You've never been so unsure.
You've been at SHIELD for seven months, two weeks and four days; you go where the Deputy Director goes so she can keep an eye on your treatment.
Your medical team follows as well; your deprogramming schedule cannot be interrupted for anything.
You were visited by the Deputy Director in your room; she needs to know your name.
You stare blankly before you understand; you tell her who you are.
You've been given Level Two access; you are officially an Agent of SHIELD.
You still have to see the psych; just so they're sure.
You train with the Cavalry; you're put on your arse more times than you can count and it disturbs you.
You were taught to be the best; you're at the bottom of the food chain here.
You're put through every kind of simulation and training exercise they can come up with for two more months before you're given a handler; baby steps you're told.
Your missions are mostly recon; this pisses you off.
You have more skills than what is needed for recon.
You're wrong; you don't have any skills.
You are Natasha Romanoff; you are no longer a spy or an assassin and you have to learn from scratch how to be what you already are.
You're given leave once a month; for two days you're allowed off the helicarrier for forty-eight hours only.
You're tracked the first few times you leave; you don't know what to do with yourself.
You end up in Central Park and you watch for hours; you don't sleep because you're free and you're confused.
You're not being told what to do or who to be; you have complete freedom to create this Natasha you've named yourself as.
You let your mind wander to what you might like to eat or to wear or even to live; every now and then she enters your mind.
You want to know why she's being nice to you; you've talked to her three times in almost a year but she's different and you can't tell how.
You eat a cheeseburger on your way back to base.
You're greeted by your wanderer; she's surprised you came back.
You agree; you're surprised too.