Author's Note: This chapter title comes from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

Chapter Eight - All a dream (that ends in nothing)

When the lights buzzed on, Danielle whimpered and shuffled further back under the bed. With a sniffle, she rubbed at her burning eyes and then curled in on herself again. She heard the door click and then open and she screwed her eyes shut tightly. "Go away," she begged.

There was no answer, but she heard footsteps. Danielle forced herself to look and she watched as the dress shoes stopped a couple feet away. "Well, look at your amazing work, my dear." A hand reached down and picked up some of the scattered papers. "Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful." He chuckled. "Five minutes, then. Then I'll come back for your list of materials. After all, we wouldn't want to have another lesson on obedience, would we?" The shoes left and the door clicked closed.

She heaved a hot, shaky sigh and crawled out from under the bed. Danielle struggled to her feet and glanced at the notepad and new pencil left on the bed. She picked them up with shaking hands and glanced at her notes as she began to write out her list. She was finishing the last bullet point when the door opened.

"Done?"

She caught her breath and hated the way her hands immediately began to shake. "Yes," she mumbled. She turned and thrust the notepad at him. "There's, it, um, there has to be a proper anchoring system before I can attach a full arm. Otherwise, um—" She cut herself off, diving for the ground to gather up her notes for the anchoring system. She dropped those in his hands as well and quickly backed away. "I can build the arm, but I can't attach it until that's done."

"Good." He glanced over his shoulder and passed the pad and papers off to a guard. "Take those to Bowden and have him get started on creating and attaching the anchor." Pierce turned back to her and eyed her for a long moment. Then he smiled something chillingly warm again. "Freshen up. There's a change of clothes in your bathroom. Breakfast will be delivered shortly and then you'll be taken to start on the arm." He stepped out and slammed the door.

Now that he had mentioned it, she was painfully aware of the gnaw in her stomach and the fact that she hadn't been fed the day before. Had it been a full day? It felt like far longer than that. Danielle limped into the stall, joints aching from sleeping on the floor. She fumbled through the cabinet for a new set of clothes and stripped out of the old ones, which were stained with sweat and tears.

Danielle started the shower and ducked inside, shivering when the cold water hit her skin. She squeaked in surprise and struggled with the knob to turn it all the way to the heat. The ice cold water continued to beat against her. She squirted some of the soap into her hair and across her body and scrubbed it in. The entire time she rinsed herself off, she kept shuddering.

She stepped out and rubbed herself down with the rough towel until her skin was red and sore. As she stepped into her new clothing, she heard the door open and froze. When she heard it close, she finished pulling on her shirt and peeked out. The room was empty, but now a tray sat on her bed. Danielle shuffled out and rubbed her nose.

The gruel was cold, the eggs were rubbery, and the bacon was burnt, but she didn't care because her stomach seemed to be trying to eat itself with how hungry she was. Danielle polished the entire meal off and was licking the few last spots out of the bowl when the door opened again. The guard turned his face to her, completely hidden behind his helmet. "I'm to take you to your lab."

"Um, okay," she mumbled. She surged to her feet and scrambled about to gather up her notes. Clutching them to her chest like they were her lifeline, she moved over to him. He stepped outside the door and began leading her down the hallway. The guard outside came up behind her and she glanced back, shuddering at the tight grip he had on his baton.

"Here." The first guard opened a door and motioned her inside.

She had all these images in her mind of what a lab in the base of an evil, secret organization might look like, but they all were dismissed when she stepped in and found herself standing in . . . a very clean, white room that looked almost exactly like a smaller version of her workshop. The door closed and she looked back to find the two guards had stationed themselves silently on either side of the door.

Licking her lips, Danielle headed for the workbench and glanced across the boxes there that were labeled as the materials she needed. Taking a deep breath, she spread out her papers and got ready to follow Pierce's demands.

"Let's go."

Danielle jumped, welding torch flickering off. She looked up and lifted her mask. "What?"

Pierce raised one eyebrow. "You're hardly here because we wanted a new arm for the Asset. The loss of his arm was just a . . . casualty of getting you. No, you're going to become everything he couldn't be. You'll be better." He smiled. "After all, I just want your help."

It wasn't hard to breathe just because of the collar anymore. "No," she rasped out. "I won't."

He sighed. "My dear, we've been over this. You understand the things that happen when you don't do what I ask, don't you?"

"I'm fixing his arm. But beyond that, I won't do a damn thing for you," she snarled. "Because eventually, my dad will get here and he'll kick your ass."

"Oh?" He looked almost sad. "You don't know, do you? Your father can't exactly go anywhere." With a heavy sigh, he reached in his pocket and moved forward. As he reached her, he withdrew a folded piece of paper and held it out to her.

She eyed him and took what looked like a folded newspaper page. She flattened it out on the table. The headline read Mandarin Attack: Tony Stark Dead.

Danielle looked up sharply. "You're lying," she rasped. "This is fake."

"Hardly. And the Avengers certainly won't be coming for you either. After all, they're too busy dealing with the Mandarin." He smiled. "I'll give you another chance. Come with me; it's time for you to train."

She met his gaze, her hands shaking. "No."

"Very well." He nodded to the guards and they moved forward. Danielle stumbled away, but it was of no use because they easily grabbed her and dragged her away from her workbench. She tried to scream, but a heavy hand clapped down over her face. She gasped uselessly, nose and mouth both covering and obstructing her ability to breathe. They dragged her down the hall and most of her vision was obscured by black spots by the time she heard a door slam behind them.

And then hands were pulling at her shirt and Danielle felt fear and humiliation stirring in her gut as she struggled, and failed, to fight back. Her chest was stripped bare and she folded her arms across her front in an attempt to cover herself. That attempt was stopped when they jerked her hands away and cuffs clicked around her wrists again. Those hands dragged her forward and locked the cuff's chains into a high hook on the wall, stretching her arms above her head in a way they weren't meant to be.

The guards moved away and Danielle strained to look at where they were going, but the ache in her shoulders got worse at that and twisted painfully against her collar and she whimpered in the half second it took her to stop moving. She opened her mouth to demand to know what was going on, but she was interrupted by a loud crack and the feeling of the skin on her back splitting apart. Her words turned into a scream.

Two more cracks and two more feelings of her skin coming apart and white-hot pain burning down her back and dripping into the rest of her body. She wasn't sure when she'd started crying, but the sobs scratched at her throat as the fourth blow came. She tried to lean her head forward against the wall but it twisted her shoulders and her destroyed back and she let out another shriek.

Something loud slammed and Danielle flinched, but no blow came. She held her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting. But there was nothing except the already existing pain and the feeling of her blood dripping down her back and soaking into the waist of her sweatpants.

"H-hello?" she called brokenly. The word echoed in the room but there wasn't an answer.

"P-p-please, someone. L-let me down."

Her shoulders ached from the pull and every time she shifted on her feet, white pain shot through her vision and she lost the ability to breathe.

"Please. Anyone."

Danielle finished the arm the next day, driven by pure desperation and the sting of the scabbing wounds that stung against her shirt. When Pierce came to check, he simply glanced at the arm and nodded, satisfied. "The anchor is in. You'll put this in first thing tomorrow. For now, you'll retire to your room. Dinner has already been delivered."

"And my dad? Have they found him yet?"

"My dear, your father is dead."

"No," she said stiffly. "He's not. He wouldn't— Dad didn't die. You're lying."

He sighed heavily. "I really don't have time for your delusion right now." He nodded to the guards. "It's time for you to return to your room."

The guards approached her and she stumbled back. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I won't—"

Pain arced through her body and someone started screaming—Danielle was vaguely aware that it was her—as her knees gave out and she fell to the ground. She arched her back in an attempt to get away from the pain, but the stinging just continued to crawl from her neck to the rest of her body without fail.

And then it stopped.

Danielle collapsed forward, coughing at the blood trickling down her raw throat. She hacked up a sob. "Wh-what was that?" she whimpered, struggling to look up.

Through her blurry, teary vision, she could see the small remote he was holding, thumb pressed against the dial. "That collar isn't just for show, my dear. Back to your room."

She couldn't move, but it seems that she didn't need to because strong hands grabbed her upper arms and dragged her away. She lost time, because the next thing she knew she was face down on the familiar concrete of her room as the door slammed behind her.

Dead, dead, dead. Her father was dead. Her father was dead and she was alone because he wasn't coming for her. He was dead and the Avengers were left to clean up in the aftermath and there was no way she was priority and she'd just have to wait until she made it to the top of the to do list.

He was dead.

The ache in her chest made her wish that she was too.

Her hands shook and it was hard to focus when most of her energy was going towards avoiding looking up at her patient. Danielle took a deep breath to steady herself before she connected a nerve and wire. She cleared her throat. "Try to move your index finger," she rasped.

She didn't get a verbal response. Danielle watched his finger and it didn't move. Steeling herself, she looked up and met those ice eyes. "Did you try?"

He nodded.

"Alright." She hunched back over his arm and unconnected that wire, moving it. "Try again."

His index finger twitched and Danielle quickly moved on. She was all too aware of the guards close by and the way Pierce was practically breathing down her neck. She connected the last few wires and then slid the arm into lock in the anchor. She fumbled for a moment to pick up the screwdriver, but then she managed to secure the arm and anchor. Danielle pushed herself back, wheeled chair moving at the action.

"Done?"

She glanced to the side at Pierce and her collar pulled at her neck as she turned. "Yeah," she mumbled. "It's done."

Pierce's gaze shifted to the man in the chair. "Asset," he said coldly. "Move your arm. And all five fingers. Test your wrist."

Obediently, he lifted his arm and twisted it side to side while folding and unfolding his fingers in a fist. He turned his wrist. Pierce smiled. "Excellent job. What a good girl." He rested his hand on her shoulder and drew gentle circles with his thumb. "You will do great things, my dear." He nodded to the guards. "Take him back to cryo. Danielle and I have some training to start."

"Wait, what?" Danielle asked, watching as guards moved forward. The man—the impossible, supposed to be dead, man—got to his feet and numbly followed them towards the door. "Cyro? Wh-what do you mean cryo?"

"Well, we can't have him awake and kicking when we don't need him, can we?" Pierce's arm dropped to her bicep and he gripped her tightly. "Let's go."

"What? No." She pulled back. "I won't— I'm not— You won't turn me into whatever it is you're looking for. I will not—"

The spurt of burning electricity only lasted a split second, but her scream lasted longer. Danielle sagged in his arms, knees shaking. "Shh," Pierce said softly. "I'm sorry, my dear. It looks like you need a little more persuasion." He slid his arm around her waist and she couldn't do anything but blindly stumble after him as he murmured encouragement to her.

Her vision was beginning to come back to her as he helped her down to the ground. She squinted through the haze up at him. Pierce smiled and then something black slipped over her vision, cloth pressing against her eyes. "Wh-what's that?" she rasped.

"Shh, my dear. It's just time for you to take a little time-out and think about your decision, alright?" Something pressed around her ears and she lost sound immediately. It was replaced by pressure and the feeling in her eardrums from when a plane first took off. Whatever it was locked smoothly under her chin.

Danielle reached up for the coverings but her wrists were caught and pulled behind her. She felt metal curling around her wrists tightly—too tight—but she couldn't hear the familiar click. She pulled her wrists apart and just got the bite of metal into her skin in return.

"Hello?" she called. And oh, god, she couldn't hear herself. "Wh-what are you doing to me?"

The cool air burned against her skin and Danielle shivered, focusing in on the one feeling she had: touch. Then she stilled.

"No, no, no, please!" she begged, deaf to her own words. "Please don't!"

She'd heard about what sensory deprivation could do to people over long periods of time. The complete loss of self and mind and god, she didn't want to lose either of those things. She had to focus. She had to remember why she needed to get through this with herself in tact.

"Dad," she mumbled. Because he was dead but he would want her to get through this. "Bacon." Because how could she leave her cat alone? "Rhodey." Because he was her godfather, and with Tony gone that meant that he was the closest thing to family she had left. "Pepper." Pepper had promised that they would figure it out. She had promised that it would all be okay.

"Dad. Bacon. Rhodey. Pepper. Please, please. I'm sorry. I just wanna go home."