Phil stood outside the cell, calmly watching her through the glass. At Madame Carter's insistence they had finally managed to wrestle her into some decent sized clothing, though they had since had to replace her outfit with shorts and t-shirt after she kept ripping off the arms and legs of the sweats to scratch incessantly at her wrists and ankles. It seemed she currently had an aversion to anything tight being wrapped around those body parts – a trait they'd noticed after each cuff was torn off and discarded when a clean outfit was set down. He had been stood there some time just observing, hands clasped neatly behind his back holding her most recent psychological evaluation report. She was dozing fitfully, under the bed as usual, twitching and jerking occasionally though not enough to wake herself up. He had sighed as he read the report shortly after it landed on his desk. An extensive essay on her character and condition, page after page of tendencies, behaviours and triggers, summed up tidily in one damning little sentence. 'Damaged beyond repair'. A muffled scuffle came over the mic as she stuttered awake with one ragged gasp. He watched as she thrashed around trying to orientate herself, eventually grounding herself by clutching a bed post in each hand. He was amazed she had yet to smack her head on the thing considering how much time she spent under it. He had spent hours reading every one of her evaluation reports, absorbing every detail, noticing the ever-increasing tone of irritation that had been bleeding into each one. She was a waste of time. A waste of money. A waste of resources.
He watched as she exhaled and a single tear rolled down her cheek. A second and third followed shortly after before she seemed to realise and awkwardly wiped them away, her expression caught in a conflict between the horror of her body committing such a weakness and a fear that they would be seen and used against her. At this action he moved decisively towards the door, smoothly opened the cell and walked in towards her.
"Miss Romanova." He greeted.
She looked up and rose to her feet, still managing to look somewhat menacing in what were essentially pyjamas.
"Will you follow me please?" He asked politely, unfazed.
She stiffened, but eventually reluctantly nodded, aware of the repercussions of refusing.
"Thank you." Given with a small smile.
He turned and walked away, turning back when he was through the doorway to address her lack of movement. He seemed to determine her reluctance.
"Restraint will not be necessary Miss Romanova, please, follow me."
His soft assurance seemed to be acceptable and she padded out behind him, still tense and wary but at least alert and compliant.
Phil led her out of the detention wing, unceremoniously dropping the evaluation report into the nearest bin they passed. Progress was slow as she tensed up at every turn, presumably thinking she was being led to her death via the scenic route, but he eventually managed to coax her into his apartment. He wandered around his quarters, hanging up his jacket, emptying his pockets on to a side table, ignoring her for the most part but keeping her in his peripheral eyeline. She still looked decidedly nervous, though when he saw her tentatively scrunch her toes into the soft carpet and appear to like the sensation Phil felt his lips twitch into a small smile. He rummaged through his kitchen cupboards to pull out a number of items, as well as two glasses and a carton of juice which he laid neatly across the counter. It was a bold strategy he had in mind. Unorthodox and with the potential to backfire massively but as ever he was confident in his ability.
"Please. Come sit down. Would you like some juice?" He settled himself in at the counter and poured himself a glass, hand hovering over the second as he waited for her answer.
Natalia looked at him like he had lost his mind. Her thoughts were confirmed when he simply smiled at her and shook the container a little. This was certainly a much more pleasant version of the death she had visualised for herself, so in an effort to make the most of it gave a small nod. He nodded back and filled her glass, nudging it towards the stool opposite him. Gaining in confidence she slipped up on to the stool and drank from the glass, relishing the change from the tepid water she had been subsisting on for weeks. Whilst they drank they regarded each other. Both were highly skilled operatives, easily able to shift and adapt as the moment dictated. Where Natalia's presence was obvious, her dangerous energy practically humming and fizzing, barely contained beneath the surface – a weapon always cocked, Phil's was more covert, internal, manifesting itself as a calm which radiated through anyone who stood near him, commanding a sense of order and control in every situation, quickly propelling him through the ranks in spite of his young age.
Deciding to push forward with his plan he broke the silence. "Do you bake?" He asked.
Natalia coughed on her juice.
"I like to bake." He said, rolling up his sleeves. "I thought I'd bake some cookies and wondered if you would like to help?" He gestured over the laid out ingredients.
She slowly set her glass down and looked at him incredulously. She was a killer. A weapon to be wielded, a tool to be used. Trained almost from birth to be without feeling or free will and yet here was a man willingly sharing his personal space with her, seemingly unaffected by all that he had read about her and witnessed first hand. Phil watched her blink slowly as she came to a decision.
"Okay. I've never baked anything before though." It came out as uncertainty blended with a child-like curiosity that Phil didn't think was intentional.
Smiling, he placed a measuring cup, bowl, spoon, butter and sugar before her.
"One cup each of the butter and sugar and mix together."
The concise order and steady tone in which it was delivered appear to spark something in her and she moved to pick up the supplies before she had even realised what she was doing. Phil saw it and also noticed how much steadier his guidance seemed to be making her and resolved to try and keep her on this even keel.
"Like this?" She asked after a short while, tipping the bowl towards him and he moved over from where he had been sorting the oven.
"Perfect. Now you need to add one egg and a teaspoon of vanilla." At his praise her lips twitched in what he thought was a smile. "When you're done, three cups of flour and two teaspoons of baking powder."
He could tell she was unsure about the whole exercise, her posture only slightly less rigid than it usually was. As confident as he was about his ability and his plan, it was working better than he had hoped. Their newest asset, the one who only a few weeks ago had decimated their ranks, smashed through their cell block and required almost constant sedation was sitting quietly at his kitchen counter, in reach of at least half a dozen sharp knives, successfully following basic instructions.
"Do you have a favourite dessert?" He opened.
She paused her mixing for a moment, looking for a motive.
"It's not a trick Miss Romanova, just conversation." He answered casually, reading her expression.
"I had these pancakes in Tokyo, sometime in the seventies I think. I'd like to have them again." The admission slipped out with a tiny flutter. Liking and Wanting were still relatively new concepts and she found herself caught unawares whenever the feeling snuck up on her.
"What's yours?" She asked quietly, though she quickly averted her eyes when he looked at her with pleasant surprise.
"Eton Mess. I'm a sucker for berries. All done?"
She held the bowl out for inspection.
"Good. Well done. Roll out the dough and cut out circles using this."
"How many?" She asked.
He filed this away for later. It wasn't much, but her desire to be inquisitive and gain information, even in this mundane and artificial set-up was working in her favour. It also demonstrated to him that she required specificity, and if that was what was currently keeping her focused and able to follow instructions given by a new superior, he was happy to oblige.
"As many as you can fit. Then ball up the excess, roll and go again until you can't get anymore."
She nodded once and began. Fractured was the word he read on her first evaluation.
She didn't say a word whilst the cookies were baking but Phil was content to let her be whilst he tidied up. In a display of trust he let her wander and she seemed perfectly fine padding around on the carpet looking at his books. He didn't think for a second that she was relaxed but she looked noticeably less like she was going to her death than when she first entered.
"And now," he told her, moving back to sit at the counter over the cooled cookies, "we decorate them." He set out several tubes of pre-made coloured icing before her.
"What do I do?" Natalia asked, eyeing up the choices.
"Anything you like." He answered simply. He knew that whatever was running through her head right now would be complicated, but if she was going to be offered a chance at SHIELD she would need to demonstrate she was capable of autonomy.
The look he received was blank and unsure, bordering on insecure and panicked.
"Perhaps a pattern?" He offered by way of assistance, calming her before the panic had chance to manifest as an angry outburst. "Maybe a face or an animal, whatever you fancy."
He could see she wasn't convinced but knew she wouldn't back down from the task. They began quietly, Natalia dipping in slowly and cautiously, choosing her icing with precision. Phil watched as she completed the first couple, holding back a smile when he saw her tongue poke out in concentration.
"I was given some sweets by a woman at the market once on an exercise when I was really young." Natalia said after a while, not looking up. "Bonbons, maybe, I can't remember. Playing along my handler let me eat them. We weren't allowed sugar. By the time we got back to the compound I was bouncing off the walls." She laughed very quietly and looked bashful.
"Sounds like me on M&Ms." Phil admitted, laughing along with her. "What do think?" He asked, holding up his final cookie – an icing likeness of Nick Fury.
"It looks just like him." She answered, genuinely. "What about mine?" She continued, with slightly more conviction than earlier, holding up a SHIELD eagle.
"It's great." Phil praised. "We can move you on to those pancakes next time." He let the sentence hang in the air, knowing she knew the conditions of his offer.
When she was safely back in her cell Phil handed her a container of half their cookies, an assortment of Captain America shields, Black Widow hourglasses, patterns and the imitation Fury.
"Thank you for your company Miss Romanova. Please don't use the box as a weapon." He had mostly meant it as a joke but when he saw her shuffle slightly he realised she'd been thinking exactly that. He just sighed and walked out, having to hope and trust that she wouldn't. Back in his office he penned a short note to the Director. Damaged but repairable.