R͟u͟t͟h͟l͟e͟s͟s͟ {Q͟u͟i͟c͟k͟s͟i͟l͟v͟e͟r͟/ A͟v͟e͟n͟g͟e͟r͟s͟}

Chapter 18: "Uncontainable"

It was almost midnight, but my eyes were wide open. Sleep was a million miles away as haunting dreams and sickening memories floated through my thoughts. I shivered slightly. I wished I could at least go for a walk, I was sick of lying down, but I was worried I wouldn't be able to control myself. Rumors were flying about my "problem",the news had someone leaked out. I could hear the voices as people passed by. Despite there only being about 50 people at HQ these days, rumors still stung more than ever.

My body ached from lying down for so long. I'd been lying in this bed for a week, only moving a couple times a day to avoid staying in the same position for too long and smushing one side of my body to death. I groaned aloud, knowing nobody would hear me. I'd been completely alone for this week, not seeing a single soul. I was trapped to my own thoughts. Were they trying to drive me insane? The only reason I knew people actually remembered me was that every time I fell asleep, I would wake up with a full IV bag. At least the nurses thought to check up on me....

All I wanted was to take a simple walk, let loose for a bit. I actually missed Steve's rigorous exercises from... Well, more than a year ago, now. We used to have to run almost 11 miles every day. I'll bet at that time, Steve would have done anything to get me out of this room and get the running done, even though I could basically kill myself by crashing into everything uncontrollably. I winced sharply. I shouldn't be thinking about running. It was torture.

But why not? Why shouldn't I think about running? If I was going to kill myself by running, although I had a strange "problem", then why shouldn't I? Nobody had the power to make me stop myself from doing it. Not Fury, not the nurses... Nobody. I looked at the clock at the wall that had been driving me insane with its incessant ticking. 2 AM, exactly. How long exactly did it make that I'd been in here? About 7 days and 9 hours... I think. That's how long I had consciously been here, since Fury came in and told me everybody thought I was the cause of this stupid war. What was the point of all this anyway? Frustration built up inside of me.

Subconsciously, I felt my body make a decision. My feet slipped out from the bed and landed on the chilled floor shakily.

Nothing happened.

I took a deep breath, relieved. Maybe, just maybe, I would be okay. Maybe the whole nightmare from the other day was temporary. I took a step forward nervously, and still, nothing happened. I took another, and then another. Relaxation spread through me, and I felt my tense muscles begin to loosen up. I walked around the room for a moment, confidence begin to etch its way into my posture. Every step assured me more.

Maybe... Did I dare to step outside?

Why not? I felt fine. My steps were perfectly controlled. I could command myself entirely, with no even slight malfunctions. I wasn't even sure why anybody would begin to want to disagree with me leaving this place. I was fine... I think. I was pretty sure I was going to be fine. And even if I wasn't... Who could I possibly hurt? Just myself, and at this point, I think it would be worth it. I just needed exercise, the ability to move. Slowly, I crept toward the door.

I held out my hand and wrapped my fingers around the cold handle, almost expecting it to be locked. It wasn't. I pulled it out and muttered a low, "Please don't freak out." to myself. I didn't. I closed the door behind me, and began walking down the hall, sinking in everything that was around me.

The realization dawned on me that this was more of a prison than a hospital. This was the side of S.H.I.E.L.D. that healed the villains, not the heroes. It was supposed to be a sort of penitentiary, where we lock people up, but don't let them suffer as they're being confined. Chills shot through me. These people really did think I was the enemy.

"Evgeniya?" Somebody asked behind me. I gasped, jumping around in horror. I didn't think anyone would know I was out here. A man in a hospital gown, looking ghostly, was behind me. I recognized him immediately, and almost choked on my relief. "What are you doing here?" Pietro's accent was comforting, a taste of home.