Doctor List took me to my berth room, and the sight of the windowless, drafty room made me want to take my chances with the Winter Solider again. Anything was better than spending God knows how long in that small space, even if it was only for sleeping. I stepped into the room and looked around. There was an old mini fridge in the corner, humming softly, and next to it a little space heater. I immediately went to it and turned it on. The room wasn't cold, per se, but it wasn't exactly warm or homey either. My bed was a spring cot with a mattress and a stack of blankets. There was a dresser in the corner and that was the extent of room décor. Only the bare necessities.

"I'm sorry it's not much," Doctor List was saying. "The few Hydra agents that stay at the fort have a bunk room, but they don't fare much better. At least you'll have your privacy here." He nodded to the heater that buzzed as it oscillated. "It's an old building and it can get cold at night, even in late summer," he continued, "The bathroom's through there. Questions?"

I shook my head, feeling numb.

"Right then," he said quietly and left, closing the door after him.

I swallowed hard and went to the fridge, popping it open. It was stocked with an assortment of food and water bottles. My stomach pinched with hunger, practically rolling over itself in want of food, but my appetite wasn't there. Nothing appealed to me, not even those tiny oranges I never let myself buy because I ate them too fast. I slammed it closed and went to the dresser, pulling open the drawers. My scrubs were folded neatly and some thick sweaters I noticed were new. I checked the tags; not mine, but my size. I shivered at the thought of a Hydra agent going through my clothes and person belongings, scrounging around my apartment for things to take back to Sokovia. The idea of Hydra agents buying me clothes more suitable for Sokovian weather made me sick. I pulled open another drawer. Wool socks and my underwear. I closed them and went to the bathroom, yanking on the chain for the light. In one corner was a bare shower head and a drain beneath it on the tiled floor. A shower curtain hung around it. There was a toilet and a pedestal sink, and a spotted mirror. No bathtub, no towel rack, not even a plug in for a hair dryer. Functional and bare and completely uninviting, like the room itself wanted me to leave.

I stepped closer to the mirror, grimacing at my warped reflection. The swelling in my nose wasn't bad, but it was still red and tender beneath the bandage. The shadows under my eyes had turned to purple and blue bruises. Yellow fingerprints dotted my neck where the Winter Solider had literally squeezed the life out of me. I sucked in a sharp breath at the memory of his blackened face. His strong fingers. The feel of the cold metal against my hot skin.

My face looked like an artists' apron, but not in a good way. That many colors; red and blue and black and brown, shouldn't be on a person's face. It was a stark reminder of the hell I had gone through the last few days.

The hell I was going through, I reminded myself.

My own mother wouldn't recognize me, I thought with sadistical humor. It's funny, see? Because she's dead.

I swallowed again, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest, in the back of my throat, in my brain. I fumbled with the mirror, struggling to breath as I pulled it open. The shelf inside was lined with my toiletries: razor, toothbrush, soap, the works. My hands clumsily pushed them aside while my brain pushed aside the thought that Hydra agents had been in my apartment, packing away my personal belongings while I was being attacked in the SHIELD parking garage. My comb tumbled off the shelf and into the sink but I didn't care. I pulled out my bottle of Xanax, fumbling with the lid. The panic was settling in. The fear, and voices, the worry, came at me from all directions and it felt like my heart was contracting. I finally managed, with shaking hands, to get the lid off and tip two pills into my hand. I swallowed them, then took two more.

Sucking in gulps of air, I left the bathroom, my comb and pill canister still in the sink, and went to the bed. I sunk down on the mattress, dropping my head between my knees.

I tried to make myself think. Think, think, think.

SHIELD would know if one of theirs went missing. By now, the other lab techs would have notice my absence at the medical bay. I'd had episodes before. Days where I couldn't drag myself out of bed, spending hours sleeping or just staring at the texture of the drywall and avoiding calls from work. But this time, they would send someone to the apartment and see that it was stripped, see that I wasn't just in bad need of a session with the departments shrink. They would have to know then that I had been kidnapped.

They would send someone for me.

My breathing slowed.

There was some comfort in that thought. Trying to escape seemed out of the question. Even if I could get out of the fort, Novi Grad was crawling with Hydra agents posed as SHIELD, stirring up trouble in the capital. I wasn't sure if I could ask the locals for help. Even if I could speak Sokovian, would they be willing to help an American? Willing to help someone affiliated with the Avengers? I wasn't sure.

I pulled my head up, only to sink onto the bed and pull one of the heavy blankets over my exhausted body.

I suddenly remembered Director Fury and the trouble he was in. If the Winter Solider had him captured, then any chance of SHIELD rescuing me diminished significantly. If Director Fury was in trouble, all of SHIELD was in trouble, and they wouldn't notice a missing lab tech. I realized I had no idea what was happening back in DC. I wasn't sure how bad things were back home, so I had no idea if someone was coming for me. For all I knew, I was just part of the body count, lost in the chaos of a crumbling headquarters.

That thought scared me, but the drugs were starting to kick in and I was too tired to put up a front about it. My head felt heavy.

I didn't know how long I would be in Hydra's hands, but Doctor List had warned me about Strucker. I had to make a decision—for the time being—until I could figure a way out of this place. Play their games long enough to find a way to send for help, or plan an escape. Then maybe I could live to see one more day.

My thoughts bled together.

Right now, I needed sleep.

Make a decision.

Experiment on innocent people, or loose my life.

Tired.

Loose my life, and innocent people still get experimented on.

Tired, tired, tired.

Think, think, think.

There was a knock at my door.

I jerked awake.

I had fallen sleep. I wasn't sure for how long, but it had been a deep sleep. The kind that I had to claw my way out of. The kind that came from taking one too many minor tranquilizers from a small orange bottle. I sat up slowly as another knock sounded against the metal door. My limbs felt stiff, but my head was remarkably better, albeit lagging with serene type of drowsiness. I scrubbed my eyes with the palm of my hands and stood up, going to the door.

It was the Hydra agent from the other day. The one in the control room, who's computer I watched the news report on.

"Doctor List wants to see you," he said simply.

"Can I change?" I asked and he nodded. I closed the door slowly and went to the dresser, pulling out a set of scrubs. I went into the bathroom, running the tap as cold as it would go. I splashed some water on my face, gingerly pulling the wet bandage off my nose. It was premature, but I wasn't about to go around looking like I just got out of the ring with Seth Rollins. Plus, Strucker had said it was only minor fracture. I quickly changed then met the Hydra agent at the door.

He lead me down a series of corridors and stairs, taking me back towards the laboratory Doctor List and I had met in the other day. We walked in silence.

Most of the way.

"What's your name?" I asked after a few minutes.

"Eames," he replied.

I chewed my lip, taking a few seconds to try and figure out the best way to articulate my next words. I finally blurted out, "Can you help me?"

He looked at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. If that didn't scream articulate, I don't know what would. But I needed his help. I needed to know what happened to Director Fury.

"D-do you know what's happening out there?" I asked. "Wh-what's happening to SHIELD?"

"Yes, but we're under a strict gag by Strucker not to give you any information," he said simply.

"Please. I'm not supposed to be h-here," I said, "I need help. The very least you can do is give me something."

The agent, Eames, snorted with a laugh and my hopes plummeted as quickly as they had been raised.

"We all know why you're here. Everyone has been debriefed on your situation. Look around," he said, waving a hand vaguely as two operatives passed, talking to each other and not taking notice of us. "No one is going to help you. No one cares."

"Please," I begged, looking at him. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. Late twenties, early thirties at the most. Platinum blonde hair like a palomino. "Don't you have friends and family? A home? I have to know that they're alright."

Not that I really had friends. Or a family, for that matter. But if I could appeal to him somehow, then maybe I could figure out what was happening; why SHIELD was falling, how much infiltration Hydra had succeeded in, if Directory Fury was still alive…

He didn't answer me, continuing to stride down the corridor to the laboratory.

"Please!" I practically shouted. I grabbed onto his arm, yanking him around to turn and face me. His free hand flew to the Glock on his thigh, ready. "Where is your humanity! I had a life before this!"

A life of black coffee and paperwork, at least.

His brow furrowed and he frowned.

"Careful," he warned, his finger drifting towards the trigger on his weapon. He hadn't upholstered it, but the threat was there. "You may have been chosen to carry on the experiments, but you are still expendable. You're still considered a prisoner of Hydra."

Slowly, I released his arm. He straightened with a huff, turning and marching toward the lab again. I almost had to jog to keep up with him.

"And if you're really curious," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I do have friends, and a family. And I miss them, just as much as you miss yours."

His answer surprised me somewhat, and I wasn't sure what to think of it. It prompted my next question.

"Where are you from?"

"A little town in eastern Austria, actually," he replied over his shoulder, "I spend half the year there, the other half here, working communication in the main control room."

I nodded, slightly dumbfounded.

Whenever I thought about Hydra, it was always the black masked, unfeeling face of the enemy. It wasn't a man with blonde hair who wanted to get back home to Austria as much I wanted to get back home to America. It was a cold prison cell with torture devices, not a room with a bed and a heater.

I shook away the feeling of Eames' words.

It didn't change the fact that I was taken against my will. It didn't change the fact that the Winter Solider had used my face as a punching bag, or the fact that they were forcing me to carry out human experimentation at gun point. Hydra was the enemy. These people, though they were more similar to me than I would have like, were still my captors. A bit of kindness and understanding did not undo the misery they had done to me. Starve a dog, and he'd be grateful for a bone.

Eames stopped at a turn, pointing down the corridor. "That door leads to the lab. Doctor List should be on the main level with the volunteers."

He didn't wait for me to answer, or watch to make sure I did what I was told. He turned and strode off, probably to get back to his post in the control room. I glanced down the stone hall, slowly slinking towards the lab. A flicker of flight passed through me, an urge to run and find a way out, but I would probably be gunned down before I got to a door. I stifled the feeling. I told myself to wait. Running wasn't the best option, at least not right now. If I was going to manage an escape, it would take some careful planning. Until then, do as I was told.

Play their games.

Save the volunteers.

Escape.

What a shitty plan.

I pulled the heavy door open. People in white coats bustled through the lab, battling for space with the technology and supplies that took up most of the room. I spied Doctor List, standing at the far end of the room. Against the wall was a series of glass cells that looked similar to my room. Actually, they looked similar to the guinea pig cages at a pet store. The kind that little kids tapped on and laughed as the cavy was scrambling. I assumed that the people that resided in them probably fared as good as the guinea pigs. Each of the rooms, perfect for observing volunteers, had a bed and a metal dresser like mine. A few had personal touches; a stack of books, some artwork, a little potted fern, but mostly they were bland. All of them were empty.

I moved towards Doctor List, who caught my eye from across the room. He excused himself from the young man he was talking to. 'Young man' was a bit of an exaggeration. The kid couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. Even so, from far away I could still tell he was a good head taller than me and twice as wide.

Doctor List met me in the center of the lab, blocking my view of the young volunteer he was speaking to. I assumed he was a volunteer, because he wasn't dressed like a doctor, or in the military garb of a Hydra operative. He was in a suit of grey track pants and a short sleeve shirt. He didn't bother looking over at me.

I turned my attention to Doctor List.

"Strucker thought it would be a good idea to meet some of the volunteers," Doctor List said carefully. "But I must warn you about a few things first. You saw the state of the capital coming in, so you can guess they don't take kindly to Americans—"

"Yet another reason I shouldn't be here," I interrupted dryly.

"I've talked with them and they know to be on their best behavior, even so, don't give them reason to hate you. By that, I mean it would be prudent to keep under warps the fact that you were formally SHIELD."

"Not formally. SHIELD," I corrected.

"I wouldn't parade that," Doctor List warned. "These volunteers have been seriously hurt by Stark Industries and the Avengers. Many of them displaced, having lost friends and family in the endless warfare that tears their home apart. I know what you're playing at. You want to find a way to get out of here but I can assure you the volunteers will be no help. Even if they were willing, they don't hold much power here at the base. Their freedom may be more extensive than yours, but not by much. They wouldn't be any help."

"You're really selling this dream job, Doctor List," I replied. Sarcasm, the one true defense I had against my haywire emotions. Infuriate the enemy so they didn't know how much I was hurting. So they didn't know how scared I was becoming, because one by one my options of escape were slipping away.

Doctor List sighed at my comment. "The volunteers are here on their own accord. They've signed wavers and releases. They want to be here. Don't make it difficult for them."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the state of the previous volunteers does not need to be disclosed to them."

"Meaning you don't want them to know that the rate of survival so far has been zero."

"Yes, well, that power now resides with you, doesn't it Miss Hunt?" Doctor List replied, adjusting his glasses irritably. He was quickly losing patience with me, but I couldn't stop. "Remember what I said yesterday. You're walking on thin ice right now. One slip up and Strucker will have his way with you. I'd hate to see that happen."

I felt a little jolt through my body. There it was again, a semblance of kindness. Despite his annoyance, I detected sympathy at the edge of Doctor List's features. I wasn't sure if it was directed at me, or if he was more concerned about having to find another replacement doctor if Strucker buried me six feet under. I told myself it was the latter, otherwise I found it harder to hate him, and that made my situation that much more confusing.

When I didn't say anything, he seemed to take it as a silent agreement. He turned and lead the way back to the volunteer.

"Illya," he said. "I'd like you to meet Doctor Hunt."

I liked that sound of that. Doctor. For someone who had her MD, it was the first time I had been referred to by my actual title. The volunteer turned to face me, staring unabashedly at my black and blue face. I scowled at him, hoping that he would have the decency to look away, but he didn't even blink. I was usually very good about turning people off, but he didn't seem to care. Damn, this place was weakening the one super power I had; being super unapproachable. He stuck his hand out for me to shake, but being that he was much taller than me, he over shot his aim. His fingers pointed at my chest and I had to awkwardly meet his hand higher than what was considered normal.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi." Up close, I realized he wasn't even looking at my face. His gaze was about an inch above my head. Then the penny dropped, about two minutes too late. "You're blind," I said, surprised and without an ounce of subtly.

Way to have some decorum there, Faye.

His eyes were blue, but a milky, soft blue that looked straight ahead without really seeing. His eyelashes were pale. His lips split into a wide grin at my statement and he dropped my hand. Doctor List reached behind Illya and grabbed a file off the table, handing it to me. I flipped it open, forcing my eyes onto the paper. I had been staring, and I didn't have an excuse for it, just blatant, open curiosity.

"I see why you recruited her," Illya said and I winced at the word 'recruited' like I had a choice to turn down the offer. "Nothing gets past her," he said to Doctor List. I would have blushed at the jest, if I were the blushing type.

"Illya is one of our more…amicable volunteers," List said.

"That means I'm his favorite," Illya replied and Doctor List's lips quirked up. I glanced between the two uncertainly before looking down at Illya's file again. I knew what Doctor List was hinting at. He was telling me that Illya wouldn't feel the need to spit on me for being American, or SHIELD, or whatever.

"Corneal infection in both eyes when I was twelve, completely blind by thirteen," Illya said, as I shuffled through his papers. Then he added, "If that's what you were wondering."

"I was," I replied, scanning his medical records. "According to your information you saw multiple specialists but by the time anything could be done the blindness had progressed too far. Eventually the infection was cleared up but your eyes remained permanently damaged…?"

Illya nodded.

"You lived with your grandmother before subjecting your body to questionable experimentation by a foreign scientific establishment?" I asked, my voice a little too casual.

Over Illya's shoulder, I saw Doctor Lists' gaze go hard, his lips pressing into a fine line. It was a look of warning.

Illya, however, laughed.

"I like her," he said, turning his head towards Doctor List.

"Yes," Doctor List replied, his voice tight and his eyes boring into mine. "Doctor Hunt has a way about her, doesn't she?"

I gave him the biggest forced smile I could muster, before letting it quickly slip away, replaced with my usual-as-of-late frown. We glared at each other, Illya in the middle and none the wiser to the growing tension in the room.

"This is her then?"

Another accented voice spoke, and I wheeled around, face to face with another volunteer. He had dark brown, curly hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in the same monochromatic outfit as Illya was. He frowned at me.

Doctor List nodded.

"F-Faye Hunt," I said, but didn't offer my hand. I had a distinct feeling that this volunteer would very much enjoy spitting on me for being American, or SHIELD, or whatever. I didn't appreciate how close to me he stood, and I clutched Illya's file to my chest protectively. God, I felt like a sissy.

"Come now Pietro," Illya said behind me. "Play nice with the new doctor."

The volunteer snorted, his gaze sliding to Doctor List. "Is Illya done yet?" he asked. "Strucker wants to talk to all of us."

Doctor List sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, go on."

Pietro reached past me, and I tensed as he leaned closer into my personal space, taking hold of Illya's hand. He turned and guided Illya's hand onto his shoulder, leading the way out of the lab. I watched as the two left, Pietro leading and Illya following close by with his hand on Pietro's shoulder like a guide. I looked at Doctor List, who had removed his glasses and was wiping them clean on a handkerchief.

He sighed again and replaced his glasses.

"Is he always so charming?" I asked.

"That's Pietro Maximoff. His bark is worse than his bite," he said. "He's been moodier lately because he's tired of waiting for his turn."

"His turn?" I asked.

"For experimentation."

Oh, right. Some people were here because they wanted to be. Some people were crazy enough to subject themselves to this torture.

"Have you made a decision yet?" List asked.

"Do I have much of a choice?"

"No, I suppose not," he said, "But if you're going to be a part of Hydra, you need to be fully invested. You can't have your head in Sokovia and your heart back in Washington DC."

I scoffed.

"I'm telling you this for your safety as well as everyone else's. Be smart enough to listen."

I shook my head, lips curled in annoyance. He was telling me to forget my old life like it was a bad dream.

Doctor List stepped closer to me. My hands were crossed over my chest and he took one of my elbows, squeezing it. "Listen to me Faye," he said firmly, "There's no pretending here. You're in enemy territory. You don't see the beauty behind our work, not yet, but you will. In the meantime, you need to cooperate if you want to survive. Understand?"

I looked into his dark, beady eyes, wondering why Doctor List was so adamant about my safety. I searched his face, trying to find an answer, but it remained passive. He released my elbow and moved towards the table. I didn't have time to dwell on his behavior, because Doctor List was switching on the computer and pulling out stacks of manila envelopes. He looked at me, waiting to step up to the table and join him.

I stared at the mounds of information sitting on the table. List had been right about my natural curiosity as a doctor. There was something deep inside me that ached to know what went wrong in the previous experiments, something itching to piece together the clues and find a way to make the experiments work. It was the reason I had gone to medical school; to find a way to make the impossible, possible. All I had to do was step forward and flip open a file to begin the work of a true medical practitioner, the one thing I had been wanting to do since I was sixteen.

But something held me back. Could I really forego what few morals I had left? These volunteers only knew half the story, and I wasn't sure I could consciously let them go on believing that these experiments were in their best interest. They were only for Strucker's gain, the lives of Illya, and Pietro, and the others an afterthought. And even if, by some miracle, I was able to save the volunteers, I would be creating weapons to be used against SHIELD; the very people who had saved me after my parents died. The Avengers would be in danger at the hands of a stuttering, drug abusing, anxiety driven, lab technician, who got frightened into working for the enemy. I thought of Captain Rodgers and how nice he had been to me that day at clinicals.

My life, the volunteer's lives, the Avengers lives.

I swallowed hard, moving closer to the table, my legs seeming to step forward of their own accord.

If I wasn't on the fast track to eternal damnation before, I sure as hell was now.

Doctor List smiled gently. "Right, let's get to work then."