𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

- ⧗ ZARIAH PETROVA ⧗ -

  ZARIAH AWOKE SCREAMING. The remnants of her dream lingered, the feel of the scientist's hands holding her down and the cool hospital bed against her bare skin still present. Her feet kicked at the covers, hands flailing to fight off figmental touches.

   "Stop it!" she cried out into the silence of her cell. "Let me go!"

   Zariah clawed at her skin, batting away invisible forces and screaming out to no one. She tumbled out of bed, crashing on to the floor. The pain jolted another wave of anxiety through her body. Her legs thrashed against the air, pushing her across the floor and into the middle of the room.

   "Get off! I don't want to!" she screamed. "Please don't make me!"

   But then the forces grabbed more firmly on to her wrists, trying to slow her fight. Zariah pressed on.

   "Stop! Please!"

   "Zariah!" a voice called out, hands atop of hers.

   "I don't want to! Please!"

   She kicked and thrashed at her attacker, desperate to get away.

   "Zariah, it's me! You're okay. It's not real."

   The girl slowed slightly. That wasn't the voice of the scientist. It was softer, American.

   "You're safe. It's okay."

   Her eyes blinked, brushing away the haze in her head. In the dim light of the room, a blurry mess of red hair filled her view.

   "It's just a dream. You're okay."

   A hand landed on her cheek. Not as a slap like she was used to, but a gentle touch, pulling her in close. Zariah's legs stopped kicking, her fists halted.

   "You're safe."

   The girl's full vision finally came to and in it, was a face she now recalled as familiar. Natasha loomed over her, green eyes wide, face plastered with concern. Zariah eyed her, breath still heavy in her chest.

   "It's just a nightmare," Nat said softly.

   The girl looked around the room, not the lab which she had found herself in seconds before, but her cell at SHIELD. Far, far away from the red room or any of its tests. She looked back at the woman kneeling down beside her. Nat's eyes met hers with genuine care.

   Slowly, Zariah reached up to the hand still resting on her cheek. The skin was soft against hers, ever so gently caressing her face. Her mind spiraled, suddenly confused by the foreign concept of comfort.

   The muscles in her body tensed and as her eyes fell down, she realised Natasha was still dressed. Beyond the curiosity of why, Zariah's thoughts fell on something a lot more interesting that lay on Natasha's right thigh. It only took her a second of thought before she was reaching for the gun.

Natasha moved backwards, trying to get away before the weapon was removed from its holster. But it was already too late. Zariah was far too quick. In an instant she was on her feet, holding the gun out in front of her. The barrel aimed directly at the opposing redhead's face.

Natasha's arms raised slowly, her face turning from concern to shock, and behind it, even fear. She untucked her legs from under her, steadily rising to her feet.

"Zariah."

Nat's voice wavered. She tried to take a slow step forward. Zari clicked off the safety.