A/N: Spoiler Alert! This was story was inspired by Captain America: Civil War.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

Many thanks to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta, and Black' Victor Cachat for brainstorming.

Namaste,

Sunny

Sanity is a cozy lie.

~ Susan Sontag

Captain America

Civil War

I Still Believe

Sanity is a Cozy Lie

It was dark again, just a sliver of light at the bottom of the door to see by. Not that there was much to see. Everything had been taken from her. Reading material had been removed along with the metal tray and silverware. Now they fed her finger food that came on paper plates. The next things to go were the table and chairs. After that, it was the bed frame. Then the sheets, and pillow, and lastly, the mattress, leaving her with only the cold floor to sit on. At least they let her keep her clothes.

One day, after she'd tried to use the overhead light to short out the electronic lock on the door, her captors had wrestled her into a straightjacket, and sedated her. When she woke up, she was in a different room, one with padded walls. The lights in the ceiling were covered by a clear and unbreakable barrier. Didn't really matter much anyway. Without the bed, table and chair, she couldn't reach it.

Her stomach growled. That meant someone would be bringing food soon. She sniffed herself. Maybe she could convince them to give her a shower or bath in the near future, if she promised to behave.

Sometimes, when she was asleep, she could almost remember a life outside of this place. In that life, she sensed that she'd held a position in which she wielded a great deal of power, and influence. And if she could remember that, she felt certain that she would also remember who she was, and how she came to be here.

And why, every time the doctor came in, she was sedated. Many times she'd tried to fight them, but they overwhelmed her with strength and numbers. When she'd awakened, the inside of her elbows would hurt, and there would be small marks, tiny red dots that would taunt her with their presence.

Sitting in the corner, she rested her head against the wall. It felt cool against her scalp. With her right hand, she traced the shape of an eagle. Around the edges, she wrote letters without knowing what they meant. S… H… I… E… L… D… That spelled shield. But what did an object used for protection in battle have to do with birds?

When she first arrived, she'd exercised to keep her strength up. But then she thought why bother? Every time she tried to stand up for herself, demanding to be treated with respect and compassion, her captors would sedate her, and she'd wake up in the straightjacket again. A woman came in periodically to talk to her. That stopped as well, and she couldn't understand why. She hadn't hit the woman that hard, and her black eye was gone within a week.

Running fingers through her hair and over her face, she remembered that she hadn't seen her reflection since the last time they'd served her meal on a metal tray. Did she still have dark brown hair, light blue eyes, and a straight nose? She'd lost weight; that was evident in the fact that her pants barely stayed on her hips when she stood.

She lay down on her side with her head pillowed on her hands, sighed, and closed her eyes.

If only she could remember…

Tony's Lab

Soaking in the revelation that his father had died in the same manner as he nearly had in Afghanistan, Tony turned and threw the glass of iced coffee at the wall, spraying the dark liquid, ice and broken glass all over. Immediately, Dummy rushed to clean it up, pulling up short when Tony shouted at him, "Touch that, and I will take you apart with a fire ax!"

The chastised robot backed away, and returned the broom and dustpan to the supply closet.

Tony went to the liquor cabinet in his office, and took out a bottle of single malt whiskey. When he came out, Dummy was there holding a crystal tumbler with five ice cubes. Decorum must be maintained, after all. He splashed a full four fingers into the glass, took it from the 'bot, and went to the window that looked out over several hundred acres of pristine forest.

Far away, he could see a bit of the small lake, and in his mind, he jumped into the boat docked there, and sped away. However, he more than most knew that there were some things you couldn't run away from: your past, yourself, and the truth were three of them.

He drained the glass, and was in the process of pouring a second when Vision phased through the wall. The bottle clanked on the table, and Tony returned to his contemplation of how his life had been nothing but crap recently. "Get out. And use the door."

The words were said without venom or belligerence. Vision seldom took offense, in any case.

"I do apologize for interrupting, Tony. You have a phone call."

"Take a message."

Vision, wearing his "off duty" uniform of dark pants, matching sweater, and white shirt with an ascot, appeared next to Tony's reflection in the glass. "I think you'll want to take this one, my friend. It's Ms. Potts."

~~O~~

Against Wanda's standing orders, Vision phased through the wall into her room. The day Clint had come for her she'd planned on changing the sheets, dusting, and vacuuming the carpet. In her absence, he'd done the work himself, making certain that nothing was out of place when he finished.

He stood for a long time in the middle of the room, and eventually, his eyes sought out the guitar. Clint had been teaching Wanda how to play. For a while, she'd practiced every day. That stopped after the incident in Lagos. She spent most of her free time in her room, as Clint called it, moping, and watching the news programs that blamed her for the deaths. What the authorities, and the news agencies, ignored was the fact that had Wanda not been there, the number of fatalities and damage to property would've been much greater.

Closing his eyes, Vision shuffled through the vast knowledge stored in his brain, choosing and discarding until he found what he wanted. It wasn't perfect, nothing ever was or would be, but it would do.

Wrapping his purple fingers around the neck of the guitar, he carried it over to the chair, sat down, removed the pick from under the strings, and used it to check the tuning. He adjusted the B string, second from the bottom, and plucked it again.

Keeping Clint's lessons in mind, which he'd listened in on, Vision played a few practice chords, humming the note to test the tuning. And when he was ready, he played without singing.

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
'Til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with…

The Raft

Often, when in that place in between sleep and dreaming, Wanda could hear the minds of others calling out. Most nights she was able to block them, allowing her to sleep, though her dreams of late were seldom pleasant, but neither were they frightening. Just now and then.

Now, she looked down, and a grey-blue fog teased her ankles, swirling, and changing like clouds before a storm. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a child crying, as if she were lost in the dark. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

Wanda turned in a circle to locate the source, but it seemed to come from all around. She took a few steps in the direction she was facing, and the sound got louder. "Malyutka?"

The wailing tapered off without stopping. She broke into a slow jog, turning her head this way and that, still looking for the source. "Malyutka?"

Her run through the fog stirred the murky mess until it came up to her knees. Holding still, and barely breathing, Wanda heard sniffling. As the fog settled again, she saw a small girl huddled on the floor-ground?-wearing a red hat with a black stripe, a dark grey long sleeved t-shirt with a cat on the front, matching pants, and black sneakers. Tucked under one arm was a teddy bear dressed in a pink tutu, slippers, and bow. She knelt down next to the child, gently touching her shoulder. "What's wrong, malyutka?"

The girl had dark brown hair, and crystal blue eyes that peered at her with such intensity that Wanda got the sense that an old soul lived inside this small body. "Want Mommy."

"I'll help you find her."

She shook her head. "Can't. Mommy in heaven."

"I'm sorry, de'votsjka. What about your papa?"

The blue eyes grew even sadder, if that was possible. "He don' wike me."

"Why not?"

Wanda sat cross-legged, and the girl sat up, rubbing her eyes, and squeezing the bear tighter. "Cuz he says I sent Mommy to heaven."

Appalled that a father would treat his child in this manner, Wanda brushed the hair out of her eyes, and smiled. "I'm sorry."

The child climbed up on her lap and snuggled into her arms, the bear tucked against her chest. She probably hadn't had much affection from her father, and was starved for it. So much so that she would accept it from a stranger. Wanda cuddled her close. "My name is Wanda. What's yours?" Half asleep, she mumbled something that sounded like "Ria". "I should take you to your papa, Ria."

She squirmed and tried to get away, pushing at her chest with both hands, and kicking her legs. "No, no, no! Don' want Daddy! Want Mommy!"

Holding on tight, Wanda tried to reassure Ria. "Sh! Don't worry, de'votsjka. I won't take you to your papa. We'll stay here together. Just you and me."

"An' Seeve."

"Who's Seeve?"

One arm curled around Wanda's neck. "Seeve gon' save me. Seeve 'n his fwends." Once she stopped wiggling, Ria closed her eyes, and fell into a light doze.

Closing her eyes too, Wanda rocked, and hummed a Sokovian lullaby, and a moment later, Ria was asleep. Getting to her knees then to her feet, she looked around for something familiar, somewhere to take the child so she could rest. But there was nothing. Only fog as far as she could see.

Then suddenly, she was standing in an expensively furnished child's bedroom. Books, dolls, and stuffed animals were placed neatly on the shelves. The toy box lid was closed, and beside it sat an antique rocking chair that looked like it hadn't been used in many years. A pink handmade quilt hung over the back.

Wanda laid the sleeping child in the crib, pulled a blanket up to her chest, and ran a finger down her smooth cheek. "Spokoynoy nochi, Ria."

She turned away, a sad smile coming to her face when Ria whispered, "Spokoynoy nochi, Wanda."

Then she wondered how a child this small could know Russian when she was obviously American, unless she was simply repeating the words.

The light on the dresser pulsed, drawing her attention, growing brighter and brighter, until its light engulfed the room.

When she could see again, Wanda found herself back in her cell. The lights had been dimmed to simulate night. Soft snores came from the men, and strange as it may seem, the sound comforted her, reminding her that she wasn't alone in this place. Shaking her head, Wanda turned as far onto her side as she could in the straightjacket and collar, and closed her eyes.

A few days before, she'd seen the same girl, a little older, only then she'd hovered above without interacting, watching her being taught how to roller-skate by a boy around the same age. He'd called her Skates, and their attitude toward each other was that of brother and sister, not boyfriend and girlfriend. They'd skated for hours that day. And later, Skates went out every day, alone or with the boy, David, who was apparently the son of the cook. Whoever Skates really was, her family was wealthy in every way except the one that really meant something. There was no love exhibited toward Skates by her father. And Wanda had seen it first, or rather second hand through the eyes of the girl.

When she heard the front door slam, Skates had rushed to show him her newfound skills, and his response had been heartbreaking. "Don't skate in the house. You'll ruin the floors."

A moment later, the man had gone into another room, closing the door with a solid click. Skates said nothing. Just let herself out the front door, and had continued to skate up and down the long driveway and around to the back of the house over and over, until the cook called her to get ready for dinner.

In defiance, Skates changed for dinner, and had worn the skates in place of shoes. Her father had taken in the footwear with a glance, but said nothing. And all through the meal, not one word had passed between them. Wanda got the sense that it was the norm rather than the exception. She counted herself lucky that she and Pietro had such loving parents when they were younger that meal times were often lively, with everyone sharing triumphs and tragedies, and everything in between. It made her sad for the girl, whoever she was. Wanda just couldn't understand why she was seeing the same girl at different ages.

Tony's Lab

After speaking to Pepper, Tony needed someone to confide in, someone who wouldn't judge, and at the same time give him advice he could actually use. He thought of Rhodey, but his friend had gone to stay with his mother for a few weeks while recuperating from the near paralysis. One more thing to add to the list, the red in his ledger, as Natasha would say. If hers was dripping red, then his was gushing like a Texas oil well. And like an oil well, it would eventually run dry, but he didn't see that happening anytime soon.

Sitting heavily in a chair, Tony planted his elbows on his knees, and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his cheeks, and into his hair. He leaned back, slump down on his spine, one arm across his chest and the other hand over his eyes.

Peeking between his fingers, his gaze landed on the burner phone Steve had sent him along with an apology and a promise. The first hadn't been necessary, but he wouldn't have been Steve Rogers if he hadn't shouldered at least part of the blame for their situation. The second warmed Tony's heart at a time when he needed it most. And though he wanted to call Steve, to work out a way for them all to be a family once again, he knew it wasn't possible. Not yet. The wounds were still too fresh.

Plus, there was that whole prison break thing going on. If they were still a team, he'd be there with the others. But he'd signed the Accords, and had to abide by them, whether he liked it or not.

"If we were still a team, this wouldn't be happening. And it's my fault. If I hadn't been squirreled away, incommunicado, working on the next gen Iron Man suits, I would've been in Lagos with the team. I could've flown Rumlow out of the area, and no one would've been killed." Tony swung to his feet, and reached for the bottle of scotch. "Except me."

Tony walked to the far wall to stand in front of the Captain America shield he'd hung there. He swirled the scotch in the glass, and took a sip. The shield was back with its original owner, so to speak. Yes, he told Steve that he didn't deserve it, but that wasn't true. No one deserved it more. As for the rest, Tony deserved each and every "screw you", and "sonofab****" that Steve, and the others could hurl at him.

He took one last sip, turned and stared at the glass, twisting it in his hand, contemplating having it join the other in pieces on the floor. Then calmly set it on the table, and walked to the lifts, getting out on the top level. "Suit me up, Friday."

An Iron Man suit flew out of a hidden panel in the side of the main lab to land behind Tony. He stepped back, and it enclosed him inside like an alloy cocoon.

"Where're we headed, boss?"

"For the Iron Man version of a long drive."

The arc reactor in the middle of the chest glowed with blue-white light, and Tony flashed back to the moment Barnes had tried to pull it from his chest, accidentally activating the beam that severed his biomechanical arm. He knew that Steve and Barnes both thought he'd done it on purpose, but he hadn't. With his face pushed into the wall, he couldn't see what Barnes was doing. The reactor was programmed to defend itself if anyone but Tony tampered with it.

Now Tony had partial possession of the weapon that had killed his parents. His research so far showed that the arm could be programmed by an outside source. So even if Barnes had been cognizant of his actions, he might not have been able to stop himself.

And the tone of Barnes' voice when he said, "I remember all of them" had finally hit home with Tony. Barnes may not have known what he was doing at the time, but he still remembered all of the people he'd killed on orders from HYDRA.

Right now, Tony just needed to blow off steam. He moved out onto the helipad, and took off with no real destination in mind.

The Raft

Cameron stood out of the way while his companions took out the guards, quietly and with minimal fuss by tossing a grenade specially made to emit an invisible and odorless gas to knock them out. It wouldn't affect the prisoners due to the environmental system that kept the guards and prisoners' air separate in case of an uprising.

Once that was done, and the system had removed the gas, they moved the bodies out of the way. Cameron chose a station, sat down and went to work. The CD slid easily into the slot, whirring through the start-up.

Behind him, his companions made themselves known to the prisoners while he figured out how to get them out.

~~O~~

Clint stared at the ceiling, wondering where his wife and kids were, and if they were safe. Behind him, he heard the guards moving around, talking softly. That meant they were changing shifts again. Second time in three hours.

Then he heard sounds that didn't belong. He rolled to his feet, hands at his sides ready to fight, if need be. But it wasn't a guard coming toward him out of the darkness.

Natasha came up to the bars, a smirk on her beautiful face. "You don't look any worse for being behind bars."

He leaned one arm on the door. "Looks can be deceiving, Nat. Wanna let us out?"

"Workin' on it." Her grin faded. "How you doing? Really?"

"It's not me I'm worried about."

His best friend nodded, knowing without being told. "They're fine. No worries."

Looking to the left, he nodded. "How's Wanda?"

"I'll check on her." And with that, she was gone again. Clint could hear both women's voices, Natasha's soothing and calm, and Wanda's urgent, and fearful. For herself and for those around her. Farther down, Clint heard Steve talking to Sam, and Scott.

Moments later, the doors slid open, and they were free. Hardly daring to believe it, Clint took a step forward, bracing himself for the shock that didn't come. Relieved, he rushed down to Wanda's cell, pushing past the group to see her for himself. He crouched in front of her where she was sitting in the corner of her cell. "Wanda?"

Scott came down next to him, "She won't let anyone touch her."

Wanda turned limpid eyes on the men. "The collar is rigged to deliver a shock not only to me, but to anyone who does not know the code. If you tamper with it, there is also an explosive that will kill everyone within four meters."

Obviously, she expected her cellmates, and rescuers to back off at that revelation. Her eyes widened when they all moved closer. She smiled. "So we're the Musketeers, now?"

Clint responded, "You bet your ass." He looked over his shoulder, finding Steve standing on the periphery. "What's the word, Cap?"

Steve glanced over his shoulder at someone Clint couldn't see, nodding. "Won't be long."

Reaching out, then thinking better of it, Scott dropped his hand to Wanda's knee. "Can't we at least get her out of this jacket?"

Sam stepped forward, arms crossed. "What if it's rigged too?"

One side of Wanda's mouth turned up. "It's not. I have looked into the minds of our captors in unguarded moments. Gently, so they wouldn't suspect or feel it. There are no booby traps on this…" she indicated the blue fabric wrapped around her torso.

Together, Clint and Scott, carefully unbuckled the straps in the back, eased the straightjacket off, and threw it aside. Wanda flexed her fingers, and arms as much as she dared. Then the men helped her stand and walk over to her bunk.

Steve came to examine the collar closer, raising his voice to speak to someone in the security area. "How much longer, Cam?"

"Almost done, Cap." They heard rapid typing, beeps, clicks, and a whirring. The blinking lights on the collar went out. "Try it now."

Not willing to let anyone else take the risk, Clint worked at the closure in the back until it clicked open. He shared a glance with the others, and slowly opened the circle of metal and moved it away from Wanda's neck. Relieved, they all breathed a sigh.

Sam took the collar from Clint, and he gathered Wanda into his arms for a long hug. He leaned back, framing her face with his hands. "Are you alright?"

She smiled, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "I am now." Her gaze took them in one at a time. "Thank you. There were times I thought I'd go mad."

Speaking up for the first time since they'd come on board, Hill remarked, "Sanity is a cozy lie we tell ourselves when the world stops making sense."

Not wanting to be ignored, Scott touched her on the shoulder. "But you had it worse. It's over now. Let's get out of here."

The group moved out into the security area just as the lift doors opened and a guard stepped out. Hill's Taser came up, and fired in one smooth movement, and missed when the doors closed. "Damn it!"

"Time to go. Cameron?" Steve moved down to the tech's side. "Can you jam his signal?"

"Too late, Cap. Sorry."

Steve touched his shoulder comfortingly. "If we missed one, there could be others. Let's get out of here before Ross sends reinforcements."

~~O~~

Wanda headed toward the lift with the others, stumbling to a stop when she heard a mental cry for help. "Wait! Someone else is here."

Scott touched his hand gently to her upper back. "Are you sure? I thought we were it."

"I'm sure. I've been sensing another presence for several days. At first, I thought it was my imagination, that I was slowly going mad. But now, I can hear her. She's calling out to me for help."

On Wanda's other side, Clint snapped his fingers. "I get paid the same whether it's one prisoner or five." To the others, he explained. "I didn't pick up on it at the time. One of the guards said he got paid the same whether there's one prisoner or five."

Steve's eyes met each set around him. Everyone was in agreement. "That means there's another prisoner on board."

TBC

Time in a Bottle is a hit single by singer-songwriter Jim Croce, released November 1973.

Malyutka = Little one, generic gender

De'votsjka = Girl younger than five

Spokoynoy nochi = Good night