thoughtformed | (no subject)

Who: Natasha Romanoff, Tim Drake
What: Rooftop meetings in the middle of the night.
When: Post-Dark Hour
Where: The roofstops outside the Visitor Center.
Warnings: N/A

Natasha was glad her catsuit had come with her. Black nanomesh (standard SHIELD regulation of course), and all of her toys, her standard regulation guns, belt, bracelets.. At least this place had been that kind to her, even if they had no idea what they were getting into by giving her those things. She didn't quite believe the 'not real' thing. Sure, she'd been supposedly texting with Sherlock Holmes, but that could have been anyone, doing anything. This place required investigation, and a lot of it. A cursory bit of questioning and observation of the natives had her decide that the place to watch would be the Visitor's Center, and during her time crouched on the edge of the wall she had found out the most peculiar thing of all -- no one left. At least, no one who hadn't already come in, stayed for a moment or two, and then walked right back out. She could see shapes moving inside, but no one left, not even after the sun had set and most places would be shutting up for the evening so the workers could go home.

What kind of place was this?

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He was assuming she was going all the way to the ground in the first place. She hung from the wire, gripping and making herself as flat as possible against it, even going so far as to hold her breath to keep him from hearing it. The only reason she'd caught him was because she'd seen him, not heard him. He was good, if a little sloppy. Natasha pursed her lips as she watched him go, and as she noted that he took the right, she dropped to the ground and stayed still for a moment, letting him gain some distance before following him. She stuck to the shadows, though, not quite wanting to reveal herself all the way, and she raised a brow when she got a better glimpse at him. A cape? Really? Who in their right mind would wear something that could get caught or snagged so easily and leave behind trace evidence?

Maybe he was more amateur than she thought. At any rate, she sauntered out into the light behind him, head tilted to the side and one hand on her hip, looking him up and down. Young. Probably eighteen, maybe nineteen. She could see twenty, but wouldn't bet on it. He didn't walk like an adult, even if he was built like one. The outfit had noticeable wear, but no sign of recent repair, which meant that he was more than likely a vigilante without the resources to back it up. The tools were proof of that, too, and it was fairly obvious he'd spent years training -- no one that young had a body that built and had no training to show for it, so it was likely that he knew what he was doing a little bit.

Even if the costume was ridiculous.

"Go home."

And she'd snuck up on him. He should have expected it. Thankfully, years of working with Batman (and with Cass) let him restrain himself without jumping or visibly startling. Instead, he turned, minimally, to get a better look at her. Professional. Confident. New in town. At least as stealthy as he was, and at least as alert. All right. Trying to intimidate her would be stupid, so the typical approach was out.

"Miss Rushman. We're not in the same chain of command -- yet -- so let's not waste each other's time posturing. Between your equipment, your training, and the fact that you don't wear a mask, I'm guessing government agent. Which means Rushman is a working name. CIA, I'd guess?"

She raised an eyebrow. Deductive skills. Maybe this was the person calling themselves Sherlock Holmes?

No, that wasn't right. He called her Rushman, and she'd introduced herself as the Black Widow to that stranger. He was as smart, but not quite as articulate or pompous, and Natasha tilted her head back eyeing him over again. She drops a hand to rest on the handle of one of her guns, more precautionary than anything else, and she narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Who I work for isn't any of your business," she responded, dropping the hand from her hip, and glancing over his shoulder at the Center behind him. "You're in my way. Go home."

"I only answer to two people on this island, and neither of them is you," Tim said, then shook his head. He didn't want this to escalate. Time for a peace offering. "Besides, if you want to get into that building, you're going to want my help. I've had more time to watch building security than you have."

There. Let's see if that was sufficiently interesting to buy him a little conversation.

"I'm sure I can manage just fine," Natasha replied, lips curling back up into a smirk. "I've been at this sort of thing longer than you've been able to walk."

He's stalling, and she can tell, but to be frank, she was just as curious about him as he was her. It was the only reason she wasn't just walking right past him to the building itself.

"Are you sure?" he asks, reflexively. "I was always precocious."

Okay, that's still irrelevant. And not his best line.

"Four layers of security. The third is a decoy, gimmicked to detect any interference. And the guards inside have patrol routes that look random... unless you have a two-week baseline watching them.

He crosses his arms.

"I can help you tonight or bail you out tomorrow. Your pick."

Her smirk only widens, and she dropped her hands to her sides, and strolled right past Tim up to the steps, reaching into her utility belt and pulling out a small disc. When she arrived at the front door, she paused, tilting her head to the side, examining it carefully before crouching down and sliding the disc into the small area where the door met the threshold and pushed a button.

Natasha took two steps back as the disc flashed red for a few seconds before emitting a smoke that began to reveal the lines where the initial motion detector system was in place indoors. He'd told her everything she needed to know about the system; guards patrolling were no issue, when you could hack into the cameras from the front desk and shut them off (not even considering the fact she could easily render them all unconscious with her bare hands before they even really saw her face).

Crossing her arms, she surveyed the indoors a few moments more, glancing to the locking mechanism and back to the inside.

Tim glowered from behind her, running some quick calculations. Whether she succeeded or failed, if any sign of break-in was detected, they'd be revamping their security after this. Which meant that if he didn't want months of stake-outs to be wasted... he couldn't afford to miss this opportunity.

"I thought espionage agents were supposed to be patient," he said, almost seeming to materialize at Nathasha's shoulder. "But if this is how we're playing, fine. What's your gameplan?"

"And I thought children were supposed to be seen and not heard," she replied, more offhand than anything else. She spied the keypad and card combo lock and snorted a little bit; were they serious? Child's play. She pulls a small device out of her belt and gets to work on it, tapping the buttons with a practiced ease. "The game plan," she said, smirking as she successfully unlocked the door, the security system dropping. "Is I go in, get what I need and get out, and you stay out of my way."

She reached for, and opened, the door, slipping inside, heading for the front desk. More than likely, she'd be able to access security controls from there, and disable, if not hack them outright. Judging by the movement she'd seen inside, she had, maybe, five minutes tops to create a distraction, disable the cameras, and find a room than contained what it was she was looking for.

Too easy.

Gritting his teeth, Tim followed, taking a different turn at the first intersection in the corridor. Fine. If she couldn't co-ordinate, they could at least split attention -- with each of them in different parts of the building, they'd be provide cover and diversions for one another if either were detected, whether they liked it or not.