Her Prisoner

Chapter 2

Romanoff has just entered the room as it has been part of her daily routine for the past three weeks.

Things have been the same except for the room. The room has changed. He was moved to a more spacious one converted into a fully furnished bedroom. A room comfortable in appearance which allows him to roam at ease, but in reality a larger cage which incessantly reminds him of his condition. The bed is large and there is a large collection of books of all types for him to catch up with the new time and in which his mind at times succeeds to escape into.

The guard outside the door is still there, however.

She walks up to the table where they have their daily meeting. He comes up to meet her, something he does less and less reluctantly as the days go by. Not by choice, but by habit. Like an animal slowly trained into coercion.

She opens the box, takes the pawns out and mechanically sets them on the board.

"You know it took some digging to find this chessboard in order to satisfy your request. They no longer."

His surprise shows; she welcomes it with a subtle smirk. It seems Romanoff has made her running joke of his out-of-his-time condition.

After the third day, he completely shut down and remained impermeable to her attempts to start conversations. He was the one who eventually mentioned the chessboard. The rules established are simple: whoever is playing can ask a question.

"When I am getting out?" he asks, after moving his first pawn.

"It all depends on you. In the meantime, you can enjoy the comfort of your room."

"My cell," he corrects her.

"A cell with a breathtaking view," she chimes in. She is calm and focused on the game.

He glances at the wide window, half the length of the wall, facing the range of high mountains across.

"And unbreakable glass," he finishes aloud as he moves another pawn.

Romanoff smirks. "Oh, so you checked? Naughty."

He eyes her with coy distance. She remains imperturbable. He knows this remark will not travel to any other ear. It's her secret. Their secret. They have made a few of those over the past weeks. Romanoff is methodical in everything she does, and in her interrogations, particularly. She only keeps what is valuable. When she catches something important, she clenches it and makes it hers. The other insignificant details are left off the path. They aren't of any use to her.

That was one of those.

"I want to leave. I should be free to leave. But you treat me like a guinea pig," he spits bitterly. "That blood test I get once a week, I doubt it's for a courtesy check-up."

Natasha doesn't answer, plays in silence and skips her turn.

"I don't belong here," he goes on. "I should be home."

"Where's home, though?" she says. "You've been away 70 years and I don't need to state the obvious regarding your friends and all the people you've ever known."

It is the truth still painful to bear. He has barely beginning to grieve Bucky when he found out he had lost everyone else, too.

"So I should stay in Russia?" he retorts.

She cocks an eyebrow. "You know, you are quite narrow-minded for someone who's missed the whole Cold War section. You could do great things here, too." She pauses and leans in closer. "I'm sorry, you know, sorry that people you thought to be your friends gave up on you so easily after the crash. We may not be perfect but we never leave a companion behind — no matter what. That's what we do; we don't give up on each other."