Thank you again to those that were so kind to comment. They really helped me get the gumption to finish this chapter faster. Please enjoy!
Natasha picked at a seam on the steering wheel. Barton had disappeared after their conversation earlier that day, and the woman had a strong suspicion that his sudden absence spelled trouble. Only after the day was done, had she gotten a chance to get away undetected herself. After circling the block a few times, Romanov pulled into the drive of the safehouse. She left the car running while she went to collect the fugitives.
Upon entering the house, Natasha was met with a nearly palpable air of anxiety, and a very worried Captain Rogers. Romanov didn't have to ask to know what was wrong. Steve's wrinkled brow spoke volumes. "How long?" she had a ballpark estimate of when the girl might have disappeared, but the truth would make or break her assumptions.
Steve followed Romanov into the kitchen, clearing his throat nervously as he went. "Well," He began. "She left at about four thirty. When it started to get dark, that's when I thought it time to worry. She went out for a walk and that's all she said." Steve leaned his hands on the table. "Do you think she decided to run?"
Romanov drummed her fingers on the back of a chair. "Did she take anything with her?" Steve shook his head in response and his expression darkened. He stiffened and turned to Loki, who had vacated the couch and was now standing just inside the kitchen doorway. "If you know anything about this, I swear I will drag you straight back to Director Fury."
Loki raised his eyebrows and struggled to keep his calm, aloof exterior from faltering. "What reason would I have for getting rid of Elizabeth? She is the least capable of doing anything that would endanger myself. That girl holds very little power over much, to be honest." Loki knew that he had spoken too rashly as soon as the last syllable left his lips. Steve balled his fists and rose up to his entire height. Unwilling to regret his words, Loki reinforced his facade and prepared for a fight.
Before anything could escalate, Natasha stepped in front of the Captain and gently grasped his shoulder. "We have to leave now."
/
Barton sat on the edge of the bathtub, watching the girl carefully. Now secured to the exposed pipes under the sink, she was doing her best to keep her breathing even. Her wrists were raised just above her head by the makeshift ziptie manacles and she had propped her elbows onto her knees to relieve the pressure on her wrists. Barton noted the depth of the ligature marks already discoloring her forearms. He would have to get some antibacterial cream when he went to get a restraint system that was a bit kinder to flesh. Barton had made a point to keep the zipties on her ankles a bit looser, but even those would mark the skin if he didn't find something better by tomorrow.
It might seem pointless to care about causing her pain and mild injury if that was what he planned to do anyway, but Barton was a professional. He needed any pain or injury that she experienced to be something that he inflicted and controlled. It was cruel to inflict more pain than nessecary, especially since the girl was only a means to an end. Barton hoped that this would be over quickly anyway. How much of a professional interrogation could this untrained, inexperienced, and frankly unremarkable young woman, be able to endure? Barton did not expect more than a day would pass before he had everything he needed. In fact, he doubted that he would have the chance to be missed at S.H.I.E.L.D if he began now.
Barton looked the girl over again. She had almost evened her breathing now, and she held her face buried in the crook of her raised arm. Barton quickly ran through the many interrogation and persuasion techniques he knew. With such an inexperienced target, he decided to try the most basic of brainwashing methods; being a kind face offered in tough times.
Barton stood and noted the way that Elizabeth flinched a minute amount. He went and retrieved a slightly worn hotel washcloth from the bed. He heard Elizabeth shift uncomfortably when he returned to the sink and wet the cloth with warm water.
/
If there was anything that I had learned from being Loki's captive, it was how to push everything that might make me emotional, far into the back of my mind. A strange, almost empty fear, and how physically uncomfortable I was, were the only things left in my concious thoughts. Sitting in an almost fetal position had been more comfortable at first, but the tile floor was starting to make my rear end go numb with its cold hardness. My back too, was starting to protest the way it was curved and pressed against the wall at the same time. I knew my neck would soon be sore, but I was not about to move. Waiting and feeling my body get more and more sore was the only thing I wanted to think about. The sensations were familiar and therefore safe. The best way I knew to keep everything else at bay.
Barton's moving around made that strange fear get a little stronger, but nothing I couldn't ignore for now. Listening to the sink run was oddly fascinating and I was happy to latch onto that. The sounds were nothing that I had heard before since I rarely spent time under sinks. When the faucet was turned off, I listened carefully to the quiet rush of the water sliding down the drain so close to me. I was so consumed by these sounds that I temporarily forgot that someone else was with me.
/
Clint knelt down in front of the girl. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, okay?" He scooted himself into a sitting position just off to her side, and with his back leaned against the side of the toilet. He reached over and gently pulled her forearm away from her face, sliding both wrists forward on the pipe. Now exposed, Barton gently wiped the black makeup smudges from the girl's inner arm. Elizabeth straightened her back and leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes still closed. "Here,"
He said softly and gently grabbed her chin. "turn this way." he finished as he moved her head to face him.
/
My head hurt from crying and from being in such an odd position. I didn't fight the agent's gentle minstrations and his soft, reassuring tone was comforting. I kept my thoughts carefully blank as he rubbed the warm, damp cloth over my face. I knew that I must look a mess because I had felt the now dried tear streaks covering my cheeks and chin. Feeling the terrycloth rubbing my skin was surprisingly relaxing. Clint's strokes were gentle, but purposeful and before I knew it, the remnants of my tears and ruined makeup had been erased. My headache was beginning to subside just a little bit, but I also felt suddenly more exposed.
I opened my eyes and looked at the man. I kept my mind carefully blank by inspecting what I saw carefully and objectively. Instead of thinking about who he was, I thought about how his eyes had a dark blue rim on the irises. Instead of thinking how scared I was, I thought about the contrast in color between his individual eyebrow hairs and his skin. Intead of how much I missed my family, I thought about the little wrinkles on his forehead and between his brows, just where the bridge of his nose began. And while I thought about these tiny, insignificant things, I knew that I was okay and that I would keep being okay if I kept my mind on things like this.