Author's note: Hello readers! I apologize for my absence – the Olympics makes it a little hard to get anything done in the evening – and apologize in a advance for my absence in the next couple weeks. I will try to get another chapter or two posted but life got crazy busy! I just want to say thank you guys so much for reading and following and reviewing. I've never had a story do so well and I appreciate it so much!

TRIGGER WARNING: Talk of torture

In the end, it was a full week before Liv finally answered his question. They were sitting in their usual spots after dinner and Liv had turned the fireplace on for the first time that season. She had so far refused to turn on the heater, but when he pointed out that she was shivering she finally caved and sat next to the fireplace. They sat for awhile, discussing the latest movies and the merits of various songs before Liv said,

"I'm sorry for the other night. You asked an honest question and I…I was a bit rude."

Steve shifted in his seat; a little surprised she was bringing it up. "There's nothing to forgive. I brought up a tough topic – poking my nose in places it shouldn't be."

Liv's lips twisted in a false smile, then she got up. "Come on. I think you ought to know.

Steve started to protest, but changed his mind. He genuinely wanted to know, after all, and she had evidently come to a decision, so he stood and followed her to the studio. Liv turned to face him, her face pale and glowing in the moonlight, eyes bright. He stood captivated for a moment until she spoke in a flat voice.

"About a year ago I was assigned a mission in Russia. I had discovered a terrorist cell and they attached me to a team to take them out. Things…went poorly. Those of us that survived were captured and tortured."

Steve clenched his fists. War is hell on earth. Men were captured and tortured, men died in agony, lives were destroyed in brutal ways. But standing in front of this girl, this fiery, intelligent woman, Steve experienced the strange sensation of shock at hearing what you expected. He inhaled to speak, but Liv held up her hand to stop him.

"Let me finish. " She said in that same flat voice. "None of us broke. How they knew I had the information they wanted I don't know and I frankly don't want to know, but they began to torture my team….torture my team in front of me. I never said anything." Her voice broke and she looked away, blinking and taking a deep breath even as the present grew distant and a ringing filled her ears. "Two of them died in front of my eyes…two others died…." Her voice trailed off, the words choking her. She was drowning in the horror of the memory, screams echoing in her head, Lee was screaming and blood was on the floor, men were yelling in Russian, metal flashed in the light, her bonds were too tight - she couldn't help him - she couldn't stop it -

Steve moved without thinking and squeezed her shoulders as he used to do for his men when they couldn't handle the hell they were in. It helped, pulling her back to the present.

"Thanks." she whispered. "The two others died of their wounds. They finally understood that I would never give them anything so they scheduled my execution. American troops reached me hours before they were going to kill me."

She turned away, moving towards the covered paintings.

"Because of the trauma, the CIA moved me to the SHIELD team in the hopes that working on something different would help me and ultimately get me back in the field faster. Only problem is, I'm starting to like it here. Don't tell Fury." She reached the easels. "I find that painting helps the nightmares a little."

She tugged the fabric off several of the paintings. One was of a prison floor, soaked in water and blood. One was light glinting off of metal, another of a hand digging at the bottom of the bars, nails bloody and caked in dirt. The largest painting was of a man. He had a crooked smile, almost hidden among many frighteningly straight scars, and a surgically clean, wicked knife in his hand. It was from the perspective of a person sitting in a chair before him – from what Steve understood to be Liv's perspective. Around the nails, barely perceptible flecks of dried blood lingered.

"I've experienced horrible things." Steve began haltingly. "I've fought men who embody evil, killed many, watched men die in pain, and felt the grief of losing those closest to me. I've lived the life of a soldier." He turned away from the paintings and looked deeply into Liv's eyes. "But I've never been wholly at their mercy. I don't know if I could do what you did." Unconsciously, he had moved close to Liv and realized that he was a half step away from her. He reached out and gently took hold of her shoulder, stooping slightly so as to be closer to eye level with her. "You made the right choice. Your courage, and the courage of the men who died there, saved lives."

Liv shook her head, silent tears falling down her cheeks. "I don't want to serve my country anymore if that's the kind of choice I have to make. I will not do it again, Steve. Not like that."

He had no response, and there was nothing to say. So he held her until she steadied herself, and let her go when she shifted, and watched her as she walked out of the room.

Alone in the studio, Steve covered the paintings again. He could hear Liv crying softly in her room with his enhanced hearing. He stepped back out to the living room, pausing briefly in the hallway by her door, and turned the lights off. He stood in front of the windows and stared out over the city for a long time.