Chapter 39

Her cell wasn't half bad, if she could ignore the transparent wall that made her feel like an animal on display in a zoo. The bed was comfortable with soft blankets. The meals were on par with the food from the cafeteria at the SHIELD compound. Clean clothes were delivered daily for her to change into after her supervised shower. The cell directly across from her was empty and she hadn't seen movement in the ones to either side of it. Nor had she heard anyone around her. The cell block was eerily quiet 24/7.

Because she had been unconscious when she had been transported, she had no idea where she was. She assumed she was on the Raft because these cells didn't look like anything a regular prison would have.

The first week she mostly slept and healed. Her broken hand had required surgery and several pins to put back together; now it was encased in a hard cast. The bruises around her neck were starting to fade along with the other bumps, bruises, and cuts she sustained that last day at the Hydra facility.

She still woke up some nights shaking in terror and grateful for the dim light that filled the cell. Dr. Bennet had prescribed something to help, but so far Frankie had refused to take it; preferring to deal with her nightmares head on. The doctor didn't approve but didn't push the issue.

Boredom began to set in the second week. With nothing but time on her hand and nothing to distract herself with, all Frankie could do was reflect upon her actions. Which was probably the point, she thought crossly. By her reconning, she was on the raft and she would probably never see the sun again. She didn't rage against her incarceration. Instead she acknowledged to herself that she deserved everything she had coming. She had played with fire and got burned.

At what point had she become the bad guy? Was it when she took her anger out on Hawkeye? Or had it started before that? She had stopped living her life the moment Rory disappeared under the pile of rubble, but even before that she had allowed her circumstances to dictate who she was instead of who she could be. Her entire life had been a waste from the start with and letting the anger of Rory's supposed death take over had just been the icing on the cake.

In the middle of her third week, at least she thought it was her third week since there was nothing to gage the passing of days besides the dimming of lights at 'night,' she had a visitor.

"Ms. Cabrini, you have certainly outdone yourself this time," Director Fury said from the other side of the clear wall.

She sat up on her bed, "yeah, I have mastered fucking up. Any suggestions on what skill I should work on next? I was thinking psychotic, but I can't decide between giggling lunatic or frothing nutter."

Fury snorted, "I would say sarcastic bitch, but you seem to have that one down pat."

"That was the first one I mastered back in the Catholic orphanage."

"So, it seems."

The two regarded each other for a moment, Frankie guardedly and Fury speculatively.

"Let me ask you something," he broke the silence, then continued without waiting on her response. "One of the Hydra techs told us you figured out the data you were getting from us was fake. Is that true?"

She nodded, "It took me a couple of days of listening, but, yeah, I figured it out."

"How?"

Frankie started explaining, but Fury held up his hand before she got too far, "never mind. I don't really care how you did it. I'll let you explain it to our techs," he paused. "If you're willing to do that."

She shrugged, "why not? It's not as if my days are that busy."

"Maybe we can change that."

That got her attention. "How?"

He smiled that infuriating smile and replied, "we'll see."

Then he turned to leave.

Frankie jumped up and ran to the wall, "wait! You can't just say something like that then leave me hanging!"

He turned to look at her, "I can't?"

Frankie watched until he was out of her line of sight then went back to her cot and sat down with a huff.

"Asshole."


Two days later, she was escorted from the cell to a room with two SHEILD techs that she didn't recognize. They regarded as if she was snake that they were being forced to handle, but as she began to explain how she noticed something was off about the audio files, they quickly forgot their reluctance. At one point, a recorder was brought in and she was asked to point out some of the things she had picked up on.

The next day, she was back in the room, but this time there was audio equipment set up. The techs asked her to listen to some conversations and give them her opinion on them. After an hour of listening, she took off the headphones.

"The first three are fake, but the last one was real," she announced.

The younger tech, Gerald, deflated at her answer while Dave grinned triumphantly.

"What?" Frankie asked.

"We had a bet," Dave told her. "I bet on you. Gerald didn't."

She made a tutting sound, "bad choice, Gerald."

"I thought you were full of shit," he muttered.

"I am," she grinned, "but not about this."


The next day, Fury was back at her cell.

"I hear you have some serious skills," he stated without preamble.

"Growing up on the streets, you have to, or you don't survive."

"Oh, I think you have more going for you than just the average homeless person."

"Well, it didn't do me a lot of good, did it? I'm still locked up in here," she spread her arms to indicate the cell.

"If you could go back and change anything, would you?"

"That's a stupid question," she snorted. "Of course, I would." She sighed, "Look, I know I screwed up. That I let what happened to Rory eat me up inside and twist me into something bad. But honestly, it wouldn't have been able to do that if I hadn't let it happen. I've wasted so much time just blindly shooting at shadows instead of focusing on what was really going on around me. But I'm not going to blame my actions on a rotten childhood if that's what you're looking for."

"What would you do if you got a second chance?"

She didn't know how to answer and just shrugged.

"Surely, you've given it some thought over the past two weeks?"

"I have a lot of shit to make up for, if that's what you're asking."

"Would you?"

"At this point? Yeah, I think I need to." She cocked her head and looked at him appraisingly, "why don't you get to the point?"

"No," he answered with a sly grin. "I don't think you're ready yet."

"Ready for what?" she asked.

As he walked away without another word, she beat on the wall and yelled, "ready for what?"

After he left, Frankie paced back and forth in her cell. What would she do if she suddenly found herself free? Could she go back to her life as it was before she stabbed Clint? Would she even want to go back? She certainly couldn't be an exotic dancer anymore with all her scars.

If she didn't want to go back to her old life, what would she do instead? Without a high school diploma, all the skills in the world wouldn't help her. Maybe she could get her GED. She wondered if they would let her do that while incarcerated. It would help pass the time at the very least. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

After that, then it would depend if she ever got out of here.


Frankie sat cross-legged on her bed with a high school science book open in front of her and a note pad balanced on her knee as she took notes. On the floor by the bed were more books: English, social studies, Mathematics, algebra, geography, US history, and world history. On top of the stack were two soft cover books: So, You're Ready to Get Your GED and GED for Dummies. They had been delivered to her the week after she asked about getting her GED, and she had enthusiastically dived right into them. After nothing to occupy herself with for several weeks, she was thrilled to have something to do.

Having not been in school since she was in her early teens, she was shocked at how much she knew just from day to day living and how big the gaps in her knowledge base were. For instance, she could easily pick out the all the state capitals from a list and locate the states on a map, but she had no idea what the border states were before the civil war and why they were important. She knew all about groupthink and other group dynamics but couldn't name but a couple parts of the human brain.

Social studies were her favorite, followed closely by history. She enjoyed the logic of mathematics and couldn't wait to get into algebra. English and geography bored the crap out of her, but she tried to treat them equally with the subjects she liked.

She was on the chapter about genetics and was so engrossed that she didn't hear the door to the cell block open and close. When Clint cleared his throat, she jumped in surprise.

"I see you're making good use of your time in here," he commented.

"There's nothing else to do, so I might as well educate myself," she shrugged, setting the book and notepad aside and standing.

"What are you studying?"

"Right now? Science," she answered.

"Enjoying it?"

"For the most part, but I can't understand why some of it's important to know. I mean, why do teenagers need to know that mitochondria are the powerhouses of the cells? Shouldn't they be learning things like how to make a budget, what a credit score is, or how not to die your first time on the subway?"

"Maybe they assume the parents are teaching the kids that?"

"Hell, Clint, most parents are too busy working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table to have time for that."

"You have a point," he conceded.

"Of course, I do," she replied smugly.

"You look better than the last time I saw you," he changed the subject.

"I hope so. Last time, I had almost been choked to death and was being chased in the dark by a madman," she smiled.

He smiled back, "yeah, I read your statement. You weren't kidding when you said you'd had a bad day."

"Meh, I've had worse." She was thinking about her last day in the prison. "How's the family?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Better. Believe it or not, I took your advice."

"Oh? Which advice was that?"

"That they were still my family and if I wanted to keep it that way, I needed to work for it," he answered with a smile. "We're still working things out, but at least we're talking."

"Good for you," she told him, meaning it.

"How about you?"

"What?"

"You've been in here for a while. Are you still beating yourself up over Rory?"

She shook her head, "no. I knew at the end that there wasn't anything I could do to save him."

"It still must have been hard for you to, you know…," he let the sentence hang.

"Kill him?" she finished without flinching. "It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, except walk away from the accident that day. But he was going to kill me and then kill a lot more people. I couldn't let that happen."

"Couldn't?" he shook his head. "Careful, you're starting to sound like an Avenger."

She snorted, "yeah, right. Like I'm Avenger material. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel with me."

"You don't really think that, do you?"

"Yes, I do. I'm a complete fuck up. I've been deluding myself for months, thinking that I was in it to save Rory, overlooking the fact that I had become the bad guy somewhere along the way. No," she corrected herself, "I know exactly when it happened." She stepped up to the wall and looked him in the eyes, "I'm sorry I stabbed you."

"You know, not all of the Avengers were on par with Steve Rogers. Almost all of us have our skeletons. I'm no different. I'm sorry about my actions that night."

They stood silently, sharing their pain and remorse.

"Would you like to get out of there?" Clint was the first to break the moment.

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

He grinned, "I'll take that as a yes."

"You bet your sweet, green spandex-covered ass it's a yes!" She was bouncing on her toes with excitement.

"They're not spandex. They're made from a synthesized poly…,"

"I don't care if they're spray painted on," she cut him off. "Just get me out of here!"

He gave her a stern look before punching in a code on the keypad outside her cell. The nearly invisible door to the cell slid open soundlessly. Clint stood aside to allow her to exit. Her cell was one of six in a circular room, and it was the only one occupied.

"When am I going to get some company in here?" she asked, following him to the exit.

"I don't know. It's not my call."

They went through the exit, then down a short corridor with a small control room to the left. Today it was manned by a single agent who was leaning back in her chair, reading something on her cell phone. Across from it was a door that she assumed went to the interrogation room.

"Love the security you guys have here," she remarked.

"Well, despite your history, you haven't been a lot of trouble these last four months."

She stopped. "I've been in here two months?"

"Four months tomorrow," he confirmed.

"Damn."

"What?"

"It feels like I've been here for a lot longer."

"Nope."

"Is it always going to be like this?" she asked softly.

He stopped and came back to her, "like what?"

She shook her head, not answering.

"Tell me," he urged.

"I don't know if I'm going to make it. Locked up here, hell and gone from the world. Not doing anything or talking to anyone day in and day out."

He nodded his understanding and draped his arm over her shoulders, "come on. This might make you feel better."

Past the corridor with the control room was a vestibule that had one door. Stairs going up were on the other side. They went up two flights, before they ended at another door and vestibule. Clint keyed in a code on the pad by the door then pushed it open.

Frankie blinked against the bright light, unable to see anything at first. As her eyes adjusted, she gasped. Spread out before her was a bare field surrounded by various buildings.

They were on the SHIELD campus.

She started giggling, then broke out into laughter. Clint grinned at her.

"I've been here the entire time?" she asked when she caught her breath.

"Yeah," he answered. "You didn't think you were on the Raft, did you?"

She flushed with embarrassment, "well, yeah, I kind of did."

This time he laughed, and she flushed even more. "What's so funny?"

"The Raft is for the truly dangerous prisoners."

"I'm dangerous," she glowered at him. "I stabbed you and killed the leader of a Hydra cell."

He sobered up slightly, but still grinned, "yeah, you did."

"I am dangerous," she insisted.

"Keep telling yourself that," he clapped her on the back and started towards the main building making her hurry to catch up. When he wasn't looking, she grinned.

Clint escorted her to Fury's office and took a seat beside her.

The director regarded her for a moment.

"Can I ask a couple of question?" she asked, looking back and forth at the two men.

"Go ahead," Fury answered.

"Is there going to be a trial? Or is this a Guantanamo type of thing?"

"What makes you think it would be that?"

"Well, I haven't been read my rights or offered a lawyer yet. I don't even know what the charges are against me."

"What if it is a Guantanamo type of thing?" Fury asked.

"Well, there's not a lot I can do about it, is there? Except for asking how long I'll be held." She had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Well," said Fury, leaning back in his chair, "if this is a Guantanamo thing, then I would be the one to decide, and I would have to say that you'll be held until I'm sure you're no longer a threat to the world."

Frankie closed her eyes, "that's kind of what I figured."

"Have you had time to think about my question?" Fury asked her.

"What question?"

"What would you do if you got a second chance?"

"Oh, that question." She chewed the inside of her cheek, "yes, I've thought about it."

"And?"

"I still don't have a good answer for you," she told him. "I know I don't want to go back to my old life, if that's what you're wondering."

When he remained silent, she continued, "I know I want to get my GED so that I have more options. Maybe even go to college. I think something in linguistics or maybe psychology would be a good fit for me. If it's possible, I'd like the chance to pursue it while I'm incarcerated."

"You would?"

"If possible."

"Oh, anything is possible."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Clint frown at his boss. What the hell was going on?

"What would you say if I offered you a job instead?"

She jerked her head back towards Fury, "excuse me?"

"You figured out fake audio files produced by one of the most sophisticated computer systems on earth. From what I've gathered, you have some field ops skills too. Why don't you use them for something good for a change?"

"You're making an awful big assumption," she replied.

"And that is?"

"That I agree that you're the good guys."

Silence met her statement.

"I thought we were past that," Clint said.

"Oh, no. I agree you're not the bad guys now," she clarified. "I'm still not sure if you're the good guys. But now I know that Hydra is the bad guy, so that in your favor."

"Do you actually believe the world is so black and white?" Fury asked.

"No, but that's how you phrased it, not me."

"No," Fury said, "I said do some good, not that we're the good guys."

"So, you admit that you're not pure as the driven snow?"

"Steve Rogers was the closest we ever got to that, and even he broke the rules from time to time."

"I know," she smiled. "I read his biography."

"What did you think?"

"I didn't understand what he was getting at when I first read it, but I do now. There is evil in the world and we have the duty to take a stand against it even if we are not perfect ourselves."

"So, will you work for SHIELD?"

"Absolutely," she looked at Clint and grinned, "but don't expect me to run around in spandex."

Fury chuckled.