Russian Doll

Twisted

I should be dead.

I wish I was dead.

I don't feel like I'm dead.

I'm still alive.

Damn.

The memories start to come back. My mission. Nearly getting an arrow through my skull. Him. The fight. The darkness. Voices. Wait. The voices... they're gone. It had been two people arguing. Over me, I realise.

I try to lift a hand to my pounding head but barely manage to move it an inch. I try again and succeed in lifting it off the bed before it stops. I'm restrained to the bed. My eyes snap open.

The fluorescent lights imprint themselves on my eyelids as I squeeze them shut again.

After a few moments, I try again. This time it's not so bad. I manage to lift my head and look around.

Even this simple movement makes my heart race, causing the beeping of the machine to speed up, thus alerting the guard outside my room to the fact that I'm awake.

I don't care. I saw what I was looking for.

I let my head drop back down onto the pillow. The logo on the guard's badge. He's S.H.I.E.L.D.

From the movement I awoke, I knew I wasn't in a normal hospital. The walls are dark grey. There are no silly curtains around my bed. Out in the hall, men in suits walk by, not even remotely interested in the fact that a woman is half-conscious in a bed barely twenty feet from them.

I hear someone exchanging words with the guard outside before a shadow falls over my bed. Cliché much.

I lift my head again to see the man himself standing there.

He has a nasty looking black eye and several other small cuts on his cheek, not to mention the nose, which is obviously broken.

I feel a tiny hint of satisfaction in knowing that I didn't make it easy for him. On the outside, however, I stare him down, no emotion showing on my face.

He sits down in the chair beside my bed, and I glare at him.

A small chuckle passes his lips, and his electric blue eyes twinkle at me. For the first time, I notice how spectacular they are. They're like two groups of glass shards pointing inwards at each other, nearly touching but not quite.

His lips are moving, and I'm only able to catch the end of the sentence.

"-for us."

I swallow and open my mouth to speak, surprised at how rough my own voice sounds. "What?"

He leans forward so his elbows are resting on his knees, fingers entwined as he repeats himself. "I said that S.H.I.E.L.D wants you to work for them. You've worked for the opposition for your whole life, and we're giving you a chance to work for the good guys. So... what do you say?"

I sit up straighter, trying not to wince as the movement jostles my leg. "Like hell, I'm ever going to work for you. You would have to kill me first," I hiss.

He raises his hands a little to stress that he didn't want to cause any harm. "I just think you deserve another chance. Your whole life, you have been forced to kill without hesitation, and I think you deserve better than that."

"Трахни тебя," I spit at him, knowing full well that he would have no idea what I was saying.

He stands up with a sigh and stops in the doorway, turning to face me. "Я надеюсь, что вы пересмотрите свое решение, Наталья." Then he's gone.

I sit there for a moment, knowing full well I should not have jumped to conclusions. "He speaks Russian," I mutter to myself. "Of course he does."