| The Amelie Chronicles | (MCU)

Part One: Chapter Two

They didn't trust her. It was obvious. She was kept in rooms with two sided glass, with no windows, with two people guarding either side of the door.

They were nice at first. Steve was nice- he promised that they were the good guys, that they weren't them. However, as soon as the plane landed and she was brought inside, it was an entirely different story. Steve wasn't allowed to go with her any further.

She was brought to a room where they ran whatever test they pleased. Exhaustion took over her body so quickly on the plane, so much so that they didn't need to drug her.

They drew blood, took fingerprints, did MRIs, CT scans, x-rays, any test that they could run. Doctors and nurses didn't talk to her, they didn't explain themselves, or even treat her for hypothermia and dehydration.

After several hours of running tests, she was brought to a room, about 100 square feet of cold barren walls. There was a small cot in one corner, a chair in the opposite one. She was given some clothes to change into- sweatpants, a t-shirt, pullover, and socks.

She changed, facing the corner away from the door. There wasn't a doubt they were watching her. She was used to being under 24 hour surveillance.

The walls of her room were no doubt made of some thick alloy meant to keep people in. The door was thick metal, a small window in the center. There was no knob on the inside. The wall adjacent to the door had two sided glass, the top corners each held cameras.

Why didn't they trust her?

The door to her room opened. In walked a man, tall, bald, dark-skinned. One eye was covered with an eyepatch. The other was a woman, her red hair almost as fiery as her intimidating stare. Her uniform was clad with gadgets and weapons. She had her arms folded across her chest.

Her chest pounded. Who were these people? Why were they here? We're they going to hurt her? She crawled back on the bed until her shoulder blades roughly hit the corner of the wall. Her eyes were wide as she studied them, paralyzed.

"You're lucky to have been so far away from the building when it exploded." The man said. He grabbed the chair, letting the metal legs whine against the ground as he dragged it to the center of the room, "There were no survivors."

Good. They were bad people.

She said nothing. Did nothing. Only stared.

"Miss, what is your name?"

She furrowed her brows, cocking her head to the side. Name? A pale hand pulled up her sleeve, revealing a glimmering vibranium tattoo permanently etched into her skin.  I-7

"I-7? What does that mean?"

She pointed to herself.

"I️ think HYDRA used that as an identification number." The redhead explained.

"Do you have a real name? A birth name?"

The girl was silent for a moment, and then she spoke, "Amelie."

"Amelie, if Romanoff and I are going to help you, you're going to have to answer our questions." The man was getting annoyed. The girl's eyes moved to the redhead. She nodded slowly, her scary gaze falling for a moment to reveal one of compassion, reminiscence. Had she been through similar situations?

Slowly, she nodded, hands fiddling with the sleeves of her new windbreaker. The inside was soft, warm against her goosebump clad skin.

"Why were you at the Hydra base? How long?"

"Long time." Her voice was hoarse, almost dry. Her tongue felt heavy and too big for her mouth. She rarely spoke, and when she did it was Ja or nein. The people at Hydra spoke a plethora of languages, but mostly German, Russian, and English.