Skye was trapped. There was no way to escape the Bus, not anymore now that Hydra had blocked all the exits.
"Think, think!" she muttered to herself. The rest of the team had probably already fled. They were probably already gone. She had told them to leave her, to save themselves, but now she just wished that someone would come back for her. Someone who could save her.
There was banging on the locked door of the closet. The room seemed to be getting smaller and she was getting dizzier. The metal room was windowless and full of panel boxes and other wires. There was no way she was going to get out alive. The banging was getting louder and louder, the pounding followed by kicking.
She was too young to die.
The thumping on the door became progressively sharper, the kicks becoming heavier, and she could hear the grunts of agony from the other side.
"Open up, dammit!" came the voice. But she knew that voice. "Skye! Open. Up."
"So you can kill me?" she yelled.
"No, so I can get them to stop killing you. The team is safe. But there's a bomb on the plane. You gotta get off."
He could be lying, a small voice in her head reminded her, But he probably isn't, another one said.
"Skye, you gotta trust me. We only have three minutes." She felt as if she was being ripped in half. But the space was too small for so many voices, for all the what ifs. Too many voices, each with their own opinion. All so loud.
But which one was the loudest?
The one that said to trust him. So she pulled out her ICER and unlocked the door, aiming it at him. He nudged it down.
"One minute, thirty seconds, Skye. Let's go. C'mon." She followed behind him, aiming her gun at his back until arms were wrapped around her waist. She struggled against them, catching a glimpse of the man that had a hold of her.
John Garett.
They took her to headquarters, and she was placed in a four by four one way room. Tied to a chair and electrocuted twice a day until she passed out, then physically beaten some more.
It went on for a week, when her body almost gave out on her. She wouldn't talk. She would die silent. She repeated the mantra in her head whenever the buzz went through her, starting with her fingers. It was the worst when the volts wrapped themselves around her heart, swirling and preying on it until it felt like it was on fire before they stopped.
It always seemed to take longer than it actually did.
On the eighth day, another chair was placed beside her, and tied to it was Ward. He looked at her as he sat down and the rope was wrapped around them both, binding them together. As bad as her torture was, his was a million times worse.
But she would die silent.
She couldn't actually see his face. But she saw it in the mirrors all around her. He was broken beyond repair. He couldn't be helped.
They fed them, once a day and a cup of water. It was barely enough.
On the tenth day, his hand found hers and he whispered, "They'll come for you, one day."
"I'll be long dead by then," she whispered back. He squeezed her hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.
"No, you won't. I promise."
"You can't protect me for everything."
On the thirteenth day, they actually came. They saved her and him, taking them back to a S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Everything seemed so large to her, now that she was in an open space. She healed. He recovered. They survived. She still has all the voices in her head, competing for attention, but now they don't hurt as much, she isn't in a closed space anymore.
She isn't confined.
A/N: Review?
