and she flops back in the medical bed with a dramatic sigh. Emotional introspection wears the flighty socialite out rather quickly.

"We just rescued a bunch of teenage girls from a hellhole. I have no idea what I'm doing with Nadia, and I *definitely* don't know what I'd do with those other kids." Her head lifts and she gives Natasha a look. "They might need some help from someone who knows what they've gone through," she observes rather pointedly.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    "... Right." Natasha mutters in regards to coke and adderall. That's pretty much what she meant by 'do you both some good', but in retrospect maybe Natasha shouldn't gamble on whether a mellowing element wins out over a bad influence.
    And no, she's not going to share that conclusion.
    In regards to the others, though, Natasha narrows her eyes at the pointed observation. She supposes that cat can only stay in the bag for so long. Good bye, trust. It was nice while it lasted. Still. "Maybe." She answers very softly. "If they can still trust anyone... and if someone like that isn't a smoking wreck... maybe."
    Natasha shakes her head. "... I should let you rest."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Slept for most of a day," Janet's tone dismisses Natasha's suggestion. The socialite stretches in place. "I'd cut a bitch for some coffee, though. Want some?" Janet presses the button to summon the nurse/assistant who is on standby specifically for the suite. "If you didn't scare all my staff off by now. Do /not/ aim a gun at Marcie," she warns Natasha. A finger uplifts in the redhead's direction when the door opens. "Marcie, two coffees, lots of cream and sugar in mine, and a splash of amaretto."

The nurse departs and Janet shifts around in her bed again, trying to get comfortable. She glances in the direction of Nadia's suite. "Is-- she /is/ okay, right?" Janet asks, again. "She fell asleep in my arms after we inprocessed here. Didn't want the other suite, but the doctor staff insisted. Did you check on her while I was knocked out?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    "Of course not." Natasha replies to Janet's warning, though she crosses her arms and discreetly keeps one of her Widow Gauntlets aimed at Marcie until she leaves the room. "... Black." She relents, in terms of coffee orders.
    Natasha looks to the door to Nadia's suite and nods her head. "I have. Now and then. She's fine, so far. I don't think she's woken up since then."
    Natasha shakes her head. "... She might need some time, either way. She just learned for absolute certain that she's not safe. Could take some processing." Why yes, Nadia, The Red Room CAN just take you straight back! That is an established fact now. Natasha's been waiting for that shoe to drop for almost four years, and it somehow caught up to this kid first. Go figure.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"God." Janet props her feet up and rests her elbows on her knees to run her hands through her hair. It undoes the scattered work she did. "The next time Vivian complains about me lowjacking her, I'm going to point out we could have had Nadia home before she left the country. I'm gonna install a GPS transponder in that kid's friggin' skull," Janet mutters.

"Look, Nats, I know... I know it's a big ask, but she could use some help coming to terms with..." Fingers gesture vaguely. "Everything. You're literally the only other person on Earth who knows what she's gone through. Going through," Janet amends. Fingernails pick at her blanket and she looks back up at Natasha with as much mute appeal as she can muster. "It might help you unpack some of your baggage, too," she observes, her tone carefully mild.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    And there it is, out in the open. Though Natasha allowed herself a small smirk in response to the GPS, her expression becomes completely neutral - if a bit severe - when the topic comes back around to her, even though her heart leaps into her throat at the direct confirmation. It's a silly response - she literally knew that Janet more than likely had puzzled it out - but her body gives her that jolt anyway. She's not sure if she's going soft, or if she's just managed to avoid personal matters for so long that she forgot what it's like to react to it.
    "... My issues..." She finally murmurs after a long moment, affecting a rueful little smile, "... could blot out the sun." Her shoulders rise and fall slowly with a long breath, and she finally says, "... I can try."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I know that look. Don't even *think* about tazering me," Janet advises Natasha. It's half warning, half playful. Her pointing finger drops and she looks levelly at the redhead. "Natasha I know you... went through some shit. I wish you'd /told/ me more of it, instead of me puzzling this out from bits and pieces of the stuff you and Nadia have said. I knew you were in it with the Russians but I had no idea it was as bad as what Nadia's dealt with."

A frustrated expression crosses her face. "We're friends. Friends help each other," she says, plaintively. "I'm not a therapist or anything but... I mean..." She grimaces.

"Fuck, I don't know, I could have at least tried to do something to cheer you up. Now I know why you're so wound up all the time. Two weeks in that hellhole was about thirteen and a half days too many."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha feels somewhat guilty for a good two seconds before she decides to allow herself to frown a little as Janet speaks. "... I'm sorry. My life... doesn't make for great conversation." She says, in what might be an attempt at humor. It's a bit of a downer subject. "People like that... don't make people like me... for heroic missions. I needed you all to trust me. ... And it was simpler just to keep treating you all as an assignment."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet picks up an empty paper cup and tosses it at Natasha's forehead. A great aim she is not, but she's scowling at Natasha's furrowed brow all the same.

"Hey. I'm not an /assignment/. I'm your /friend/," Janet says. A familiar, peevish tone suggests the Wasp is returning rapidly to her usual self. "I'm not asking your permission, either. I'm telling you how it is."

Hands rest on her hips in a posture of outrage that's mostly ameliorated by her scrubs and the hospital bed. "And-- I've got /great/ taste in friends. I have tons of 'em. Scores. I could literally hang out with anyone on the planet, but for some reason I like you and your dumb face. You're making the assumption that I don't *need* a friend who does bad things. 'cause last I checked, she's the one who rescued my ass from a Soviet gulag. You're the kind of friend I need, and right now, the kind of friend Nadia, needs too."

The outburst ends, and Janet realizes she's raising her voice. A somewhat worried and guilty look is flashed at Nadia's door, then at Natasha as it occurs to Janet she has perhaps expressed more depth of concern than she intended. "So, y'know. Like, cowgirl up, or whatever," she adds, lamely.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha holds stock still as the paper cup bounces off of her head, falls, and tumbles and rolls on the ground. She blinks rapidly for a moment, and then moves her eyes to watch Janet with a measure of incredulity that slowly softens as Janet speaks.
    "Well. I had to." She admits softly, then averts her eyes awkwardly, "... You're the only one I can drink with who won't confess a crush on me." She says this with perfect bland matter-of-factness, holding this unflappable facade for a few seconds before her shoulders slump slightly. "... I'll try. It's just... harder than you think. They teach you to see the world like... like..." Natasha shakes her head slightly and gives up with a simple repetition of, "... I'll try."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Goddamn right you'll try," Janet mutters, mostly sotto voce. The blankets are pushed aside and a pair of bare, skinny legs stick out from under a surgical gown before she stands. There is at least a rug on the ground, normally verboten in a hospital setting, but clearly something Janet demanded. It takes her a few seconds to get herself situated and her gown adjusted, and then she holds her arms out to Natasha from across the room.

"Come here," she says. A second later, more pointedly, her head and eyes accompany a: "/Please/ come here. I want to hug you, and I'm super lightheaded and I'm plumbed into a bunch of gross machinery."

A stubborn expression crosses her face as Janet situates her patience and her stamina to out-wait Natasha's reticence. Prepared to wait for hours, if necessary!

Well, minutes, at most, anyway.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha arches an eyebrow as Janet stands, her expression gradually resembling that of someone who has been asked, with perfect sincerity, to kiss an open bear trap.
    'Come here.'
    "You're unwell." Natasha insists blandly, looking away.
    '/Please/ come here.'
    Natasha looks off to the side and narrows her eyes, drawing in a slow breath through her nose. "Dayte im dyuym..." <Give them an inch...> she mutters softly as she moves in close and awkwardly, somewhat tepidly puts her arms around Janet. It's polite in a way. She's a spy. She knows how to hug convincingly. So she's being honest!
    Still in the embrace, Natasha murmurs, "I'm giving you morphine *right* after this."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet hugs Natasha firmly despite her reticence, and the more the spy tries to maintain her dispassionate self-possession, the more Janet leans into it. Until she actually *does* over-exert herself, and staggers a litle. Natasha's mutter provokes a grin and a weary but pleased giggle-- a joke from the Widow is a rare thing.

"Offering me drugs? I thought you said flirting was off the table. I see how it is. It's all right--" a palm uplifts between them, and she turns to her bed with a wobbly step. "I'm used to double standards."

The minor attempt at playing up the over-indulged dilettante exhausts Janet past her limits and she mostly crawls back into the bed with a pale face and shuddering arms, but nods at Natasha to assure the Widow she's okay. Merely exhausted.

"Listen, before you go, is--" Janet puts fingertips on Natasha's forearm and lifts her chin at Nadia's door. "I know she's dealing but... I don't really know what to do. What should I say to her when she wakes up? Should I avoid the whole thing, or talk about it, or...?" A rare look crosses Janet's face, then-- true uncertain vulnerability, and a mute appeal to Natasha for some reassurance.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha keeps her arms out in preparation for a clutch catch until she's positive Janet can no longer physically fall, then lets them drop to her sides. She considers Janet's question silently for a moment. She should know this. She knows how to get under people's skin - to be what they want or need for as long as neccessary. Thinking in those terms seems cruel at the moment, and honestly it's... tricky. By all rights, the girl should be like Natasha. Instead she's this earnest, cheerful thing that Natasha can't quite wrap her head around.
    "Ask once." Natasha says gently. "If she says no, leave the offer open. After either answer's taken care of, just... do what you do, I suppose." Natasha smiles very softly, "Cheer her up."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet just stares at Natasha. "Wow. I was hoping for some secret super-spy psychological judo move. Just 'cheer her up'." Janet bops a palm against her own forehead. "Wow. How did I not think of that?"

But there's a mirth to her eyes and she squeezes Natasha's forearm before releasing her. "All right, get out of here," she tells Natasha with a fond tone. "I think I hear Steve coming down the hallway and I need some private time with my boyfriend. Go home and get some sleep, okay?" she requests, dropping the playful tone. "I'll text you if anything comes up and we need someone's legs broken or something."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha pouts a little and insists "The secret super-spy judo move leaves long-term damage. I assumed you liked the kid. So. Slow way it is."
    Natasha affects a bit of a smile and nods her head on the matter of boyfriend visitation. "Sure. You do that." She says softly, moving to grab her coat and, uh, holster a few firearms as she says. "Take care." She pauses with one hand on the door handle and adds "Don't make any headlines until you're better." Before she steps through the door.