AN: I realize that this is...stupid late. ^^; Life is stupid sometimes and I was prevented from updating like I wanted. So here it is, better late than never, right? By the way, I still plan on updating this coming Monday. :D

I don't own anything and this includes Aspirin. Also, please note that all names in this chapter were contrived randomly and if I somehow managed to guess your name, it was pure luck. Enjoy 3

4

Stark, sterile, and at the risk of sounding redundant, completely unambiguous. There had to be some sort of unspoken rule; a handbook maybe for secret organizations and it somehow had been leaked out to Hollywood, because really, their portrayal was spot on. A moderately sized metal table, with two matching chairs, placed in the middle of a room that could almost be described as small, one door in or out and those god-awful florescent lights beaming down on me. Under their scrutiny the pallor of my skin was a most unattractive color. It was like I was in a damn movie! At least they had the decency to give me a cup of coffee. The little things, remember that was what I lived for.

Oh! It should also be noted that I was allowed to walk of my own fruition into this room and they were kind enough not to shackle me like a miscreant. Of course, I really should reflect upon just how it was that I arrived from my previous station. I took a gulp of smooth blackness hoping that it would alleviate the sudden bitter taste in my mouth. It was marginally successful. Despite what I felt, it had been the doctor that had…saved me. That admission would never be audibly reiterated and I did not, by any stretch of the imagination, feel grateful. I hated doctors—period—and there was good reason for such animosity. Chiefly, the strange transformation that overtook them when they were made aware of just what it was that was within their grasp. I was that miracle of science that they had been searching for all their blessed lives. I would bolster their careers into notoriety and set them up for eternity. I was absolutely the most fascinating lab rat to be in existence.

Okay, so that might be a smidge egotistical, but it really wasn't that far from actuality. There had been one doctor, once upon a time, with whom I had thought…well, it really didn't matter now. How had he described me? I'd been likened to someone with a high metabolism. My body was so efficient that aging and healing did not occur normally. I had scoffed at this. I did not buy into his prescribed voodoo or the genetic conundrum supposedly floating around inside me, and he had not believed in luck. Suffice it to say, he had enlightened me to the true nature of doctors and I would be damned if I trusted one again.

So, I had been in quite the predicament. Completely surrounded and now that I think of it, it really was remarkable how many bodies they had crammed into such a limited space. All of it had been for little old me. I would have to tell them how flattered I was. Seriously, it wasn't every day that a girl received such attention. However, this was all an afterthought. At the time I had been beyond the notice of such things and was on the losing end in the fight to stay conscious. That was until my fading vision had caught sight of white material and the words "take care of her" had resonated with me. That had been all the resurgence that I needed. I was able to push past whatever it was that ailed me. It had still been there, but I'd gained the upper hand.

I was regarded incredulously by who I later learned was Dr. Strauss. This lasted only a moment due to my adamant announcement that I wasn't going anywhere with pompous, self-proclaimed omniscient medical staff whose idea of care came from the dark ages. I had then immediately focused upon a no-nonsense, extremely well-groomed black suit at the forefront of the group. From the deference of those around him, I presumed that he was in charge and I had not been wrong. I had readily agreed to go with him and only him, otherwise I would be on my merry way. There had been a very pregnant pause after my ultimatum. Thankfully, the agent had agreed to my terms and away I went. He had led me to this room and here I sat waiting.

I shifted in my seat (metal chairs were only so comfortable) and sipped at my coffee. I had been left to my own devices for a while now and it made me feel ill at ease. That could be the point. It made absolutely no sense to me but people did all sorts of things in the name of psychology. Perhaps this was somehow supposed to inspire cooperation. I might have smirked at such a thought had not the door opened at that precise moment. Any amusement ceased at the intrusion of the tall, raven-haired, figurine-like Dr. Strauss. Was it really possible to be human and have such sharp features? She reminded me of those freaky doll statues. It was unnerving and wrong. I sat stiffly as she clicked her way toward the table, a death-grip on my cup, and silent as the grave. All I needed was a flashing neon sign that read: Not Welcome.

"Ms. Rayes, we haven't officially met. I'm Dr. Vivian Strauss." She held her hand out to me. I merely stared at the offending appendage and took another gulp of coffee. After an awkward pause she let her hand fall back to her side.

"May I?"

I stared up at her, eyebrows raised with the expression of "are you retarded" clear upon my face.

"No."

In reality, anyone could sit across from me. This was after all their turf, but if they were going to ask, then I was going to be sure to let my preferences be known. Dr. Strauss, however, was not expecting my adamant refusal. Funny, I thought that my disdain for the medical profession had been adequately communicated.

She tried again, "Ms. Rayes, please. I need to speak with you about Mr. Freeman."

A sip later and I responded with another one-word answer. "Who?"

Dr. Strauss yanked the chair opposite me back and sat without ceremony. Much to my displeasure, she crossed her legs and clasped her hands upon the table. Clearly, she was not going to be so easily rebuffed. I was beginning to miss the association of simpleminded scumbags. Granted, there were always the exceptions, the Baron for instance, but those were few and much more preferable to doctors.

Dr. Strauss continued as if there had never been a pause. "Mr. Freeman, the man you accosted."

So this was how it was going to be played.

"Oh right, Mr. Freeman. I accost so many people it's hard to keep track." I maintained the pattern of glare and sip.

"What did you do to him?"

"Me?" With great effort, I managed not to choke. "Aside from a possible broken nose, I have no idea. Isn't that your area of expertise?"

"Really, Ms. Rayes, playing dumb is not going to help you."

"Sorry. I just can't help myself, especially in the presence of the self-absorbed."

A bit of color rose in the good doctor's cheeks and I didn't feel the least bit guilty. This woman, sans her profession, had rubbed me wrong from the very first and that combined with her career choice automatically condemned her. What was more; she didn't care one iota about Mr. Freeman, there was more feeling on the face of a dead person on Sunday. I went to take a sip of coffee, only to find it empty and frowned.

"I would be careful, Ms. Rayes."

I immediately looked back at the woman. She had appealed to my humanity, dangled my supposed crime, tried the be-sensible good cop routine, and now had resorted to threatening. I forcibly put the cup on the table.

"Oh?" Placing my hands on the table as well, I stood. "What're you gonna do?"

Dr. Strauss moved back and slipped her hand into her coat pocket.

"Mr. Freeman wasn't successful, but the odds are stacked more in your favor. Do you want to give it a go? Try your luck?" I challenged.

The room was thick with tension and the silence lengthened as we regarded each other. Slowly she smiled, as if to say tempting, or (and I thought this more likely) I know something that you don't. The urge to dive over that table throwing haymakers was almost too much to resist. Or it could be that the moment I was about to give into such a base desire the door opened.

"That won't be necessary," a familiar voice interrupted the standoff.

To say I wasn't disappointed would be a lie, but I did glean a certain bit of satisfaction as the smug smile was replaced with a look of alarm.

"Dr. Strauss, you're needed in radiology."

Vivian Strauss quickly stood. Smoothing her skirt and straightening her coat, she offered a pleasantly fake smile.

"Thank you, Agent Barton."

No further attention was directed toward me, in fact from the abrupt change in her manner, I'd gone from being of some import to seemingly nonexistent. She acted as though she had just been caught in a stack of paperwork. This was the sort of individual that I would apply the word insufferable to, definitely. I watched with a mixture of frustration and relief as she purposefully strode from the room. Leaving me in the company of the agent with whom I had decided that avoidance was the best course of action. So much for that.

"You slept it off."

"Yeah, how about that." I slumped back into your chair. "Though you're obviously not alone in your doubt about sleep and its working wonders."

Absently, I rubbed at my hip. It had stiffened up faster than I'd thought it would and was very unappreciative of my sudden movement. What I wouldn't give for some Aspirin and another cup of coffee.

"Well, count me a believer." Barton leaned against the wall, seemingly relaxed and gave me his undivided attention. Not that there was much else to do and well, even I had to admit that I was some sort of a curiosity.

"So…seeing as they sent you to babysit me, I take it that I'm in trouble," I stated, resting my head in my palm.

"You do seem to have a problem behaving yourself," he countered.

"Sorry, next time I'll be sure to appraise the behavioral standards for prisoners and note that defending oneself, is not one of them." Idly, I fiddled with the empty cup.

"Is that what happened?"

This question induced a stare from me.

"Wasn't it obvious by the state of the bathroom or how about me favoring my left leg? Because really, I'm all about punching people's faces in."

"You weren't too inhibited earlier." Barton crossed his arms over his chest.

I wasn't sure how serious he was, but I thought I caught a hint of amusement, so I decided to not be offended. I did, nonetheless, make a noise of indignation.

"By inhibited, are you referring to my leg or to me punching people's faces? If it's the last, you really can't punch anything when your arms are pinned. You can however, head butt. If it's the first, then let's conduct an experiment. You give me your gun, I'll shoot at you, and we'll see how well you move."

This got me a smile.

"I think I'll pass," the agent declined.

"Pity." I gave a lazy smile in return.

Quiet settled over the two of us and I took the opportunity to study a glare in the tabletop. It was moments like these that opened the way for serious thought to creep back in and I couldn't help but wonder, again, just what was in store for me. The worry that I had put on hold for later consideration had resurfaced, now that previous agitations were no longer an issue.

What was going to happen to me?

They didn't want me dead, at least not right now. If they had I wouldn't have left Yonkers, that is to say, if they could get the job done. I was somewhat difficult to pin down and kill. It could happen, in fact it almost had—once—if it hadn't been for the interference of a doctor that I wished to God I'd never met. That only left one other plausible (in my mind) scenario and it was not a happy one. There was no doubt from the hungry eyes of Dr. Vivian Strauss that she wanted nothing more than to cut me open and spill out all my secrets. Just how much did these people know about me?

The room suddenly felt a lot colder.

"Barton…" I paused. Mainly because my voice sounded pathetic to my own ears and just what was I to say exactly? Hey, I was just wondering if gross experimentation was on the docket. No. More to the point why would he honestly answer any of my questions. He worked for them, whoever they were. This was the problem with likability. It would be so much easier if I could just hate everybody. Friends were collateral damage, hence the lack of them. Agent Barton was not on my side. Whatever my first impressions, I could not trust him. It was the one rule to live by: Don't Trust Anyone.

"Is it possible for a girl to get another cup of coffee?" I finished lamely. It was obvious from my weak delivery that this was not the original question in mind.

After a pause, he answered, "It's possible."

"But," I began, "you have orders to stay put."

I blew out a lengthy breath through my nose. "I guess it doesn't matter how high you climb in the hierarchy of captors…good prisoner perks just do not exist."

"And you would classify yourself a 'good' prisoner."

Okay, that was a tad offensive. I turned in my seat so that I could fully face a one Agent Barton.

"Well, let's take a tally, archer boy," and I began counting things off my fingers. "I willingly came with you. Woke up and found myself restrained to my bed, but gave the 'collective you' the benefit of the doubt. Waited against my better judgment and paid for it. Made sure that a certain Jeremiah Freeman would be found. I surrendered. Then, I tolerated her majesty and didn't deck her, I might add. Though I'm positive I'm going to regret that later. Oh, and I have answered all of your questions honestly."

I crossed my arms.

"Yup, I'm pretty sure that's good enough." Adding a moment later, "For coffee."

"That's an optimistic appraisal," Barton said, not missing a beat.

I was just about to have another incredulous outburst, when it was halted by a suspicion.

"You're baiting me."

He smiled. "Why would I do that?"

Why, indeed.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're part of the trifecta of interrogation."

"The trifecta of interrogation," he repeated.

"Yes. First, you send in the ever charismatic Dr. I want to dissect your soul, who applies the poke with stick technique. After she's gotten the subject good and mad, well then, you have to charm them back into a cooperative mood. Who better to do that than the dashing Monsieur Hood? None can resist his generous nature, not to mention be in awe of his legendary skill with pointy projectiles. With him, the subject is brought back to a docile state. Then you're ready for the big gun."

"Which is?" inquired Barton.

"Well, I'm sure I'm about to find out, but if I had to guess…" Here, I smiled. "I would say it was Mr. Impeccable himself, the black suit of suits, the one and the only, secret agent man. We met earlier."

Now, the next occurrence could be chalked up to a couple different things: coincidence, perfect timing, Agent Barton sending a covert SOS, or simply that I was the all-important bug under the magnifying glass. There was no doubt in my mind that this room was the conspiracy theorists surveillance nirvana. So it wasn't a shock as the door opened, for a third time, after my last comment. Nor the fact, that the very person with whom I had been describing came waltzing in, and with coffee.

I was a little smug as I pointedly looked at Barton and uttered one word, "Impeccable."

I was answered with a partial chuckle. A look was shared between the two as Barton moved from his post.

"She's all yours," he retorted, giving me one last wry look before taking his leave.

There was silence after the door closed and the feeling that I was now facing the real deal struck me. If there was any convincing that needed to happen, this was the man who needed to be convinced—beyond a shadow of a doubt. There was weight in the gaze that I was under and even I wasn't impervious to it. Granted, all of my run-ins with the hardened heavies of society helped, but it didn't make me immune. The silence lasted so long that the absurd thought that there was something wrong in my appearance nagged at me. If I was comparing, then yes, there was something definitely wrong. In reality there wasn't anything awry if I considered my circumstance, it was actually perfectly normal. If such a word was even applicable to me.

I broke the spell by rubbing a hand over my face in an effort to disrupt such nonsensical thoughts. It was only marginally successful, so why keep it all to myself.

"So I think it's only fair to warn you…that if that is for me," I started indicating the coffee, "you are definitely my favorite."

"This?" He held the cup up as if he were pondering the idea and fluidly sat in the chair opposite me. "What exactly will this get me?"

"What do you want for it?" I responded.

He placed the object of my desire upon the table.

"Your unadulterated cooperation and commitment to refrain from behavior that would lead to more stringent measures."

I sat back and regarded him skeptically. "You want my word?"

"A mere courtesy. We are more than equipped to deal with you should you decide otherwise."

The practiced tight smile in conjunction with the sternness in his eyes, more than testified the truth of this. I stared a moment, my lips scrunched together before slowly spreading into a smile.

"Tempting," I began ambiguously. Briefly, I considered upping the ante and adding Aspirin into the bargain, but then thought better of the idea. Previous treatment, all the unknowns, and well, the drug that Freeman had tried to force into me changed my mind. The image of me blindly trusting that the pills given to me were indeed Aspirin and then falling, out cold after such consumption, while Dr. Strauss sat in a corner cackling manically at her victory, made me find suffering—very—appealing.

"Fair enough. I promise to be the soul of good behavior and all things related, so long as," I paused, sourly pulling the syringe from my pocket, "no one tries to stick me with one of these."

With not a change in expression, he simply looked at me and intoned, "If you'd like, you can file a grievance with Human Evaluation Logistics and Personnel."

I stared. Was that some sort of bloated version of Human Resources?

"I'll pass, paperwork really isn't my thing." More like leaving a carbon trail of my existence wasn't my thing, if I was being honest. Moreover, I found his lack of interest in the whole matter rather curious. Food for thought.

"Trade you?" I entreated with a smile, holding out my contribution in a non-aggressive manner. He pushed the coffee to my side of the table and likewise I placed the syringe gently on his.

"Why thank you, Agent….?" I held out a hand as I ingested some of my prize.

"Agent Coulson with S.H.I.E.L.D," he supplied.

I sighed heavily. Why couldn't I have pulled the fanatical vigilante card?

"I see you've heard of us. That simplifies things," Coulson stated.

Of course I had heard of them. You don't scrape by in the underbelly of the world and not hear about them. It was one of the rules: Don't Attract S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing was worth getting caught by them, or so I'd been told, repeatedly. Obviously, I'd gotten sloppy, but that still did not explain what they wanted with me. I was hardly high profile.

"I think there's been some sort of mistake," I tried.

"Are you not Miriam Rayes?" Coulson questioned.

"No, that's not my name." I had to love anonymity.

Deftly, Agent Coulson reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out some sort of high tech tablet. It was clear and I could see that he was scrolling through a wall of text, however I was unable to read a lick of it. As it was being held at just the right angle so that the glare from the overhead lights made it impossible. Cute.

He gave me a pointed look.

"How about: Jillian White, Erin Covington, Samantha Dawes, Meredith O'Toole, Faith McDevitt, Emily Brandon, Victoria Smith, Melissa Davenport, Sheryl Anderson, Carry Ross, Olivia Powell, Elizabeth Foster, or Annie Cook?"

Coulson looked up from the list he had been reading . "No?"

There was more and he was going to read through every single name, if necessary. That would be a long list, since I never used a name twice (to the best of my ability) and everyone I came in contact with knew me as something different. Apprehension settled in my gullet, and I worried over just how far back their homework went.

"Or perhaps you would prefer something more recent; Emile Dickerson, Kirsten Moore, Ruth Howard, Morgan Gray, maybe Stefanie Bell?" Agent Coulson looked nonchalantly back at the tablet in hand.

"We have them all categorized by year," he stated.

That single sentence rocked my world like nothing had in a good long while.

I set the cup down, afraid I might drop it, and asked, "What's the earliest?"

Frankly, he replied, "Miriam Rayes, 1945."

My relief was palpable. "Well then," I retrieved my cup. "I guess that's my name."

The polite smile I was given clearly communicated that he expected nothing less, and he put the tablet away.

"I hardly think you brought me in to slap my hand for gross amount of aliases, so what does S.H.I.E.L.D want?" Might as well get straight to business, and that seemed to be Agent Coulson's preferred method.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Of course he wasn't. "Let me guess, very shortly I'm going to meet someone who does have that liberty?"

"That would be correct," Coulson confirmed.

There was always another boss.

"Can I have a shower then? And maybe, some clothes that aren't made for some giant with…" Here I squeezed my nose for effect. "Hygienic issues," I finished.