Benjamin and Natasha, Backdated to October 7th

[om_black_widow]

Benjamin and Natasha meet in the kitchen and somewhat awkwardly introduce themselves.

Natasha still was not entirely used to having unimpeded access to a kitchen. So she took advantage of the novelty with more frequency than she otherwise might have. She was not even particularly hungry, but she had opened the fridge, and was re-appropriating a bottle of Gatorade after a workout.

Entering the kitchen mere moments behind Natasha, Benjamin paused in the doorway and watched the girl lingering at the refrigerator with silent curiosity. He was becoming accustomed to all of the unfamiliar faces, the students that had arrived since his departure a year ago or (more puzzlingly) those that had changed enough in that time that he no longer completely recognized them, and this petite redhead was one of the former. Something about this girl, though, was familiar in an entirely different way and it took him several seconds to place it. The disbelief in the comforts that most of the other students took for granted.

He resumed moving then, stepping to the island in the middle of the kitchen to retrieve an apple from a ceramic bowl, and said in his toneless voice, "You will get used to it."

It was only long years of practice that kept Natasha from starting. Instead, she turned and raised her eyebrows as though confused, rather than perturbed (was he another telepath?). "Get used to what?"

The apple now in hand, Benjamin met Natasha's eyes with his own mismatched set and blinked slowly, as if it had never occurred to him that she might not understand. Words, he reminded himself, had never been his strong point. He turned the red-gold fruit in his fingers, considering, then said, "How...easy everything is here. Having what you need when you need it. Not having to fight for it." Well. Not everything. But at least it was clear.

"What makes you think I had to before?" Because he wasn't wrong, but Natasha wasn't sure how or why he knew. If it was something she was doing, she should know what it was.

Confronted with the need to articulate what he had seen in Natasha's expression and posture and manner, Benjamin faltered, but not because he doubted what he knew. The apple stilled in his hand and concentration cut subtle creases into his brow. Words, again. Always words. "People do not think about what is familiar and what is expected," he said finally, "You are thinking. You look as if, when you close the door, you are not positive it will open again."

She would need to work on that. Natasha made a mental note. "I'm Natasha. Who are you?"

The abrupt turn in the conversation was a surprise, but a welcome one. This question, after all, was easy to answer. "Benjamin Russell."

"Nice to meet you, Benjamin," she said, giving him a slight smile. It was more to disarm him than anything else, because though he didn't seem to be threatening her, his posture and his body language suggested he might be capable of it if he put his mind to it.

"Nice to meet you," Benjamin echoed, returning both the words and the small smile because that was what experience had taught him to do. The expression went as quickly as it had come, though, and nothing about his demeanor seemed to change. He took a bite of the apple.

"Tell me about yourself," she prompted, sounding genuinely interested.

This seemed to give Benjamin pause, not because he was guarded or suspicious, but simply because he didn't know how to answer. The question was far too big. He looked at Natasha, glanced briefly (and somewhat longingly) down at the apple, and then said, "What do you want to know?"

Natasha's smile turned a touch more genuine. "What you feel comfortable telling me? Where are you from? What is your mutation?"

The guidance obviously helped and Benjamin nodded obligingly, "Wilshire Park. In Los Angeles. But I have not lived there in a long time." While he paused, the question about his powers was no longer daunting or confusing in the way that it had once been and the break was short. "I am physically enhanced. I am stronger and faster and more agile. I can endure more and I heal faster. I generate excesses of energy that I can channel through objects." At this last remark, an almost invisible smile turned up the corners of his lips. While that energy was still difficult to control, he finally could control it and acknowledging that felt good. And now he would hone the skill until it was flawless.

Then he looked Natasha in the eyes. "And...you?"

"The same questions?" She clarified.

Benjamin considered that, then replied in an echo of the girl's own words, "What you feel comfortable telling me." She had offered him the choice to refuse her questions and it seemed only fair now to do the same.

"I'm from Russia." That much, if not common knowledge, was certainly part of Philip and Clint's explanations for her background. "And," she held her wrists out, so Benjamin could see them spark a bit.

Benjamin hadn't expected the answer (mostly because he'd never met anyone from Russia) or the demonstration, but he accepted both readily enough. His gaze lingered on Natasha's upturned wrists and, once the sparks had gone, he extended one hand in an attempt to touch the pale skin. "Only from there?" he asked, his curiosity drawn by the deliberate angle at which the girl held her hands. It seemed like a strange limitation...but then, so was requiring a conduit to control the energy he created.

She let him touch the skin of her wrists, though she tensed, ready to defend herself if he moved to hurt her. Enhanced senses and reflexes, solid muscle to him, Benjamin Russell could be quite dangerous. "And my hands. There and my hands. But I am quite capable even without my mutant trick."

While Benjamin's fingertips were rough and calloused, his touch was gentle. He didn't know what he had expected, perhaps some difference between the flesh which could generate the electrical charge and that which couldn't, but there was nothing and he drew back after only a few moments. "I do not doubt it," he replied simply as he lifted his gaze again, not seeming to give a moment of consideration to the fact that she was petite and young and looked more like a ballerina than a combatant.

Natasha nodded, grateful that he felt no need to press her on her capabilities. Though she did not intend to threaten or intimidate the boy, he seemed the sort that required an upfront statement. Just in case his capabilities were as good as she suspected they were.

Benjamin nodded in return and, seeming to have no more to say, moved to take a seat on one of the stools lined up by the island. He bit into the apple again, chewed silently for several seconds, and then stopped as it occurred to him that there was something else he was supposed to say in situations like these. "I hope you are comfortable here." The girl was a new student, after all, and...he did hope that.

"Were you, at first?" It both deflected his question, but would also give her insight. Something about Benjamin was different. Not just unusual, but weirdly familiar. The way he'd spoken of fighting for everything felt both reminiscent of her own childhood and also not. Natasha wanted to understand it better.

"No," Benjamin acknowledged, remembering clearly that back then he hadn't felt comfortable anywhere. He didn't know when that had changed, but it seemed far behind him now.

"Why not?"

Benjamin's mismatched eyes blinked slowly and he turned the apple in his hand again. That time of transition was difficult for him to understand and more difficult for him to describe. "I had not been for a long time," he explained, "I think I had forgotten how. I needed time to remember."

Natasha nodded, absorbing his words but also taking note of his physical reactions. "I've never thought of it like that. Like a habit."

Like a habit. That wasn't quite right and Benjamin shook his head, but remained mute because he didn't know what words would be. Back when he had first become Seven, he hadn't been prepared for how difficult everything could become and letting go of the good had been necessary to endure the bad without falling apart. So he'd forgotten. Pushed the thoughts of home and happiness down until he couldn't recognize them anymore. He pressed the palm of his hand against his brow and kept his lips tightly shut. He didn't want to think about this anymore.

Finally, he dropped his hand and looked at the redhead, seeming very far away until he said, "I am sorry. I...am not good at this. But it does not matter now."

His silent demeanor, the way he pulled in on himself, was very interesting. Not to mention the way he rubbed at his head, as though memories or thoughts were causing him physical pain. Natasha wanted to know more about this odd man, though she was unprepared to answer what questions he might ask in response. So she simply shrugged and said, "You don't need to apologize. I'm not good at it either."

The look that Benjamin gave Natasha, at first, was difficult to read...but it soon softened into something akin to gratitude and he nodded. Then he glanced down at the nearly-devoured apple, seeming to consider, and said, "This is insufficient. I am going to cook. Would you like some?"

Natasha nodded. "That would be great. Thank you."

There weren't many things that Benjamin knew how to cook and he wasn't the type to improvise, so his next question for the girl was almost immediate. "Do you like omelettes?"

She looked thoughtful. "I do not think I've had one. But I like eggs, so I probably do?"

Benjamin nodded, understanding the problem. "Then...we will try," he suggested, smiling faintly and briefly at the girl, "I learned from Jean-Paul and he is a very good cook. Hopefully the facsimile is good also."

Natasha chuckled softly. "You are a man making me food for free. I do not think I have room for complaint."

"If it is bad, you should complain," Benjamin pointed out simply, moving to drop the apple core into the trash, "Otherwise, I will never know." He looked at the girl a moment, noticing the ways that even the soft laugh changed her face and finding that he was pleased to see it, then turned to the fridge. Silently, he searched for eggs and cheese and vegetables, placing the necessary items on the counter as he found them.

"I will trust your tastebuds to notify you," she teased dryly. "Can I help?"

Benjamin considered that. Even after all this time, though, he was not selective and it seemed to take more to offend his tastes than most. He knew what he liked, that was true, but food rarely struck him as being 'bad' unless it was bordering on inedible. But this didn't seem like a point he ought to push too avidly with someone he was about to cook for. Instead, he shook his head and pointed out, "Then I would not be the 'man making you food for free'. Thank you. I will handle it."


"Mmm. Good point." She sat on a counter instead, watching him cook. She didn't like eating food made by someone she didn't know without supervision, if she could help it.

After that, Benjamin worked in focused silence; he washed and chopped the vegetables (handling the knife with an adeptness that did not come from cooking), grated the cheese, and mixed the eggs in a bowl with milk and herbs and pepper. He didn't even look at Natasha again until he had sauteed the vegetables in a small pan and added the eggs in to cook, leaving him with nothing to do but wait and judge when to test the mixture with the spatula. "It will not take long," he assured her simply.