assistingconsultant | in the sun

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in the sun

It had been a long time since Joan had gone to the beach. She had worn her swimsuit through the door and brought with her as many of the essentials she thought she would need. The first of these – a towel – she unfolded on the hot, gleaming sand. The second was an umbrella that she had rented; it had the logo of some beer brand flashing across it. Wherever they were – she didn't ask too many questions, uncertain of how deep she should dig through each door – it was someplace with a thriving tourist industry, and they spoke Spanish.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said again, making sure the umbrella was embedded deep into the turf. “I haven't been to the beach in so, so long.” She cast a grateful look at Natasha. The other woman had agreed to come out with her, though there had been some concern over sunburn. Which Joan heartily understood.

“I brought the stuff from Australia,” she added, pulling out the bottle. “You know, the stuff that no matter what is the highest SPF possible due to sun safety regulations, regardless of what it's labelled to be. Australia's figured it out.”

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The beach was a foreign thing to Natasha, something she could look at and see the obvious beauty within, though she would never be so comfortably sure that it was not her enemy. The heat of it was not purely unpleasant on her skin in her first minutes of exposure, not when she’d spent so much time in moderate coolness and clothing as of late. She would never feel comfortable in the heat and water, or at least not as comfortable as she might’ve felt in the Siberia that had been forged into her bones, but it was pleasant and enjoyable in the right place with the right company, which she had then with Joan.

Natasha was aware that she’d been neglecting her female friends something awful as of late, and it was not something she cared to continue any further. She had no qualms or complaints about the companionship she shared with the likes of Barton or Rogers or even Loki, but there were things that sometimes only a woman could understand, and Natasha was aware of how lacking in that she’d become. She’d made a resolution to seek out Sif sometime soon as well, but Joan had been easier to find first and – well, there they were.

“No problem,” Natasha said, squinting through her large, black glasses as she pulled the large umbrella from her bag and set it up in the sand. It would perhaps help, but only the frequent and regular application of the sunscreen Joan had brought along would keep her from bursting into flames in conditions such as these, and she moved to sit on a towel beneath the moderate shelter of the umbrella as she took the bottle of lotion with a smile and word of thanks and began to immediately slather it on her arms, shoulders, and chest.

“Hard to say no to some pleasant company while being lazy and drinking margaritas,” Natasha said as she diligently and thoroughly rubbed the lotion in. She’d require Joan’s help for her back, but she’d be able to get her arms, chest, stomach and legs fine enough. “How have you been, Joan?”

There was good shelter beneath the umbrellas, and Joan took to it gladly. She wouldn't burst into flames the way Natasha undoubtedly would, but she was shy of the sun nonetheless when it was this hot. She planned on taking a swim soon enough, but first she wanted to relax in the sand, and also let the sunscreen set. Maybe get a drink or two from the staff of the beach-side cafes littering the shore.

She dug into her bag and pulled out some hairpins, gathering her hair up and piling it atop her head. "Alright, I suppose," she said, sliding a few pins into her ramshackle bun. "I've mostly stayed at the hotel instead of going back home. Things got a bit messy back there. I'm taking an extended vacation."

Hair secure, she picked up the bottle of lotion. "What about you?" she asked, depositing a small dollop in her hand and, without being asked, beginning to spread it between Natasha's shoulders.

Natasha had spent the majority of her life outside of the Red Room too terrified to make attachments to collect too many friends. When she had stumbled upon a few it had always been someone she worked with, always someone who had displayed a skill set and a common enemy with her, always someone she knew she could follow into battle. It had only been since coming to the Nexus that she'd tried her hand at friendships without motive, with people from different walks of life, and although Joan did not come from the same world as Natasha, Natasha sensed, though Joan had not bothered to divulge either way, that she was battle tested as well. She was naturally curious about it all, but had learned enough about friendship to know that it was always best if you let a friend bring their war stories to you in their own time.

"Aww, that's no good," she said at Joan's mention of things getting messy back home, leaning forward gratefully when Joan began to slather the lotion along her back. "Boyfriend or work or just shitty in general?"

Joan made sure to get every patch of skin on Natasha's back covered, if only so she wouldn't have to feel too guilty afterwards if she ended up with peeling lobster-coloured skin. Just like people, they turned red after they had been thoroughly cooked.

"I wouldn't say shitty," she said, after a thoughtful pause. Joan was not afraid to talk. She was intelligent and calculating, yes, but she was also well-schooled in the benefits of being open and honest in life. It was a part of therapy, and also living a mentally healthy lifestyle. She didn't view her presence in the hotel as something requiring subterfuge, and therefore did not call up the skills needed for it. "I mean - it's not great. Some stuff happened. Work-related and I guess boyfriend-related, if I felt like giving him that title. Roommate-related, too. Basically a huge mess however I look at it. I'll deal with it, but not just yet."

Joan’s hands were small and capable, warm beneath the smooth coolness of the sunscreen she spread along Natasha’s back and shoulders with all the careful diligence of a doctor, and Natasha felt herself relaxing further beneath her friend’s smooth administration. The intelligence of Joan combined with the warmth of her was a rarity, she had to think, and Natasha looked at her over her shoulder as Jane worked. To call Joan “pretty” would be the worst sort of understatement, as she was the sort of woman who was not merely anything, and for whom new words had to be invented all the time, Natasha was sure. She struck Natasha as the sort of put-together woman she might’ve aspired to be, if she’d lived the lifestyle for it. Natasha liked being around her. Like Clint Barton and Steve Rogers, Joan Watson was the caliber of person that made Natasha feel better about herself, just for being her friend.

“Ahh,” she said at Joan’s explanation. “I haven’t had a roommate really, since being an adult. Is that rough?” She supposed that Clint could sort of count as a roommate now that they were in the Nexus together as sometimes they wound up sleeping over more often than not, but it was more of a whimsical decision than any sort of conscious decision to ration and share space. Passing out on each other’s couches hardly seemed to count in the way Joan was struggling with.

She gave Natasha a pat on the shoulder when she was finished with the sunblock. "There," she said. "Now hopefully your skin won't match your hair."

She wasn't sure how to explain Sherlock as a roommate. She had lived with many people in her time as a sober companion, and while she had been through medical school she'd had more than her fair share of people she shared close quarters with. Sherlock had been a completely different situation after she had counseled him through his recovery. "He was schooling me in private investigation," she said. "And we worked together, we shared cases sometimes. But I've been thinking of moving out and he isn't taking it well, I don't think. He's a pretty intense person, so it's been a relief to kind of hang around the hotel while I sort things out.

"Things okay with you?" she asked. "I've seen you around with a couple of people. Friends from home or the hotel?" Natasha did not strike her as a particularly sociable person, so she felt curious enough to ask. Not to mention the fact Joan was not used to being the centre of a conversation.

Natasha’s skin felt cool and pleasant despite the glare of the sun when the sunscreen had been applied and she set a mental timer for a reminder to reapply before what she had on could wear off. She had done beach work before but it required far too much diligence beyond the usual worries of food, shelter, and safety on her part for her to ever volunteer for it. The heat was foreign and strange, and had too great a capacity to unsettle her if she wasn’t attempting to enjoy herself, which she definitely was then. Joan was smart and made conversation interesting, and Natasha smiled her thanks at her friend over her shoulder for the helping hand as she listened to Joan’s explanation of her roommate.

Natasha knew intense people, had been accused of being one herself from time to time, but she knew she was nothing compared to Nick Fury or, in the most extreme example, Bruce Banner’s Hulk. Still, she sensed Joan’s roommate was different from all of that, and she turned over the idea of Joan doing private investigation work. She would be good at it, Natasha had no doubt. “Ah, I see,” she said with a nod. “Intense people are difficult sometimes. It’d be hard to live with from time to time, as I imagine anyone would be, even very close friends or lovers. Do you think you’ll stay, or are you determined to leave?”

The question as to who Joan might’ve seen her around the hotel with recently netted only a handful of answers, and Natasha smiled. “Old friends,” she said with a nod. “My best friends from home, and a few others that I also encountered at home, but I don’t suppose I could call them ‘friends’ exacly.” She had not spoken of Loki to Clint out of respect for his feelings on the matter, and she had yet to mention James to anyone at all. She considered speaking with Joan about it for a reason she didn’t understand, as she had long ago had the urge to confide beaten out of her, but the urge to discuss it with Joan, who was a smart and unbiased party, was tempting.

“I have royally shitty taste in men,” she said after a beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud, but the first step is admitting you have a problem, right?”

"I'm used to living with people who are tackling demons," Joan said. "But my friend... is almost a completely different matter entirely. He's very brilliant, but that's why he forgets himself. And he isn't good with change - when it comes to his personal life, anyway."

She began to apply sunscreen to her legs, taking the time to consider Natasha's question. "I don't think I'll stay for good," she said. "I'm prepared to make it a part of my life, though. I just have too much work to do in New York and my own career to think of. I guess I'm just not the type to run off forever into another dimension. What about you?"

The fact that Natasha met people she knew in the hotel was interesting. "Maybe your world has more doors to the Nexus than mine?" she mused. She smoothed her hands down her legs until the last of the white sunscreen had disappeared, outwardly completely unaware of the somewhat abrupt subject change, but she certainly caught it.

"That's how it goes," she agreed. "With everything in life, basically, bad taste in men included. Someone from home?" Natasha had brought it up directly following a question about people she knew, which probably wasn't a coincidence.

Natasha listened as Joan spoke, attempting to weave some sort of picture of what her roommate and work partner must be like. Natasha could certainly understand brilliance and the various idiosyncrasies that went along with above genius-level intellect from her time spent with Tony Stark, but she thought there had to be something about Joan’s roommate beyond his obvious intelligence. Natasha had to think that it would take something special to hold a woman like Joan in orbit, even if only for a short time, and that Joan was planning on making this fellow part of her life for the foreseeable future certainly said something about them both.

“It sounds like he needs you very much,” Natasha said after a moment. “Which can be a complicated thing, I know that from experience, but I mean to say perhaps it’s more along the lines of the balance you provide. Two opposites with just enough in common to make life tolerable makes for the best sort of friendship. He’ll get over you moving out, I’m sure, as long as he feels like you aren’t leaving him entirely. Does he have anyone besides you? Other friends or a lady or boyfriend?”

Natasha was exactly the sort to run, though she could admit it wouldn’t be forever. She had Clint here with her, along with a few other friends and various other relationships that needed watching and that would keep it all for a while, but she knew herself well enough to know that all that she cared for so deeply would be enough to push her away, too. When she became too confused about how certain people at the Nexus made her feel, she would escape it. There was no avoiding that.

“I don’t know if I’m the sort to run away forever,” she said, “but I’m definitely the sort to get driven out by my own bullshit, at least for a while. I came here to avoid some trouble at home, but now things are getting complicated here, too. It’s the whole shitty taste in men thing, you know? I found someone here, an ex of sorts, that I thought was lost to me, and I also found someone else I thought I hated. Neither of those things are true anymore, but it’s complicated all the way around and I guess thinking about either of them is just a waste of time.” She leaned back on her palms and gave Joan a wry smile. “Which is, of course, why I think about them, I suppose. You know how it is.”

A lot of what Natasha was saying rang true. "I agree," she said, "that makes him sound a bit flaky, though, when really he's not. He's very exacting about his and our work, and part of that is us living together, so he doesn't like the idea of having to alter anything. He's brilliant, but also acts like a five-year-old. He didn't like it when I first moved in," she added, "but he eventually got over that, and now he can't deal with me moving out. But he'll get over that too."

The question over Sherlock having other friends or a romantic partner was a sticky one. It was not her place to mention Moriarty to Natasha, which had everything to do with her respecting privacy and boundaries and nothing to do with her high regard for Natasha. "He does have other friends, but his contact with them can be pretty sporadic unless work is involved," she said, dryly. When it came to forging personal connections she understood that Sherlock was an upstanding and honorable person, but he balked at overt and possibly needless gestures of friendship. "And romantically Sherlock doesn't believe in monoamory, let alone monogamy."

She smiled at Natasha. Joan had had her fair share of complicated relationships, and while she didn't know the details of the other woman's relationships she understood how difficult it was to sever ties, especially when everything was in flux. "It can be difficult to make decisions about anything when you can't be sure about the facts," she agreed. "One of my ex-boyfriends, he was an addict, and I was always trying to help him. I think the relationship lasted so long because I couldn't make up my mind whether he would ever stop or not. In the end, though, I made the right decision. For me, anyway. He came to me for help recently and after I did he swore he would check himself into rehab. He never showed up."

She tipped her head to the side, and raised an eyebrow. "It's only a waste of time if you can't do anything about it anyway," she said. "Can you?"

“Ahhh,” Natasha said, nodding her understanding at Joan’s further description of her roommate. Natasha was guilty of acting like a five year old herself at times, though that tended to be more playfully petulant behavior with someone she knew would indulge her, like Clint. It was a side of herself she’d only recently tapped into, both the urge to be clingy with someone and the enjoyment of actually doing so, and she wondered how hard that habit would be to break when something inevitably lured herself and Clint back to the real world.

“Well,” she said, “on the romance front I think I can understand where your roommate is coming from. I think I kind of fall in that vacuum too, sometimes, with work. It becomes just easier to relate to those that are living the same things that you are, especially when you’re a person that has trouble relating emotionally anyway.” She smiled at Joan. “I guess I’m just saying, as a fellow emotional weirdo I can see why he’s so attached to you, but I’m also sure he’ll get over it because he loves and respects you so much. I mean, he doesn’t want to lose you entirely, right? And he’ll eventually realize that by being a clingy sort he’ll push you away, rather than draw you in closer. Hopefully, anyway.”

She listened as Joan described one of her exes, attempting to imagine a woman like Joan falling in love with an addict. It made little sense but was somehow easy to understand, she decided after a moment. Joan was a brilliant and loving woman, and it was obvious not only by her words then, but the sort of work she did overall that she had faith and optimism when it came to the human spirit. That was something Natasha had found lacking in herself on more than one occasion, and it was something that made Joan very attractive to her.

“One of them, the ex I spoke of, his issues aren’t anything he can help,” she said. “It’s complicated, but he’s been sort of a prisoner of war for a very long time. Lots of conditioning and brainwashing. He’s away from it all now and he’s finding himself, and I have to keep reminding myself that he doesn’t remember everything about what happened between us and that it isn’t fair to push feelings or needs or anything like that on him. It’s just a connection, you know? Whenever we’re around each other it’s like this draw, and it’s hard to not react to. The other one, well, he can help himself to a certain extent, and he has. He’s got a terrible history with me, but when I came here he’d come from a timeline before he’d done any of those awful things, and he’s changed himself. He’s just the sort of guy I usually fall for despite myself, and I’m stupidly attracted to him. It isn’t helpful.”

"I hope he does get over it. Sooner rather than later. He's not clingy, but I worry about his state sometimes. We do respect each other, enormously, but for a really smart man he can fool himself into some things." Sherlock claimed to her, once, that he was not a nice man, and that he made special considerations for her life because he held her in high esteem. In many ways, she did not believe him. She would be aware when he helped her with her coat, when he made her breakfast, when he asked her for permission rather than just doing something that would annoy her. But she also held faith in the fact he did it because he was also good. People like Sherlock, who walked so close to evil sometimes, couldn't truly hold enough faith in themselves to think they could ever be an opposite reflection to such things. She had a feeling Natasha might be cut from similar cloth. Joan had worked with addicts and people who needed to allow themselves to heal, though. She saw goodness in the smallest of actions, and she believed in how they added up.

Still, she didn't say that; that was neither here no there. Natasha's current issues definitely had to do with the fact she was peculiar taste in men - something Joan understood well. "It's starting to sound like we have more in common dating-wise than I thought," she said, dryly, with a bit of a smile. "Maybe with the one guy you know, you could communicate distantly - phone or text, maybe? It might help. Sometimes it's easier to organize than a face-to-face meeting. But the other one - when you say a terrible history, how terrible?" She was careful to keep her tone light on the last question - just in case.

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in the sun

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