A/N: sorry for the delay! anyways, i hope this chapter is ... justifying. wink.

TW: panic attack scene, a little cursing, mild verbal abuse

———

Natasha's grip on me was firm and her gaze on the back of my head was unwavering. My feet moved before me, heading towards whatever direction she shoved me to. She put me in handcuffs the moment she laid her hands on me, but frankly, I don't blame her.

"You punch a bag full of iron everyday or something?" I quipped, taking yet another turn with her less than gentle push.

"What?"

"Your grip. It's not exactly a wonderful experience."

"Huh." I could basically hear the eye-roll in her voice, "No, just a bag of linoleum. It's lighter."

Thrown aback by her quick retort, I snickered delightfully. Who knew Natasha Romanoff could make me laugh a little?

"Well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Look at you, quoting Nietzsche." Her grip on me grew tighter. "Then maybe you won't mind if I do this, right? Doubt it'll kill you."

I winced, barely, but it was there and I had a feeling she noticed it. "I wish it would."

We stopped before a dark blue door, and she punched in a code at the keypad attached to the wall beside it before pressing a big red button. I heard a click sound and Natasha pushed the door ajar.

I stared at the room before me. It looked like...well, a room.

"What? No cell for me?"

She raised an eyebrow interrogatively and sighed, "Your cell is unfortunately under repair. Sorry, but you'll have to make yourself at home here now, Your Majesty."

I smirked, "Eh, I guess I'll make do. It's not too shabby."

She led me inside and locked the door behind us. I looked around almost automatically, scanning the area. The room was a little small, but it wasn't claustrophobic. There was a single bed attached to the floor by the corner with white sheets and a white pillow over it, a chair also attached to the floor and another door that left me no clue of what it would open to...a closet maybe?

No windows. No vents.

"You're not going to find it." Natasha's voice cut through the silence, slicing through it heavily like a blunt knife. "Your escape."

I looked over my shoulder to see her standing with her arms crossed, "I wasn't looking for an escape."

"Thought you were done with lying?" I sensed the beguilement in her tone.

I shook my head slightly, "I was just wondering why you brought me to this...room."

"This isn't a room. It's a cell."

A cell? This comfortable? "Ha-ha. You're hilarious."

"Yeah, I am. But I wasn't making a joke, this is a cell."

Holy shit, S.H.I.E.L.D must be flowing with money and extreme stupidity for them to keep their prisoners this comfortable. "Where I come from, we don't give the bad guys cells that look like these."

I saw her shrug out of the corner of my eye. "It depends on who's the bad guy we're talking about. Plus, we rarely have to put anyone in these cells." She didn't have to say it for me to know what she meant. They don't bring back prisoners.

"Well, yippee, it's my lucky day." I deadpanned.

Natasha had been staring at me the whole time. I turned to face her fully, daring her to make eye-contact. But the redhead continued to stare, unaffected.

"Hydra left quite the dent. Turned half of this building inside out."

"Sounds like em'."

"Your cell took a big hit. They blew a hole right through it, through the walls."

I froze. Did they know I was supposed to be there? Did he...come here to kill me?

On sight?

"They were looking for you, I assume."

My gaze dropped from her eyes to the floor, staring at my blood-covered shoes. Why is it that every time I think about him I cower in fear like a fool? I'm far from a coward. I hate the fact that even just the thought of that...monster, puts me in distress. I feel like a child again, and not the woman I am now.

Natasha was observing me, prompting me to answer with the intensity of her gaze. But I didn't have any answers to give.

"Sit down."

I looked up at her, only to find her pointing at the metal chair in the corner.

"Sit." She repeated, and I followed without question. I had no upper-hand here, and I didn't really want to have it. As soon as I landed my ass on the chair, she gripped my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. What is it with this woman and eye-contact?

"If you try anything at all, I won't hesitate to kill you. You know that." She emphasised the last part. "You said you wanna stay alive? Then don't do anything stupid."

I nodded once, lips pursed. She proceeded to walk behind me to free me from my handcuffs.

Time seemed to slow down as I thought of a hundred different ways to knock her out right now. Maybe it wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible. I could jump up and kick her in the face, or maybe toss myself backwards and grab her gun from her holster, shoot her from behind. I could kick her legs from below her and smother her with the pillow, or use my handcuffs to choke her to death. Or I could just throw a really, really good punch.

But she was right. I wanted to stay alive.

So, I sat still.

She uncuffed me and as soon as she did, she grabbed me by the elbow and ushered me to the mysterious door. She entered in a code at a keypad beside it, much like before, and pushed the door open to reveal a small bathroom.

"Go. Take a shower. There's a change of clothes ready for you on the counter."

I stared, dumbfounded. "I've only just agreed to work with you guys just a few minutes ago and you're already trusting me to take a shower without trying anything?"

She shrugged, "There's nothing useful in there. No sharp objects, no vents large enough anyone to fit through and the mirror isn't breakable glass. You try to escape, alarms will blare out and the oxygen in there will be cut-off immediately. So, either you die in there by suffocating, or you die when I come in and shoot you in the head. I don't trust you, but I do trust our system."

Figures. Stark Tech.

"FRIDAY's monitoring you too, thermal sensors. Now, go. Before I make you."

She didn't have to tell me a third time.

As expected, she locked the door behind me as soon as I went in. I stepped out of my bloody shoes and I stripped down my bloody clothes. It's funny how spent my whole life on this job, surrounded with nothing but murder and gore and yet I still get tired of seeing blood on myself every time. As if I could avoid it.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror–true to Natasha's word, it was far from fragile–and I ran my fingers across my face and through my hair. I had blood, bruises and dust all over me, like I've always had all my life. But I didn't recognise the woman in the mirror. She wasn't me.

But who was I really?

I've kept on this appearance for too long. It was a disguise that was growing old. It felt like a mask that was slowly melting onto my face, and it was asphyxiating me, burning the skin underneath it.

I've never worn a disguise for this long. This wasn't me. This was Lisa. Or was it Yvonne? Katya, Mila, Eve? I felt an odd sensation taking me under, almost like I was drowning. I felt myself tearing up, but I couldn't feel anything but...panic. Rising in my chest, expanding like a balloon. This was a familiar feeling, a problem I've had for far too long, but I never really knew how to solve it.

And then it all started to sink in, and it was like my body decided to finally register the pain that had built up over the last few days. But my mind wasn't along for the ride. I was hurt all over but mentally, I was numb. Or was it too much for me to handle?

The same question kept burning at the back of my head and it was all I could do not to scream and pull my hair out.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?

I wanted to sink to the ground and pull my knees to my chest until my brain stopped screaming at me, but I couldn't afford to have a mental breakdown in a S.H.I.E.L.D bathroom made for prisoners. It wasn't exactly like I had all the time in the world.

I ran the back of my hand over my cheeks, wiping the tears that I hadn't even cared to realise were falling. God, I looked like a helpless, pathetic thing. Felt like one too.

I stepped into the shower, turning the knob to the coldest setting and let it flow over me, desperately hoping it would wash everything including the pain away.

Am I not as strong as I was before? I've gone through so much to keep myself alive and away from them. From him. Had it all been for nothing? I've thrown myself at the hands of a secondary enemy. It was a desperate decision, but a necessary one.

But was it really? Was it worth it?

I shook my head, splashing more cold water to my face. I couldn't lose my mind right now. Not when I've already put my guard down. Why do I feel so helpless? Why do I feel like I'm making the wrong decision? Why do I feel like I'm slowly falling apart, piece-by-piece, and I don't even realise it's happening to me? Why do I feel like...a failure?

Please, God, please...don't let me lose my mind.

———

"Have you lost your mind?"

A click of a gun. The stomping of his boots.

"I was only trying to do what you told me to do."

A pair of furious eyes, always the same blue ones. They're always either angry, stoic or blank.

"You are not supposed to fail. I did not tell you to fail."

The mission wasn't supposed to go the way it did. The plan went askew but I completed the job, I checked off my requirements. What did I do wrong?

"I didn't fail."

He slammed his fist onto the table next to us, growling. I shouldn't have said that.

"You shot one of them in the shoulder. Did you miss your aim, agent?"

Fuck. "No, I did not sir."

"So, you did it on purpose?"

I messed up. I messed up. "I...I was-"

"You were careless." He sneered, eyes boring into me as I quickly averted my gaze to the floor. "You were negligent. You left someone alive."

I didn't dare move a muscle. He turned around, his back facing me.

"The order was 'to leave no trace'. You did exactly the opposite. Hydra does not stand for failure."

"I understand, sir. But please-"

He whipped his head around to stare at me. His movements were always so robotic, just like his voice. It was always unnerving. The look in his eyes sent a chill down my spine, and it took everything in me not to scream and make a dash for the door.

"Why."

I gulped. "Why?"

"Why did you not shoot him in the head?"

I shut my eyes, blinking furiously at the memory. It was a reckless decision, one that was idiotic and inadequate. He begged me for his life. 'Wife and 2 kids' he said. I don't know why I did it. I don't understand why I let myself do it. I acted like a spineless fool.

"He wanted mercy." I whispered, knowing that it was going to cost me.

"Mercy?" He uttered the words like they were foreign, the two syllables coming out of his mouth with complete and utter disgust. "Mer-cy?"

I nodded once. "I understand I made the wrong decision."

He seemed to process it in his head for a while. Then after only a second or two, he straightened his back and broadened his shoulders. There it was again, the robotic movements.

I watched in horror as he turned around and announced to the room, walking away with his boots stomping under him, a noise I've always dreaded ever since I met him.

"It seems you are not fit yet for missions, agent. Take her to her cell. I will report this immediately."

The cell? No, no, no...not the cell. Please. "Sir. I apologise for my misbehaviour, sir. I'll do better on my next mission, just, please don't put me back in my cell."

He didn't turn around. I never expected him to, every time this happened. But my voice had a mind of it's own and it always seemed to escape me. How could I expect for him to show me mercy if he condemned me for it?

I wanted to scream and kick and cry. I didn't want to go back to my cell. I couldn't. I fought against the arms that bound themselves around me, dragging me to hell. "Please! I promise. I won't fail next time. It was a mistake-"

"You should shut up." The agent man-handling me muttered under his breath.

The agent was right. The soldier didn't appreciate begging. I should shut up, but I couldn't stand the thought of being back in there. I let out a guttural scream. "Sir. Sir, please!"

He didn't look back, never did. I watched helplessly as he shut the door behind him. The glint of his metal arm was the last thing that blinded me before the darkness did.