Searching for Fury's killer didn't help. Why? Because it was fruitless, especially when the Internet wasn't helpful.
No images. No nothing of this metal arm guy. SHIELD files weren't helping either, considered I was restricted from them. Yet if Natasha and Steve had access to records, they probably would've found something by now. Or maybe the had found something and decided not to tell me about it for fear I would have another 'crazy' episode.
If that was the truth, then the only thing making me insane was them keeping things from me.
Thinking over the director's death with no leads wasn't helping. Just pushing me into a deeper 'spiral of depression'. Meredith insisted that, saying if I didn't grieve my feelings properly now it would 'come back to bite me in the ass' later. Besides that terrible point, my doctor was surprisingly frank for someone of her job. At times I rather liked it at times.
This wasn't one of those times.
I think I cried again last night. I woke up with a wet pillow and puffy eyes that webbed red. Is that how to process grief properly? The truth was I didn't mean to. Was I supposed to just let an ocean fall from my eyes willingly?
When I asked for an answer, Meredith just said everyone has their own way of dealing with it. She insisted the one I was using, which was throwing myself into work that I already knew wouldn't pay off wasn't a healthy coping mechanism.
So all in all, I was a mess and half the time feeling guilty for crying, with Meredith almost slapping me for when I admitted that. Don't do that. Don't feel remorse over something that is perfectly human.
Didn't listen to that one.
I came up with a remedy, which happened to be unattainable; A mission. Something active where I had to put energy into efforts well used.
When I realized constantly thinking up scenarios in which I was better and being of use was more torturous then ultimately being bored, I started to try and remember things from the five month period where I was gone. That didn't come with much success, instead filling me up with a constant dread of not knowing how scars had been painted on my body.
Then I started to think of what Natasha and Steve were doing, wishing I was with them. Then I thought of Layla, then Coulson's team, then Colton, then Maria, and eventually I got to imagining where Thor was at the moment and came up with the conclusion he was most likely having more fun than me now.
Eventually my mind would wander back to seeing Nick Fury's body covered by a long white sheet, and the cycle continued.
"Did you watch that documentary I recommended?" Natasha took a bite of her apple across the room, the sound making me cringe. She was mirroring Clint's habits too much.
I sighed, perhaps for the hundredth time that day, "No. I already know enough on the battle of the Alamo, or so I decided."
"So you'd rather rot away in here without entertainment?"
"I'd rather rejoin society instead of being a recluse locked away." I shifted my sheets over my paler legs, getting up to stretch, something Meredith finally authorized, "You know what book I just read? Jane Eyre, where this guy keeps his crazy wife locked up for years. I'm afraid that character is the one I'm most relating to myself these days."
Nat rolled her eyes, pulling her phone screen back into view with her free hand, "You're too dramatic."
"You'd be if you were in here for over a month." I countered, lifting my hands above my head as I feel my muscles pull.
"I'd find a way to deal with it." She defended her own point, pointing at me almost lazily with her apple-occupied limb, "That doesn't include constantly staring at a wall for hours trying to wish it away."
"And how do you propose I deal with it? Renning expects me to break down crying again and my tears might actually help solve my problems like a magic elixir." The bed creaked under my weight as I sat down again, crossing my legs while she pretends to think up an honest answer.
"Maybe she's right. Heard bawling helps with the dopamine in the brain."
I wish Natasha would spare me her attempt at satire, and she gets that message at the end of my mostly good-humored glare, "Kidding, kidding. God, you're wound up. Thought reconciling with Steve would help."
"It did," I admitted, leaning back on the palms of my hands, "But unlike every rom-com ever, suddenly having a man in your life doesn't fix everything."
She smirked, mischief glowing in her eyes, "I'm proud of you and your beautiful way of looking at the situation, but may I bring up you comparing your relationship to Steve with a romantic comedy?"
"You're deplorable." I attempt to scowl, but a grin at her joke breaks through. Natasha didn't know when to give up, a trait I admired in most everything. This was the exception.
"Trying to deny it won't help-"
"Trying to force something won't help-"
"You're smiling-"
"And you're smirking, as you always are when you joke-"
"I do it when I'm right."
I bite my lip, cutting off a laugh as she cocks her head to the side. Nat threw the apple up, grabbing it out of the air with ease, "Thanks for the giggle."
"And serving the truth." She takes another bite, seeming as though she'll say something after before ringing is heard throughout the room. She glanced at her phone, shaking her head, "It's not me."
My eyebrows furrow, glancing over at my SHIELD-issued datapad. It vibrates on the nightstand, an alert blaring on the screen. My gaze goes back to Natasha, who just shrugs. Who would be Skyping me?
I grab the tablet, using the other hand to brush a piece of dark hair behind my ears. Andrew ready to accuse me again without having to deal with Tony? Layla from her work? Perhaps an actual assignment I could complete from bed?
I tap the screen, accepting the call. I'm slightly surprised when I see an older man sat at an oak desk. His face is withered, deep sunken eyes that crease with wrinkles. His first action is to smile as I stare at the screen, observing the area around him. A picture of what seems to be a younger Fury and him shaking hands is displayed for me or any guest of his to see with a small potted plant beside it. The wall behind him is engraved with the SHIELD eagle, proudly declaring his high rank in the organization.
"Agent Firman," He greets, voice quite youthful despite the apparent age on his face. He brandished an inviting smile, and I almost return it after the calling of my true position in the organization, "It's been awhile since we've spoken."
"Not since the ceremony for the Battle of New York, Mr. Pierce." I'm reminded of the medal he placed around my neck, professing of me and my team's courage and bravery for going against the Chitauri, "But it has been a bit."
He kept a genuine grin on, nodding at the memory, "It was my honor, truly. I would've liked to welcome you home a few weeks back, but I was indisposed. Now, I'm afraid it's too risky to go out in public, with the director's death and all."
"I understand, sir." I resist the urge to swallow, making sure my face is placid and for the most part unreadable, "If I'm not to forward, may I ask the reason for this meeting?"
He chuckled, but it gives hints of being manufactured, "I've been told of your direct attitude, and you don't fail to impress me Sienna."
If he knew that, he knew my loathing of small talk.
"But that also means we'll get straight to it." Pierce picks up quickly after his last statement, his smile falling just the slightest, "I'm here to discuss Nick's death. Are you alone?"
I don't look to Natasha, knowing that action would give her away, "No sir."
I hear Nat shift, quiet enough not to be noticed by the tablet's speakers. It's her asking me a question.
"The sound bugs SHIELD put in my room make sure of that." Of which I've dealt with.
Romanoff puts a hand on my leg, fingers tapping. I quickly pick up the Morse code.
Thank you. She wants to solve the mystery of Fury's killer just as bad as I do. Whatever I hear, she can as well.
Andrew Pierce nods, pursing his lips, "And you're not dumb either. Your reputation continually precedes you."
Okay, sure, butter me up. I give a smile at the compliment, "The flattery is rather lovely, Mr. Pierce. What were you saying about the director?"
He now intertwined his hands, leaning back to settle them in his lap. He briefly looks at the table, even though there's nothing there, "As you know, Fury's killer is still at large. We do believe we have found a motive."
He's not just telling me this to inform me of it. This man, part of the Security council, is much smarter than that. He wants something from me and he's willing to give up valuable knowledge for it. He also is shrewd enough to know exactly what to bait me with, "I didn't expect anything less from you and the resources you have."
"The agents I have a very good at their jobs. I'm afraid the information they've received is not what we want to hear." Pierce faces the screen again, sending both eyebrows up while talking on, "We've apprehended Batroc, the man who was paid to run the operation that took over the Lumerian Star. We still have no idea who put him up to it, or if he even knew about you being on the carrier. What we now know is that it was a cover-up. It was a sale that Nick set up to acquire classified intelligence. Maybe even for you. The belief is that everything didn't go as planned and that led to Fury's death."
My mind spins at that proposition. I try my best to remain placid on the outside, my face still and calm despite what was just revealed.
Maybe even for you.
Did Nick set up a trade for me? What about the drive I now have? Did he align himself with criminals to buy me back from whatever hellish thing Nya worked for?
This isn't you fault, just keep talking, Natasha taps the comforting words on my leg, yet I still can't stop my stomach from churning. We can't trust anyone. That's what Nick told Steve. Just keep talking.
"Do we have evidence of this?" I inquire, pulling through as I try to remain more surprised than shocked at what my superior told me.
Pierce leans back on the desk, elbows on the wood, "Enough. Now, I'm not just telling you this to tell you this. Fury visited you several times while you were at the hospital, and he also seemed to favor you quite a bit throughout your training. I'd like to ask if you knew anything about his death. Anything he may have mentioned that wouldn't have made sense. Anything he gave you?"
I think of the thumb drive right next to me, nestled in between the pages of a bad romance novel. All I can think of is the possibility of Fury risking his own integrity and life for me, the possibility of who took me, the assassin with the metal arm-
I have to stop my own thinking, derailing that trail of thought as I cycle back. No. Nick wasn't stupid enough to bargain for my life if more things were at stake. This isn't about me, or at least it's bigger than me. Either way, I ended up on that carrier with no memories. Then suddenly he was dead. I think back to when Nya angrily yelled at me about SHIELD's control over the world, then proceeded to say things about my colleagues that were only known in secret files. Then I was gone, only to return with nothing to be said.
Someone was pulling on strings. That idea stayed in my head as I carefully answered the question, "I'm afraid I can't help you."
I just lied to a high-ranking official. The drive in my room alone could convict me.
Natasha's fingers stayed still, no interjection from her. She was hiding something as well. Hell, she gave me the drive.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Pierce answered, his expression unchanging. He keeps his eyes on my face, judging and evaluating as anyone would, "Thank you for your time. Get well soon."
He knows I'm lying.
The screen goes black, sealing everything that just happened. I lied to SHIELD. I lied to SHIELD. I lied to SHIELD.
Don't trust anyone. Nick's last words that Steve relayed make my gut twist as I realize the coming consequences, putting the tablet down in my lap to stare at Natasha. I can't form words, nothing just yet to articulate my crime. I can't even glance at the hidden flash drive, it's very existence weighing on me.
Nat retracted her hand from my leg, getting up from her chair to gently grab my forearm, "You did the right thing, okay? Whoever got him is connected to higher up, you already know this. The drive is proof of that-"
"And you gave it to me." I force out, shaking my head as the words ghost past my lips, "I just lied to them. I lied to them-"
She swallowed, biting down on her lip before cutting me off, "Because you know you can't trust them. The fact you showed up on a SHIELD vessel was enough proof of that, then Fury. Sienna, you did the right thing."
I don't meet her eyes, my mouth become a tight line. I finally look directly at her, needing answers she hasn't yet relinquished, "Where's it from? Did he give it to you before he died? Is that why he's gone?"
Her mouth parts, not speaking yet as she chooses her words. I await them, hoping to God it will some how justify what I just did.
Another ring, this time from her phone. Natasha hesitates, knowing reaching for it will be testing me, but she does anyway. I set my jaw, scowling at her as she reads the text on her screen. She still stays silent, but doesn't put it down. I watch her demeanor morph into something that may resemble fear.
"Oh my God." Nat whispers, turning her neck to glance at me. I would ask about it, but I knew my sharp malice that's born from my confusion wouldn't lend any sympathy. Yet the dramatic change in her mood isn't just something at random.
"What?" A crisp spite follows my speech, not all my befuddled anger directed at her. I'm tired of the situation I'm somehow in, and now I'll pay for my own ignorance.
Nat stops a moment, getting up off the bed to reach for her coat. I repeat my question, "What is it?"
"SHIELD HQ sent out a warrant for Captain America on charges of withholding information. He just escaped the Triskelion."
~~~~~~~~~~
Natasha holds my hand as we wander the halls, checking over her shoulder as we quickly move to another room. I grasp the book in my hand, my steps not as painful as I thought they would, "There's an empty room just around the corner. They wouldn't put any bugs in there."
"Left or right?" She asks, still surveying the hall. She smiled at a nurse who passes us, hoping to seem normal.
"Right." I answer, jutting my head towards the door, "We get in there, you tell me everything."
I think she nods, gently pushing her back against the door. She turns the knob and pulls me in, taking another look outside before slipping in herself. The room is almost identical to the one I was just in; a made bed, several sets of basic equipment not yet turned on, an unused IV, one window above the nightstand.
She sets me down on the bed, hand on my back as she squats down by my side, "We don't have much time, Rogers will be here in the next few minutes."
"Did you tell him to come?"
Natasha shakes her head, red hair swaying around her face much like a thick curtain, "No, hell no. He hid the drive here, in the vending machine across the hall."
My frantic stare is disturbed by my eyebrows coming together in a thin line, perplexed, "He hid it in a vending machine? Did he want it to be found?"
She shrugged, "Gotta remember he's kinda a rookie to all this. Still, had to lose a lot of quarters to get it."
I kneed the sheets on the mattress in my hands, gripping the cloth as I dig my nails into it, "SHIELD will follow him. Take the drive, get him and get out of here."
She stands up, going to the window to look for any sign of government cars showing up, "No, keep it handy."
"You know if they come here, they'll come to me right? Pierce knew I was lying."
"And I'm pretty sure Rogers is ahead of them. He won't leave without you."
I up turn a lip, exhaling at the prospect, "That's stupid."
"Steve does a lot of stupid things when it comes to you." Natasha returns from the window, putting a hand on her hip as she brushes the other through her hair.
I somehow roll my eyes as my mind races, sighing "Really, matchmaking now-"
"He'll come for you, and he'll come for the drive." She stops me, leaning back down to take my shoulder to get my focus, her own breath faster than usual, "You're getting your wish; out of this shithole. Now, if me or Steve doesn't come through that door five minutes after I leave, take that knife I know you have and go to the closet just down the corridor. On the third shelf you'll find a box labeled cleaning supplies. In the box will be a duffel bag, and it'll have everything you need. Can you get out from there?"
"You're practically asking a dog if it can bark." I reply, Natasha grinning at my snarky tone, "But where did the drive come from? Fury? What the hell is even on it?"
She takes a deep breath, head going down then up as she debates whatever she is withholding from me. Her free hand comes up, fingers curling in a fist before releasing out, "Okay, I can't explain everything this second, but once we get you-"
"And what if you don't and I have to escape myself? I can barely walk-"
She bring up her pointer finger, wordlessly stopping me before she continues, "First, if the file your doctor trashed is correct, you can do more than walk. You're almost in perfect health."
How and what
"I don't know what's on the drive, but I'm sure Fury gave it to Steve. It's what he was killed for, he found something, something in SHIELD."
That makes some sense.
"The man who killed him, Metal arm guy, I believe he's called the Winter Soldier."
Winter Soldier. Winter Soldier.
I've heard that name before.
"Now I need to go. You know what to do." Natasha stood back up, hand going behind her back to turn the knob, "We have a plan okay? Or at least I do. If all else fails, everything you'll need is in the bag. Then just go to the back lot."
I bring my hands together, old flashes of adrenaline speeding up my heart rate as I realize what's going on. Either way this goes, my friends helping me or me alone escaping, I'm a fugitive from SHIELD. Captain America himself has a warrant out for him and Natasha and me aren't far behind. The organization I dedicated my life to has been infiltrated and I'm rebelling against it, not sorting out the root of the problem from within like I would've if I'd been in better health.
SHIELD is compromised. Just possessing the drive makes me wanted by them.
Nat leaves without a reply from me, knowing she doesn't need one. Stale air greets me as I'm left to myself, glancing up at the clock to accurately gauge five minutes. I take out one of the knives I've procured and move over to a less vulnerable spot in the room besides the bed if an attack should come. The very thought of fighting again, fluidly moving again, is enough to hear the pumping of my pulse drum in my ears. I stay there for the first two minutes calculating my reaction if any attack came from the door and where to be when, what to do when, and if I was capable of it.
I think over the unsatisfying but vital information Natasha shared, first being that I'm in almost perfect health. A medical file in the trash? Sloppy, painfully so and untrained. A SHIELD agent not wanting me to know my true state would've disposed of papers easer. That leaves Meredith as my prime suspect. Why would she lie to me about my climbing health?
Perhaps she's an agent-
Nope, a regular person with more common sense when it came to matters like these would have more sense to get rid of the file that way. Then why would Renning throw it away? Perhaps it was the nurse Claire, trying to incriminate my doctor for something?
That brings up a whole other question; how am I in perfect health? I should be rehabilitating for the better part of the year. It's been a little over a month and a half since I'd been found, and I could barely walk two weeks ago.
That brings up the idea of experimentation.
It's something that did grace my mind. Perhaps some of the cuts weren't just for torture purposes. The very idea that someone put something foreign inside of me is horrifyingly terrible to fathom, but in some reality where that did happen, doctors would know. I'd be notified, or I'd notice physical changes in my body. Neither of those things had happened.
So what was the answer? How the hell am I okay now?
Yes, this is quite the reassuring thought, but also denying the human body's need to recover is against biology itself. I can't heal that fast from that many wounds, and that's the bottom line.
Maybe the file Natasha found was fake, placed in the garbage so obviously as a red herring. But what would be the point of that?
Then there's also the fact I seem much better. It still feels different walking after not for so long and I'm sure basic fighting will leave me quite sore. But how? Science isn't explaining this right, which leads me to believe some kind of cover up. Is there something not right with me?
The knob jiggles abruptly, and my instincts act before I do. With one fluid motion the door is closed and my knife is at someone's throat, face only inches away from the person's who is just about to get sliced open.
Steve's knuckles clench at his sides, resisting his gut reaction to punch his assailant before he recognizes its me. His chest is heaving from high activity, but takes a solid deep breath as hot air is blown on my face, "You tried to cut my throat last month too, didn't work out so well."
His now casual grin brings up my behavior from weeks ago where a forgetful, deranged me emerged from surgery with a scalpel. My heart feels as though it stops, stomach twisting from what I think is just the over pour of adrenaline in the situation I'm in. I remove the blade, giving a smirk as I put it in my pocket. Stepping back to give me room to talk without my words practically suffocating the small space between us, I greet him, "Second times a charm. Talk to Natasha?"
"Just did. She said the drive was safe and didn't give it to me, and who else would she trust with it?"
"Clint on a good day." I reach for the novel on the bed, flipping through the pages to find the designated cut out. Once I see the silver finish, I grab it and spin back to Steve, "Also, vending machine wasn't a good idea. Also is the track suit. Solid dark colors in a mostly white hospital added with the hood? You're begging to be looked at, which isn't helpful when being pursued."
He shakes his head while taking back the flash drive as I finish my overview of his tactics, I believe finding amusement in my lecture, "Didn't have a lot of options."
"A good spy makes their own options." I tease lightly, my eyes fleeing over from the navy sweatshirt to the black zip-up duffel bag in his hand.
Steve follows my trail of thought without to much work, raising the pack up to my eye level, "Ready to break out?"
"Oh god yes."
semi-edited
yo babes it's been awhile but we're breaking out of the hospital and we will begin to get answers to questions and flash backs to the five month period soon. the plot of where sienna goes from here will be of slightly from the movie's trail, but it answers questions and helps her realize a few things about her own emotional state.
so i've already partially written the first chapter and it includes siogers deep talking and our girl reuniting with some people and a bike chase, so watch out for that coming literally next week.
(^wow rose good for you and your shit update schedule)