HIATUS S P E C T R E » Steve Rogers [1]

IT BEGINS

S P E C T R E ║ It Begins

❝ Been tryin' hard not to get in trouble, but I've got a war in my mind.❞

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There's nothing in this tiny room but her own heart beat and breath. At times Katherine had hit the iron bars with the docile ring on her finger, just to hear something different, to make a tune. Then the futility of it all hits her hard. She could imagine music all she wanted, recollect sunny days and picture wide open spaces, but these walls aren't crumbling any century soon. The only time she had gotten to leave is to the interrogation room and even then she barely remembered the faces, because of the heavy doses of truth serum they would administer her. The guards wear black hoods and the questions are delivered by a disembodied and distorted voice. Katherine used to think that if she ended up in one of these places, she would be stoic, that her hair would drape the floor before uttering a syllable. Apparently, the girl was not that brave. She could either talk, converse, use her mind - or loose it. Some nights one part of her brain gets talking to another, whispering if she were lucky, yelling if she's not.

Today would be one of the days Katherine was taken to be interrogated. It had been weeks, months maybe, since the girl stepped foot into the world outside. She could hear a clock ticking by. It rings out, it's echoes penetrating the stillness of the air. Twelve o'clock. Looking around all she sees is an indefinite expansion of pure white space. You could run forever and never get anywhere, never make progress. No light. No shadows. Just the colors of empty white. Though there appears to be nothing but open space around, she gets the feeling of suffocation, like her lungs are caving in.

She can hear the heaviness hit the floor soundly, softly, but soundly. There's something about the sound that gives her a rush of nostalgia, and the smile that formed on her face cracked through her abrupt weariness and drugged state. The door opens with an old groan, and her almond eyes watch intently who it could today. Was it Natasha? Clint? Mason, even? Maybe someone new altogether. His back was facing her with drupe shoulders and golden strains peeping down over the collar—Steve. Katherine shifted in the metal seat almost instinctively. She had been expected to spill her gullet of lies and secrets that she kept, yet there was nothing to offer except an empty glass.

He waited for sometime before turning around to face her with an impassive expression and his lips held together tightly as he sat opposite of the swaying girl. Steve was just as much as bewildered as she had been when Fury refused to abide her decision to leave the compound, and instead lock her up without consolation. He wondered with a dip in his brow why they were keeping her; they knew she had nothing more to tell, that she should walk free—that she should be free. Oh, but they continued to push buttons, to probe and pry at a mind that knew less than what they wanted it to. Steve came to the conclusion that Katherine Stark was collateral damage, basically. There wasn't a need to keep her as a prisoner, it just felt right in their eyes to hold someone who was incapable of defending themselves, accountable.

Roughly, Steve cleared his throat to lead her wandering eyes back to him. "How are you feeling, Katherine?"

"I thought I could build up an immunity for this stuff, but I guess I was wrong." She answered quickly, a brief flicker in her eyes told the soldier otherwise, however. "I could use some coffee."

The corners of his lips twitched slightly. "I'll get someone to bring you a cup."

"That would be nicest thing I've had in a long time." Katherine pauses, folding her hands on the table and leaning forward to mimic Steve's current position. There was a glint in her eyes, but her expression remained far off, dream-like even. Another thing he caught on to.