It was a Sunday, the fucking therapist had to reschedule and training wasn't an option as some form of function was happening at the compound that mom – the Fox was attending. So here they were, sitting in the living room playing yet another game of Stratego. Thus far, it had been a 50-50 winning ratio.
Why did she have to be here? Trapped with people who only wanted her as one of two things. A soldier to wage their moral wars, or a doll to play "House" with. Anything else and it would be a fate worse than death. Twice she had been locked away in solitary confinement by Hydra as an endurance test and it was something she never wanted to have to experience for a lifetime.
It had been weeks since she hadn't been able to convince herself to get out of bed. The longing (for what she didn't know), the ache was always there. Everything that happened was like digging your fingers into a mostly fresh wound. Why couldn't she just be numb? Everything hurt. Physical pain would have been better than this!
If he so much as suggested another game after this...
What was this she was feeling? Why did she have to have them in the first place? If she had the damn drugs then everything would be fine! It wasn't as if they were actually giving her a choice in anything in the first place. Why not make her feel nothing towards it as opposite to this torture?
"So," The man kept his eyes on the game board but by the way his shoulders were set and the attempt at a casual voice, it was apparent he could tell something was wrong, "You been adjusting alright, Nadia?"
They'd lock her up if she wasn't anyways. Lock her up, throw away the code to the door, and occasionally come to stare at her like some animal in a zoo.
"Just fine." It came out as more of a snarl than intended. Maybe because she was clenching her teeth. Why couldn't she control this anymore? It would be so easy to fake this. To pretend she was trying to hide something or to manipulate them. Yet with every passing day it felt like her training in espionage was being thrown out the window by the suitcase load.
"You don't sound so sure about that." He arched his eyebrow at her, finally looking at her with his bright, knowing eyes. He was going to see everything. See past any sarcastic remark she could make. A familiar feeling paired with the others in her gut. Fear. Yet the fear was different than that age old fear of death, fear of pain, fear of failure. No, this fear was different.
"Fine," She stood, knocking over a couple pieces as her legs jostled the coffee table, "no, I'm not." She'd said it too loud, too out of control. Just like that, the gates were opening. Was she really going to lose it this time? No. She had to harness it. Control it. Use it.
Like hell she was going to be able to do that.
"How's that, Dia?" His stupid, stupid face looking on in mock concern. So level headed. As if he actually wanted to know. Bah!
"I want to fucking kill someone!" The yell escaped before she could stop it, hands gripping her too long, curly hair, "I'm having hallucinations! Every single fucking day all I see is blood on my hands. Everything is blown out of proportion." She turned to look him in the eye, tempted to go to her knees. Maybe this would work. If only all of this would stop. Yes, she wanted to escape but at what cost? Her sanity? His eyes softened, the concern going up a scale.
"Just put me back on the full dose." Was this truly coming out of her mouth? "I'll be your God damned slave if you want and kill anyone you say. Hell, I'll even pretend to be normal and live happily ever after! Just please." The cracks scrawled around her neck, across her shoulders, and down her arms. Jagged ones, thicker lines that seeped hues of orange. Why couldn't this just stop?
"You have hallucinations?" Why was he squinting at her like that? His face wasn't the trusting one she'd known before. He rose to stand same as her, leaning with his hip against the metal countertop that separated the kitchen from the living room.
"Yes!" Hallucinations, flashbacks. Same thing. A lie? The truth? She honestly couldn't tell. It just had to end.
A sigh. Was she getting that bad at acting that he saw through her? Was it even acting? Or desperation? "Don't you want to be free of it, Nadia? You'll learn how to cope. You have –"
No, no, no. He wasn't going for it. He was going to keep her like this. Shit shit shit!
"Bullshit!" Another yell welled up inside, she started to pace, "Bullshit! Free? Free? Tell me this, eh? If I choose anything, anything! Outside of A" She ticked the points off on her fingers, her lips quirked down in disgust," Being your little play thing to pretend at normal. Even just living a civilian life. Or B Joining the Avengers or some such nonsense that is strickly according to your moral code, then you're telling me you wouldn't put me in a high security cell as fast as you could shoot a tranquilizer?" It was all she could do to keep glaring at him instead of throttling him. She could kill him. She wanted to. Did she?
"We'll have to trust you'll do the right thing." He was stiff, not wanting to answer.
The right thing? The right thing?! What did they even know of the right thing? She was right and it didn't matter what she did. She was going to die, locked away, never to see the sun again. No escape.
"You know what?" Everything was boiling beneath the skin, loosening her tongue without regard for what came out, "I don't care what I did! All those people I murdered? Tortured? I liked it!" Arms crossed to keep the cracks running across her skin from exploding out into the room.
He wasn't reacting. Just listening. Looking sad. No. She wasn't going to be the only one unstable. Hit him where it hurt. "You know who taught me to do it? Huh?" She was going to get locked up anyways. It didn't matter anymore. There was no escape. There never had been and never would be.
His face paled, "Nadia," His heart rate picked up. Yes. That was the spot.
"The Winter Soldier," The sneer came to her face of its own accord at the name as she chose some of the more grotesque acts she had commited, "How to skin a man alive, prolonging their survival and keeping optimal pain. Best ways to kill a child in front of their parents. Which tools were best to get ones known to never crack to talk." His heart rate was sky rocketing now, the pain of her words rolling off of him in more than just the scent of it, "He taught me all of that. Taught me to like it." To tell yourself you did so it wouldn't consume you. To be dead to it. To stay sane as possible.
That's what she told herself. She wasn't going to acknowledge that he had merely been a mind controlled, dead eyed man who couldn't object to becoming the only attachment a child in hell allowed herself to have. Only in his more lucid moments, few as they had been was he ever anything close to so much as a friend. Yet despite all that, the child in her still wanted him to be more. Why? She couldn't say.
"He's not like that anymore. Neither are you." The man snapped, a deep breath that did nothing to settle his heart as he put his hands against the counter top.
"Then where is he?" It was a shout, feral and showing far more hurt than intended, "You're right he has changed. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left me in this hellscape and just put a fucking bullet in my head! But no, he just left because he doesn't even care about Hydra anymore." His heart rate picked up further if that had even been possible, "He was the closest thing to family I have ever had and he didn't even do me the favor of neutralizing me if he wasn't willing to take me with him." The words weren't helping. No matter how many terrible things were running out of her, it wasn't helping. But they wouldn't stop now. "And you, God damn he must hate you if he can actually remember what you did." He was hurt but damn she wanted to see him worse.
"What I did?" He knew what she was talking about. Not willing to admit it out right.
"Just because Hydra didn't proclaim what they did and how it came about doesn't mean I couldn't put two and two together." A short, humorless bark of a laugh escaped her, "If you hadn't let him fall out of that fucking train then he would have at least been saved from being a lab rat for over half a century. No wonder he wants nothing to do with you."
"Enough!" The metal table dented as he brought his fists down. Oh yes, there it was. Hurt. Pain. A lot of it. Why wasn't he taking it out on her? He should be hitting her, grabbing her, locking her away. Not just denting the fucking table! He closed his eyes, continuing to take deep, shaky breaths, "I need some air, but when I get back we are going to have a serious conversation, Nadia Margaret Rogers." He paused, another breath, "Like mature, stable people and not like this. Is that understood?"
"Fuck off." Was all that came out. Which was surprising even that came out considering how much she had been shaking. He walked out, slamming the door. A vase followed immediately afterwards. Shattering into a million pieces. When had she grabbed it?
Everything shimmered with unshed tears. Why hadn't he hit her? Or done something? Anything! Kicked her out? Sent her to her cell? All he'd done was mildly react and leave.
Because he wasn't like her. He wasn't like Hydra. He didn't want to hurt her. He just wanted her to let him love her. He was trying his best to give her other opportunities in life than just a mercenary. He wanted her to be free from the drugs that could give anyone control over her.
And here she was doing everything to push him away. Maybe even was successful.
Her knees went out and all that would come out was a low keen.
It wasn't long later when a small, hesitant knock came at the door. The heartbeat wasn't Roger's. Who's was it? The knock came again. Scuffing of nervous feet told her enough. It more than likely wasn't someone come to kill her.
Opening the door, revealed the face of a young man, a teenager was more like it, shuffling hesitantly in front of her. He looked up at her, nervousness flitting across his face, "Oh, uh, sorry for bothering you, miss. It's just, I live on the floor below you I guess and, well, I heard a noise and wanted to make sure everything is okay?" It was the boy from the field trip all that time ago. Peter Parker was it?
"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." She couldn't manage to bring a smile to her lips, "Don't know what you heard. Must have been the wind."
"Oh, okay." He turned to go, paused before spinning around and saying in a rush, "If you ever need anything, just let me know or or uh swing by. My aunt and I's apartment is the one with a purple cat decal on the door one floor down." With that he practically ran away.
As if she didn't need any more reason to cry.
XxX
Breathe. He had to breathe. Steve gripped at the side of the railing at the doorway outside of the apartment building so hard it crushed beneath his hands.
She'd known right where to hit him. Did she know just how much he was looking for his best friend? How desperately he hoped that Buck would forgive him? No. He hadn't said anything and hadn't brought any of his research home.
She was going through withdrawals. He could see the lie in her eyes. She just wanted to feel nothing and was lashing out.
Bucky falling, arm stretched out as he fell for an eternity in that white abyss. The look in his eyes.
No. He wouldn't be mad. Couldn't be upset at her. He was the one that did this and he wasn't going to take it out on her. She was just trying to learn how to cope.
Deep breath. Out. And now time to talk to a hopefully calmed Nadia.
XxX
Glass crunched under heavy boots, a familiar heartbeat. Rogers.
She was a horrible creature. Why had she said those things? Wasn't it enough that she was miserable? Why did she have to make it worse? Nothing should be showing. Hiding it. It wasn't there. Everything was fine. Good even.
Like hell it was.
XxX
He found her, knees to chest, hands gripped in her hair. That lost, hundred year stare boring into the scattered game pieces. It was as if she'd gone to sit on the couch but didn't quite make it. Tears streamed down her face.
Just like that the anger leaked out of his boots. Hurt could make a person do plenty of things. Anyone else might know how to deal with it. Not Nadia.
With a couple steps, the thermostat was raised slightly. After a few more came a calm song she seemed to like at the lowest volume setting and the smell of cinnamon buns heating up filled the room. When she calmed down they'd talk. For now, he'd do what he could. Touching her was out of the question and talking often made things worse at times. But a pleasant change in atmosphere generally seemed to help. At least that was what a few trainers at SHIELD had recommended.
Twenty minutes later, there was a small gasp, followed by a sob. Nothing frantic. More exhausted than anything. Safe to approach.
Nadia still hadn't moved from her spot when he grabbed the buns and sat next to her. However, she had transferred to crisscrossed legs and her hands fidgeted in her lap.
Playing it off wasn't going to happen. Forcing it out of her or lecturing wasn't either. Waiting it was.
So he sat with his back against the couch, slowly eating his warm, sticky bun with her own in front of her. Ready for when she wanted it. After the first sob, she just breathed like they'd showed her. Eventually, her hand snaked out to the cinnamon bun.
"You ready?" He asked once the bun was half gone.
"Ready to go to bed." The reply wasn't surly, just tired. Trying to deflect but no energy to do more than that.
"I'm sorry I got mad at you, Nadia." He found himself saying, "I shouldn't have yelled at you." This wasn't the gentle lecture he'd planned to give. Maybe it was what she needed.
Her back stiffened for a moment, "Should have done worse." It was so low, even he had a hard time hearing it.
"No." It was so hard not to pat her leg or wrap her in a hug right now. Everything in him wanted to comfort her in the best way he knew how. "You're hurting and I should have seen that." He paused, "But if you're hurting or having trouble then you don't have to hold it in until you break or lash out at someone. You can talk to us."
The girl only slumped further into herself, putting the half-eaten bun back on the plate, "Yes, sir." Before he could say anything else, she scooted closer to him, laying her head on his lap. It was as if his heart stopped for a moment. Couldn't make a big deal of this. Just calm.
XxX
Clint, Natasha, and another agent from SHIELD, Mike, if Clint was remembering correctly, approached the old house that'd shown up on the map from Nadia's tracker . After watching it for months, it'd been determined that it had been a personal safe house of Doctor Grante's.
"Where did you tell her you were again?" Clint asked more as a way to stop thinking about how this house looked creepy as hell.
"She thinks I'm at that convention that Stark is hosting." Was the cool reply.
Clint simply nodded as the three fanned out over the property.
A/N: Hey all! Sorry there's been a delay. While I have a lot of scenes and ideas for this story rolling around my head constantly I rarely have the time to put them in print or even organize the jumble of thoughts. However, here's another chapter for you. I'm going to try to finish the next one today and probably upload it tomorrow.
Thank you Camsonius for your reviews! They're very appreciated and are motivating. :)