A/N: The lines represent changes in time/place, while the xXx represent changes in point of view during the same event. Point of view shifts will not always be marked if there is a smooth transition, but not to worry, they are easy to recognize.

Fury exhaled slowly, wondering for a moment why Hydra people always had to be so darn difficult. For once, it would be nice if someone would give SHIELD a break and just spill. But of course, the moment Hydra agents got soft would be the moment they were all dead. If things were easy, SHIELD wouldn't be needed, and he'd be out of a job.

"Tell agents Barton and Romanoff I want them in my office immediately," the eye-patched man ordered, his words directed at the same young agent who had delivered the news that the prisoner was not cooperating.

"Yes sir," came the reply.

Minutes later (those two certainly could move fast, and likely would have been there sooner had the first agent not been slow) the requested agents stood once again in the director's office.

"You wanted to see us sir," stated Romanoff. Not quite a question, but a typical way to spark the real conversation.

"I did," responded Fury, leaning forward slightly. "I'm going to cut right to the chase. The prisoner isn't cooperating. We've sent in some of the best interrogators in this facility. We have tried kindness, we have tried scare tactics, we have tried just about every play we know short of physical harm. Either the kid's mute, or we need some new way to get her talking."

"You want us to interrogate the prisoner," Barton concluded.

"Precisely. You are two of SHIELD's finest, I expect you have a few tricks up your sleeves."

"We'll see what we can do," Natasha said.

"I expect that you will."

With that obvious dismissal, the two agents/Avengers left Fury's office.

The prisoner sat in a metal chair, behind a metal table, inside what was basically a metal box. The walls of the interrogation cell were composed of an interesting yet slightly disorienting geometric pattern. Better than smooth hostile walls, she supposed. Her hands rested on top of the table, cuffed at the wrists to said table. She would have expected no less from a capable captor.

The prisoner had decided that this was most certainly not a test. If it was, it was rather elaborate, and she didn't really see why Hydra would go through all this trouble just to test her. It was pointless, a waste of time. Hydra had better things to do, more important things than put her through an elaborate training exercise. It was a possibility, but an unlikely one.

So then, if she had really been captured, the question was how.

The prisoner knew that she was in some sort of SHIELD facility somewhere. The people who kept trying to get her to talk had made that quite clear. But how had SHIELD managed to get her? The Hydra facility was well fortified and well guarded. Especially the important experiments. It wouldn't exactly surprise her if SHIELD had managed to find the Hydra facility; after all, she had been giving them a literal sign that Hydra was active for three years now. Hydra wanted to be noticed. The prisoner still didn't know why. But it wasn't her job to know why. Just her job to obey.

Like a dog. Like a stupid little obedient dog.

A low growl formed in the back of her throat, but she pushed it down. She was well aware of the cameras hidden all over the box.

The door slid open, and in stepped two SHIELD agents. The prisoner looked up at them, watching them suspiciously, cautiously, warily. Observing their every move, listening to the patterns of their breath, inhaling and filing their scents away. A wolf never forgets a scent.

xXx

Clint and Natasha entered the interrogation cell. It was illuminated, but only dimly. Enough for everyone in the room to see one another, but not the bright lighting of the medical ward.

The first thing the pair of assassins/agents did was assess the prisoner. A young woman, medium brown hair reaching just past her scapulae. Her eyes were two different colors, the left one gold and the right one brown. Odd. She was tense, wary, suspicious. Everything about her screamed 'alert.' She seemed to be watching everything a once, taking in every detail. Though her posture was slightly hunched over as opposed to straight and confident, anyone could tell she had the potential to be very dangerous.

Natasha took a couple of steps forward, while Clint took up residence in the corner of the cell, facing the prisoner, who was seated near the middle of the cell but slightly more towards the wall behind her than the exact center. The wall at the prisoner's back joined with the wall that housed the door to the cell.

After a brief staring contest between the two women in the room, Natasha spoke.

"I hear you have been giving the others a bit of trouble."

No response. The prisoner just watched, silently, bi-colored eyes fixed on Natasha but clearly also keeping tabs on Clint. Natasha waited a moment, before speaking again, her tone even and emotionless.

"Let's get the introductions out of the way. I'm-"

"I know who you are," the prisoner spoke, voice just as empty as the assassin's, "both of you."

"So you can speak." It wasn't a question. "If you know who we are, I suppose you also know that we don't take anything lightly."

"Of course." A response to both statements. The prisoner let her gaze shift briefly over to Clint, then back to Natasha, then back to Clint, and so on.

"Care to tell us who you are?"

The prisoner drew most of her attention to Natasha, studying her, analyzing her. A slight contemplative look flickered in the prisoner's eyes, before the mask fell back into place.

"You know who I am."

Natasha didn't outwardly react, but mentally, she was trying to decipher hidden message behind those words. The prisoner remained still, emotionless, her tone carrying only the inflection needed for speaking. Her eyes gave away more than her face, but even that was very little to go by. The girl had training, that was for sure. Interrogation training. No wonder she had been able to best the other interrogators.

"I know the media calls you Shadow Wolf," came Natasha's response.

There. The average person would have missed it, but Natasha saw it as clear as a flashing neon sign. A slight downward twitch of the corner of the prisoner's lips, and the slight narrowing of her eyes. Natasha had struck the first mark. "You don't like that name?"

And then a slight flicker of surprise in the girl's eyes. She hadn't expected to be read so easily. Natasha inwardly smirked. The girl claimed to know who Natasha was, and still underestimated her. She could practically see the girl thinking, carefully formulating a response.

"That's one way to put it."

A vague response with a whole lot behind it. Every word this kid said was a gold mine waiting to be discovered. Her every answer was carefully chosen, her every action carefully calculated, with mask slips that were no doubt due to inexperience despite the kid's training. All signs indicated that the prisoner was hiding something. Of course, Natasha already knew this. The kid wouldn't be here if she didn't have something important she could possibly share.

"Well, by all means, give me something else to call you, Shadow Wolf."

Natasha was pushing the buttons just right. There was a reason she was one of the best agents around. The woman waited for the younger woman to reply, the latter no doubt debating whether or not to give an answer.

The prisoner finally spoke again. "Brook. You can call me Brook."

"Last name."

"Smith."

"Alright, Miss Smith. What's your real name?"

A flicker of confusion, before a response. "That is my real name." To her credit, the kid's voice didn't even waver.

"Please, I know an alias when I hear one. So what's your real name?"

It was working. Everything was working, just as Natasha wanted. The question how was no doubt dancing on the prisoner's tongue. How could Natasha tell the name was fake? The kid wanted to know. But wouldn't dare ask.

"That's as real a name as you're gonna get." The prisoner's tone carried a hint of defiance, but something else too. Something Natasha couldn't quite place.

"Number then."

The poor kid was barely able to mask her surprise, and her confusion, and- was that worry? The girl threw a worried glance towards the hidden cameras, before looking back at Natasha.

"What's your number?" Romanoff repeated.

"What makes you think I have one?"

"You all but told me you have a number."

Another worried glance was thrown towards the cameras, those two different-colored eyes scanning the walls, focusing briefly on each camera, as if trying to see through it to whomever was watching. Odd. The kid seemed more concerned about a viewer getting information than about Natasha or Clint getting information.

Speaking of Clint, the agent/archer was studying the prisoner from his position in the shadowy corner of the cell. He was casually leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a look of mild disinterest displayed on his features. But he was, like Natasha, carefully scrutinizing the girl. What was she afraid of? Not Natasha, and not him, though she had every right to be afraid of the famous Black Widow and Hawkeye. She was afraid of something else...

Deciding to speed the interrogation along, Clint left his position and moved around to the opposite wall, the wall behind the prisoner. He stood behind her at an angle, not directly behind her and not in the corner. Crossing his arms again, he made his new post here, in her blind spot. Natasha's gaze stayed locked on the prisoner, never shifting towards him, so as not to give his exact location away.

The reaction was just as the agents expected. The prisoner visibly stiffened as soon as Clint was out of her line of sight. A sign that she didn't like being unable to monitor the actions of those around her, probably stemming from a form of paranoia that comes with working for an organization like SHIELD or Hydra.

xXx

Brook's mind was racing, as she glanced anxiously at the cameras, trying not to appear anxious, before letting her gaze settle back on Black Widow. Brook didn't think she had given the woman any information, yet somehow she was picking all the right stuff out of everything Brook did and didn't say. How? Was she not doing well enough? Did she have a tell that Black Widow had picked up on? This wasn't good. No matter what she did, the interrogators were getting the information they wanted. Brook should have just kept her mouth shut all along. It worked with the others.

But these two weren't like the others. Which was the entire problem.

Brook kept glancing at the cameras because she feared that Hydra was watching. They were always watching. Which meant that they were watching as she failed miserably, unwittingly giving these agents everything they wanted to know. She was supposed to do better than this. What would be the consequences for her failure?

When the second agent, Hawkeye, moved out of her line of sight, it understandably made Brook uneasy. She tensed, and now had to split her focus between the two in two different directions. While she watched Black Widow, she turned a portion of her keen hearing to Hawkeye, listening closely for any signs of... Well, anything.

The Widow asked another question, but Brook wasn't really paying attention to her. The teen had once again let her gaze slide over to one of the cameras.

"They aren't going to shoot you, you know."

Brook looked back at the Widow, puzzled for a second before realizing the agent had misinterpreted the wary glances. "It's not that, just-" Brook clamped her mouth shut. She couldn't afford to talk anymore. No matter what she said, the Widow would find what the Widow wanted in the words.

xXx

Natasha could recognize when a prisoner was done talking. This one was definitely not going to be saying anything else, not right now. Natasha gave a slight nod, a signal to Clint that they were done here. Pushing the prisoner wouldn't do any good at this point. Clint had had the right idea, shifting his position, but it was already too late, the kid had already started shutting down.

"We'll continue this later." With that, Natasha left the cell, Clint right behind her.

Romanoff and Barton walked through the winding corridors of the SHIELD complex, heading back to Fury to discuss the interrogation. He could easily have watched it on one of the screens, and he probably had, but it was always good to have a discussion afterward. The Director of SHIELD would want every little detail of the short interrogation, and a breakdown of exactly what each word the prisoner had uttered meant, as well as any hypotheses the agents had about what the prisoner hadn't said.

"There's something off about her," Clint stated, breaking the purpose-driven silence.

Natasha hmmed in agreement. "Any idea why she kept looking at the cameras like that?"

The archer shook his head. "She seemed more worried about the cameras than she was about us."

"That's what bothers me. Usually, they can't care less about who's watching outside of the room. Either they worry that whoever is in the room is going to hurt them, or they act all macho and smug. Or they just sit there, with a blank look on their face."

"She tried keeping up a mask. It kept cracking."

"She's obviously had some training, but not much."

"She's not a typical Hydra agent."

"No. But we already knew that."

"You know what I mean."

"I do, and we are definitely going to need to interrogate her some more. But I think we need a different setup."

"Agreed."

By now, the pair had reached Fury's office. It seemed they were in there a lot lately. Natasha raised a fist to knock, but the door opened before her knuckles connected. Unphased, the agents strode into the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

"That was short," commented the man behind the desk.

"It was. The prisoner was shutting down, so we decided to try again later," Natasha stated, speaking for both her and Clint.

"What did you gather from the short interrogation?" Fury inquired. He had indeed watched via live videofeed, but he wanted the analysis from his two agents.

"She either doesn't have a name or has a name she no longer uses. 'Brook Smith' was clearly an alias, but not in the traditional sense from what I gathered. She isn't just hiding a true name, she seems to hold the belief that whatever true name she may or may not have is irrelevant. She has some sort of identifying number, but I was unable to get her to share that number. She disliked the name given to her by the media for whatever reason."

Fury nodded, absorbing Natasha's words, before turning his single eye to Clint.

"She seemed worried that someone was watching the interrogation. Her gaze kept shifting to the cameras, and by the end of the interrogation she was more focused on the cameras than she was on us."

Fury nodded again, before voicing a question of his own. "Why do you think she was willing to talk to you two, but not to anyone else I sent in?"

That question was one that had occurred to both Natasha and Clint as well. Why did the prisoner talk to them but not the other agents?

"We have not yet found the reason for that," Romanoff stated.

Fury nodded again, looking back and forth between the two agents. "Anything else?"

"I think it will be best if the next interrogation isn't monitored by cameras or audio," Natasha said, "cameras obviously make her uneasy, so it is possible that without cameras she will open up more."

Fury didn't reply right away, considering this proposal. "I suppose you won't be wanting backup with you either."

"No. Judging by her various reactions, crowds would likely put her more on edge," Clint agreed.

The director sighed. "I don't like the idea of agents in an unmonitored space with a dangerous and unknown prisoner."

"We've handled worse," Natasha replied.

"I'm aware." Fury was silent for a moment longer, before relenting. "Alright. I'll have you notified of the time and place at some point before the interrogation tomorrow."

With that, the debriefing was ended, and the two agents exited the room, going their separate ways. It was getting rather late, so after handing in some paperwork and performing other monotonous duties both Natasha and Clint respectively called it a day and each headed back to Avengers Tower.

Only minutes after Black Widow and Hawkeye left, in came several SHIELD personnel, bearing weapons and protective gear. Brook glanced up at them, seeing four guards plus one female agent. The guards stood waiting by the door, while the agent approached, some sort of tablet in her hands.

"You are being transported to one of the containment units. That's where you'll eat, sleep, and stay unless you are otherwise occupied."

Translation: Brook was going to be locked up in a cell when SHIELD agents weren't interrogating her. Not a big deal, really. She had spent the last four years in a cell unless otherwise occupied with testing, training, or missions. She was used to confinement.

When Brook didn't respond, the agent took that as a signal to proceed. She walked up to Brook, snapped some handcuffs on her wrists, and pressed a button on the tablet that unlocked the cuffs that had been securing her wrists to the table. Brook stood, and the agent headed back over towards the door. The teen followed without being told, knowing how these sorts of things worked. The guards closed in around her, their weapons ready to fire at a moment's notice should Brook try anything. It was almost amusing. Flattering, even, that they thought she needed four guards and an agent to escort her through the halls of SHIELD. Back at the Hydra facility, she only had one. But, she supposed these SHIELD people didn't know much about her, and were taking precautions to keep everyone safe. Smart. Unnecessary, as she wasn't planning on trying an escape anytime soon, but smart.

Brook tried to make a mental map of the halls as the group marched through them, but it was insanely difficult to keep track of everything. All the halls looked the same, and there were too many other things she needed to keep track of for her to properly map the route. Oh well. She had a feeling she would have many more opportunities to mentally map the route.

As the group rounded a corner, Brook stopped short. Oh crap. She didn't even notice the guards nearly crash into her, due to her focus being entirely on the horror that loomed just ahead.

A dreaded elevator.

Just looking at it caused Brook's heart-rate to speed up a bit.

"Keep going," muttered one of the guards, but Brook ignored him.

"Hey, um," she called uncertainly to the agent that had been leading the brigade, "do you think we could take the stairs?"

The agent turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Why would we do that? The lift is in perfect working order."

"Lifts and I don't tend to get along," Brook replied, hoping she didn't sound as uneasy as she felt.

For an impossibly long moment, the agent just stared at her, as if trying to see right to Brook's soul. Then, finally, she responded. "Fine. We'll take the stairs.

Releasing a quiet sigh of relief, the prisoner trekked to and down the stairs, eventually reaching a hall that sort of reminded Brook of a prison. How fitting. One of the doors was opened, revealing the room beyond. Simple, grey walls and floor, a cot against one wall, and a small bathroom area connected to the room. It was small, but still larger than what Brook was used to.

After she entered the cell, the handcuffs were removed, and Brook gently rubbed her wrists. She disliked having anything around them. The door shut, officially locking the teen in. For a minute or two, she just stood there in the middle of the room. She suddenly realized how chilly it was; she was still wearing the tank top and shorts she had been found in. Apparently, nobody had thought to fetch her a sweatshirt or anything. Heck, she didn't even have shoes on. It was actually kind of strange that nobody had noticed (and if they did, they hadn't done anything) but who was she to complain?

After taking note of where the cameras were, Brook treated the cell as if it were the one she was accustomed to. In the blink of an eye, the girl was gone, and a wolf stood in her place. If someone hadn't known better, they might have thought that someone had swapped the teen and canine. There was no sign that a human had ever been there, nor that a human had transformed into a wolf. No shredded clothing on the floor or anything of the sort. Hydra had thought far enough ahead when engineering the human/wolf hybrid to recognize that clothing would be a problem. Not only was loosing your clothing every time you transformed inconvenient, it was costly. So, the organization had put their knowledge of alien artifacts to work, engineering clothing with some sort of alien tech or magic or who knows what that allowed it to disappear or something when Brook transformed into a wolf. When she went back to human form, she would be just as fully clothed as before the transformation. Honestly, the teen had no clue how it worked, but she was grateful for it.

Now in wolf form, Brook began to pace around the cell. An action so familiar, that she slipped into autopilot. Her paws carried her in endless circles, while she retreated into the depths of her mind.

Third chapter! This one was rather long, but as I mentioned before, lengths will fluctuate. It all depends on whether there is a good stopping place or not.

Thanks for the reviews! As always, please review. Reviews are how I pay the Avengers to make appearances in this story!

Coming up next: What is Stark up to?