My Neighbor, Mr. Rogers

Chapter Twenty-Six - I Don't Believe That Man's Ever Been to Medical School

WARNING? If the last chapter bothered you, this will most likely also bother you. Probably. This chapter is a bit ickier.

My throat is raw, swollen nearly shut from my screams. I don't think I could talk even if I knew every secret SHIELD ever had. I actually passed out this last time. So that was nice. Cut his visit short at least.

I have no idea how long I've been here. Several days, I think. There're no windows and whenever the door opens, the hallway beyond is always dark. But Pitch, as I've taken to thinking of the shadow man, has visited me several times.

Since I have a few moments of conscious peace, I try to think. The serum must have built up in my system because I can think a lot clearer and make connections much faster than I should be able to, given my circumstances. I'm not sure why Pitch is continuing the torture when it's obvious that I can't tell him anything important. I've essentially only told him that James is ticklish and Steve is tall. Even if he did want information, he's pushing me way too hard for me to last much longer. My best guess is that Pitch is a sadist and just entertaining himself until either he has to give me back, or I die.

They give me a rest between 'interviews' – long enough to fall asleep for a little, Pitch always comes back before I wake up on my own. But Carson appears during this rest.

The sound of the door startles me and I jar my left arm. It's probably broken – I don't think it's supposed to bend that way between my elbow and shoulder, but I'm no doctor. I don't have to struggle so hard to keep from crying from the pain anymore. I'm too dehydrated. But I do know why they keep the room so cold – to slow my bleeding. Very thoughtful.

When I see that it isn't Pitch this time, but Carson, I'm taken aback. He looks so different wearing the same black uniform I've seen on Pitch.

"Anne." He doesn't look happy to see me, at least not like this. Again, I'm taken aback. Why would this make him unhappy? This is because of him.

I don't answer him. Mostly because my entire throat is throbbing and I don't want to waste the effort it would take to speak to him.

"Why don't you tell them what they want to know?" Not Scottish, apparently. His accent is gone.

Just as well. I wouldn't want to hold it against David Tennant.

I glare lazily out of one eye. My right eye is still swollen shut; it's been hit a couple more times to keep it that way, I think.

He sighs. "If you just cooperated, it'd go easier for you..."

I huff through my nose. "Truth serum. How could I lie?" I croak shortly, wanting him to stop talking. Pitch injects the serum into the base of my skull at the start of each 'interview', ensuring that I'm not hiding anything from them.

Carson rakes his fingers through his dark hair. "I don't know. Maybe he's asking in a way that you can skirt around. Answering truthfully but not fully."

I try not to tense up. He's a lot closer to the truth than I thought he'd be.

"Just, just tell him something," he looks up, searching my face. "You can make it stop. He'll leave you alone until SHIELD makes the trade."

I look down, seeing the knife still in my left thigh– I'm pretty sure Pitch gets a kick out of the fact that whenever I squirm, I'm basically cutting myself further –the mangled fingers of my left hand, each of which have been broken; the bloody mess of my right arm where he had sliced long, shallow cuts everywhere – not deep enough for me to bleed to death, of course, all very precise. I seem to be a variety show of torture techniques and that's not even taking into account the psychological trauma.