FLAKES OF SANITY

She felt as though she couldn't breathe. Her arm throbbed like a bitch, and her head was banging after head butting the agent in her interrogation. She knew that she deserved it all, every last ounce of pain she felt she deserved, she needed. If she didn't feel the agony resonating in her body and soul, she knew she could turn dark side in the space of minutes. As much as she hated the world and most of the people in it, she wanted to be okay. She wanted to stay the good guy. 

She wasn't sure of who she was anymore. 

They released her from the interrogation room when they realised she wouldn't talk. It had been Rhodey who sat down with her whilst the doctors inspected her head, and checked up on her stitches. He filled the silence with mindless chatter of the weather and how he wondered if the football was on the TV that night. Anything to keep her mind occupied. Yet all of his attempts to distract herself from her own sins were pointless - every time she closed her eyes she saw the blood staining her hands. She'd been curious enough to know if she was a murderer before - now she knew. 

When she'd been brought into the compound, they didn't even offer to let her wash her hands. She had to watch the blood flake off her hands as the time passed. Ileana felt as though each flake represented her sanity, leaving her tiny piece by piece until all that was left was a coloured mark. 

Ileana didn't dare blink, only succumbing to it when her eyes demanded her to. It must have been strange, for the King of Wakanda to see. A woman covered in blood who refused to blink. The blood would've been enough to make someone shift uncomfortably, and coupled with the endless stare she admired him for not moving rooms. 

He turned his phone off the moment she trudged in, the agents harshly ordering her to stay where she was. If she had her voice, she would've stayed silent. She didn't want to go anywhere, and encounter the lifeless face around every corner. His curiosity had been peaked, and he needed the answers. 

"Are you okay, Miss?" His deep accented voice cut through the silence. Her eyes dragged up to meet his slowly, her face eerily blank. At another time, she would've been overjoyed. Another person who seemed to actually care about her state of mind. Now, she only wondered why he would care. Too tired to lie, she shook her head. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Ileana nearly laughed. A poor choice of words, something that everyone thought you could do no matter what. A sly smile curled her lips, adding details to the picture of insanity. She only tapped her throat, shaking her head again. He understood immediately, nodding his head. Without a word, he stood up, walking towards the desk and rummaging through it's contents. Ileana held in her shock - he seemed like a good boy. 

He stayed there for a few more minutes, moving piles of papers to the side and seeming to get more frustrated. Ileana took her attention off of him, letting her eyes fall to the blood crusted around her fingernails. She didn't want to wash that off, for the fear that the moment his blood left her skin she would forget what she'd done and never remember the man who crumpled in her arms. 

A sudden noise cut through the quiet, the dark skinned man strolling back to his seat and placing his two finds on the table. A pen and paper. She raised an eyebrow up at him, momentarily forgetting about the DNA on her caramel hands. 

The man repeated his question. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

He was persistent, and she was tired and hungry and just wanted to go home. Wherever that was. Maybe it was all of these that made her pick up the pen tentatively, watching the mans face light up. His small victory angered Ileana, and rebelliously she let the ink spill out her reply. 

Why are you being so persistent? 

She pushed the paper towards him, taking in the pull of his eyebrows as he took in the words. He was speechless for a moment, constructing the perfect response in his head. "In order to be forgiven, you need to admit what you have done." 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and grabbing the paper ruthlessly. 

I don't believe in that kind of thing. 

He didn't need to read the words on the page to know what it would say. Her response was enough to tell him that she thought of it as ludicrous. "Why so?" 

Her pen scratched harshly into the paper as she wrote the words down, her knuckles becoming white under the pressure. Ileana's jaw was clamped, and she looked feral as she scrawled the words on the page. 

I don't believe in something as feeble as God, because if he did exist I know he would owe me a lot for what he's put me through. 

It took him some time to decode the words, the letters shaky and wavering. He thought it was a good representation of her emotions at the moment, but he knew not to say that and irritate her more. 

"Fair enough. But I never said who you were going to be forgiven by." Ileana tilted her head to the side, confusion laced in her features. "Maybe if you write it down, you can forgive yourself." 

Ileana tapped the paper, lost in thought. A tiny speckle of red had been knocked off of her hand, and it floated down to the paper. Her eyes remained glued to it. 

I killed a man. Possibly a woman too. Can I really be forgiven? 

The man gulped, leaning back and smoothly retorting. "Are you a good person, Miss..." He waited for her to fill the gap, a smile creeping it's way onto his face when he found out her name. Another thing that appeased his curiosity. "Are you a good person Miss Popescu?" 

Uncaring about the person the pen belonged to, she bit the end of it. Was she a good person? She liked to believe that she was one of the few good people left on the planet, but what if she had been naive all along? Or what if she was a good person, and this was only a mistake she made? Everyone makes a mistake in the heat of the moment. 

The battle inside her head continued as she wrote down three words that stirred both fear and pity within the man. 

I don't know. 

He couldn't manage any words. They all seemed pointless and empty. He was grateful when she leaned over and scratched some more words into the paper, distracting him from his sudden wariness. 

I didn't catch your name. 

He forced a smile on his face, bringing his hand forward. "How rude of me. My name is T'Challa Udaku, King of Wakanda." 

She carefully leaned forward and shook it. His handshake was strong, and he squeezed her hand before letting go. Ileana had to hold back her wince - the movement had jolted her injured arm, and she was overcome with a fresh wave of agony.

For the second time that day, he asked if she was okay. She gathered that he was talking about her physical health instead of her mental health, and all she could do is muster a nod through clenched teeth. He opened his mouth to say something else when she picked up the pen and began writing again. 

Why are you here? I gather you're not the secretary. 

At reading what she'd written he chuckled, the laugh shaking his entire body. Ileana blinked, seeing bullets attacking his body and making it tremble. She quickly closed her eyes again, removing the image from her head and opening her eyes again. T'Challa was okay. 

"I was after the fugitive. I had no clue that I was about to interfere with official business, so when they arrested Barnes and Rogers they just brought me here. I think they don't know what to do with me." Ileana didn't pay attention after he uttered the name Barnes. The reason she was left to fend for herself and kill a man. The reason she managed to survive her time being homeless. Hurriedly, she scribbled some more words on the page quickly becoming full.

Why were you after him?     

T'Challa tensed, the playful mood gone. His tone was sombre. "He killed my father at the Vienna bombings, and for that, he needs to die." 

Ileana was the one unable to break the silence. She wanted to defend Bucky, by telling T'Challa that she had been with him when the bombing happened so he couldn't have done it. Yet she knew that any words in defence of Barnes were going to be dismissed. T'Challa was determined to get vengeance. 

Slowly, she reached across and patted his knee. It was the only form of compassion she could show him without her voice, and all he did was nod. Again the two lapsed into silence, something Ileana was grateful for. Her thoughts wandered to the dark side of her mind, whispering to her that she had made a family grieve. She made them mourn the loss of their son, brother, husband, dad, friend. All because she didn't think her plan through properly. 

Her darkening thoughts were interrupted by a loud siren, followed by agents running around frantically. Both Ileana and T'Challa stood up at the commotion, glancing out of the glass walls to see what was going on. Tony Stark was striding towards the office, his face one of seriousness - something Ileana never expected to see on Stark's face, yet alone expect to ever see in person. He threw open the door, eyes instantly connecting with Ileana's. 

"Come with me." 

Fear froze her body, and she sent a worried glance to T'Challa. He stepped up next to her, speaking directly to Stark. "And what is it you need from her?"

"Ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?" Stark smirked, his hand beckoning Ileana to come with him. "You're going to have a little chat with your friend." 

Ileana's interest was peaked. She took a step forwards with no hesitation, bringing herself next to Stark. And with that, the two of them took off down the many hallways leading them to a murderous robot disguised as a man.