Lying is A Sport

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Cabar," Phil said, waiting for him to pause before continuing. "I know how frustrating this is for you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you the answers you were hoping for. Having rebuilt your life was the best you could do under the circumstances. I.. know someone who can look into your mind. Perhaps he will be able to unlock the memory if it is still there to be found, Perhaps he can help give you a few clues as to why if he cannot. It is minimally invasive - but it would be someone rooting around in your head."

It was a small offer, but it was the best he could do. The man looked disappointed, resigned. Phil knew the look well.

{{xx.}} "Its alright." The thief finally says, sitting down again with a slow exhale. Then, finally, manages to look at Phil. "Please, call me Cheyenne. Mr.Cabar was my father." He jokes dryly, only flashing a small smile where he usually would have laughed; Cheyenne was a major jokester when he wanted to be. Now wasn't one of those times, though. Then, after a moment of thought, he hesitantly nods. "That might be something to try."

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What About Family | Francis + Clint + Chey (12/8)

hawkeyepunch

He’d kept half an eye on the man while waiting for Clint to come out, but when his name was spoken, Barton’s head shot up and he stared. The memory was fuzzy, like everything before Ultron was. He’d been so young when things so drastically changed.

Then the memory hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Thanks for getting here such short notice - We weren’t expecting the call."

"Are you ever?"

"Uncle Chey!" a five year old with hair so blond it was white ran up to him, taking a flip over the coffee table and leaping into his arms, where, as always, he was caught.

"What’re we gonna do today while your Mom and Dad go save the world, hm?"

"Save the kitchen."

"The kitchen?"

"Yes. There are pans and they need to be shot!"

It was there and gone in half a second, and Francis went pale. That was the day everything changed. ”Uncle Chey?” he didn’t even realise he’d spoken, voice quiet and trembling, hand gripping Dog’s fur.

The mercenary is about to respond when he hears the boy speak, and he looks at him in surprise before looking to Cheyenne in impassive confusion. What? 'Uncle Chey'? What was… then, partially, he realized the situation, that obviously Francis had known the thief in his world; maybe there Clint and Chey had stayed friends after their fallout.

Thinking this, he shrugged slightly and looked back to Chey, gesturing to the teen.

"Cheyenne this is my son, F- Hawkeye. Kid, this is my friend and part- accomplice from work." He said, moving his gesture to the other man. Then he looks to Cheyenne, still slightly confused. Maybe they could talk about this later. "Now, what do you want?"

#mercenarywithwings #hawkeyepunch #sorry writer's block

{{xx.}} Uncle Chey? What was this, some sort of joke? Was this payback for something? Because Clint had never told him, because he hadn't had a right to know? The thief pointedly looked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as if preparing to leave. Maybe he should have left when he had the chance, saving them this awkward encounter with a strange teenager between them. Did the kid even need to be here for this; it could turn ugly.

"Hey kid." Cheyenne finally says, freeing a hand to offer a mutual wave to the boy and a small smile. Then he looks to the mercenary, and his gaze goes cold. "I came about work; maybe some other time, though. When the kid isn't here." He barely manages to not sound accusing, because he'd never been told. Because he didn't have a right to know, he reminds himself.

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I нαve ŁØらŤ тнιɴɢѕ

ʏᴏᴜ ωɪʟʟ

ＮＥＶＥＲ

ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ．

#stuff #thoughts

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What About Family | Francis + Clint + Chey (12/8)

hawkeyepunch

Barton raised his eyebrows at the newcomer. He had a key, like Denis had a key. “You’re either deaf or polite, he’ll be out in a few minutes,” he said, from where he was sitting on the couch with the dog, reading a textbook. ”I don’t know you,” he added almost afterthought, like he was trying to build a dossier in his head.

Sore muscles, hot water, heaven. But heaven abruptly ended when he heard the door open over the water; damn the thin apartment walls. So what was going on? Francis wouldn’t have left, since he’d left him studying, diligently, if he could say anything about it, on the couch. That meant one thing: someone from his work had come by, and that was undesirable. Without another thought he withdrew from the shower and dressed, and on his way out of the bedroom grabbed a gun and stuck in his waistband.

This left Clint presently surprised when he actually saw who was standing there by the door; he even uttered a small shit at the presence.

"Cheyenne. What are you doing here?" The mercenary questions, crossing his arms and trying vainly to ignore Francis on the couch for his own, awkward, sake. This wasn’t something he could want. Not right now.

#hawkeyepunch #mercenarywithwings #omg I am so sorry this is why I shouldn't make starters when I'm tired I'm sorry #and yes they'bve known eachother for a very long time #so yeah he can know

{{xx.}} Nodding, the thief took another small step backwards; an awkward shuffle in a dance of roiling feelings, thoughts, and being. With a sigh he stops himself from scowling at the teenager like 'of course you don't', because of course he didn't. Because this had been some sort of secret, something that was none of his business, which he couldn't be angry at Clint about. Then, think of the devil.

"Hey." Cheyenne greets with a nod, offering a slight wave. "Just came t' babysit the kid like you asked." He jokes lightly, smiling. Then, glancing at the boy, he offers a wink and a shrug. "Kid don' know m' though, so should there b' a proper int'roduction?" He asks, looking back at the mercenary.

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

Phil nodded, mulling that over a minute. ”I believe it may be best to learn to be content with what you know, and make peace that there may be things you won’t ever know.”

{{xx.}} "Alright, sir." Yeah, and wasn't that what he'd been trying to do before? Just be content with what he had, just try to survive. And here he was hearing it from someone else, but what did it matter? That's what he'd come to here, right? "Thank you." Chey nods, standing to leave because he felt like it was over, and maybe it was.

#mercenarywithwings #{{xx. I hope you don't mind me writing this up c:#you don't have to respond if you don't want to}}#hawkeyepunch

What About Family | Francis + Clint + Chey (12/8)

{{xx.}} Quietly the thief slips into the apartment, looking around as he steps in and closes the door behind him; since coming to New York he'd taken a key from his friend the mercenary, Barton, to his apartment, but had only been there once a few weeks before. And that was why he was so surprised to see the teenager there, that looked so much like the man. Had he had a kid? If so, why hadn't he told Chey? It was none of his business, that was why, the man thought with a slow exhale.

"Hey kid, do ya' know 'f Clint is around?" Cheyenne asks with a small smile, and beyond he hears the shower running. Oh. Maybe he'd come back later, or maybe he'd just drag Clint out to talk in public. Either way it'd be awkward following this, so why not stay for the full experience? He shifted back, looking around the apartment. "Uh, I c'n go if he isn't 'round."

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

"There are people with their memories fully intact, Mr. Cabar, who have things hanging over their heads. Whether they are things they wish to forget, or simply the hand life dealt them is individual." Phil gave him a small smile. "What I meant by that question was, has it affected your quality of life /outside/ of the frustration and curiosity? Did you need to relearn certain basic functions, for example, amongst other things?”

{{xx.}} Did he have to relearn? Yes, but in odd ways. Like remembering you couldn't openly carry a gun without being questioned or deemed dangerous. But besides that, and other things, he'd been... fine? Alright. It had been alright, that first year, when he'd had to relearn small things. Just small things, which obviously wasn't as bad as the situations other amnesiacs faced. Still, it was a integral part of him that yearned for truth, despite what his lack of memory had done to him: made him a liar, with no truth to know.

"I relearned basic civilian things. How to interact, social norms, how to hold my other abilities as secrets." Cheyenne shrugged sheepishly at the confession, and it wasn't exactly something he wanted to go into with the man. Not yet, at least; he didn't trust him that much. "Besides that I had to remake a life, but that's it. Nothing important besides that and the ominous, uh, wanting to know."

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

"It is, but not an unfamiliar one - no need to apologise," Phil answered. "I’m sorry, it must be frustrating my asking you questions you probably already have the answers to, but if your contact thought I could help you, the more I know the better. At this point, however, I feel it’s safe to say that it is likely you will never regain your memory, beyond the glimpses that have broken through. I find that sometimes glimpses do break through, but never enough to fully unlock the memory. There may be a trigger phrase to your memories, but after ten years, the probability of your being a sleeper agent is considerably less likely. It is possible the reason behind your memory erasure, and the people behind it, are no longer able to be questioned, even if we were able to find them."

Phil adjusted a model x-wing sitting on the edge of his desk, lining up the edges parallel. ”I’m willing to help you learn the reasons behind your memory loss - but I cannot promise how successful we may or may not be. Does your memory loss affect your quality of life, aside from the obvious frustration.”

{{xx.}} If that wasn't exactly what Cheyenne had always feared then he was fearless; of course, that was his greatest fear, though only subconsciously. Never regaining his memory was a tough obstacle, even in his mind, to overcome, despite his preparation for it. He'd always known, hadn't he? But why was this the sudden truth to him? Phil Coulson might know a lot, but he didn't know much of the situation and was only assuming; what if he was wrong? Yet, in the thief's mind he reprimanded himself for the thought: stop dreaming and accept it, you jackass.

"Alright. Thank you for that." He responded, licking dry lips and nodding vaguely as he thought about, and accepted, what had recently been said by the agent. Sleeper agent? It would make sense considering his skills, but really? On that front he knew the SHIELD agent must be correct; Chey had done his own research. "I've never known anything else, sir. Of course it affects my life; it hangs over me like a cloud I can't get rid of." Great time to be poetic. He chided himself, but didn't think further on it. Was there any hope for him? Maybe he could trust this man, like, well, he already had, but more. Had he been completely honest?

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

"Of course you do. You wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t curious." Phil thought about his own memory issues. About the things he wasn’t sure he’d asked to forget. That he’d been made to, or had been written over.

This didn’t sound quite like that, however. It sounded like he’d been Erased.

That was an entirely different can of worms.

"Your SHIELD contact, have they run your prints, retina scan? When did you begin working with them, how long after you… woke up?" Phil asked, his voice still calm, and a little curious. Even if they couldn’t retrieve the memories, perhaps he could find out why they’d been erased.

There was one reason he could think of from the top of his head. Protection. Either to protect this man. Protect the information he’d stumbled upon. Or protect someone else. They would have to proceed carefully. There was no guarantee knowing why would be any better than not knowing at all.

"I’m sure you are aware that some things are better left behind and kept secret?"

{{xx.}} "Yeah, but both came up negative for matches." The thief explains with a shrug, like he was used to it, and he was. When he'd first gotten around to it, he'd been met by nothing as well; there was no information about him out there, at all. No family, no history, no name... and it drove him crazy to no end because Cheyenne was just a name, his made past was just words, and he was empty because of that. Empty because he had nothing else. "I remembered SHIELD about three years after I woke up, started talking to a contact in late 2007, and have been talking to one since." He supplies the further information, only pausing a moment to confirm the words in his mind. Yeah, he was right; had it really been that long? Yeah. Ten years.

Now that, that was something he'd thought about endlessly: was getting his memory back worth it? What if it was gone for a reason? And what if it wasn't? He didn't know! Chey knew nothing, and he guessed that just made the curiosity worse. Even so - not knowing - he still nodded at the agent's question. "Yes, but you don't know whether it really is better left unknown until you know. Like I said, I know I'm not going to get answers, but I have to try." Then, smiling tiredly, he raises a hand to his head to rub his forehead. "I apologize; this really is a pain."

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

Phil nodded, thinking a moment before responding. ”As far as I’m aware, my memory losses are voluntary. The reasons are varying levels of ‘these are things I don’t want to remember, and I cannot function if I do’,” he said candidly. ”I suspect there are other things I have been made to forget, and have made the conscious decision not to seek out the information. There are reasons behind anything, and while we may not always agree with them, they usually are sound.”

He leaned forward slightly, giving him a friendly, if small, smile. ”You say you are trying to regain your memory, and have failed in doing so over the past decade. Have you put any thought into why you may have lost it to begin with?”

{{xx.}} Of course he had, of course he had. It had been ten years of that! Of wondering and searching and finding minimal nothing on the topic. Of course Cheyenne had thought about why, because he'd thought of ways to fix it - to hopefull fix it, fix his memory. Of course, that never worked but he tried so damn hard to get his memory back because he felt like he'd been robbed, just blinking into existence suddenly in that bar, knowing he had a place but couldn't find it. This was what he got for trying to get help, the same path he'd taken himself on over and over again. But the thief held himself, kept still and didn't speak because he listened and contemplated. What had he expected? Answers? He wasn't going to get those any time soon, and he knew it, so why not? Why not listen and wait?

"Of course I have." Chey finally says, sagging slightly at the admission. "Sir, I...I woke up in a bar. Standing up, looking at something, I don't remember what. In that last blink I forgot everything. Don't know why, or what I even forgot, but I forgot it and when I opened my eyes no one knew who I was and I knew nothing about anything." He explains, recalling how empty he'd felt, how he'd felt like he'd forgotten something important. "In a second I lost everything, but I know it has something to do with the government. Because nothing could so finely delete a person from the world - I looked everywhere, at every file there was and there was nothing about me, or about anyone like me. I started existing in that bar, and it drives me crazy.

"I remember things sometimes, vague things like people and places. I remembered the SHIELD logo, and that's what brought me here. But my reference has reason to believe my memories were blocked, because amnesiacs don't just wake up; I never suffered any trauma. It was strange, precisely done. Perfect. He calls my mind a work of art because of how well it was sectioned off." He says, looking to the agent earnestly, falling silent for a moment. "I know I'm not going to get answers, but I have to try."

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#stuff #thoughts #truths and fears

Phil Coulson, a reference Cheyenne had been given for memory retrieval by his SHIELD friend, and who he set out to meet now. Dressed formally, as he usually did when visiting SHIELD, the thief knocked on the office door and opened it to look inside. "Agent Coulson?" He inquired, opening the door a bit more when he saw the man at the desk. "I was referenced to you... about memory retrieval. My name is Cheyenne Cabar. I just wanted to talk to you about it, if you'd let me. I can come back later."

"You’re in luck, I’m not expected to leave the office for a little while yet," Phil said, raising his head and setting down his pen. "Come in, take a seat. How can I help you?"

#mynameisnotagent #//My apologies ;-;#Chey can be such a mouth to write for

{{xx.}} At first the thief was more than a little hesitant, even though he'd already halfway entered the office; even after all his work with SHIELD he still managed to be wary around agents, and especially around headquarters. Chey wasn't even sure if he could trust this man - Phil Coulson - even with his reference's good word about him. Maybe... no, he'd come this far and backing out now was not an option for him, or his memory, or anything really. It was time to act, and this hesitance of his was beginning to get out of hand. Everything would be alright, he was sure. Almost everything always turned out alright. Sometimes.

So, thinking this, Cheyenne entered the office, closed the door, and took a seat. Then it was just a matter of finding the right words; he'd always been a bit private about this, after all.

"I'm not sure if you can help me at all, I was just told you had some experience with blocking memories and dealing with the damages afterwords." He says quietly, contemplating his words as he spoke them. Of course, acceptance wasn't at the top of his list when dealing with the dilemma, what else could he do? His search had hit rock bottom, and it had been 10 years! Maybe he should just leave it all behind, for the sake of his own sanity. "I lost my memory about 10 years ago, and I've failed completely on regaining access to the memories. People say that most amnesiacs get over it by now, but my... friend, here, said they might be blocked for some reason. And I just want to know more about that."

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PSA;