Molly shivered and pulled her lab coat closer around her shoulders; not that it did much good, though. The corridors of the helicarrier were quite drafty, and even the thick sweater that she was wearing underneath the coat didn't do much good. The cold seemed to seep into her very bones. None of the SHIELD agents complained, though. She assumed that they must be used to it. Or they were just too well trained to complain about anything. Most of them seemed good at taking orders, anyways. Unlike Sherlock.

Sherlock was not taking very kindly to the fact that he had a "higher up" to listen to now. He was used to doing his own thing how and when he wanted to do it. And then there was the whole "team player" thing, too. If there was one thing that Sherlock definitely was not, it was a team player. The man simply could not get along with anyone. Except for John and most of the time Molly, both of whom were left with the task of trying to keep everyone else on the team from hating the said consulting detective.

It didn't really matter very much anymore, though. No one on the team could get along with anyone, and the arrival of the wayward Asguardian prince on the helicarrier wasn't helping things at all.

Molly knew that she should be in the lab instead of wandering around, but she couldn't help it. Besides, she had suddenly had rare streak of bravery, and she was determined not to waste it. Plus, she was curious.

She stopped at the entrance to the room with the holding tank. The door was closed and locked, of course. She pulled her ID badge off of the pocket on the front of her coat and ran it through the scanner by the door. The light flashed green and the heavy door slid open.

Holding her breath slightly, she stepped inside. It was a large room, with a big, glass, cylinder tank resting in the center of the floor and rising almost all the way up to the ceiling. It had been built to contain the hulk, just in case. However, the prisoner that it now held was about as far from the hulk as you could get.

He was tall, taller than most humans, with a regal bearing and a glint of haughty pride in his stone cold eyes. His long black hair was slicked back from his face, revealing the fine lines of his nose and mouth. He was facing mostly away from her, but his back had straightened ever so slightly when she had entered, indicating that he was aware of her presence.

Molly suddenly wondered why on earth she had come. She shouldn't be here, and she knew it. She took a few steps forward.

"They're becoming desperate, aren't they?"

Molly stopped dead in her tracks. He had spoken. "I'm sorry?" His statement confused her.

He chuckled; a cold, shallow sort of sound. "Have you come to interrogate me?"

"No, I haven't," she answered. "I'm merely an observer. I don't suppose that I'd be any good at interrogating anyhow –"

He turned slowly to look at her, and she fell silent. They stared at each other for quite some time; he was studying her, trying to figure out what her intent might be in coming, and she was trying to pull her jumbled up thoughts together.

Finally, he asked. "If you're not another minion sent to interrogate me, then what is your purpose in being here?"

"I was… um… curious, I suppose. I see that I was wrong in coming, though." Molly started to back away slowly. "You know, 'curiosity killed the cat' and all that nonsense."

The man's eyes narrowed. Was SHIELD that stupid? Sending a fragile slip of a woman in there like this? Oh, he was going to enjoy this. They could try and wring information out of him all day long, but he would take please in wringing all of the life out of every single person they sent in there with him. "Well, that might be true. If you weren't a mouse."

The woman's eyes widened. He smiled to himself. He had hit on something, and now he knew where his advantage lay.

For a moment, all that Molly could do was stare at him. She knew that she was small, and fragile, and mousy, but it still hurt to hear other people say it. It always had the effect of making her feel smaller and more insignificant than she normally felt. Her lip quivered slightly.

The prince just smirked and walked towards her, until he had to stop because of the glass. "Tell me, little mortal, are you afraid?"

She tilted her head back slowly and looked up at him. "I'm not a mouse."

"Mice are tiny, insignificant, and all around bothersome creatures. You're a small woman, your friends overlook you, and your rambling is much more annoying than it is adorable. Shall I go on?" He watched her triumphantly as she tried and failed to hold his gaze. It was rather amusing crushing the fragile ones. They'd beg and weep and make a spectacle of themselves instead of fighting back. He despised them. "You're a pathetic little woman running about in a pathetic little life. You think you're being useful, but all you really do is get in the way."

A couple of tears rolled down Molly's cheek in spite of her effort to suppress them.

"Are you afraid of me, woman?"

Molly didn't answer at first. She took a few hesitant steps forward, until she was within arm's reach of the tank. Then, she put one hand straight out in front of her, until the tips of her fingers just barely touched the glass between them. Her lip didn't tremble anymore, and no more tears rolled down her face. She looked braver now, except for the fact that her hands were shaking slightly. She looked him in the eye. "Yes, I am afraid of you. I'm afraid of most people that hurt me. But that doesn't make me any less of a person."

His cold eyes held her gaze, piercing her with an intensity that she thought might freeze her heart.

"People always say," she continued, her voice faltering a little, "that bravery isn't the absence of fear. That's called stupidity."

"Do enlighten me then. What is bravery, little mouse?" He folded his arms across his chest, looking very threateningly at her. She looked away for a moment.

"Bravery is doing what you have to do, even when you're afraid," she answered.

"How touching. So you call yourself brave because you're still here, speaking with me even though you're shaking in your boots. What a triumph. Congratulations." The sarcasm dripped from his tone. His gaze darkened, and he raised one hand and pressed it against the glass level with Molly's hand. "You have not yet begun to know what fear is."

She was silent. Pressing her palm completely up against the glass, she shifted her gaze to the ground by her feet. "I'm sorry that you feel that way." Her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

"Why?"

"You're bitter. I can see that. Any fool could see that. It oozes out of you, touching everyone that you come into contact with. You hurt. You feel pain just like the rest of us. But you mask it by hurting people like me. I'm an easy target, I know. I don't have much strength or will to fight back. But this power play thing that you're doing doesn't make you better or stronger than me. It merely points out how fragile you are. Just like me."

She let her hand slip from the glass and backed away a few steps. A few fresh tears made little trails down her face, but they weren't just tears for her own wounded self-esteem. The pain she felt now went deeper than that.

Molly couldn't tell what he was feeling at that moment. His face was like a stone now, showing no emotion. The door behind her slid open and she knew that she should leave. As she reached the door, she turned to look back at the Asguardian one last time. He was still standing where she had left him, his hand pressed against the glass, his eyes staring at the place where she had been standing.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.