It's nearly nine o'clock and they've made absolutely zero progress.
Steve's red in the face, positively fuming as he leans heavily in the corner of the small, private room buried deep in the basement of the Avengers' compound. They've had a couple other occasions to use this fortified, secret, decked-out-with-spy gear facility jokingly referred to as the Dungeon. But both of those instances involved questioning suspects – enemies – not a member of their own team. That's not what this room is meant for. That's not what should be happening in it right now.
Sam shifts his weight to his elbows as he leans across the table toward Atkinson. "You're looking pretty pathetic," he tells her, a bite to his typically jovial tone. "You know that?"
She nods shortly – flinching from the pain that even that small movement brings – but she says nothing.
"You really expect us to believe you don't know anything? That you and Scofield just talked that one time and you haven't been involved with anything since… you really think we're gonna buy that?"
She glances up at him, her normally tender, mirthful eyes dark and despondent… and tinged red with the blood of burst capillaries. Her words have been few and far between, and painfully mumbled through a shattered jaw and swollen lips. But Sam and Steve both still easily make out her bitter retort of, "Fuck. You."
Steve shoves off the wall, arms falling to his sides where his hands clench into tight, at-the-ready fists. "Tell us what you know!" he thunders out, slamming one white-knuckled fist into the metal table so hard it leaves a crater in the shiny surface.
Before she can respond – not that she was really planning on saying anything more than she'd already sputtered out – there's a swift and steady knock at the door.
Sam pushes away from the table and swings open the door just enough for him to be able to peek out. "Wanda?" he questions, brow furrowing as he takes in the young woman. His head quirks to the side, eyes trailing off to glance behind her. His face sets the moment he sees Tessa, "No. Absolutely not," falling from his tightly pinched lips.
"Sam," Wanda tries, a small smile stretching across her face. "I can help. We can help."
He shakes his head, perfectly aware of the inquisitive look boring into him from behind as Steve continues to loom threateningly over the tiny, broken blonde at the table. "No."
"Sam," she starts again, voice soft and saccharine. "Just hear us out. Please."
His jaw tightens and clicks, pensive look rolling over his features for a fleeting moment before, "Hey Cap," tumbles hesitantly from his lips.
The two men leave the room, saying nothing to Atkinson on their way out, Steve simply slamming the reinforced door shut with such a thud nearly everyone jumps. He squeezes into the tiny control room behind Sam and glances quickly at Wanda before shifting his gaze to Tessa, giving her a pathetic, wearied stare. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugs, a forced-casual gesture. "Just out for a walk."
He lets out an impatient sigh. "Tessa…"
"I'm guessing she hasn't told you anything else?" Her jaw tightens as she waits for a response. But Steve does little more than let out another beleaguered sigh, clearly unwilling to share anything about the interrogation with her. She rolls her eyes. "You think she knows more."
"We don't know," Sam chimes in.
She turns to him and frowns. "That wasn't a question."
"Tessa," Steve starts again, pulling her attention back to him. "You can't be down here."
"Why not?"
"Because…" He trails off, deciding better than to utter the words he really want to say. Because I said so.
Wanda steps up then, inserting herself between the two tensely fuming friends. "Steve," she begins in an appeasing tone. "Be reasonable."
He gives her a withering look. "It's reasonable to have her down here?"
"She's not going to talk to you," she goes on. "She knows you. She's been trained by you – by us – to withstand interrogations."
"This isn't – "
She throws up a silencing hand. "Just… let us try."
Sam snorts out an incredulous laugh from the corner. "You think she'll talk to you? To her?" he asks pointing at Tessa.
"We're not going to talk," she states, tone suddenly forceful as she shoots him a aggravated glare. "I can get inside her head. See if she knows anything else." She pivots to glance over at Tessa, who's standing stoically behind her, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "And I can… bring Tessa with me. To see if anything looks… familiar. She knows Scofield, Lobe, the others… so she might notice things or recognize things – patterns or clues – that none of the rest of us could."
The group falls silent for a long moment, the two men taking their sweet time to contemplate the plan. It makes sense… some sense. They've used Wanda before, when detainees have been… uncooperative. They've asked her in the past to dive inside and scrape around someone's mind to see if she could find anything. Truth is, Steve had already been toying with the idea of brining her in to do just that with Atkinson. But Tessa too? That seems…
"Bad idea," the Captain mumbles finally, shaking his head slowly back and forth. He directs his stare at the floor, eyes narrowing at nothing. "I don't like it."
Tessa takes a short step towards him and drops a gentle hand to his shoulder, waits for him to look up at her, his normally brilliant blue eyes dark and hazy. "I can do this," she tells him, voice strong and sincere. "I promise you. I got this."
It takes about another ten minutes of back and forth – of promises and edicts, warnings and assurances – before the two women are finally allowed into the room, Steve standing idly just outside the door still grumbling to himself about this being a bad idea. A really bad idea.
But he lets them go just the same, lets them move into the room on their own – still no explanation offered to their prisoner – and close the door behind them, effectively shutting both him and Sam out.
Atkinson's eyes blow wide as both Tessa and Wanda pull up chairs and sit down across from her at the small, cold metal table. For the briefest of moments the room fills with a spiraling sort of panic, so rich and deep that it very nearly takes Tessa's breath away. But then, as suddenly as it had come on, the fear and panic tapers off, leaving little more than a sense of anger – of bitter contempt – in its place.
Tessa looks over at Sarah Atkinson, cocking her head curiously as she opens herself up a bit more to the woman's tumultuous energy. There's so much there, so much pain and sadness and anger and shame – but also pride, a profound sense of accomplishment – that she can't quite sort through it all. "I don't…" she starts, words falling slowly from her lips as she continues to stare ahead at the woman. She feels Wanda's eyes on her, feels also a patient encouragement seeping off of her as she sits by her side. "I don't… get you."
Atkinson lets out a short scoff, the soft, guttural noise obviously burning at her likely damaged throat, bringing a pained grimace on top of it. Her fingers – those of her left hand, the one not heavily shackled to the table – come up and tenderly tap along the line of bruises peppering her neck.
"It hurts, huh?" Tessa breathes out, a small, crooked smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes trace along the raised ridges of the woman's neck, the deep purple and blue lines pocking her milky flesh, each welt the size and shape of a finger. "He choked me once too," she murmurs, bringing her gaze up to meet with the blonde's.
It's plainly obvious that she's trying to withhold any reaction, working to keep the surprise from coloring her expression. But Sarah's eyes give her away, the deep brown lightening just a bit as her pupils constrict, an unabashed fascination pulling at her.
Tessa lets out a small breath of a laugh. "It was a few years ago," she says with a shrug. "He was having a night terror." She narrows her eyes and cocks a curious brow at the woman across the table. "Did you know he had those? Night terrors and nightmares. You seem to think you know him pretty well. Did you know that?"
Her eyes fall away, gaze drifting down towards the table. "I know," she starts, painfully clearing her swollen throat before continuing in a newly graveled voice. "I know he's been through a lot."
She nods. "A lot," she repeats, rolling the words – and their far-too-simplistic implication – on her tongue. "Yeah, he's been through a lot."
A thick silence permeates the room for a long, breathless moment before Wanda finally speaks up. "Scofield might be dead, but we need to know where the others are."
Atkinson shakes her head, gaze ticking off towards nothing. "I don't know."
"You say that," she goes on, tone eerily calm despite the obvious threat that each word carries. "But we need to know. And we'll find it out – "
"Hang on," Tessa interrupts, her left hand flying out to place a stilling palm atop her friend's forearm. She looks back to Sarah, brow deeply furrowed as she asks simply, "Why?"
The woman shakes her head, a look of confusion cloaking her ravaged features as she directs her attention at the brunette across from her.
Why? It could mean so many things, could be seeking the answer to so many questions. Why would you turn on your team? Why would you sell me out? Why would you work with someone so awful? Why would you harm so many? Why would you give all this up? But the question that comes out is one that catches even Tessa off-guard. "Why do you love him?"
A swift, clipped breath of surprise issues out of Atkinson's parted lips. Again, her eyes tick off to stare at nothing for a moment as she thinks on the question. When she looks back at Tessa, her gaze is soft, perhaps a bit… lost. "I don't know."
"Did you think… did you really think you could be with him?" she asks, her tone carrying little more than curiosity, a keen interest taking the place of any and all pent-up hostilities. "Did you think it would work? Or did you just… get caught up in all the feelings?"
Again, she replies, "I don't know."
Tessa nods, the pensive look on her face gradually pulling into a tight frown. "I worried at first," she says, her voice soft and drifting. "I think you were his type… back in the day. And your little crush was really fucking obvious," she mutters with a slight snicker. "I thought…" She looks up at the woman, locks onto her bewildered yet oddly smug-seeming eyes. "I have a history of people leaving me." She stops short, shaking her head as a quick, dubious snort of a laugh billows out of her. "I should've known better than to think James was like any of them."
Atkinson's eyes narrow, her expression turning icy. "He never talked about you," she ekes out belligerently. "Not once."
She leans forward and reaches out to touch her, the woman flinching and bucking as Tessa's fingers close around her shackled hand. "He talked about you," she says, holding tightly to Sarah's gaze. "Just an hour or so ago, he told me that he wanted to rip out your throat." She gives a small shrug and lets her thumb absently trace the tops of Atkinson's knuckles, the subtle movement somehow helping to soothe her own nervous energy. "You worked with him, so you've seen him in soldier mode. But hurting… killing… that's the last thing he ever really wants to do. He's so afraid of being seen as a monster. So afraid of going back to actually being one." Her fingers constrict, tightening suddenly, brutally, tensing so fiercely around the woman's small hand that she can feel the ligaments roll beneath her flesh, grind into her bones. "That's the only reason you're alive right now. I want you to know that."
She releases her hold and leans back in her seat, chancing a quick glance at a rather puzzled-looking Wanda before returning her gaze to Atkinson. If the blonde's lips hadn't been so swollen from the thick split along the side, she's certain they would've been set in a deep, petulant pout. The corners of Tessa's mouth quirk up as she gets a quick hit of the jealous, resentful – unabashedly hateful – energy emanating from across the table.
"When we first starting sleeping together, he refused to stay the night," she states, folding her arms across her chest as she relays the memories. "Said he didn't want to hurt me," she announces with a raised brow. "And when he did… I wasn't sure if he'd ever forgive himself." Her shoulders rise and fall in a long shrug. "I'm not really sure that he has actually."
She stops speaking and turns in her seat to face Wanda, biting down on her bottom lip as she looks at her, seeming to seek out some sort of guidance. "What?" Wanda asks, brows knitting tightly together as she watches her friend nervously work her lip between her teeth.
"I don't know," she starts, hesitation clouding her eyes and tugging at her otherwise contemplative expression. Her voice is soft and low, obviously meant just for Wanda despite the fact that it will no doubt carry to the other woman in the small room anyway. Her head gives a slow, subtle shake. "I may not know who I am. But…" She pulls in a deep, steeling breath and glances quickly back at Atkinson. "I do know what I am."
Wanda nods, a sort of understanding rolling over her features. "Okay," she breathes out, the single word a reward and reassurance wrapped up in one.
"I told him that he couldn't hurt me," she says, voice a bit wistful as she turns back to Atkinson. "Because I could drop him if I needed to. I could hurt him – destroy him – anyone. If I needed to. Or wanted to." Her eyes narrow as they focus on the arrogant, broken face across from her. "It isn't even hard. I barely even have to try." She holds her hand up between them, eyes never moving from Sarah's face. And tiny blue threads of light begin to spark from her fingertips.
Atkinson jumps in her seat, the harsh sound of metal scraping along tile filling the room as she fights to move back, dragging the table she's shackled to just a fraction of an inch with her. Her eyes go wide, expression wild, and a thick sense of fear and foreboding spills off of her in waves. "They…" she stutters out, "they did… they really did… change you…"
Tessa merely shakes her head as she turns her attention to the tendrils of light – of pure energy – popping and swirling around her hand and down her arm. "Nobody changed me," she says casually. "This is who I've always been. I might not have always liked it. I might have tried to hide it, fight against it, keep it secret so that people like you wouldn't…" She looks back up at Atkinson, her eyes softening the slightest bit as she takes in her horrified expression. "So that people like you wouldn't fear me. Or hate me. Or think less of me." All at once, she tugs her fingers into a sharp fist, the blue light pulling back and disappearing as though she'd somehow grasped it all and hidden it away in her palm. "But this is me."
Sarah lets out a quick, nervous – almost frantic-sounding – laugh. "Does he know?" she asks. "Does Sergeant Barnes know you're a freak?"
Wanda throws up a single hand, a warm red glow stemming from her palm. "You really shouldn't use that word," she intones as the bright red orb swells before them.
Tessa simply shrugs, seeming both unaffected by Atkinson's jibe and unimpressed by Wanda's display. "Of course he knows," she states with a haughty huff. "All of the Avengers know." She leans forward the slightest bit, looming dangerously close to the glowing ball of energy still twisting in Wanda's outstretched hand. "Everyone I trust knows. I've only ever told the people that I trust," she murmurs lightly, looking up at the woman through the deep red glow and locking onto her desperate, bloodshot eyes. "But… do you think I trust you?"
Atkinson shakes her head. Slowly. Painfully. And she does her best to lean further back in her seat, as far away from the two unnerving women as possible.
"No," she agrees. "I don't."
At that, Wanda thrusts the red-hot energy in her hand forward, driving it towards the woman, through her. Atkinson freezes, every muscle of her body stiffening and setting despite her nerves demanding that she move, fight, flee. A look of shock and horror hardens on her face as her eyes glaze over.
Wanda reaches out and takes Tessa's hand with her now free one, her palm still warm and tingling from the powerful orb. Then she grabs Sarah's shackled hand, gripping tightly at her stiff fingers before letting her eyes slowly drift shut.
When she blinks them open again, all three women are standing in a blank, open space, stark white and oddly stifling. Atkinson gasps before them, hand flying to her chest as her – perfectly unmarred – thoughtform tries to catch her breath. "What," she sputters, voice clear and no longer gravelly. "What did you… do?"
"Where are we?" Tessa asks, a clipped, almost irritated note to her tone. "This is her mind?"
Wanda shrugs. "Guess what they say about blondes is true," she jibes with a raised brow. "Just a head full of nothing."
"What?" Atkinson repeats, her dumbfounded look causing the other women to briefly cackle.
"Alright," Wanda says after a moment. She twirls in a slow circle, taking in the utter emptiness around her. "You're going to need to show us something more than this."
Sarah's brows draw tightly together. "Show you," she breathes out, absolute bewilderment peppering her tone. "What… what do you mean?"
She steps over to her and lightly takes hold of her hands, grip tightening when the petite woman tries to pull away. "You need to show us," she says, words flowing effortlessly into the air surrounding them, echoing through the void. "Think."
All at once, the women are transported to a small, unfamiliar kitchen. "Where's this?" Tessa asks impatiently, not even allowing herself the time to fully take in the new surroundings. When she does turn in a quick half-circle she sees, plain as day – sitting at an old, round, wood table not five feet away – Dr. Aaron Scofield. He's lazily reclined back in his seat, a concerned looking Stan Markum – she recognizes him from the single picture she'd seen only once before, what seems like a lifetime ago – sitting by his side. And across from him, her pale skin nearly luminescent in the bright fluorescent light, is Sarah Atkinson.
"So," Scofield intones, leaning towards a rather tentative looking Atkinson. "You're Stan's new assistant." He drops his head and mutters in a humorously conspiratorial way, "I never liked that last bitch."
"Aaron!" Markum hollers with disdain.
"Well, it's true," he counters, collapsing casually back into his seat. "And is she more… trustworthy?" he asks then with a raised brow.
Tessa's forehead crinkles in confusion. This is not the Scofield that she remembers… the awkward, almost timid man she worked with all those years ago. And it's plainly obvious that Markum feels the same, his own face twitching with puzzlement as he narrows his eyes at his friend, puffing up his chest a bit before asking, "Are you… intoxicated?"
Scofield barks out a laugh and leans forward to slap the table in almost violent display. "Intoxicated?! Stanley, I have never felt better."
"That doesn't answer my question," Markum mutters, gaze ticking over to Atkinson only briefly before returning to the boisterous man beside him. "Aaron, have you been… taking something?" Scofield cocks his head, but says nothing. "Whatever it is that you've been working on… have you been… experimenting?"
He leans in close, almost nose to nose with Markum. "On myself, you mean?"
"I know you've done it in the past."
Scofield leans back and goes eerily quiet and still. There's a long, awkward moment where no one says a word, the only sound in the room being short, stifled breaths. "I had to know if it would work," he finally utters with a slow nod. "We were running out of subjects."
Atkinson pipes up with, "You've been experimenting on yourself? With…"
He turns to her and cocks his head suspiciously. "With…?"
She shifts uncomfortably, unsure what to say. "With… whatever it is that's causing you to… be this way."
"This way?" he asks with a laugh. "This way…" He looks over to Markum, then back to Atkinson. "Let me show you just what this way is." He stares into her eyes, locks on, looking almost through her.
"What…" she starts nervously. "What are you doing?"
His eyes narrow further, effort evidenced in his suddenly tight expression. "Reading your mind," he states plainly, his face reddening with exertion.
Tessa rolls her eyes. "You gotta be fucking kidding me," she groans as the spectacle goes on across the room.
Scofield shoots upright, eyes still glued to Atkinson. "You're not who you say you are," he whispers, seeming almost surprised at his discovery. "You work with…" His eyes narrow once more, this time his search taking but a fraction of a second before he comes back with, "Oh, agent…" A bright and oddly glorious smile pulls across his face. "I think that I can help you."
Tessa lets out a loud scoff and pushes away from the formica counter in front of her. "Well this is both disturbing and… not helpful."
"Okay," Wanda says, nodding once in agreement. She walks over to the memory of Sarah and taps her on the shoulder, pulling her attention from the – suddenly – eerily frozen men across the table. "We need more," she states in a demanding tone, reaching down and latching onto her wrist. "Think harder."
The air around them begins to spin and swirl, colors melding as the entire space melts into something else altogether. Their eyes bounce cautiously around the dark, gray room, Tessa and Wanda looming over the shoulder of a still-seated Atkinson, now positioned in front of the small desk in her dormitory room. They watch in silence as she scribbles something down on a piece of paper – a phone number, then an address – all while listening intently to the phone pressed against her ear.
Wanda frowns and lightly touches the cell, causing a woman's voice to reverberate through the air as if on speakerphone. We'll need the space. Belgium just sent over a dozen hostiles… mutant criminals they've been tracking for months. And the docs have been especially busy with these tiny X-Men they found a few weeks back! The woman cackles heartily, pulling an irritated scoff from Atkinson – and a disgusted growl from Tessa. On the plus side, I can now walk through walls! Way better than anything I ever got when we were stationed in Brazil.
"Brecht," Tessa breathes out curiously as her brows knit together. "She was the other one in Brazil, right?" She spins to look at Wanda, eyes blowing wide as she's hit with a sudden, sharp memory – of the last time she saw someone disappear through a wall. And then of the only other person she ever knew who could do the same. "She got Kitty's powers," she mutters dumbly as things suddenly fall into place. "Brecht was the one in San Francisco… who we thought was Dr. Falstein."
Wanda merely nods – a short, knowing gesture – before turning back to the scene before them.
"I didn't need to know that," Atkinson states, a bite to her voice as she replies to the woman on the other line. "Actually, I don't want to know that. Or anything else that I don't need to know to… do my part."
The woman laughs again. Fine, fine. Just send the thumb drive to that address and call the number as soon as you have confirmation that Dr. Sullivan's accepted the meeting.
"Thumb drive?" Tessa asks, the inquiry directed at no one in particular. The phone clicks off, line going dead, and she swiftly grabs Atkinson's thoughtform by the shoulder, whipping her around to face her. "What thumb drive?"
Sarah looks bewildered for a long moment, lost in her own mind as she's violently ripped from the memory. "From…" she sputters, staring wide-eyed up at Tessa. "From your hard drive."
Tessa's forehead crinkles, brow furrowing deeply in thought. "From my office here?" she asks heatedly. "At the compound?"
Atkinson nods, sticking her chin out defiantly, a thick wave of conceit sloughing off of her. "Scofield wanted everything I could get," she spits out vehemently. "He was doing me a favor. Figured I should help him out in return."
She cocks her head and narrows her eyes. "The entire compound runs off of a shared server," she states plainly. "It might be encrypted, but still… I would never save anything important to that computer."
The two women stare heatedly at one another for a long moment, the tension quite literally weighting the illusory air, before Wanda finally steps in, moving bodily between them. "What else?" she asks Atkinson in an utterly impatient tone. "Show us more."
She looks up at her and huffs a small, sardonic chuckle. "You'll see whatever I show you?" she asks, voice sounding almost giddy. Wanda just stares, not even offering so much as a nod. "Fine," she says then. "How 'bout this?"
All at once, the room around them flickers out and in the blink of eye gets replaced with a small, dark space. The unfamiliar, sparsely decorated – rather dilapidated, really – cabin positively reeks of mildew. Which is probably why, as soon as they glance up, both Tessa and Wanda see Atkinson brush past Natasha on her way out the door.
"Brazil," Tessa mumbles under her breath, taking note of the cutoff shorts and tank top – you have to let me borrow them, this is perfect tourist wear – that a tanned and irritated-looking Nat is wearing.
"You could throw on a shirt," the redhead calls after Atkinson as she shoots out the door in nothing but a sports bra and booty shorts. When her reply comes as little more than a sly wink, Natasha scoffs and shakes her head, a faint – almost amused – smile pulling at her own lips as she leaves the young woman to her mischief.
"This is gross," Tessa states plainly, stepping out into the blinding early morning sun and leaning heavily against the wall of the cabin. A disgusted scowl builds on her face as she watches the blonde move through different yoga poses in the small grassy area. She turns to Wanda, who's squinting out at the bright green scenery, seemingly smitten with their sudden new surroundings.
"She might be gross," she intones lightly. "But this place is beautiful."
Tessa tightens her arms across her chest and glowers. "It's hot," she complains. "It isn't even real, and it's hot."
Wanda turns to her with an almost reprimanding raised brow. "What did I tell you about this?" she asks, reaching over and tapping on her friend's forehead. "Just because it isn't out in the real world doesn't mean it's not real."
"You sound like a fucking fortune cookie."
She turns back to the blonde out in front of them, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "I guided her to relive relevant times. So there must be something here…"
Tessa lets out a long, deep sigh and unfolds her arms to raise a single pointed finger just past the downward-dogging Atkinson. "That's why we're here," she bites out, watching as Bucky steps into the small clearing by the cabin.
He shuffles over, Redwing hanging precariously from one hand as he raises the other to wipe the dripping sweat from his brow. His pace slows and he bites lightly at the corner of his lip as he approaches. He's clearly trying to avert his attention from the raised ass in front of him… trying not to stare as she stretches out, like a lithe cat in the sun. He swallows hard and clears his throat. "What the hell are you doing?"
Atkinson looks up at him from between her legs and smiles wide. "Yoga," she says simply. "You should try it. It might help you relax." She pops upright and stands before him, all bright blonde hair and tanned, honey skin. "What do you normally do to relax?" she asks, a mischievous lilt to her voice.
Again, he swallows. Even from her spot some ten feet away, Tessa can easily see the way his Adam's Apple bobs. She can see the glint in his eye and the quick swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip. She can make it all out so easily because it's the same hungry look he's given her a hundred or times or more. When watching her dry her hair while standing in front of the mirror in a towel. Or when she gets – as he puts it – all dolled up for a fancy party or a night out. Or when he used to catch her moving through the halls of the Tower in that blessed beginning, during those first few months of sex and sneaking.
It's not the look he gives her that tells her he loves her. This is the look he gives when he wants her. Only this time – the realization hits like a punch to the gut – it's not Tessa that he's looking at.
"I usually hit things," he says finally, blinking his eager gaze away and clearing his throat once again. "Or shoot things."
Atkinson laughs. "Well, you should try something a little less… violent," she suggests, staring up at him with a big, dumb grin.
He glances back at her, locks onto her eyes for the briefest of moments before shaking his head slowly back and forth. A small smile blooms across his face, his tight shoulders relaxing into a comfortable posture. "Maybe I should," he breathes out. Then he raises the little android plane in his hand and says, "This thing is useless. Go get dressed and I'll let you lead me on another miserable hike to nowhere."
Sarah gives a firm nod – "Yes, sir." – and bounds almost gleefully back to the cabin to prepare for some more recon.
Bucky turns to watch her go, his eyes following her every step and bounce before a tight, shame-faced grimace pulls across his features.
"Nope!" Tessa exclaims, pushing off the wall and following the blonde inside. She grabs hold of her arm and twists her around to face her. "What is this supposed to be anyway? You want to make me jealous?" she seethes.
Atkinson merely quirks her head. "You wanted me to show you, so I'm showing you."
Wanda steps up behind Tessa, looming just over her shoulder. "This isn't relevant."
She shoots her a bitter scowl. "The hell it isn't. This is the truth." She turns back to Tessa, expression an odd mix of both anger and helplessness. "This is when I knew… if I could just get him away from you… Look! He was totally into me!"
Tessa's eyes narrow. "You got me away from him for four months. How'd that work out?"
She scoffs. "It wasn't enough time, that's all. He… he just needed more time. He just needed to let go."
All at once, the world around them shudders and quakes, the cabin falling away to dust. The Brazilian heat sizzles off into nothing, leaving a biting cold in its place. It's dark, but familiar. Tessa and Wanda glance hesitantly around and see that they're right outside of the compound, standing on one of the paths not far from the woods. And there on the path in front of them are Atkinson and Bucky, both blowing hot breath out into the silent winter's air.
"What are you doing here?" he asks the bundled-up blonde, his tone weary. "It's Christmas."
Tessa feels a sudden tug in her chest, a pang of sadness – and guilt – digging into her heart. It's Christmas, she thinks. And I wasn't here.
Atkinson lets out a small, breathy laugh. "I have four brothers and each of them has four kids of their own. Trust me, my family's too busy right now to be missing me." Her gaze hardens just the slightest bit as she shrugs. "I figured I might be needed more here."
Bucky looks off towards nothing – oddly, glancing just past Tessa's thoughtform, almost through it. "Nothing's happening here," he breathes out bitterly. "Nothing you can do."
Sarah steps closer to him and Tessa watches as he seems to instinctively move closer as well. "Well… you kind of look like you might need a friend."
He glances back at her. "No," he mumbles absently. "I don't need a friend."
"Are you sure?" She looks up at him with an utterly expectant expression. "If you want to… talk…"
He continues to stare down at her.
"Sarge… I mean it. I'm here. For whatever you need."
He gives a short nod by way of thanks and seems to prepare to leave. But then he pulls in a swift breath, uttering simply, "I'm sorry."
Atkinson's brows twist together in confusion. "What? What are you sorry for?"
He shakes his head almost maniacally. "Not… sorry," he mutters, the obvious pain breaking in his voice almost bringing Tessa to tears as she stands by helplessly. "No. I… I'm sorry…"
"Hey," Sarah soothes, laying a hand on his forearm, the simple gesture causing Tessa's stomach to roil. "Hey, it's okay."
He looks down at her gloved hand and pulls in a deep, steadying breath. "I'm sorry… to Tessa. To everyone. I should've… I'm just… sorry."
She nods steadily, her eyes never leaving his broken face. "You blame yourself," she utters plainly.
He almost chokes on the mournful laugh that bursts out of him. And all at once, a slew of very real-feeling tears begin to burn behind Tessa's eyes. "Of course I do."
"We don't blame you," she says with such sweet sincerity. "Do you think that Dr. Sullivan would've blamed you?"
He shakes his head – the motion in time with Tessa's own headshake of denial. "No. No, she wouldn't. But… I was supposed to protect her. Keep her safe."
Atkinson hums softly. "You know… There's a certain kind of peace that comes from letting go. I can't say you won't still hurt, but…"
"What?" shoots from Tessa's gaping mouth as her head snaps up, wide, angry eyes boring into the presumptuous little woman ahead of her.
Bucky's brows pull tightly together as he glares down at Sarah. "Let go?" he asks in a tone that his wife immediately recognizes as dangerous. It's that same did I just hear you right? quality that she's heard sweep through his voice dozens of times, typically just before a shouting match ensues.
"Of the guilt," Atkinson says. Then, taking just the smallest of steps closer to him. "And maybe… of her."
Tessa's breath catches as she watches her husband's eyes widen, shoulders stiffen. She strains to hear his response through the steadily building hum buzzing around her. "You think I should… let go? Of Tessa? You think I should let go of my wife?"
Wanda – hearing the hum as well and knowing precisely who it's stemming from – steps closer to her friend and lays a soft, comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's just a memory," she reminds her. "This all happened a long time ago."
Without turning to face her – without letting her gaze drift even an inch from Bucky's face – she states plainly, "It was weeks ago."
Atkinson shifts her weight from foot to foot as she moves a bit closer still to the large, warm man in front of her. "I know it's hard – "
"You don't know a damn thing," he bites out, the vitriol in his voice setting fire to Tessa's senses as the overwhelming urge to jump in and protect the man she so desperately loves burns within her.
"You yourself said that she would never give them what they wanted. How long do you think they'd keep her around, Sarge? It's been four months. How long do you think they'd keep her if she refused to give them what they needed?"
His expression shifts from anger to fear. And with that, the hum surrounding them grows louder.
"I know you don't want to believe it. And I don't want to have to be the one to say it. But there are only a few potential outcomes at this point, and none of them are good. Either she caved and gave them what they wanted, in which case, they'd have no further need of her. Or she continued to refuse and they tortured her until there was nothing left to torture."
"Stop it," Tessa breathes out through tightly gritted teeth, still watching intently as Bucky harshly pivots away from the small woman and tries to sidestep her.
"Or," she goes on, moving around to get in front of him again, "They couldn't get anything out of her, so they turned her into a subject. Either way, she's most likely dead."
Wanda feels a sharp pop and shock in her hand and she quickly pulls it from Tessa's shoulder, hissing in pain and cradling her fingers close to her chest as pulses of energy radiate through them. She looks down and sees fiery tendrils of light bouncing between Tessa's firmly clenched fists, only hints of the familiar blue sparking around the wide stems of red. "You can control it," she whispers to her friend, pulling the woman's tight-lipped gaze over to her for little more than a fraction of a moment.
When Tessa turns her attention back the scene in front of her, back to the awful memory this woman claims of her husband, there's just one thought burning through her consciousness. She shouldn't have this. She shouldn't have anything from him. Not even a memory.
She glares at the tiny blonde, her mind no longer able to make sense of the words spilling from her mouth, nor from Bucky's. But his face, she can read. His face tells her all she needs to know. He's hurt. And scared. And broken. And this woman…
"Your wife is gone, Sergeant Barnes. And some day, you're going to have to accept that." Her final words shoot out into the cold, night air, each one hitting Tessa's ears loud and clear. She watches as Bucky's face shifts from wounded to outright rage. "When you're ready to do that, I hope you come find me."
The air around them begins to shift from cold to crisp to… hot. Tessa's hands continue to fist at her sides, bright red light blazing from between her tightly clenched fingers, creeping up the length of her arms and licking perilously at her neck.
"Tessa," Wanda warns, a nervous warble to her voice. "You can control it."
She pulls in a deep breath, eyes trained on Atkinson's bundled form as she saunters away from her husband. "I know," she tells Wanda, her vision beginning to blur – no, blaze – around the edges. The blonde continues towards them, giving an almost spiteful wink as she approaches. "But I don't want to."
Sarah's no more than a few feet away, and the world – the memory – surrounding them is already starting to fade and tatter as she steps further out of it. But Tessa won't let her leave. She won't let her simply walk out of this without consequence, like she did the night this all actually happened. She won't let her walk out of this at all.
"You can't have it," she says, voice barely above a whisper, words slurred through a tightly clenched jaw. "You can't have any part of him," she states a bit louder, fiery eyes honing in on the now alarmed-looking blonde before her.
Tessa raises her tightly clenched fists up in front of her, the red light burning at her skin as she continues to stare ahead at Atkinson. Then she opens her hands, fingers slowly unfolding as a blinding glow shoots from her palms. It wraps around the edges of the memory, holding it tight, keeping it from fading, pulling back on it as the scene seems to rapidly play out in reverse. They arrive back at the beginning, back at the moment Atkinson spots Bucky's large, hunched form out on the trail.
And Tessa snaps, loosing a bright blue shot of energy into the woman's unconscious mind. It flickers from her fingers and compels the fire around them to burn down the memory from the outside in. Burning it all away until nothing remains but shadow and ash.