Just for fun, not for profit. Most of this belongs to Marvel, but some of it is mine.

Juxtaposition

Her cell had not gotten any warmer when she awakened again, but now she was lying in a puddle of her own sweat, shivering. She made herself sit up, and while the waves of nausea still slammed into her, she could manage it if she took deep breaths and went slow. She made her way to the back wall of the cell and wedged herself into the corner. Pulling the skirt of her dress aside, she inspected her calf. A bandage covered it that had once been white, but by now was stained brown and red. The skin around it was hot and swollen, tender to the touch. Leaning against the wall, she used her left leg to slowly raise herself to standing position. Gingerly, she put her right leg flat on the floor and slowly shifted some of her weight to it. A shockwave of agony jolted up the leg to her hip, but it held. She was weak and shaky, but she could stand. She could move.

The plate of unidentified mush still lay on the floor, ice cold by this time. She picked it up and gave it an experimental sniff. The scent of it still turned her stomach, but she forced down a couple mouthfuls. She needed calories to heal. Ideally, also antibiotics. She limped over to the door and banged on it.

"Hey," she called to the guards she knew were standing right outside her door. "Is there a doctor here, or at least some cephalexin? I think my leg is infected." She heard them shifting weight outside her door, but neither of them moved or said anything. She sighed and raised her voice. "Look, I don't know what you guys want with me, but you just went to an awful lot of trouble to just let me die of sepsis in some godforsaken freezer box." The fact that she was still alive told her that they wanted her that way, at least for now.

"Better go get the professor," one of the guards muttered, and the other one stalked away. Nyssa sagged against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor.

Steve left to check in with T'Challa, promising he would let Bucky know as soon as he had even a hint of a lead. Bucky settled back in the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. This was infinitely more hospitable than the last time he'd woken up with a brand new metal arm attached to his body. Somehow, that thought made him feel more guilty. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine where Nyssa might be, what they might be doing to her, if she was suffering. No. how much she was suffering.

"Hey." He opened his eyes and looked towards the doorway to see Wanda standing there. "Can I come in?" For a moment, he considered sending her away, leaving him to his thoughts. He deserved to be alone. Nyssa's face popped into his head, eyebrow raised. Really, do you? Sighing, he shifted position in bed.

"Sure," he said softly. She smiled and came to sit in the chair next to the bed.

"I see Steve delivered my gift," she said lightly, glancing at the teddy bear on the nightstand. Bucky glanced at it, too.

"Yeah," he said, his expression somewhat perplexed. "He didn't say why, though."

"Is it not customary to give a friend a gift when they have had a major surgery?" Wanda asked teasingly. "I believe flowers are more traditional, but I have never particularly cared for cut flowers. It seems like tempting fate to give someone who has just had a medical procedure something that dies. Besides, flowers aren't nearly as pleasant to snuggle." Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. The movement sent ripples of pain through him, and he suspected the nerve block they had mentioned was starting to run out.

"Do I strike you as the snuggly type?" he asked dryly. Wanda's playful smile softened, and she leaned forward slightly.

"You strike me as someone who hasn't had nearly enough of them," she answered honestly. Bucky looked at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the waves of agony became more intense. It was a little like pins and needles set on fire, the burning sensation of thousands of nerves waking up at once. She picked up the envelope from the nightstand. "You haven't opened the card yet," she noted.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've been a little… preoccupied."

"I know," she replied. "A little distraction might do you some good." Bucky frowned at her, his expression a stubborn argument. "You are not betraying her if you think about something else for a few minutes. It is not a betrayal to allow yourself a… moment of comfort."

"Did you need those painkillers now, James?" The nurse asked as she stepped briskly into the room. Bucky shook his head.

"I'm fine, thanks," he managed. The nurse raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"Are all outsiders allergic to truth, or is it just you?" she asked mildly, then tapped the monitor that displayed his vital signs. "The monitor tells me exactly how much pain you are in right now. I cannot force you to take anything for the discomfort, but you should know that high levels of pain can interfere with the body's ability to heal."

"Bucky, she wouldn't want you to leave yourself in pain," urged Wanda. "If the situation was reversed, what would you want her to do?" The image of Nyssa equipped with a mechanical arm flickered through his mind's eye, and he swallowed hard.

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll take something." The nurse busied herself with the IV pole, and soon the throbbing ache in his shoulder started to recede to something more tolerable. It was surprising how much more noticeable pain became when you'd had even a brief reprieve from it. Bucky let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Wanda still sat patiently next to his bed. He looked over at her. "I'll read that card now." She handed it to him with a smile. He frowned down at the cheerful image on the front. His head was already swimming; whatever they gave him for the pain was some powerful stuff. He opened the card and tried to focus on the words written inside. His name registered, but the other words slipped away from his brain like snowflakes melting. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, a muscle working in the side of his jaw as he struggled to concentrate.

"Do you want me to read it to you?" Wanda offered. Mutely, he handed the card back to her. "Dear Bucky," she read, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away, "Congratulations on this next step in reclaiming yourself. I hope that your recovery this time is much easier and more comfortable than it was last time. I know you are in better hands now."

Wanda looked over at him, but his eyes had closed again, and the deep, even breaths told her he was fast asleep. Setting the card back on the nightstand, she picked up the teddy bear and tucked it under the blanket next to him. Then, with a little smile, she settled back in the chair and picked up the book she had brought with her.

There was nothing in her cell to mark the passage of time, not even natural light, so Nyssa had no idea how long it was before the guard returned, bringing with him a familiar, loathsome presence.

"Stand against the back wall," one of the guards called through the door. With a sigh of exasperation, Nyssa pushed against the wall to stand, then hobbled to the back wall as instructed, keeping one hand on the cold stone to steady herself. She turned to face the door, and for a moment weighed her chances if she were to attempt to sprint through when they opened it. With her lame leg, her odds weren't good.

"Okay," she called. One of the guards peeked through the tiny window in her door, then vanished. A moment later, the door opened, and a guard entered with a half-circle shape on a long pole, like a collar with a chunk missing. Crossing the tiny cell in two steps, he pushed the half-circle over her neck, pressing her back against the wall, keeping ahold of his end of the rod. Instinctively, she reached for the shaft, and metal cuffs automatically encircled her wrists, holding them in place on the pole. The other guard entered behind the first, gun drawn and pointed at her. Then Professor Sturdy strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. Nyssa bristled.

"Is this really necessary?" she spat at him. He smiled smugly at her, quite confident in his victory over her.

"We could ask the men you attacked last time if it's necessary," he replied, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, wait. No, we can't, because they are all either dead or still lost in their own minds." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I have no memory of that," she growled. Sturdy chuckled at her.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he sneered. "You've had enough midazolam in the past thirty-six hours to make an elephant forget." Nyssa fell silent, watching her adversary sullenly. He walked slowly behind the two guards, eyeing her triumphantly. "However," he continued, "for the next series of experiments I need you with your faculties and abilities intact. I shall give you an opportunity to help us of your own volition, before I resort to… more invasive tactics."

"I'm not helping you," she replied scornfully. Sturdy raised his eyebrows at her.

"Yes, well… we shall see if you still feel the same way by the end of the day." He held up a syringe with a long needle, and she flinched away from him. A slow smile spread across his face. He was enjoying her discomfort. "This is merely the antibiotic you requested. Ideally, it should be given intravenously, but I see you have eliminated that option, so into the muscle it is." She felt a sharp poke in her deltoid, and a burning as the medication was injected. "I don't normally like to waste too many resources, but you were quite right. It makes little sense to allow you to die of sepsis or infection before I have gotten what I want."

"And what's that?" Nyssa asked. All of them had managed to avoid touching her, even when giving her the injection, so she hadn't had the opportunity to explore any of their minds fully, and the thoughts she could pick up on weren't telling her anything useful. The guards were afraid of her. Sturdy was not. His presence was a gleeful gloating, eager to take sweet revenge on the person he still blamed for his ejection from Wakanda. She had only the faintest of hints what he had planned for her, but what she could sense filled her with trepidation. He nodded to the guards, and the one holding the device that held her captive took a step back, dragging her away from the wall. He pushed a button on the handle, and the semi-circle became a full circle around her neck. Sturdy nodded approvingly.

"Come with us and find out, Dr. Taylor," he replied, turning and leaving the cell with a swish of his lab coat. Nyssa found herself pulled along, struggling to keep up with their pace on her injured leg but unwilling to show them any weakness. Even without her injured leg, the men set a brisk pace, making her trot in order to keep from being dragged. She was so intent on simply remaining upright that she had little attention to spare to her surroundings or the path they were taking her. Down the corridor, turn left, down another hall, down some stairs, more turns, more halls. The air was still frigid against her skin, but at least her muscles were starting to warm up with the impromptu jog.

They ushered her into a large room, and for the first time, she balked. Echoes of pain, suffering, screams, ghosts of tormented souls immediately crowded into her mind. She knew what this room was for, and she wanted no part of it. Her hesitation only afforded her half a moment until she was dragged into the room, losing her footing for the first time. The collar tightened around her neck, leaving her fighting for breath as she struggled to stand again. They forced her down into a seat at the head of a metal table. Donning heavy, thick protective gloves, Professor Sturdy took her hands and placed them palm-up on the table, then lowered a slightly contoured bar over her wrists, trapping her in place. She jerked her head up to glare at him.

"So it's to be torture, then?" she said hoarsely. "You'll get nothing from me." Sturdy smiled faintly.

"We shall see. Most of that depends on you. If you cooperate and help us get the information we need, this could be painless for you. If not, well… we may have to resort to more persuasive methods. And really, you should have no personal investment in this. We're not after your information. We want his." He glanced towards the door again, and another pair of guards dragged a man into the room and placed him on the table, strapping him down. The man's head lay on her upturned hands, and she tensed at the waves of pain that rolled off him and through her. This was not his first torture session, and from the deep, aching emptiness inside, they had been starving him as well. She took a breath as he stirred, his mind waking up. He stared up at her, for a moment wondering if he was in a dream, or perhaps he had just died and she was an angel. She closed her eyes as his consciousness encroached on hers.

Marcus Andrew Riggs, formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D., currently Department of Homeland Security, senior officer. He'd been assigned to head a team working on identifying and analyzing threats to humanity – primarily the "Enhanced" – and evaluating them for potential to cause destruction. One of his junior officers – with considerably lower security clearance - had been on the payroll of more than just the US government; taking bribes to leak information to the Maggia. Marcus had confronted him and fired him, but before he could even notify HR of the termination, he'd blacked out, and when he awakened again, he'd been in this place. He had lists in his head. Names, addresses, ages, abilities, potential threats. That was what Sturdy was after. He wanted to get his hands on more Enhanced humans, no doubt to invite them for an extended stay in this frozen fortress in the middle of nowhere. A woman's face drifted through his mind – his wife, Angela. Two sons, Reed and Caiden, ages 4 and 7. A spasm of grief drifted through him as he thought about never seeing them again. His boys growing up without a father. He had already resigned himself that he was going to die here. Even if he gave up the information, they would probably kill him. But he was not going to give up the names of innocent people to be taken, used and abused by this madman.

"So what shall it be, Doctor?" Sturdy asked, circling around the pair of prisoners like a vulture. "Shall we do this the easy way, or the painful way?" Nyssa opened her eyes again, blinking away sympathetic tears, set her jaw and said nothing. Sturdy shrugged. "As you wish." The door opened again, and she looked over to see a dark-haired man stride into the room as if he owned it. Perhaps he did, in a sense. Professor Sturdy stepped back from the table, gesturing towards it grandly.

"All set up for you, Luca," he said. Luca nodded towards him, eyeing the two people in the middle of the room. He pulled a roll of fabric out from under his arm and set it on the table, rolling it out with one smooth movement. The lights in the room gleamed off of his assortment of metal tools. Professor Sturdy had pulled up a chair near the door.

"Are you staying this time?" Luca asked as he picked up a knife as elegant as it was cruel. Sturdy smiled at him.

"You know I love watching you work," he confirmed. "Besides…" Getting up, he circled around the table, passing close to Nyssa. "…I have a feeling this time we may get what we are after." Luca bared his teeth in an expression that wasn't quite a smile.

"Very good," he purred, then turned his attention to the man strapped on his table. "Shall we begin, then, Marcus?" Nyssa stared wide-eyed at the knife, her heart pounding and stomach churning, but was unable to look away, even as the blade began slicing slowly through flesh and skin. Shallow cuts, meant to cause pain but not significant damage. Nyssa clenched her jaw shut, feeling every cut as if it were carving her own skin but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her reaction. "You know what you need to do to stop this, Marcus," their tormentor said, his voice incongruously soothing in contrast to his actions. "You need only to name names, and all of this will stop." Marcus said nothing, his breathing ragged. Luca laid the knife down and picked up a thin metal spike just a few inches long. Flipping it over to the blunt end, he scraped it along the length of Marcus' sternum, drawing an involuntary groan from the man, the first sound he had made since they had hauled him into the chamber. Nyssa grunted as well, flinching away from the echoed pain but hoping her captors wouldn't notice. The information they were after whirled through her mind, but she pressed her lips together. Marcus had endured days and weeks of torture and still resisted. She wasn't going to fold so quickly just because of a little pain. Luca's eyes flickered towards her, but he brought his attention back to the man on his table.

"Oh, so you are still alive," he jeered. "Good. I would hate to think this was wasted effort on my part." Flipping the spike around, he drive the point with surgical precision into Marcus' solar plexus. The explosion of pain drove the breath from Nyssa's lungs for the space of several frantic heartbeats, and then her voice returned as a scream that forced its way out of her throat, echoing in the room with the cries of the man strapped to the table in front of her.

"Remarkable!" Professor Sturdy stepped closer to their captives, his eyes flickering from the man supine on the slab to the petite woman half-slumped over his head. "She actually, physically feels everything that he does. Perhaps this will be even shorter than we thought." Nyssa raised her head and leveled a glare at both of them. Marcus drew in a shaky breath and looked up at her warily.

Please don't tell them anything. She heard his unspoken plea. As much as she could summon under the circumstances, she sent him feelings of comfort.

I won't, she reassured him. His eyes widened briefly at hearing her voice in his head. I will help you as much as I can. Curling her fingers slightly, she cradled his head more fully in her hands and closed her eyes in concentration. The next sound that came from him was a sigh as she blocked the pain receptors in his brain, giving him a reprieve from the torment pulsing though his body. Luca eyed them both dispassionately, then went back to his collection of tools. He had been doing this a long time, and knew intimately the best ways to inflict pain and suffering on the human body. His tools bit into flesh, seeking nerves and tendons and fascia, meticulous and precise, and soon Nyssa could no longer tell whether the screams were coming from her, or the man in front of her.