There's an inherent distrust that Ava has for the incredibly wealthy, doesn't believe in any ethical way to accumulate that much money and no amount of charity to offset the evils that surround it. The man had used it to buy children, after all. But she doesn't take immediate offense to the offer, knowing it came from a good place. Seeing how Diego lived, when he had the ability to afford more, spoke to the type of person he was. He was hardly flaunting it. Unable to get a job herself, Ava lived mostly off what Bill could spare her, so much of his savings gone into funding the equipment and the energy required to run it all.
"Bill's just a professor," she admits, "We make ends meet." There's a small flicker of guilt across her expression, because as hard she tries to make up for her past, how much time she's devoted to helping Diego take down bad guys across the city... "I steal. Sometimes." And it's hardly petty, but she tries not to keep a running total. She doesn't want to come up against a number where she has to wonder if her life is worth it anymore.
"Do I want to know the record time?" she's hesitant, trying to keep the edge out of her voice as she contemplates murder of yet another old man. She plates up the food because it seems nicer than eating out of takeout containers, though all her dishes are plastic. She's dropped far too many to chance it anymore, because all it takes is a split second of flashing out for her to lose her grip. She's particularly careful with these though, clearing off a spot at the table. "I spent far too many years under bland diet plans to not enjoy flavor now." She smiles, and finally asks a question she's been wondering for awhile. "So where did he pick you up from?"
"I'm not going to judge you for that." The world had not been kind to Ava; stealing her parents from her, leaving her in a state of constant agony and, as Diego had just learned, doomed to die because of it if the answers weren't found soon enough, used by rich men and cruel organisations. As far as he was concerned, the world owed her something. But still. "The offer is always there. Mr. Pogo, my father's... assistant, he makes sure we have money. I assume we. But it just sits there. If I'm going to use it, I want to use it for good. Helping Bill help you? Best use I can think of for it."
Number Two makes himself useful by gathering up cutlery for the both of them and then he grabs his plate and goes to find somewhere they can sit without disrupting any of the documents left laying around. "Uh... Probably not. But it's a long time." He chuckles softly. "Mom always made beautiful dinners but we always had oatmeal for brekky. And I can't cook to save my life; those skills aren't useful for saving the world." Brow furrowing, Diego's confused for a minute. "Who? Dad?"
"You'll have to speak to him about it," she concedes, because handling money isn't something Ava's really ever had much experience in. What she has is stuffed away in a jar in a cabinet, because the idea of a bank account or having even a false name on file anywhere makes her uneasy. She reassures herself it isn't really paranoia when it's justified, when there's an entire prison out in the middle of the ocean for people like her when they refuse to cooperate. And Ava has no plans of cooperating ever again. Her foot nudges against Diego's under the table.
A long time has her stabbing at her food. She tries not to think about the experiments she underwent either, to test the limits of her abilities. She hates what both of them have gone through, but she's grateful there's at least a shared understanding. It'd be difficult for her to open up otherwise, to try explaining any of her experiences to someone incapable of relating. "Thought you'd at least be good chopping things up," she jokes. "I can cook a bit," because Bill did most of her grocery shopping, and made a point of delivering actual fresh ingredients instead of stuff she could lazily shove in the microwave.
The contrast of the way Diego speaks about his mother catches her attention, definitely without the bitterness he carries toward his father. "Yeah. Him. Do you know much about your..." she doesn't want to say real family. How could he consider the people that never planned for him or sold him away as such? "I don't know. I was born in Argentina. I've never been back. My father was from London. Only time I've been was to..." assassinate an ambassador. She frowns. "Do you ever just wonder? What your life would be like. If none of all this happened?"
"Perhaps once I've gotten to know him a little bit." Because he meant what he said; donating the money to Bill to help Ava was the best way he could think of spending it. Especially if it could increase the chances of prolonging her life.
Number Two doesn't miss the way Ava stabs at her food when he says that and he frowns, digging into his food to let her process what she's just learned. "Can't say I do it often, but I can't imagine why I wouldn't be. Especially onions. They can't make you cry if you don't breathe them in." He winks. "Maybe we can learn together."
Diego shrugs again. "I was born in Mexico. I don't know anything about my mother except that, just like the others, she wasn't pregnant when she woke up that morning. Mom taught me Spanish though. Taught all of us the languages of our birth countries." Putting his fork down, Diego reaches across the table and places his hand palm side up. "Yeah, a lot. But I'd have never met you if life was any different." Each time he made her smile, the torture seemed worth it.
She nods in agreement. Yesterday she wouldn't have imagined any reason for the two of them to meet, and now it feels like everything depends on it going well. Bill always made it clear that he merely tolerated her risking her safety out there, he didn't exactly approve of the chances of her getting caught. Or worse. And Diego's the reason it's become more of a reoccurring pattern, though she's never told him as much. Since they met so haphazardly in the middle of a crime scene, she got caught up somewhere between wanting to spend more time with him and unable to figure out how else, and wanting to make sure Diego wasn't going to be the death of himself. Bill was more than just a scientific genius. He was observant, and knew her well. He'd put two and two together.
Something stupidly domestic like cooking together is a much nicer thought, and she considers his suggestion with a small smile. "I'll leave you to the onions," she decides, "And all the knives. It is your superpower, after all." She always wonders just how many knives he has on him at any given time. One day she plans on stripping him to find out. Instead she takes another bite of food, pretending the warmth in her face is more due to the spice than the thought.
Her fingertips brush across his open palm, tracing up and down each of his fingers before settling to press palms together. She likes the way her hand fits in his, likes how he offers it so freely. "Your mother sounds nice," she comments, likes to think at least something from his childhood was good. "Maybe when I'm better... We can go. Mexico, Argentina, I don't care. Somewhere together."
"Yeah, I can cut up the onions. Maybe I can learn how to Juliet or whatever it's called." Even now, without his harness on, Diego isn't without a couple of knives and his harness sits in his bag with a pair of sweats and a change of clothes for tomorrow.
"She was programmed that way. To love and care for us. But she learned, y'know? To feel. She has to have. I don't know how she could be so warm and loving if she didn't." Number Two's hand closes carefully around Ava's and he smiles, using his other hand to continue eating. "Absolutely. Wherever you want. I've never left the country so I'm game to explore anything."
She has no idea what it means to julienne an onion, but she's pretty sure the term he's using is wrong and she laughs. "Is that where you poison them and then stab yourself, Romeo?" and okay, she's not super familiar with that story either other than it ends badly. Maybe it's Juliet that does the stabbing. Do they both? There's definitely something about poisoning in there.
The word programmed certainly doesn't escape her notice, and she's not sure if she ever picked up on the fact before that his mother wasn't quite human. Ava's not opposed to the idea of AI, even after Tony Stark's idiotic attempt to create an army of robots that ultimately turned against him. Ava doesn't blame Ultron. She'd have turned against Stark too, if he was trying to give her orders. Maybe she wouldn't go so far to try dropping an entire chunk of country into the planet, but... "I'm glad you had her." She's curious how often he visits, given it would probably require seeing his father to do so.
"Never?" she sounds slightly surprised by that, her own travel across the world rather extensive. Although all sponsored by the government, with targets and handlers and not all that much time to sightsee. Ava wants to see museums, try food, wander local streets. Things she's been deprived of most of her life, inside the country or out of it. "If you could go anywhere...?"
"What? Is it not juiletting? I told you, I don't cook! If I can't put it in a microwave or it's not pasta, I have no idea what I'm doing." And even then, his pasta was just jarred sauce and boiled water and even that had taken him a long time to finesse. Seriously, cooking was not his thing at all.
He smiles. "Me too. She was the one good thing Dad ever did." And maybe Pogo but he was always more inclined to take Dad's side in things. Mum at least cared about them and did her best.
"Nope, never. Unless you count not being born here." Wow, he'd never really thought about going anywhere else, seeing anything. Perhaps it had just never seemed possible until now. "I'd want to go somewhere with, like, amazing food. Like, Italy or something."
"Julienne," she corrects, though no hint of judging. Her own skills are basic, she never really had anyone to impress and her own standards were fairly low in most aspects of life. As long as things weren't undercooked or burnt, she usually considered it a success. "And I don't actually know what it means. I just assume cut up, but make it fancy." Luckily there were youtube videos for those sorts of things.
Or they could just continue with takeout. Because this was good. Ava stays quiet for a bit to eat, missing her mouth a few times and trying to keep her frustrations down by gripping his hand tighter. She's at least stubborn enough not to give up in the middle of simple tasks like she used to be.
She needs this though, the casual talk of plans for a future, things to look forward to even if the specifics never pan out. She has to believe there is one for her, otherwise the existential dread becomes too much. "You really do like pasta, huh?"
"Oh. My mistake." Diego laughs and shakes his head at himself because, yeah, that was a dumb mistake but also, he had no reason to know it because he had never once needed to use the technique. "We could just google it."
Diego doesn't watch Ava struggle because she doesn't need him to assess everything she does and she definitely doesn't need him watching her like a hawk when her abilities make things difficult for her.
"Pasta is easy to cook but also you can have so many different kinds!"
She puts down her fork and reaches across to gingerly cup Diego's chin to make sure he's looking at her, knows he's laughing it off but doesn't quite like the way he's called it a mistake. Not over something so inconsequential. "I thought it was cute," she tells him.
"Besides," she adds, "I can maybe name two types of noodles. Spaghetti and macaroni." She knows there's plenty of other shapes, but honestly, she thinks they all taste about the same. But she enjoys his enthusiasm, likes getting to learn more about the sorts of things that Diego likes. It's weird how little she knew until today.
"How's your head doing?" she brushes her fingers lightly through his hair again, coming close to but careful to avoid the actual bump. "I meant to grab you ice before..."
Diego leans into her hand and smiles. "It can be our thing. We Juliette our vegetables." And yeah, that makes him feel better about it.
"Well, those are two of the best kinds. I always make bow ties for Klaus." There was no real reason why; it started because that's all he had at the time and it had somehow become a thing that he did. "But the sauces are all different and I want to taste them from the people who invented it or whatever."
He'd almost forgotten that he was injured at all, lost in the moment with Ava. "It's fine. I kinda forgot I was even hurt."
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"Bill's just a professor," she admits, "We make ends meet." There's a small flicker of guilt across her expression, because as hard she tries to make up for her past, how much time she's devoted to helping Diego take down bad guys across the city... "I steal. Sometimes." And it's hardly petty, but she tries not to keep a running total. She doesn't want to come up against a number where she has to wonder if her life is worth it anymore.
"Do I want to know the record time?" she's hesitant, trying to keep the edge out of her voice as she contemplates murder of yet another old man. She plates up the food because it seems nicer than eating out of takeout containers, though all her dishes are plastic. She's dropped far too many to chance it anymore, because all it takes is a split second of flashing out for her to lose her grip. She's particularly careful with these though, clearing off a spot at the table. "I spent far too many years under bland diet plans to not enjoy flavor now." She smiles, and finally asks a question she's been wondering for awhile. "So where did he pick you up from?"
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Number Two makes himself useful by gathering up cutlery for the both of them and then he grabs his plate and goes to find somewhere they can sit without disrupting any of the documents left laying around. "Uh... Probably not. But it's a long time." He chuckles softly. "Mom always made beautiful dinners but we always had oatmeal for brekky. And I can't cook to save my life; those skills aren't useful for saving the world." Brow furrowing, Diego's confused for a minute. "Who? Dad?"
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A long time has her stabbing at her food. She tries not to think about the experiments she underwent either, to test the limits of her abilities. She hates what both of them have gone through, but she's grateful there's at least a shared understanding. It'd be difficult for her to open up otherwise, to try explaining any of her experiences to someone incapable of relating. "Thought you'd at least be good chopping things up," she jokes. "I can cook a bit," because Bill did most of her grocery shopping, and made a point of delivering actual fresh ingredients instead of stuff she could lazily shove in the microwave.
The contrast of the way Diego speaks about his mother catches her attention, definitely without the bitterness he carries toward his father. "Yeah. Him. Do you know much about your..." she doesn't want to say real family. How could he consider the people that never planned for him or sold him away as such? "I don't know. I was born in Argentina. I've never been back. My father was from London. Only time I've been was to..." assassinate an ambassador. She frowns. "Do you ever just wonder? What your life would be like. If none of all this happened?"
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Number Two doesn't miss the way Ava stabs at her food when he says that and he frowns, digging into his food to let her process what she's just learned. "Can't say I do it often, but I can't imagine why I wouldn't be. Especially onions. They can't make you cry if you don't breathe them in." He winks. "Maybe we can learn together."
Diego shrugs again. "I was born in Mexico. I don't know anything about my mother except that, just like the others, she wasn't pregnant when she woke up that morning. Mom taught me Spanish though. Taught all of us the languages of our birth countries." Putting his fork down, Diego reaches across the table and places his hand palm side up. "Yeah, a lot. But I'd have never met you if life was any different." Each time he made her smile, the torture seemed worth it.
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Something stupidly domestic like cooking together is a much nicer thought, and she considers his suggestion with a small smile. "I'll leave you to the onions," she decides, "And all the knives. It is your superpower, after all." She always wonders just how many knives he has on him at any given time. One day she plans on stripping him to find out. Instead she takes another bite of food, pretending the warmth in her face is more due to the spice than the thought.
Her fingertips brush across his open palm, tracing up and down each of his fingers before settling to press palms together. She likes the way her hand fits in his, likes how he offers it so freely. "Your mother sounds nice," she comments, likes to think at least something from his childhood was good. "Maybe when I'm better... We can go. Mexico, Argentina, I don't care. Somewhere together."
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"She was programmed that way. To love and care for us. But she learned, y'know? To feel. She has to have. I don't know how she could be so warm and loving if she didn't." Number Two's hand closes carefully around Ava's and he smiles, using his other hand to continue eating. "Absolutely. Wherever you want. I've never left the country so I'm game to explore anything."
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The word programmed certainly doesn't escape her notice, and she's not sure if she ever picked up on the fact before that his mother wasn't quite human. Ava's not opposed to the idea of AI, even after Tony Stark's idiotic attempt to create an army of robots that ultimately turned against him. Ava doesn't blame Ultron. She'd have turned against Stark too, if he was trying to give her orders. Maybe she wouldn't go so far to try dropping an entire chunk of country into the planet, but... "I'm glad you had her." She's curious how often he visits, given it would probably require seeing his father to do so.
"Never?" she sounds slightly surprised by that, her own travel across the world rather extensive. Although all sponsored by the government, with targets and handlers and not all that much time to sightsee. Ava wants to see museums, try food, wander local streets. Things she's been deprived of most of her life, inside the country or out of it. "If you could go anywhere...?"
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He smiles. "Me too. She was the one good thing Dad ever did." And maybe Pogo but he was always more inclined to take Dad's side in things. Mum at least cared about them and did her best.
"Nope, never. Unless you count not being born here." Wow, he'd never really thought about going anywhere else, seeing anything. Perhaps it had just never seemed possible until now. "I'd want to go somewhere with, like, amazing food. Like, Italy or something."
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Or they could just continue with takeout. Because this was good. Ava stays quiet for a bit to eat, missing her mouth a few times and trying to keep her frustrations down by gripping his hand tighter. She's at least stubborn enough not to give up in the middle of simple tasks like she used to be.
She needs this though, the casual talk of plans for a future, things to look forward to even if the specifics never pan out. She has to believe there is one for her, otherwise the existential dread becomes too much. "You really do like pasta, huh?"
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Diego doesn't watch Ava struggle because she doesn't need him to assess everything she does and she definitely doesn't need him watching her like a hawk when her abilities make things difficult for her.
"Pasta is easy to cook but also you can have so many different kinds!"
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"Besides," she adds, "I can maybe name two types of noodles. Spaghetti and macaroni." She knows there's plenty of other shapes, but honestly, she thinks they all taste about the same. But she enjoys his enthusiasm, likes getting to learn more about the sorts of things that Diego likes. It's weird how little she knew until today.
"How's your head doing?" she brushes her fingers lightly through his hair again, coming close to but careful to avoid the actual bump. "I meant to grab you ice before..."
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"Well, those are two of the best kinds. I always make bow ties for Klaus." There was no real reason why; it started because that's all he had at the time and it had somehow become a thing that he did. "But the sauces are all different and I want to taste them from the people who invented it or whatever."
He'd almost forgotten that he was injured at all, lost in the moment with Ava. "It's fine. I kinda forgot I was even hurt."