When she was left alone she lay still and silent. She focused on the feeling of the air filling her lungs as she closed her eyes and shut off her mind. Her body ached with the familiarity she could not understand. Around her were items she had no recollection of and others that seemed so like her own that it hurt. Looking at it all hurt. Her mind shot signals in the dark, flares calling for rescuers to find her, for her memories to find her and yet nothing came. She was not The Winter Widow. She was not Talia Romanoff. She was simply a shell; an empty vessel waiting for powers greater than her own to determine who she should be now. She did not want to think of who she might have been; who she should have been. She did not want to contemplate what had existed before all that she had thought she knew. She did not want to think.
*
Behind her eyes her handlers face swirled and span. His eyes traced her. His hands brushed over her form as he dressed her, styled her, moulded her. She became who they wanted her to be. She could see him as he stepped around her, assessing her as she stood on display. She could feel the burn of his desire as he circled her like his prey. She couldn't move. She couldn't run. She could only wait.
"Aктив готов?" The voice in the darkness growled. Is the asset ready?
She stared blankly ahead. Her mind was clear; a blank slate.
"Готов подчиниться." She whispered. Ready to comply.
*
A rap on the door pulled her from the burn of the memory and she bolted upright from where she lay. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her correct herself and try to wipe away the ghosts of tears on her cheeks.
"Sorry." He whispered, a sad smile hardly reaching his eyes. "Mind if I just grab some stuff? I'm going to bunk with Buck for a while."
As she got to her feet Talia glanced around the room and back to him. It made sense of course, the small pile of books beside the bed, one cracked open as it lay across the others; the little brown notepad that sat tucked between the mattress and the bed frame; the sketch book and charcoal sitting on the small sofa at the far end of the room. This hadn't felt entirely her own. This place felt like a blanket by the fire on a stormy evening. It felt like a haven in the centre of hell. It felt like him.
"This is your room?" She looked to him questioningly.
"Well," he paused, biting his lip as he stepped into the room. "Our room."
Heat flamed beneath her cheeks as as she dropped her eyes to the one bed in the room. She felt her heart flutter and her breathing hitch as her mind roamed to the touch of his hand against her skin in the living room, the way she had felt the burn of his fingers as he took them from her.
"But there's only one bed," she smirked as she looked back to him, taking a small step forwards.
Steve shook his head and blushed furiously as she dragged her eyes up over his body. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she tried desperately not to giggle as he groaned loudly.
"Technically Runaway," he finally met her eyes and laughed lightly, "that's a sleeper sofa."
She turned to where he pointed and her smile faltered slightly. She felt the sting of disappointment as she reconnected dots she had thought she understood, instead assigning them new connections - new histories.
"Right," she nodded, "I'll sleep on that then. That way you can keep your room."
He felt the dejection within her voice, the bitterness of the sting of rejection and he sighed. He longed to reach into her mind and understand what it was that was going on beneath the surface of cool indifference. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and make her smile, he wanted to cocoon her in the safety of his protection and care and make her feel safe. Instead he simply moved to the bed and perched on the edge.
"Only if you're comfortable with that." He watched as she ran her fingers over the plush cushions of the couch. "I don't mind bunking with Bucky."
She took a moment to compose herself before she turned to face him. The way her emotions seemed to be so tightly wound around the man behind her left her reeling. It was as if gravity gave up when he was around, instead she was left tethered to him. He held her in place and yet sent her heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies taking flight. It scared her.
When she turned to face him he was watching her intently. His brow was furrowed and he leant towards her, drawn to her. She searched his eyes for distrust and fear. Instead she found worry; she found concern. She plastered a wide smile across her face as she walked to where he sat and perched herself beside him, noticing his shoulders relax as she did so.
"It's fine Mystery Man." She nudged him gently with her shoulder and shivers ran up her spine as he chuckled freely. "Besides, I think I'd like the company."
For a while they sat in silence. It was a strange feeling. The comfort of familiarity seemed to follow Steve where ever he went and Talia sighed as she lay back once again. She traced her eyes over his broad shoulders and the way the navy jumper he wore seemed to cling to each muscle in his back. She wanted to brush her fingers along his shoulders, to skim her hands over his arms and to feel what it would be to hold onto him. She wanted him to hold her.
"Runaway?" Steve's voice was low and she watched his muscles move as he fidgeted with something just out of her view.
"Mystery Man?"
He huffed out a laugh and she smiled at the sound of it.
"I have to ask, why did you stop to talk to Buck?"
Talia lay still as he twisted to look at her, his eyes tracing her lips, her cheeks, the flicker of confusion buried deep in her forest eyes.
"I recognised him from my missions; from when you guys would show up." She turned onto her side and sighed as he lay back beside her for a moment, his eyes now fixed on the ceiling.
"Okay," he turned his face to her and she felt her chest ache as she swam in the blue of his eyes. "Next question. Why did you come with us?"
"I -" Her heart thumped as she spoke. "I felt like I'd be safe with you."
*
Talia tossed and turned, her whimpers carrying in the silence as she thrashed in the sheets that wrapped around her. Her heart hammered and sweat beaded against her forehead as she cried in the night, consumed by the images that blurred within her mind.
She was being held down. Pushed back as she fought against the restraints, her eyes swimming with tears as she felt the grip of their hands on her ankles, the cut of their nails in her wrists. She thrashed against them, biting down hard as someone covered her mouth, cutting off her screams, and a sudden blow brought darkness to her.
In the darkness there was blue, a crisp summer sea washing over her, bringing her calm. It washed away the blood from her wrists, the burns from her veins. It soothed the ache in her chest and brought breath back to her lips. It caressed her mind and tangled itself into the depths of her very being. "Come back to me," it whispered, fading into the darkest corner of her mind, sinking into the recesses of her soul as a burning began.
The burn built slowly, crackling and simmering as it bubbled beneath her skin. The burn was life. The burn was death. The burn was punishment and reward. It was routine. The fire raged as the electricity surged and she clenched her jaw. She would not show weakness. She would not let them see her pain. Pain was for the pitiful and she would not be pitied. She would not be broken. She tasted the blood that filled her mouth, the bile that rose in her throat and it tore through her: a guttural, desperate scream. It ripped from her chest and it ripped her from the blue of her mind.
She woke to hands on her, brushing her hair back, caressing her face, skimming against her gently.
"Hey," he soothed, "hey, it's okay. You're safe here. I'll keep you safe."
As Steve tried to calm her she fought, she fought against his touch, her eyes wide, her body tense. She skittered back from him like a wolf, taught not to trust, and air hissed from her lips as she tore her hands up to protect herself.
"Don't," she cried, "don't touch me." Her hands hit at him before finding their place on her chest, holding where it ached as her heart pounded and tremors rocked through her body. When she spoke again her voice was just a shaky whisper. "Please don't touch me."
His hands flew up in surrender as he rocked back instantly, his eyes never leaving hers as the mist of the memories that haunted her faded from her mind and reality settled around her once more. She shook as she curled in on herself, her eyes closing momentarily as her tears spilled and Steve slowly moved back to her, keeping his hands up as she cried shakily. When she opened her eyes she could see the pain in his eyes, flashing behind the stream of concern that poured out for her, and he took deep, steady breaths. He nodded slowly, guiding her as she mirrored his breathing until her shaking stopped and her eyes settled on the darkest corner of the room.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Runaway. I was just trying to help." He sighed as he lowered his gaze, his hands folding neatly in front of him on the edges of her sheets.
As if by instinct, by some unwritten part of the design of who she was, she reached out for him, taking his hand in her own as she moved to the edge of the couch. Her guilt overwhelmed her when he looked to their hands entwined and lowered his head to where they lay. She reached to him with her other hand tentatively, carefully, and ran her fingers through his hair, mussed and messy from sleep. She felt him hold his breath as he focused on the feel of her fingers gently stroking his hair, soothing him.
"No," she whispered, "I'm sorry. I - it's just -" her voice shook and he lifted his head, looking up at her with the eyes of a man that was on the verge of breaking. "When I would get nightmares my handler would tell them and they'd..."
Her whole body began to shake as she clung to his hand.
"It's okay, you don't have to -"
"They'd strap me down and they'd pump electricity through my body until I couldn't see anything. They'd burn me until I couldn't see my dreams."
Slowly Steve brought his hand to her face and cupped her cheek, his thumb gently brushing her tears away as she leant into his touch. She closed her eyes, letting him hold her tenderly, and she hiccuped through her tears.
"Talia, I'm so sorry." He shifted closer, pulling his hand from hers and bringing it up so that both hands held her face. "I should have found you sooner. I'm sorry."
Opening her eyes she was met by a summer sea, a sea that washed over her and held onto her through the pain. A sea that calmed her and called out to her. Come back to me. She blinked away the last of her tears and her breathing hitched as she stared at him. She pulled away slowly, gently peeling his hands from her face as she looked to the door.
"I'm going to get some water." She pushed the sheets from her as Steve smiled sadly and helped her to her feet. "I'm sorry I woke you."
He watched her as she walked away from him, aching to follow her as she ducked her head and wrapped her arms around herself. He wanted to chase her down, to hold her against him with or without memories, to soothe her and comfort her, to keep her safe and steady. She ran from him for the first time since the day he had met her and his heart ached to run with her.