I wake the next morning to wide beams of sunshine, the sound of birds in the trees and something that smells like maple. I stretch and get out of bed, frowning when I remember I'm still in yoga pants. I need to get some new clothes, fast.

After a quick shower, I make my way hesitantly to the door. I know I need to show my face, even if only to ask what the day's plans are before retreating back to my room once more. If I just had a good book, I could curl up and read until I'm needed. That doesn't sound so bad. Go out and shoot flames when required, then come home and isolate myself with a story for the other twenty hours in the day.

Before my hand even reaches out, the door swings open. Natasha stands in front of me, her expression cold, unreadable. For a moment, I can do no more than stare in surprise.

"Come train with me," she says.

She gives me a tour of the gym, which is underground and almost as big as the entire compound. There's a wider range of equipment than I'd have thought possible — normal things like cardio machines and weights, but also real life pick-up trucks for throwing around, giant bars of lead, and one room the size of a football field with the most bizarre, intricate framing. Natasha says that's for Peter.

"So, where are we going?" I ask nervously.

I worry that my performance with the knives was overselling. There's no way I can lift a truck, or even the heavier dumbbells.

Natasha grins. "You're in the ring with me."

She puts me through combinations with the gloves and pads, and then we do some work on the bags. I'm out of practice, out of shape. But Natasha still nods appreciatively when I do it right, and corrects my form if I don't. When I'm good and sweaty and ready for a nap, I think the session must be almost over. But instead, we begin a round of calisthenics.

"What's your name?" she asks conversationally, as we pull up with bands.

I stiffen. "Apolla."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "No, like, your real name."

I don't answer. I know it's stupid. But it's something private. Something that belongs to me, and my life, untainted by this warped world. Besides, I still don't trust anybody not to turn me in once this is all over. Even Tony knowing who I really am is too much for comfort.

"I need to get some clothes," I say quickly, hoping to distract her. "Is there anywhere around here?"

"There's a mall a few miles south, but we mostly get things custom made."

"Even casual stuff? Why?" I ask, dropping down to gulp back some water.

"Well, what with the green guy and then Thor being so tall, plus special requirements like flame resistance," she nods at me, "it just makes more sense. The rest of us just tag our orders on so Tony can get it all done in one go."

It's like being in a completely self-sufficient cult. I decide I'm not comfortable with relying on the Avengers for everything, from my food to my damn clothes.

"I'd still rather hit the mall," I say. "You want to come?"

Natasha raises her eyebrows. "You think that'll help you keep a low profile?"

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Aren't you supposed to be a spy, Romanoff? A master of disguise?"

Natasha raises her chin to somebody in greeting before answering. "Fine. But only because I need new training bras, and it's awkward asking Tony."

We finish our sets and get ready to head out. I'm bright red, sweaty, but proud I kept up for the most part. The feeling vanishes when Natasha proudly announces we'll be doing cardio tomorrow. I try to protest as we grab our stuff and leave the gym.

I stop in surprise as I see Steve, working on the punching bags from our earlier sets. He moves in a perfect rhythm, each blow a satisfying slap against the leather bag. At first I think he's lost in concentration, but he quickly catches my eye and waves a hand in hello. I wave back but, not wanting to distract him, scurry out as quickly as I can.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "What was that about?"

I push the elevator button. "What?"

"You and Rogers?"

"Oh, we just said hi. That's all."

I pray for Natasha to drop it, and at first think I've got my wish, but she brings it up again as we ascend to the third floor.

"You know, it'd be good for him to date. I've been saying that for ages."

I become very interested in my water bottle. "Oh?"

"I know you wouldn't think it to look at him, but I think he's still really shy. He still sees himself as the way he was pre-serum."

I become weirdly protective. "What's wrong with how he was pre-serum?"

Natasha tries to hide a small smile. "Nothing. Just, he didn't have much luck with girls, is all."

Thankfully, Bruce is waiting by the elevator when we get off, like my own guardian angel come to save me from Natasha's knowing looks and casual comments.

"I'll meet you outside after lunch," I call back to her, as she chats to Bruce about some new therapy he's trialling.

As I head back to my room, I notice my spirits are considerably lifted. With Natasha as a training buddy, if not outright friend, and Steve being kind, I feel less alone in the compound. Less of a pariah. Stark doesn't seem to have an issue with me, either. The thought of life here becomes less daunting. Almost… exciting?

"Ah, the great Apolla." The voice is unfamiliar. I turn to find its owner, and for the first time, meet Nick Fury.

I nod my head. "Mr Fury. It's an honour to meet you."

"Tony told you I'd be coming by with some paperwork?"

I think back to yesterday's conversation. "Yes, I think so."

"Good. Let's head to the meeting room."

I learn that Nick Fury is not one for idle chat or filling silences. It's not awkward with him, either. We get to the meeting room and sit, and he gets right to business, pulling a huge wad of paper from a briefcase.

"I'll be honest with you, most of this is a bunch of legal jargon, liability forms and the like. You're welcome to have a lawyer read it over if you like."

The thought of me entering a lawyer's office with this in hand was almost laughable. "No, that's fine."

"Good. Well, just sign the dotted lines, and you should be good to go. The one form I would like to draw your attention to is the behavioural guidelines while you are with us."

Fury puts the sheet of paper in front of me, and I begin to read.

You are not permitted to fight with another member of your team

You must undergo regular physical training to keep combat ready

You must always wear a suitable and approved uniform while working

You must always capture, not terminate, your target

You must be willing to venture into space when the mission requires

You must act only when authorised

You must always prioritise the lives of civilians

You are not permitted to date any person or people.

My eyes hover over the last set of words. I feel my eyebrows grow heavier, lost in thought.

"Is there a problem?" Fury asks.

"No," I answer, too quickly. "Has, uh, has everybody signed this?"

"Yes."

I nod. "With regards to number eight, has there never… I mean, Natasha and Bruce?"

"Miss Romanoff knows the terms of her contract, and so does Mr Banner," Fury says, his tone no-nonsense.

"Okay, but Clint?"

"Terminated his contract with us when he met his now-wife." Fury narrows his eyes. "Do you find issue with number eight?"

"No." I take a breath. "I'm happy to sign."

I run the ball-point pen across each set of dotted lines, a newfound scrawl reading Apolla. It shouldn't bother me. It doesn't bother me. But when Fury packs up his things and leaves, I find my earlier elation is slightly dampened.

This doesn't change anything, I remind myself. And so I push all thoughts from my head, and retreat to my room once more.