Part Two

You're unsure what time it is when you wake up; the room you're in has no windows and from the vantage point of the bed, no clocks. You get out of bed, stretch, and pour a glass of water in the bathroom. You drink it in a series of heavy gulps, fill it up, and down that one as well.

With nothing else to do you perform a limited work out: crunches, sit-ups, and push-ups. Once you've worn yourself out with that you return to sitting on the bed. You'd have to ask Steve for a book or two.

Fortunately you don't have long to sit around, after what you would estimate to be under an hour there's a soft knock at your door before it once again slides open. You're not surprised to see Natasha Romanoff on the other side, the footsteps were all but silent; a trained assassin, not a soldier. "Breakfast time," She announces, crossing the room. She looks at you curiously, "You know, we've never had a prisoner here before."

"I'm honored to be the first," You tell her, "Help you work out the kinks. You might want to build a dungeon, if you're planning on making a habit of it; this is just a little too cozy."

"I'll make a note of it," She's calm, relaxed; it's a nice change of pace. "We've got bacon, eggs, and toast on the menu today." She sets the tray down on the table beside you before sitting cross legged across from you. "So what is it exactly you can do?"

Should I think of this as an interrogation or a friendly chat?"

Her lips curl in amusement, "Can't it be a bit of both? Steve tried to explain but he was a little vague about it all. Call me curious."

You pull the tray onto your lap and rip one of the pieces of bacon in half before chewing it thoughtfully. "I'm primarily an empath. I read other people's emotions."

"You're relaxed; at ease with the current situation. You don't perceive me as a threat, at least, not at the moment."

"Sounds like you're just cold reading. Any dime store conman could tell you the same thing from body language alone. Wow me."

"You don't believe that," You tell her with a smile of your own, "You're curious about me—you think my directness is amusing. You—" You focus harder, reaching out instead of just letting the emotions roll over you, "You're concerned about Steve… You had a nightmare last night—a room—a red—" You jerk back, the air leaving your lungs in a startled gasp as a mental wall snaps you right out of Natasha's head. She's staring at you, lips parted in surprise. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," Natasha shakes her head, "I pushed you. That's more than just reading emotions though."

"I said primarily," You remind her, "I can pick up thoughts, but it's hard and I don't like doing it. I can usually only pick up surface things. Skin to skin contact amplifies my abilities. If I'm touching someone and I really try I can pick up deeper thoughts, memories, things like that. Great for interrogation," You give her a little smile and take a bite of the eggs; they're delicious. "I can also alter moods to a certain extent or push an emotion onto someone but it's difficult."

"Okay, let's see that then. Make me feel something."

You shrug and put down your fork, "Any preference?"

"Dealer's choice. I don't want to placebo myself."

You close your eyes, concentrating on the emotion, and then push, forcing it into her mind. Her eyes drift closed and a slow smile spreads across her lips. After a few seconds her eyes open, and she looks at you, surprised.

"That's…incredible. I felt so peaceful."

"I can do all the terrible, negative stuff too," You tell her, "That's how I escaped. Sent a wave of fear into all of their minds simultaneously, driver yanked the wheel, flipped the van. Everyone was too out of sorts after that to put up a fight. Well…much of one, anyway."

"You've been very forthcoming," Natasha stands, "It's appreciated."

"I have nothing to hide."

"That," She smiles, "I highly doubt. Steve wanted me to ask if there's anything that could make your stay more pleasant."

"A book or two wouldn't hurt."

"I'll see what I can do," She turns to the door, "I'll be seeing you."

You doze off after finishing your meal until you're woken by footsteps outside of your room, these you immediately place as Steve's. You sit up as the door opens and he steps in, a pile of books balanced in his arms. You start to stand up but he waves you off, "I've got it, don't worry." You move the tray from breakfast from the nightstand to the bed, giving him room to set them down.

"I wasn't sure what you would like, and there really wasn't that much of a selection. Tony and Bruce donated some technical books, and Wanda had a couple of romance's. Oh, and Vision had War and Peace," Steve gestures towards the thick tome at the base of the pile, "That should keep you busy." He's uncomfortable about keeping you locked in here, even if in some ways it is by your own request.

"Thank you," You tell him warmly, trying to assuage his concern, "This is great. I've always been curious about

You shrug and put down your fork. You close your eyes, concentrating on the emotion and then push, forcing it into her mind. Her eyes drift closed and a slow smile spreads across her lips. After a few seconds her eyes open, and she looks at you surprised.

"That's incredible. I felt so…peaceful."

"I can do all the terrible, negative stuff too," You tell her, "That's how I escaped. Sent a wave of fear into all of their minds, driver yanked the wheel, flipped the car. Everyone was too out of sorts after that to put up much of a fight."

"Well," Natasha stands up, "Thank you for the information. You've been very…forthcoming."

"I have nothing to hide."

"That, I highly doubt. Steve wanted me to ask if there's anything that could make your stay more pleasant."

"A book maybe? And if anyone has a spare set of gloves around it would make me feel a hell of a lot more comfortable."

"I'll see what I can do," She turns to the door, "I'll be seeing you."

Not even an hour later Steve pushes open the door, a stack of books balanced in his arms. You start to stand up but he waves you off, "I've got it, don't worry." You move the tray from breakfast from the side table to the bed and he sets the books down.

"I wasn't sure what you would like, and there really wasn't much selection. A couple of technical books from Tony and Bruce's labs and some romance novel from Wanda. Oh, and Vision had War and Peace," Steve gestures towards the thick tome at the base of the pile, "That should keep you busy." He's uncomfortable about keeping you locked in here, even if in some ways it is for your own safety.

"Thank you," You tell him warmly, "This is great. I've always been curious about…" You turn your head slightly as you read the title, "Hamiltonian mechanics, so this has really worked out."

"Like I said," Steve grimaces, "Not much of a selection."

—

Over the next few days you fall into a happy sort of rhythm. Meals are brought twice a day by either Steve or Natasha both of whom often linger, clarifying information about your time at HYDRA or to inquire further into your abilities. It isn't until the fourth day that this trend finally breaks. The footsteps behind your door are unfamiliar, and you sit up as the door slides open. You've never technically met the man on the other side of the door, but you had read all about him, and were currently wearing his pants: Tony Stark.

"I know, I know," He says as he walks in, a brown paper bag in one hand and a large paper cup in the other, "It's me. I know it can be overwhelming." He crosses the room and drops the greasy bag onto the bed in front of you. "It's McDonalds. You like Big Macs?"

"I've never had one," You peek in the bag and pull out the contents: a cardboard sleeve full of French fries and a box with a hulking burger inside.

"Mm," Stark takes a drag from the straw punched into the cup in his hand before holding it out to you, "Coke? That's for you too." You take it with a smile and take a drink. It's cold and sweet and refreshing, but it tastes nothing like you remember from the few times you had enjoyed it in your childhood.

"Thank you." You peel off one of your gloves before you pick up the sandwich and take a bite. "Oh, that's good," You nod, "Wow."

"Glad you like it. Tell me about your enhancements. Not the whole, feelings crap, but your physical enhancements."

"I'm strong, I'm fast," You shove the last of the burger in your mouth, chew, and swallow as you think it over. "I can hit a bullseye from two and a half miles without blinking an eye."

"Anything like Steve Rogers?"

"A lot, I imagine, like Steve Rogers." You take another sip of the coke and then start on the fries. They're a little salty for your tastes, but a far cry better than anything you had eaten during your time with HYDRA."

"What's up with the gloves?"

"Skin to skin contact amplifies my…other…abilities," You pop the last fry in your mouth, wipe your fingers on a napkin, and then pull your glove back on. "I prefer to avoid it, if at all possible."

"But even without that, you know what I'm feeling right now?"

You wondered if every member of the team was going to individually ask you for a demonstration. "You're annoyed."

"Huh," Stark nods, "That's true." He leans forward, looking you in your eyes, "And I'll tell you why: Steve Rogers has made his problems all of our problems. Namely, you. Did you know he's considering putting you on the team as sort of a probationary member? He wants to see if you can play well with others. He thinks you could be an asset.

You didn't know that, but you weren't altogether surprised. "And what do you think?"

"You tell me."

You give him a wry smile and pull your glove back off. "May I?" He holds his hand out and you gently touch your palm to his. "You're not opposed and think that if I can do anything to make sure Barnes doesn't go full Manchurian again then it's worth the risk. Manchurian?"

"Wow. That is some party trick," Stark pulls his hand away and then says, "It's a movie. God it's hard to talk to you dinosaurs. I mean, get with the program. You know what a movie is right?"

"Of course," You tell him, "I saw Der Müller und sein Kind in the theater when it came out. We didn't have color or sound back then, of course."

Stark stares at you for a moment, trying to decide if you're messing with him or not. He decides he doesn't particularly care either way. "All right, come on," He stands up, "Walk with me." You climb hesitatingly to your feet and Stark rolls his eyes, "Come on, I'm a busy person. Let's get a move on."

"Can I ask where we're going?" You ask once you're in the hallway.

"I think a tour of the facilities is past due," Stark says without stopping, "You're on the third floor, last door on the left, clearly. You're the only one in this wing right now, just in case you do turn out to be a raging psychopath. The second floor has community areas," He continues as you follow him into the elevator. It stops after a few seconds and the doors open. "Kitchen, training rooms, TV room," he points them out as you pass them without stopping, "Labs are underground; you won't have access to those areas for quite awhile, I'm afraid."

"You're letting me out of my room?"

"We're giving you some rope," Stark tells you, "Don't hang yourself with it."

"I'm not complaining. What about Barnes?"

"He still thinks you're going to systematically murder us all in our sleep and doesn't want you anywhere near him, but he's not going to kill you on sight," Stark pauses, "Hopefully."

"Assuring."

Stark ignores this. "We'll have to get you some clothes," he looks between his sweatpants and the tank top you had borrows from Natasha before he starts walking again, the opposite direction. You follow his abrupt turn and fall back into pace with him. When you reach the kitchen he stops again, "And this is where I leave you. Places to be, you know how it is. I assume you can find your own way back." Without another word he strides off, leaving you alone for the first time in the Avengers' Compound.

Naturally, the first thing you do with your newfound freedom is retreat back to your room. It wasn't that you were particularly scared of Barnes attacking you unprovoked, he really wasn't the type, but the thought of feeling the all consuming hatred he held for you wasn't a thrilling one. You did however, have a feeling, that your regular food deliveries would cease with your access to the kitchen.

Your hunch proves right when it's well past noon and no one has come to visit. Despite the late hour, you hadn't bothered to move from your bed. Instead you lay wrapped in your blanket, the last few hundred pages of War and Peace beneath your fingers as your eyes sweep over the lines of text. It was a dense read, but not quite as dense as the science textbooks and the romances were completely out of the question.

It's close to dinner time when a knock at your door breaks your concentration, and you frown as you press your finger to the paragraph you had been reading. A second later the door slides open and you look up. "You know, most people when they're told they can leave their cell, you know, leave." Natasha says from the doorway, arms folded, "You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

"How do you know I haven't left?" You ask, though you know the answer; you presence in the compound was being tracked somehow. You didn't need to see into Stark's mind to know that.

Natasha just gives you a look, "Come on, food first, and then you're going to spar with me. Gotta see what our new recruit is made out of." Her lips quirk up on the right side. You slip a your makeshift bookmark (a piece of tissue, taken from the bathroom) into the book and set it on top of the pile on your nightstand before climbing from the bed. Natasha eyes your rumpled sweats and the AC/DC shirt you had once again thrown on, "You know, if you give me a list I could pick you up some things. You're starting to look a little…vagabond."

"Well, if the shoe fits." Her eyes drift down to your bare feet and she raises an eyebrow, "It's metaphorical," You tell her, "Though I will probably need a pair of shoes at some point."

The kitchen is thankfully Barnes free when you arrive; in fact, it's just as empty as it was when Stark had given you the tour yesterday. "Help yourself to anything, the basics are always stocked. Bread, lunchmeat, pasta, soup, the works. If you want anything special you can tell me or Steve and we'll have it added to the order. At least until we get you set up with F.R.I.D.A.Y as an authorized user."

"You all seem pretty sure that I'm going to be sticking around for awhile," You rummage through the fridge for the lunchmeat you had been enjoying for the past few days.

"Yes," Natasha responds simply. You drop the bag of sliced meat onto the counter and pull two slices of bread from the bag.

"Why?"

"You owe a debt." The reasoning is simple enough, and not why your hand pauses as you assemble your sandwich. Behind her words came another thought: you have nowhere else to go. Underneath that you can feel her emotions swirling, understanding, pity, and pain. You realize as you let your mind wander to hers that while she didn't mean for those secondary emotions to come through, the thought was another of her tests.

Turning back to her, sandwich in hand, you nod. "Both of those things are true," You say carefully, "I guess you would know how it feels." You watch her expression as you speak, but besides a slight widening of the eyes her sly smile doesn't falter.

"I guess I do," She leans against the counter while you take a bite of your sandwich, "You're not trying to cover up your abilities."

Her abrupt change of topic is meant to shake you in an attempt to force honesty, but it has no effect; you know what she's doing. "You wanted me to respond to your thought," You tell her, "I wasn't lying when I said I try not to snoop, but when someone's practically shouting at me…" You trail off, earning another smile from her, "I am confused though, as to why you would I think I would try to hide them. I've been rather open and honest about what I can do—" Barnes. "Oh. Barnes."

"He said you would try to minimize what you can do so we wouldn't see you coming," Natasha says, her tone casual, "I gotta say, he hasn't been right about much so far."

Suddenly the last bite of your sandwich feels like lead in your mouth, and you struggle to swallow it down. "Yeah?" You force yourself to match her conversational tone, "What else has he said?"

"Oh, you know," She waves a hand, "The moment we gave you freedom you'd be in our computer banks downloading everything to HYDRA. That is of course if you hadn't already killed us all or wiped our memories and forced HYDRA's programming into us."

"Right," You nod, keeping your face neutral, Natasha's looking for a response and you're determined not to give her one, "Well, I'm sorry to be a disappointment." You give her a wry smile, but she's looking at your hands. You realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter behind you just in time for two large chunks of the countertop to give way beneath your fingers.

"I think you may need to blow off a little steam…" Natasha says lightly. She feels bad at having pushed you, but her regret pales in comparison to your own shame at your loss of control. "That, I can definitely help with. Leave the rock, and lets go." You take a deep breath, set the broken pieces of the counter top next to the sink, and follow Natasha out of the kitchen.

Training with Natasha did prove to be a nice release. You of course had her in brute strength and speed, but in a friendly spar where you weren't trying to kill each other, she made for a solid opponent. You found yourself impressed with her abilities, particularly since she had come upon them through training alone without any outside enhancements. As for Natasha, she laid a few feet away from you on the mat, considering how useful you could be to the team; you had impressed her as well. You could sense an eagerness from her, she was looking forward to telling Steve about the profile she had spent the afternoon building on you. You would've been offended, but you knew it wasn't the only reason she had sought you out that day. You could feel her respect for you as well, and underneath that something that, while not quite yet kinship, was headed in that direction.

"I'm starving," She says finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you as you recovered from the fight, "And I know you could definitely eat. Maybe something thats not stuck between two pieces of bread. I'll give you one more freebie, I make a mean lasagna."

"Lead the way."

Your shame comes flooding back the moment you step into the kitchen and Tony Stark is there, wiping down the newly fixed countertop. Your eyes trail over the various power tools surrounding the space and you swallow thickly.

"Nice to see you doing something around here," Natasha doesn't seemed fazed by him as she flits past him to the fridge, pulling out items seemingly at random.

"Can it, Red," Stark scowls, before turning to look at where you hover hesitantly in the doorway. "I take it this is your handiwork?"

"Guess I don't know my own strength," You mean it to come out cocky, you know Stark's more amused than anything about the damage, but it comes out in more of a weak mumble. You had told yourself as you made the decision to come here that no matter what happened with Barnes you wouldn't let it get to you. You knew he hated you long before you had once again come face to face with him; Natasha's words shouldn't have surprised you and they certainly shouldn't have hurt. But they did.

"Whoa, hey," Stark and Natasha are both looking at you now, "Are you doing something? Are you feeling that?" The last part is directed towards Natasha, who nods without looking away from you with wide eyes. It takes you a second to realize you're projecting your own emotions onto them. With all the force you can muster you slam down a mental block between you and your emotions, but not before you see a small tear slide down Stark's cheek.

"I didn't mean to do that," You tell them firmly, "I'm sorry. That shouldn't of happened."

"Hey guys, everything alright?" You jump at Steve's voice from behind you; your ungainly jerk would've been comedic if you hadn't already of been so stressed.

"Fine," Stark says absently, before shaking his head and clearing his throat. This time his voice resumes it's normal cadence. "Yeah, fine. Counter's all fixed, you're welcome, and all that."

Despite Stark's assurances, you can feel Steve's worry washing over you in waves. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Your voice sounds tight and does nothing to assure him. Natasha gives him a look you're not meant to catch, and although from this distance you can't hear her mind, Steve's is wide open and her intended meaning is clear; we'll talk later. "Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'm going to go lay down." Now both Steve and Natasha are looking at you with concern. "Rain check on the lasagna, okay?"

You don't wait for a response and instead head back down the hallway to the elevator. Once the door to your room is safely shut behind you your exterior crumbles; your hands, always so steady, begin to shake with uncontrollable tremors and you can feel your emotions spiraling within you. It was dangerous. Not for the first time you wonder if coming here was a mistake. Barnes was somewhere in this building, but he wanted nothing to do with you. You were concerned at this point that your presence here would be doing more harm than good, and not just for him.

Your fists clench in frustration; the thoughts swirling around your head weren't doing you any favors. You had to get this under control. Carefully, you lower yourself to the floor beside your bed, crossing your legs with a practiced motion. You relax your hands, tuck them into your lap, and let your eyes fall closed. Meditation was a skill that you had picked up even before your tenure at HYDRA. You had been an odd child who often gleaned things far beyond your years. You were empathetic to the extreme, often becoming emotional for no apparent reason. As a teenager you had taken up meditation as a way to block out all of the emotions and center yourself. Once HYDRA had finished it's experiments on you, it became even more important; strong emotions you felt were often felt by others. Meditation became a way to close off those emotions.

It couldn't have been an hour later that there was a knock at your door, breaking your concentration. It didn't matter though, you wouldn't be having any more emotional outbursts.

"Come in." Your voice sounds, calm, steady.

Steve pushes open the door with one hand. In his other is a covered dish, exuding an aroma that immediately leaves your mouth watering. "Hey, thought you might be hungry."

"You thought right," You tell him as you take the dish from him. From the pocket of his jeans he produces a napkin wrapped fork, which he hands over as well. "Thank you."

You wished the food was the extent of the kindness, but you know it's not true. He lowers himself to the ground a few feet in front of you and sits. "I take it you know I'm here to talk," You nod and he continues, "But it can wait, eat."

"I can eat and talk," You tell him, a nervous flutter in your stomach though if it's from you or him you can't tell.

"I talked to Natasha." Big surprise. "I think during one of our early conversations you may have lied to me."

"I didn't," You frown, "You asked me if I cared about him and I told you I owed a debt which is true." If he's surprised that you know exactly what he was talking about he doesn't show it, though you can tell your response has frustrated him.

"But that's not all." His mind moves from the broken countertop to how Natasha had described the feeling that had washed over her in the kitchen: I felt like my heart shattered, Steve.

You set the unopened container aside, your appetite once again dissipating. "I shouldn't have lost control like that. It won't happen again."

"That's not-" Steve lets out a heavy breath and shakes his head, "You're not the first person to break something around here, trust me. That's not what I'm worried about."

"How is he?" Your seemingly abrupt change of conversation startles him, he tries to hide his thoughts but it's no use. "Yeah, I figured. I should leave."

"What?" If your earlier statement had startled him, this one confuses him, "Leave?"

"I thought I could help him, but I see now..." Your stomach clenches uncomfortably, "It's not going to happen. I'm only making things worse by being here."

"And then what?" Steve snaps, and you're surprised by his sudden anger. He had a bit of a temper. "Go on the run? Find a job doing someone else's dirty work?"

"I don't know," Your response comes out heated, reflecting his emotional state, "But I refuse to cause him more pain."

Steve takes a deep breath and runs his palms down his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You didn't mean it," You assure him, and then you both let out an embarrassed laugh. After a moment of silence you begin to speak again. "I just don't want to take anything else away from him. You can tell him that I won't try and talk to him or even come near him for as long as he wants. He doesn't need to worry about that."

Your words sadden Steve, but he just gives you a nod. "I'll pass the message along." You give him a half-assed smile before you pick the container back up. Immediately the smell of the lasagna fills the room your appetite is back and bigger than ever. Your dinner companion has fallen silent as you tuck into the lasagna, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his mind. You make no attempt to focus in, so you just catch random tidbits all revolving around you and Bucky. He was worried that you weren't feeling comfortable here, which was touching, and worried that Bucky wouldn't come around and let you help him, which was probably true.

"You obviously don't want to force your presence on Bucky," Steve says carefully, "And I get the feeling that's not just for his sake." You don't say anything to this, letting Steve work out his thoughts, "But if you want to help him this stalemate can't last forever. He has to let you in." You set aside the empty food container as Steve runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know," He says finally, "I'll work on him. Try to convince him that you're here to help. That you're a friend."

Despite the overall hopelessness of the situation, his statement still warms you; you can feel the truth in each of his words: he trusts you. When you had come here you had worried that if Bucky Barnes didn't shoot you on the spot, that you would spend the rest of your life being traded between a cell and an interrogation room, but Steve hadn't let either of those things happen. He wanted you to feel at home here, and you were determined to not let that happen. If you couldn't convince Bucky you were on his side there was no way the two of you were going to be able to live together long term; one of you would have to go and it sure as hell would have to be you. You didn't want to get too attached to a place you would never be able to stay.

"Thank you, Steve," You tell him, sincerity ringing out in your tone, "You're a really good friend."