When she wakes, the first thing she notices is the smell; that distinct smell of disinfectant and misery. Hospitals are not places that Maria associates with any happy feelings, nor does she understand why anyone would. A hospital is somewhere people in pain congregate to get better and leave; no one wants to be there – it is, after all, somewhere life ends. Even life beginning, something else that occurs in this building, is tainted for her. Her life began with death, a mother who sacrificed her life involuntarily for a daughter she never had a chance to meet. The combination of this start and every painful trip since has made hospitals uncomfortable and distressing for Maria.
She dares not open her eyes, wishing herself away from this bed, this room, this building; instead she squeezes her eyes tight shut, her whole body tensing painfully in her discomfort. She can't quite remember why she is in hospital or why her whole body feels like it's on fire, the only thing she knows is that she doesn't want to be here. She can feel her lungs inhaling and exhaling at an increasing speed and the heart rate monitor beeping more frantically as a panic attack threatens. Still she resists opening her eyes to the stark white room she knows she lies in.
The scrape of a chair on the floor alerts her to the other presence in the room, the one she had not noticed. Her eyes immediately snap open, her training as an S.H.I.E.L.D agent kicking in instinctively. The lights blind her momentarily as the large figure rounds the side of her bed and she struggles in vain to shift away from her attacker, but the pain from the slightest movements prevents her as his hands come to her shoulders to hold her still.
"Hey, hey, hey," he whispers gently in a familiar voice that her panic-filled brain can't help but trust despite her inability to place the person it belongs to. "It's okay, it's alright. It's just me."
Steve. He's here. She shouldn't be surprised, but she still hasn't quite gotten used to having someone who truly cares about her. His presence alone calms her.
"Steve?" she doesn't recognise the croak that emerges from her throat.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't try to speak, have a drink first." A cup is gently pressed against her lips and the liquid stings as it dribbles down her throat.
"What..." She tries to speak before a coughing fit cuts her off and she is forced to accept another sip from Steve as his palm runs up and down her back with such tenderness. He patiently waits until she can once again attempt words, his hand still resting lightly on her back. "What happened? I was blacked out and then there was an explosion but…"
She meets his eyes for the first time since waking up; in this light they are agonizingly blue, the blue of clear water – so pure and unsoiled despite the life of hurt and hardship they have endured.
"You've been here for two days, you had two operations – one on your pelvis, the other on your knee - they were both broken." He explains with a grimace that is unfamiliar on his face. "They airlifted you from the compound when it collapsed - they're looking into that - but you were under the rubble for a while, we didn't find you right away and you were in a bad way before the explosion." A flash of grief passes over his features, quickly mirrored on her own.
"Steve. Don't do that." She warns.
"Don't do what?" he replies in a voice that is as close to annoyance as Maria has ever heard from him.
"Don't feel guilty about any of this." She pleads in a hoarse whisper. "It's not your fault, none of this is on you."
"'Ria," he implores, arguing with himself more than her. "I should have been there; I could have stopped them hurting you."
"You can't think like that Steve. I'm an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D, you can't always protect me."
"I know that," he starts, but she cuts in before he can continue.
"I don't think you do Steve." This is becoming an argument. She doesn't want to fight with him, not in her state with her head throbbing and not in this horrible place she wants to escape from. She doesn't want him to become one of the things she associates with this place and the memories it comes with. "You have this idea in your head that I'm something that needs looking after and…"
"They touched you Maria." He roars, unable to control his anger at this whole situation.
There is a pause, there is quiet but not silence. The heart rate monitor still beeps erratically, there is the dim chatter of nurses in the corridor outside and the rumble of stretchers going past, but for a moment the two of them stare at each other in stillness.
"What?" She mutters, afraid of what he will say.
"There are marks on your arms and on your hips, hand marks where they touched you and…" He chokes up, unable to say the words. Instead it hangs in the stale air between them, unsaid yet it feels like someone is shouting it for all the world to hear. She lifts an aching arm to lift the sheets that hide her bruised and broken body, but his hand is so softly on her wrist before she can lift it high enough to see under, his face mournful and annoyingly sympathetic.
"Are you sure?" It's not a loaded question; he just wants her to make the right decision, whatever that is.
She nods and he helps her lift the sheet up, her hands to weak and shaky to do it herself. The sight doesn't shock her as such, it just terrifies her. What had they done to her after they had knocked her out? Her mind throws images into her head that go round and round as she stares at the marks they left on her. She struggles to get a breath and there is beeping and then there is shouting and she loses focus on the spinning world around her. Despite all this, the last thing she remembers as the drugs run cold through her veins is Steve's hand tightly gripping hers.