Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Day 1

Today, Steve (once again) went on a long lecture after finding me punching some of the supersoldier-proof punching bags (Stark got annoyed that Steve alone went through at least two a day) out of frustration. He gave me the whole you’re-getting-better-every-day, you’re-come-so-far, yadda yadda spiel, and I made the mistake of verbally asking how he can tell. He said that it’s the small steps that count. I’m pretty sure he’s had to film too many of those propaganda films - they’re starting to affect him. How he managed to shoot them without laughing, I’ll never know. He’s not the stars-and-stripes guy he throws over his sweatpants and three-days-in-a-row t-shirt by any means. I’d call him a danger to society, if he didn’t have the whole loyalty for life gig engraved into his thick skull. This isn’t saying that he’s stupid - though he can be. His skull is literally thick - or I’m guessing it is. How else has he not died from brain damage?

Anyways, I’m rambling. Even though that’s apparently the point of this. “This” is because, unfortunately for me, Steve had An Idea, and jumped out the (third-storey) window to get to the store faster - for once, I’m glad he was doing reckless shit at ungodly hours - cell phones getting footage of Captain America doing what probably looked like a suicide attempt? Yeah, no.

He came back with a notebook.

That probably explains it. I was given homework (homework? Really? I’m older than him, for god’s sake), so I have to write what I did each day.

I laughed.

He was not kidding.

So now this is happening. Wonderful.

So, Mr. Rogers, today I made the mistake of briefly forgetting the sort of person you are - the kind of person who gives out homework because he wants to, and gets bombarded by kids asking him why he’s so old. And the guy that is making me write in this stupid book. Thanks, pal. 

Ugh, it’s hard to be sarcastic while writing. That effectively renders one of my favorite languages unusable. Excellent.

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Day 3

Well, I’m back. Turns out I won’t be monitored/marked, and nobody’s going to touch this (other than me, clearly). So I suppose that I could just stop.

But damn, if Steve Rogers didn’t learn the Stare from his ma. Also, what’s the worst that could happen?

A lot. A lot could happen. I’ll figure out how to put an emergency self-destruct into this that I can operate remotely - someone reading the Winter Soldier’s diary? At best, I will never be able to live it down, in the Tower and online. At worst - who knows? I always keep thinking that something is the “worst that could happen”, but nope. It’s always so fucking much worse.

But I suppose it isn't that terrible at the moment. Maybe I could ask Shuri to install an invisible book compartment in my left arm, so I don’t need to worry about leaving it anywhere. I'm overdue for a Wakanda vacation, according to her regular texts that complain of missing her "token white boy", whatever that's supposed to mean. That still doesn't protect the notebooks, though. That backpack I used to keep them in, and still do, is in a box, which is in a safe, which is in a locker, in my (lockable) closet, in my (locked) bedroom, on my (locked) floor, accessed by the (locked) elevators, in the living quarters of the building with the world’s most high-tech security system. Stark gave me a strange look when I asked him for the locker/safe/box, but didn’t question it. I suppose he still feels bad about trying to kill me. Go figure. 

Besides, though he doesn’t need to know this, the whole journaling thing might end up being helpful at some point. I'd never say this out loud, because I refuse to give him the satisfaction, but Steve often knows me better than I know myself.

But I guess there's a good reason for that.

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Day 6

No way I’m going to make this an everyday thing.

Today I learned Netflix. I have yet to determine whether or not this was a good decision, given the strange definition of "entertainment" in this century, which seems to consist of overdramatic characters and overdone unrealistic tropes. But at least it’s one more way to fill the hours, though I'm fairly positive that I will lose brain cells in the process.

And no, I will not mention how many hours I spent figuring it out, what I may/may not have screamed at the flat screen, or how many remotes FRIDAY had to send to the suite (apparently Hulk gets upset when he watches a movie that a dog dies in, so extras are supposedly always on hand).

I don’t have to write everything. It’s up to me. 

That’s going to take getting used to

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Day 8

Had my first interaction with the Vision guy/robot/lump of plastic/metal/whatever since the whole airfield battle, though he didn't seem to hold a grudge. Can androids hold grudges? Also, why didn’t anyone tell me that he could look like a regular person? 

So no, it wasn’t an unfair reaction to hold a knife to his throat and demand how he managed to break into Stark’s kitchen. It was a completely valid response.

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Day 15

It’s been a bit. Mostly because I got angry at Steve, threw this notebook under my (unused) bed, was too petty to retrieve it, and subsequently forgot. 

Why was I angry?

I don’t wanna talk about it.

You can’t make me 

(Who is “You”? Nobody’s reading this, and this paper and pen aren’t sentient).

(I think. This century has some weird things. But it’s better than the 30s, for the most part. And obviously better than then. But the latter’s bar is hellishly low).

(Whatever)

(I don’t know why I keep putting things in brackets. I could have ended this log entry a while ago)

(Okay, officially done)

(Yep)

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Day 18

Wilson came to talk to me today. I haven’t really seen him since the whole Stark v.s. Steve shebang, so I wasn’t sure what it was gonna be about. Turns out, Steve’s been worried - no surprise there. He may be six feet of pure muscle that took the place of any self-preservation he may have had, but when he goes all mother hen…

I suppose I should be glad he hasn’t wrapped me in bubble wrap and a bulletproof bubble. 

Yet. You can never know for sure with Steve. Contrary to popular belief, he has some of the worst anxiety I've seen.

Anyways, apparently Wilson used to work with war veterans, which I guess I am. Help them “cope” and “readjust” and whatnot. I must have given him a weird look, because he laughed and handed me an MP3 player, full of music he had deemed essential. A copious amount of Marvin Gaye, among other things.

I refrained from telling him that a) I know how to use a cell phone, b) I have already listened to Marvin Gaye, and c) that MP3s are pretty old. Then again, so am I.

His lack of knowledge might serve me well later on. I’ve found that it often does.

He also handed me some keys, and led me to a new floor. And by "new", I mean "constructed-in-the-last-48-hours", because Stark men are all the same - extravagant is essentially their middle name. Apparently, Stark felt bad about trying to kill me (I had to fight the urge to tell Wilson that Stark wasn’t the first one, and wouldn’t be the last. The only reason I did was to avoid the trademark Look that Steve, having "casually" joined us in the elevator, had perfected. Somehow, it still works after a hundred years of receiving it, and would have lasted the entire ride up).

So, he built me a library.

I had to reappraise my opinion of Stark - he may be a self-centered, overdramatic, and mildly insane person, but he sure as shit knows how to make a guy reconsider hating him.

He’s left my non-petty vengeance list at least.

Apparently the library is also keyed to my fingerprint and heat signature, and a million other security measures that, even for a trained assassin that knows his way around security systems (mainly with the goal of knowing how to bypass them), sounded like gibberish.

In short, I am the only one that can enter and exit without receiving my express permission. He even blocked the vents so Hawkeye, who apparently uses the air ducts as his personal hallways, couldn’t enter.

I’ll have to chat with him, figure out those pathways for myself. Whole new level of stealth.

So now I’m writing in a library, which has no beds (yay!), but is outfitted with a kitchenette, triple-reinforced dumbwaiter with security scanners, chairs, hammock swings (why…) and most importantly, a vast collection of books, with a turntable and records on a table in a corner.

Not bad, Stark. Not bad…

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Day 20:

Reason number god-knows-what to hate HYDRA: they gave me the super soldier serum, wanting me to be their weapon or whatever, to be capable of everything, right?

Well, it turns out that they didn’t bother to add the immune-to-being-sick benefit to my chemical cocktail. Steve told me that we couldn’t get sick, being super soldiers, and I suppose neither of us thought to wonder if our serums were the same. I (obviously) don’t remember getting sick before today.

Today. 

Now, I have a pink nose (making me look like I can’t handle cold, I’m the goddamned WINTER Soldier) spewing mucus, my voice sounds like a death metal wannabe that screamed in his closet for six hours to get the desired raspiness, and my head feels like it’s going to explode from the pressure.

How the hell Steve ever dealt with this, let alone for the better part of his pre-serum existence, I’ll never know. How is it that in the span of a century, there is no perfect, over-the-counter fix for a damn cold? Then again, Howard Stark promised us hover cars, and we don’t have those either. I mentioned this to Tony, and he got the crazed light in his eyes that reminds me of the first time Wilson had access to unlimited free coffee. Stark said to give him a bit, leading to Rhodes giving me a stink-eye to rival Steve, before following the madman to his laboratory. 

Word on the street is that he hasn’t slept in 72 hours. My bad.

He can suffer with me. The worst thing about colds is that they’re annoying. More than anything, just obnoxious. I can barely talk (though that hasn’t changed much, but now I don’t even have the option…), and my head’s so fuzzy and floaty I gave Hawkeye a hug thinking he was Steve. IN MY DEFENSE, my vision was blurry, my head was sleepy, and I saw the blonde hair. Somehow I overlooked the drastic height disparity. Thank god that the guy hadn’t been awake for that long, so he just patted my shoulder and said “Hi, Nat”, while the aforementioned assassin stood two feet away from the whole fiasco. I hope that whatever she was holding wasn’t some type of recording device, or my reputation is gone for good.

So I would rate this whole “common cold” thing a zero out of ten. Waste of money, would never participate again.

I’m signing off because I need to see if Banner has finished the Super Soldier version of something called “NyQuil” that he had claimed to be working on. Supposedly, it would let me sleep as well as fix me, but I’m losing faith in fixes for this shit.