Peter took a shuddering breath, placing his palms on the cool tile. The dot was gone now, a part of his mind crooning 'it's fine, it was never there, ignore it.'
That scared him.
"You alright in there?"
The woman called out, her voice echoing slightly throughout the showers.
"I'm fine."
He called back, ducking his head and letting the water pour over his shoulders. Alright, assess the situation.
He'd been there for...a longer time than he anticipated. Enough time for them to stick him with needles and ask how much he remembered.
She knew his name, though he did not recall telling her.
Something was wrong with his memory.
He had spoken to them, given them information.
How much did they know?
Why was he still in a cell, treated like a low-security prisoner, asking about his memories?
Were they wiping them on purpose? What else didn't he remember?
Since when did SHIELD do this kind of crap?
Peter wracked his brains, trying to find any unusual gaps in memory.
Then again, how would one find something missing, if they couldn't recall it existing in the first place?
He scrubbed at his face.
Alright, even if he didn't remember what he told them, surely he would have said something about needing to get back home. They would not be treating him so casually if they didn't trust him somewhat.
What if his entire adult life were false memories...if he had no home to return to.
What if he was remembering a lie?
His stomach heaved, and he collapsed down, retching into the drain as his gut roiled unhappily.
The quick patter of footsteps approached his stall.
"Don't come in!" He called out, voice cracking.
He spat into the drain with a quiet mutter.
"I'm okay."
No, he remembered too much, too clearly. He was an adult, in a child's body. This new life was the strange thing, not his past.
"Would you like to forego lunch, and go back to bed?"
More sleep sounded wonderful.
"Yeah... can I have a towel?"
"There's one hanging outside the curtain."
"...right. Thanks."
Peter pulled himself up again, batting some water at his knees to rinse off any gross spatter that may have happened.
He peeked outside, tucking the curtain close around him. He could see the lady's shoulder and the back of her head, down the hall.
A-something, right? Ali...Alissa...Amber? He couldn't remember.
He looked around for a change of clothes, and found some folded up on the edge of the sink.
The curtain caught his eye, cream vinyl attached to a rod by clear plastic circles. He glanced at the lady again, sticking his hand to the tiles.
Hoisting his weight up, Peter swiped one of the rings on the end, making sure the curtain was folded up and pressed against the wall on that side.
He hopped into the pants, wriggling on the shirt that seemed tighter now that there was water to leave it clinging to him. He looped the sweatpants string around the plastic hoop he had stolen, tucking it inside his pants. Honestly, he had no idea how he'd use it, but he was sure he'd find some way.
The towel was draped around his shoulders, and he fiddled with it while walking up to the lady.
"Sleep sounds nice."
She jumped slightly, apparently not having heard him approach.
A wane smile, and she ushered him back down the hall.
"Leave your towel in the hamper."
He paused, looking up at her. She gestured to the plastic bin he had mistaken as an extra trash can. In the towel went.
His fists were jammed into his pockets, shoulders hunched as they walked. He felt more vulnerable, now that the fear had started setting in.
Trapped.
"What's for lunch?"
She lifted her clipboard, and flipped the pages. He could see the top page, from where it was dangling upside-down.
Project Spider.
10 years, Brunette, 4'1", Brown eyes. Obtained March 15, 2012.
"Spaghetti and meat sauce. Your choice of fruit side, and chocolate milk."
He nodded along.
"An apple sounds nice."
"Should I bring one up?"
He glanced up. Would she really?
"If you wouldn't mind?"
She smiled faintly at him.
"No problem at all. Ah, here we are."
They stood outside his open cell, the bleak walls looking particularly uninviting. A thought occurred to him - where were the other guards? If he was a prisoner, why wasn't there anyone else looking after them?
"Hey, what's they date?"
The smile on her face fell away.
"June seventh."
He faked a smile in return as he counted in his head.
"Thanks."
At least 3 months, possibly more. Shitshitshitshitshit.
She seemed to realize something, and reached forward.
Peter lunged backwards, twisting around and taking off at a dead sprint down the corridor.
"Code Yellow! Sierra has escaped!"
Her voice still bounced wildly off the walls, and a moment later lights started flashing. Damn it!
Hard footsteps, and Peter ducked to the side, hearing the familiar 'psshh' of an air-pressure-propelled dart as it was launched at him. His spider-sense was already chattering at him.
A quick slide and tumble let him skitter under the legs of the two people blocking off the hallway, hand raising up to cover his nose when he realized one of them had set off a gas bomb.
Of course they were wearing masks.
His heart slammed down into his toes.
There, on one of their shoulders, was a skull-and-octopus symbol.
Hydra.
Lungs screaming at him to take a breath, Peter sprinted onward, bouncing off walls and clinging momentarily to ceilings to avoid the grabbing arms and sparking nets that would incapacitate him.
He knew he had seen a SHIELD symbol on the guy that picked him up! What was going on!? Were the two in league with each other?!
He rounded a corner, and the smell of soap and steam greeted him.
Was he going in circles? Those were the showers! Where the heck had the new guards come from if there were no doorways?
Behind him, more footmen approached, and Peter darted into a door labeled 'Supplies Closet'
Shit!
He locked the door from the inside, panting.
The footsteps passed, angry voices echoing beyond understanding.
He slumped down to the floor, hands shaking. Even his stamina was terrible now.
The aches in his muscles seemed more ominous now, his nausea feeling foreign and evil in his throat.
What had they done to him?
Normally, when Natasha invaded a place, guards were more focused outward than inward. For some reason, the security seemed more preoccupied making sure no one untoward escaped. The building was already being emptied of staff, making it easy for certain...acquisitions.
"Code Yellow, Code Yellow."
The speaker system blared (apparently again), and appropriately colored lights continued to flash. She hoped it wasn't due to the files recently released.
The Black Widow frowned with annoyance behind her electronic mask, easily slipping into the role of a hassled office worker, just trying to deal with an unfair system.
A man stopped her, suit and tie with a two-dollar haircut and a shiny SHIELD pin.
"I can't let you go back there."
She exhaled, flashing a card she had lifted from a fleeing woman and wringing her hands anxiously.
"I forgot my bag! It has all my project files, I can't leave those behind! Seriously, two minutes, I'll be right out, I swear."
He looked doubtful, and she let tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
"I don't want to get fired over this, I just got moved to this project, I just need to grab my bag, please!"
He glanced up at the lights, grimacing.
"Quickly, you have three minutes. I'll be counting."
"Oh, thank you so much! Thank you!"
She clasped her hands together in a prayer of thanks at him, letting her shoulders drop in relief as she skipped passed him, turning to thank him even as she jogged onward.
Around the corner, she let the expression drop, wracking her brain for the layout she had looked up on the way here. Couldn't bring any papers, but she had a lot of experience memorizing these kinds of things. To the right was some actual offices, and she could see someone's backpack left abandoned. Perfect.
There, to the left.
She slunk down a staircase, frowning at the keypad of numbers. She fished her cell out of her pocket, the extra sensor built in scattering some light over the pad. Fingerprints showed up... 941. From the wear of the paint, 1 was 'first'.
Psychologically, people tended to put dates as passwords, to easier remember them.
She punched in 1994, and held her breath.
Beep!
The light turned green, and slid open to a dark room. Another door slid open down a short hallway, spilling light into what looked like the inside of a tiny storage room.
She walked down, stepping into the room and waiting for the doors to close behind her.
Just as they started, she whipped around, jumping back through them, reading her wrist tasers.
The pale figure dropped from the ceiling, lunging toward the closing doors at the other end of the hallway.
They closed in the kid's face, but he smashed forward with a fist, severely denting the thick, elevator-door type metal.
"Hey."
He paused at her voice, crouching down and turning to face her.
He had a youthful face, with shaggy brown hair and dark eyes. He looked ill, half-starved in the way that overworked, overstressed kids did, regardless of how they ate.
He looked in the right age range, definitely the right height. Code Yellow, huh?
The easiest way to escape would be if he would cooperate. Her quick visual scan couldn't find any weapons, or even tech that he could have used to scale the ceiling like that.
Could it be biological? (It would explain project 'Spider')
"I'm actually here to bust you out, not put you back in."
He scowled.
"Why should I trust you?"
She wished she could talk it out, but they were on a time limit. A minute and a half left, before the guard would come storming back after her.
Reaching up, Natasha pulled off the the electronic mask, wincing as it sparked against her cheek in protest at the abuse.
His eyes widened.
"Black Widow?"
How on earth did he know about her, let alone recognize her on sight? Her suspicion about him rose. What kind of training had they put him through? Was he already a sleeper agent?
"Is that enough?"
His brows furrowed again.
"I thought SHIELD captured me, but I ended up here. No deal."
She sighed.
"SHIELD is compromised by HYDRA infiltrators. Captain America and I are working to bring it down. We don't have any time left. Make up your mind - trust me or don't."
He hesitated, but nodded shortly. If he was a sleeper agent, he'd likely react at certain key people. Fury, Rogers, perhaps even Agent Hill. High-profile people (prior to this whole fiasco, she was surprisingly low-profile.) Either way, he was the reason she got herself into this mess.
She strode toward him, and didn't miss how he tensed up, muscles coiling to lash out or spring away.
She jabbed at the keypad, slinking out the door and slightly relieved that he was shadowing close behind her.
"Thank you so much for waiting!"
The guard smiled slightly as the lady waved at him, hitching her backpack higher over her shoulder as she half-jogged toward the exit.
"Cutting it close, ma'am."
"I'll see you later! I'll spot you lunch or something! Thanks again!"
He laughed, waving her off and looking around the lobby.
The radio hissed at him.
"Lobby is All Clear."