Step 1: Lay shirt out on its front and smooth any wrinkles.

He meets Natalia Romanova, the real Natalia Romanova, in a padded cell three feet below the ground. She's much different here, drowning in white, than the eighteen year old girl who tried to shoot him point blank while fire burned like a halo and her blood created an ocean. Despite the fighting and screaming, the attitude of the frightened child she's finally allowed to be, every time he looks at her, at the red hair hanging in shambles around a face that's heavy with the world and at the eyes that have lost their soul, he shivers at the thought that she is the most basic reflection of himself he will ever see: he hates it, and he isn't sure if it makes him want to destroy her or destroy himself.

No, he decides, it makes him want to make her better. It makes him want to make her succeed everywhere he couldn't, everywhere he failed. It makes him want to make her let go of the monster she's been taught to be.

They let her out after six months, after the hallucinations have stopped, after she can remember her own name for a week in a row, after they've rewired her mind to rewire the rewiring that's had her twisted in its grasp since she was five years old.

Step 1: Expose the worst.