The director was not 'ready in a few minutes'. He took a good couple of hours, if my internal clock was anything to go by. It took them so long, in fact, that by the time that they motioned me into the adjoining room I was relieved rather than frightened simply because my ass and thighs had become numb a couple of hours before. My legs even wobbled a bit when I straightened up, and it took every ounce of strength not to let my knees knock as well when I saw Torres – looking dismal and defeated – pass me on her way out of the room. She didn't even look me in the eye; just kinda gazed at the floor and let the guards manhandle her out of sight.

Just as well she distracted me for a few seconds though, because it gave me ample time to be seated at the foot of a long wooden table without panicking internally first. It was only when I realized that the seat was quite comfortable that my head shot back up and I was forced to face the reality that was the Avengers at the opposite end of the table.

I always thought the Avengers were pretty badass. I mean, never in a million years did I think that angering SHIELD would incur their wrath as well, but I guess they were everyone's lapdogs nowadays. I kept that thought to myself though. Still, to be on the receiving end of their combined death glares was not a good feeling. Not to mention that Fury, who looked less than pleased at the head of the table, seemed to be oozing barely contained physical violence if that made any sense at all. If he had a superpower, it'd definitely be telekinesis; he could beat the shit out of anyone just by glaring at them. Long story short, I was terrified. The Avengers looked fifty shades of livid and indifferent. Fury had the facial expression of a murderer trying to coax out his victim out of a locked room. I think I had a fairly blank look on my face, but for all I know I could have been grinning because I'm a nervous laugher and that's just that.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Eight years of running blindly and throwing punches at thin air culminated to this moment. Fury was at least seventy five percent sure he was sitting opposite of the asshole who'd breached SHIELDs security measures, endangered countless lives, wasted millions of dollars, and made his agency the laughingstock of just about the entire world. The shit… that little shit responsible for it all was at the end of the table, smirking. Fury resorted to clenching and unclenching his fist beneath the table instead of lunging and throttling the criminal across from him. Cambell must've noticed what he was doing, because the shit-eating grin only grew wider.

"Cambell…" Fury growled, tearing his gaze away from the inmates face to instead murder their file with his eyes. "You're wondering why you're here."
Cambell – or Smith, as the file informed the director – raised their shoulders in a shrug and bit their lip like they was trying to keep in a fit of giggles. God, he hated them.
"I guess," Cambell answered quietly.
Their voice was weird; a bit harsher than their face gave away. Fury wondered if they were a smoker, but nothing in Cambell's file indicated that they did… then again, the folder was missing basically everything from before the last two years. "Well," Fury continued, filing away the voice for later contemplation, "we're here to make you an ultimatum."
Cambell quirked an eyebrow, and their lopsided grin wavered a bit.
Fury leaned back in his chair and regarded Cambell with thinly veiled animosity. "You're free to go." He said plainly.

The opposite side of Cambell's face finally caught up with the rest of it when their other eyebrow rose to join its friend, and the opposite corner of their mouth lowered out of its smirk. The mouth hanging slightly agape was a nice touch too, in Fury's opinion – he couldn't wait until they dropped the hammer and arrested them for real. He imagined they'd have the same expression that they did now.
"If…" Fury continued a moment later.
"If." Cambell repeated, mouth closing and expression turning stormy.
"If you agree to be put on probation for several months, during which time you will be disallowed from using any form of advanced technology. Think Internet, computers, smart phones…"
"What about my blender."
"If your blender can connect to the internet, then no, there will be no smoothies for you."
There was a barely audible 'fuck you' from the other end, but Fury watched as Cambell weighed the options.
"How many months?" They asked.
"One to two years."

"That's not several mon… and how exactly are you going to enforce that?" Cambell asked agitatedly.
Fury grinned and leaned onto an armrest. "We have our ways. Think of this as your very own freedom free trial – if you behave, we'll let you be."
Cambell glared down the length of the table for a moment before speaking up again. "Are you letting other people out?" They asked.
"That's classified," Fury said, "and classified means that only people with the right authority have privilege to view that information. But, since we think there's a small chance that you aren't the one who doesn't know the meaning of 'classified', we've decided to give you an early release."
Fury closed Cambell's file and straightened the pages sticking out of the edges. "I hope," he added slowly, "that you won't make us regret our decision."

Cambell looked very much like they'd love to make Fury regret every decision, but they wisely kept their mouth shut.
"This is the part where you thank the board and I," Fury said, nodding at the three Avengers to his right. "For graciously giving you a free pass given that we could charge you for multiple counts of fraud, identity theft, and God knows what else."
Cambell's expression softened slightly and they glanced down to their lap.
"You will be stripped of any remaining alternate titles, however, once you leave. It'll be back to Smith once we're done here."
Cambell visibly cringed, but nodded in agreement.
"Good." Fury said as cheerfully as possible. "This was a lot easier than what we went through with your friend."
Cambell glanced back up and the mention of Torres, and Fury took the opportunity to slide the rather thick ultimatum across the table. He watched as Cambell regarded the packet distrustfully before reaching out for it, and flipping the title page over to read its contents. The Avengers and SHIELDs director collectively got comfortable in their seats as one of the US's most wanted criminals read through the entire packet of terms and conditions for their freedom.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Fury stood with his arms folded in another room as he eavesdropped in on the two gods arguing about timeframes. Loki was not happy that his time was being extended and that he'd be even further restrained despite being free of his cell.
"It's almost over, brother." Thor pleaded quietly. "Their family is the only one you must concern yourself with."
Loki had hissed something inaudible back, to which Thor snorted and seemed to agree to, if Fury knew his confirmation snorts at all.
"It's just one prisoner being set free," Thor's voice faded as the two left the room. "The rest of them will help aid you; it'll be over soon."

Fury remained hidden a moment longer before walking into the previously occupied room to gather up the papers still lying around. Today seemed to be going well for him so far. He'd informed some of SHIELDs better undercover agents that they'd be released and tasked with shadowing Cambell and Loki. Obviously not as a group – that'd look weird, but thankfully Natasha had taken it upon herself to better organize them. Fury was more of a 'forest' than a 'tree' person when it came to taking in the big picture, so the agents were in better hands with Widow anyways. The only thing he was really concerned about was Loki (as always) and whether or not the god of mischief was going to ruin his plans. Cambell – Smith, whatever – needed to be arrested with enough evidence to prove without a doubt that they were the culprit. The whole affair needed to be publicly announced and put to bed so that it would just stop.

Fury dumped the few remaining papers into the recycling bin at the door. They were halfway there; at least they had a clearer idea of who the culprit was.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

None of it really sank in until I was about five miles into New Mexico and bumping down a dusty highway in the worlds loudest and least air conditioned repurposed schoolbus. I had the sudden urge to whoop and do a little dance, but I stifled that urge and packaged it up for celebration at a later date. Despite being set free, the rest of the ex-convicts and I all remained silent on the ride down to the nearest town where we'd be unceremoniously deposited and left to fend for ourselves. I got two hundred bucks out of it from SHIELD, at least. It was enough to buy a bus pass once I got into town. Or buy a phone call home and get mom and dad to fly me back home. Or a small hotel room for a night. Holy shit I can leave.

Torres sat on the bench across the aisle from me, as quiet as the rest of us. I wanted to talk to her – I wanted there to be some sort of sound in this bus besides the rattle of the windows and our teeth. It was unnerving. Also it was unnerving because everyone had resorted to awkward eye contact instead of talking. I'd caught a few ex-convicts glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes… but to be fair I was doing some serious eye-fuckery in Torres' direction as well because she refused to look at me. I mean jeez – it blew my mind that we both managed to be set free at the same time because I don't think there were any other people in this bus who had their bunkmate let go as well. Most of their faces were familiar to me… maybe not all of their names but definitely their faces, so I think I knew who was or was not their bunkmate.

The drive didn't take that long; it was just fifteen minutes before a short little city came into view when we crested a hill. I twisted in my seat and looked out the back window to see how far we'd come. The penitentiary was just barely visible through the dust and the haze, but I could make out its five towers, electric fences, and grey monotonous brick walls. For a building so big and wide, it looked strangely… very much in place in the desert here. It was weird, and for some unknown reason I felt attached to it. Thankfully that lapse in sanity only lasted a second before I sat back down in my seat and eagerly awaited the bus stop.

Torres finally looked over at me once I'd settled and quirked a brow at my shenanigans, to which I replied with an uncaring shrug. Her weirdly animated facial expression told me that she didn't believe me, which earned her an aggressive shrug and an eyeroll. Her eyeroll back at me was nearly audible. Fuck you, I mouthed, and set about checking my grey backpack's zippers so that its negative one contents didn't fall out. There was literally nothing in my bag, but a guard gave it to me as I left and I thought it was a nice memento to have to remember these last couple of months by. All I needed was a button that said 'I went to SHIELD jail and all I got was this stupid pin!'. The bag even had a SHIELD logo on the front pouch. Again, I was already weirdly attached to the dumb thing.

We came to a slow stop about ten minutes later, and since Torres and I were second to last, we had to wait while the slow people in front of us tried to figure out where the exit was. I swear to God some of these people were so confused, they didn't know if it was Tuesday or North Dakota. Anyways. After that nonsense, Torres and I dropped to the ground and got a face full of dirt as the bus dusted its hands of us and all but tore out of the opposite end of town. Literally. The opposite end of town was about two blocks away; it was a very small place. Torres seemed to know her way around at least (or could read signs anyways) and headed towards the bus station. I found myself mentally reminding myself to catch up and take larger steps as her ridiculously long legs carried her down the road.

"So," I asked, huffing a bit (not from exertion) because of the heat and the dust and my allergies. "When you get your pass, where're you going?"
Torres was quiet for a moment before she seemed to mentally shrug. "Not sure."
It was uncomfortable when we arrived in the, thankfully, blessedly air conditioned bus station, because every other excon that just got off the bus was there too. It was weird because none of the civilians here knew that ninety percent of the room's inhabitants may or may not have stolen their credit cards at one point… or their names... awkward. Either way, Torres and I queued up.

"Where do you think you'll go?" Torres asked.
I was staring up at the sign that listed the cost for tickets, so it took a second for it to register that Torres was talking to me. "Well, I dunno…" I said sluggishly, "but I don't think twenty bucks'll get me across the states." I waved agitatedly in front of my face in a vain attempt to cool myself down faster. "I think I'll just head over to Austin – I've got some family there – and call my parents." When in doubt, run crying to mom and dad… works every time. "What about y- oh wait, I asked already."
Torres frowned. "I have a similar problem." She confessed. "I live in Massachusetts, but I don't have any family between here and there."
"OH MY GOD!" I whispered hoarsely in an attempt to keep myself from yelling in excitement. "I live in Massachusetts too! Where?!" I asked smartly. I swear it was like grade school all over again and my best friend just asked me over for a sleepover... or maybe I was still just high and excited from leaving my personal grey hell.
Torres grinned down at me, "Plymouth."
"You mean you lived, like, twenty minutes away from me and never said anything?!"
"You've never asked."
"Me?!" I said stupidly, again, but was still too excited to be offended. "This is so cool! We can be roomies!"

And then it hit me. Why the hell would Torres want to be flatmate's when we literally just got out of the worst flatmate situation imaginable? "Wait…" I corrected slowly, "never mind."
"No?" Torres asked, sounding almost hurt.
"I mean." I said as I stepped forward to the teller and asked for a ticket to Austin. "We just got out of being roomies; I don't think you'd want to do it again. Buuut!" I said excitedly and turned to her. "You can come with me to Austin and we can ride back home together."
Torres paused for a moment before nodding and stepping up to the counter. "I'd like that." She said.
"Good, 'cause I was going to complain if you didn't."
Torres did the non-eyeroll eyeroll that could be felt even if she had her back turned towards you. She bought her tickets without incident, and after we'd gotten out of line we stood near the door and enjoyed our last few seconds of air conditioning.
"We've still got a couple of hours before we leave, and I don't feel like just sitting here," I informed her. "Are ya hungry?" I asked after she'd stuffed her tickets into her bag.
"I suppose," she replied disinterestedly.

"They have like a… Dennys… diner type thing on the corner there." I said, looking out the window embedded in the door.
Torres glanced down the street in surprise before making an undignified snort-laugh and nodding. "Yes. I love that eatery."
"You've been before?" I asked over my shoulder. I noticed two of the other convicts making their way over to Torres. "Friends…?" I murmured.
Torres caught my eye and straightened to look behind her.
"Torres." One of them greeted.
"Henry." She replied stiffly.
"Heard you're traveling to Massachusetts as well."
"You've been paying attention well then, haven't you?"

For some reason, that really rustled Henry's jimmies, and he frowned behind his overly tinted aviators.
"We're headed out that way too," Henry's friend quickly explained to me. Or. He looked at me while he said it, I don't know. I'm never included in these conversations so it threw me off when he addressed me.
"Good to hear." Torres said. She turned heel at that point, and literally sassed her way out the door.
"Uh," I said cleverly. "Later? Where you headed?" I asked as I backpedaled – mostly to ease over Torres' rudeness.
"Boston." Henry's friend replied again.
"Cool, cool." I said, still reversing out the door. "Well, we're gonna make a slight detour, but when we get home give us a call, kay?" I said.
"Yeah!" Henry's friend said enthusiastically. "Here's my number!"
"Uh." I said, and paused awkwardly in the doorway. "I can just… look you up…"
"No, no, here, it's no problem!" he quickly tore off a scrap of paper from what looked like the map of New Mexico (that he probably got from the visitors pamphlet case) and scrawled his number. "Here," he said, thrusting the map and pen in my direction once I took his number. "Give me yours; I can hook you up when we get home."
Hook me up with… what? "'Kay…" I said, writing my old cell phone number in the Rio Grande. I doubted it still worked. "Good luck getting home…" I said, finally managing to get out the door.
"See you!" He said cheerfully.

Hopefully not, I grumbled under my breath. Torres was waiting for me under the diner's awning, and she had her resting angry face in place again.
"Sorry," I muttered, pulling open the door for her. "They were being super awkward."
Torres said nothing, but slipped inside and stood at the 'wait to be seated' sign. No idea why that was there – the place was nearly deserted.
"Just have a seat anywhere!" A disembodied voice shouted from the kitchen area, "We'll be with you in a minute."
"Booth," I ordered as Torres stalled, apparently overcome with too many options. "Preferably one not situated in the sun."
She ended up choosing one against the wall that had a fairly decent view of the road outside. While we waited for our menus and waiter, I took the time to finally settle and take everything in and reorganize the mess in my head. I started with the things in my field of vision.

Torres and I had been released from prison. We were in a diner that would've been cute in a quiet old town, but ended up looking tired in the middle of the desert instead. There was a sticky stain under my right wrist. Probably coffee... hopefully coffee. Torres and I were going to Texas by bus. I'd figure something out once we got to auntie Elia's house. I'd pet her overly friendly dog. I'd call mom and dad. I'd get home and crash at their place. Maybe I'd explain where I'd been when I arrived. Maybe I'd wait a day. I'll drive over to my apartment at some point – if I still have it. I haven't paid rent for a while on account of my incarceration. I'd get a new apartment if necessary… Damnit - probably with my parent's money. I need to figure out my bank account. Does an ATM count as advanced technology? The terms said I could access my funds by they didn't mention anything about ATMs. It's probably advanced. I mean… I can steal money from it. But I'd need access to other 'advanced technology' first to steal from it, so really the ATM should be a go. Nyeeeegh but I don't want to be arrested agai-

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Torres interrupted. "I can practically hear those rusty gears turning."
"First of all, you're being very rude." I said, unsticking my wrist from the table. "Secondly, I'm trying to figure out some long term stuff and how the hell I'm supposed to get more money."
Torres gave me a shrug that told me she was not currently concerned about the state of her funds.
"I mean, besides blowing dudes behind the pop machine for twenty bucks."
Torres gave me a hard look that said something before we were interrupted by our waitress – or rather the menus – that she planted in front of our faces.
"Orange juice, milk, coffee, water, tea, lemonade, Pepsi products, what'll it be?"
"Coffee, please." I said, frowning at the options on the menu like they'd personally offended me.
"Same." Torres said.
"Great I'll be right back" The waitress said monotonously.
Torres watched the older lady trudge back towards the kitchen before leaning towards me to simper, "She enjoys her line of work."
"Sounds to me like she's repeated that line about fifty lines a day – I think I'd be bored too." I muttered in her defense.
"Really?" Torres asked. "You seem the type who also enjoys mindless, repetitive tasks."
"Why do you randomly get so bitchy."
"I'm not bitchy." Torres snapped, glaring at the menu.
"You are." I said angrily, and flicked my own laminated sheet downward to better glare at Torres' forehead. "Ever since that Henry guy showed up."

Torres muttered something and I glared a second longer before blowing the awkward interaction off as another 'Torres Moment'. They were beginning to occur more and more frequently these last couple of weeks. I do have a patience meter – and its very flexible… but sooner or later Torres is probably going to go off the deep end and we'll both end up snapping; I think it's just who we are. We'd make good long distance friends, though. Maybe. I might forget to call after a month or two. Whatever. I'm so excited I just got out of jail.
"I'm so excited I just got out of jail." I said, slightly tearing the celebration box seal that I'd hidden away in the back of my mind.
Torres ignored me, and set her menu down, having apparently decided on what she wants. I was still torn between the tex-mex omelet and pancakes. I hadn't had decent pancakes in a while, but I wasn't quite feeling the 'nearly dessert' vibe right now. I went with the omelet. Not that I could order; the waitress had disappeared.

A movement at the opposite end of the room caught my eye, and I glanced over to the trucker who'd just walked out of the bathroom and reseated himself. The normalcy of the situation threw me off, and for a brief second I wondered if it – the trucker or this whole situation – was a trap.
"Do you think…" I asked softly as the trucker took a sip from his mug. "You think there're spies here… or something? Watching us?"
Torres gave me one of her steely grey-blue eyed frowns, which cracked into the wickedest grin a second later. "I wouldn't be surprised." She said without any hint of fear. "How else are they going to make sure we don't disobey the law?"
"Oh shit man." I muttered, pulling up the menu to shield my face from the trucker, "How the hell do I not use technology for seven years? If they know when I use it… that's so long! I'll go back to jail next week!"
"I doubt it'll be that long." Torres muttered, leaning in behind my menu as well.
"Really? How long did Fury give you? He told me no technology for one to two years, but his ultimatum said seven – just as well I read the damn thing."
Torres shrugged and said, "I've only got a year."
"Lucky asshole. Guess I stole one too many credit cards."
"Or you hacked SHIELD."
"According to Fury I'm probably not guilty of that."
"…'According to Fury', 'probably'…?" Torres repeated, grinning.
"Shut up you're supposed to be on my side. Besides, I bet you're just trying to throw me off the fact that you hacked them."
"You're being awfully defensive." Torres muttered. There wasn't much of an accusation behind her words, but the truth of it still smarted.
"I'm… so not defensive."
"Woah," Torres said, leaning back against her side of the booth and raising her hands in a placating gesture, "you got me there."

"God," I hissed, slapping the menu down as the waitress arrived with our coffee.
"Ready to order?" She drawled.
"Yeah, I'll have the tex-mex omelette." I said.
"White or brown bread?" Waitress replied (where is her nametag?).
"White. Please."
"You?" she asked, addressing Torres this time.
"Strawberry crepes."
"It'll be out in a sec." Waitress said pithily, and left with our orders and menus.
Trucker waved her over, which waitress ignored in favor of yelling our orders into the kitchen. She got the resounding clatter of what sounded like fifty pot lids crashing to the floor, and a meek 'sorry' a couple seconds after the din ceased. Trucker laughed.
"This place is filthy." Torres complained, wiping the rim of her mug.
"Nah, it's just extra protein," I said cheerfully. She did not look impressed, and took her coffee straight up black without any sugar, which was surprising given her already established sweet tooth.
"That's disgusting, Tor." I muttered into my normal looking coffee.
"So are you." She quipped.
I could never win this war of words.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Loki was pleased, at least, that he was now out in the open. He was overly full from the breakfast though; he had expected a much smaller serving - not an entire dinner plate full of sweetened berries, foam, and pastry. Naturally, he blamed his stomach and the warm sun for the reason his eyes refused to stay open once he and his charge had boarded the bus. Cambell had the aisle seat next to him, so he took full advantage of the window and used it as an unyielding pillow. Cambell settled with tilting their neck at an awkward angle and shutting their eyes. They was not going to enjoy waking up in several hours if they remained in that position.

The bus had departed at seven that evening. They should arrive in Cambell's relation's hometown sometime around seven in the morning as well, and if Loki knew Fury at all, he'd be busy setting up base somewhere in Norwell right now. Cambell wouldn't know what hit them... that is, if Loki could get them to go along with his plan. It sounded an awful lot like coercion when Fury had explained the plan to him, but who was he to stand in the way of Midgardian justice?
Loki made a self-deprecating snort at that idea, and settled deeper into his seat. There was not much to look at out of the busses window, and he grew tired of glaring at the reflection that was not his. A year at most, he thought wistfully.

Thanks to everyone for your comments, reviews, and support - allayall'are hella rad :)