137The song for this chapter is Crazy by Gnarls Barkley. It fits Keira's state of mind perfectly. Hope you enjoy!
I jolt awake. I feel myself shaking. At first I think someone poured a bucket of ice over my head, but as the terror of the dream fades and reality seeps in, I realize it's just my cold sweat. Slowly I sit up and suppress a groan as raw irritation shoots across my ribs.
I pull up my shirt up and use my fingers to probe the pink scar on my abdomen. The bullet wound healed well. It was just a crease, the bullet entered me fully, but I was extremely lucky. It only hit the meaty part of my abdomen so I'm not required to have as long of healing time. It must have been rubbed sore from my thrashing. If medical knew it was still hurting this much I would be taken right out of the field.
Right then I sense a presence to my right. I let my shirt fall and lean down as if about to go back to sleep. In a movement so fast it is only possible from hours upon weeks upon months of training, I grab my gun from under my pillow, cock it, and point it straight at my target.
Zeke… who else did I expect. "You look really creepy, just so you know," I say to him. He doesn't respond from his chair in the corner. I drop my gun on the bed sheets. "Was watching me sleep entertaining?"
He laughs. It doesn't sound humorous, I can detect an edge. "I would consider it more instructive than anything. I never knew you spoke fluent Russian."
So I talk in my sleep. This will make our little sleepovers awkward. "I picked it up," I respond vaguely with a shrug as swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. "I'm getting a drink." Getting water serves two purposes, one is I am actually thirsty and sweaty, two is I really would love to leave Zeke's unnerving stare.
I pad to the kitchen and stand on my tip toes to fetch a glass from the cabinet. When I turn around Zeke is leaning against the fridge. I blow out my breath in annoyance and march to the tap, intent on ignoring him.
"We need to talk about this, Keira." His voice is quiet, he doesn't want to wake Nathan.
"Why? I'm coping." I watch the water bubble slightly as it pours into the glass.
"For how long? You're not getting enough sleep. You're not… healthy." I look over my shoulder at him. His eyes area mixture guarded concern and piercing suspicion.
With a sigh, I rub my forehead with the heel of my palm and try to get my jumbled thoughts coherent enough to give him the answer he needs. "I don't think you understand. There was a time I didn't trust anyone. I spent my days for nothing. I was lost, I had no purpose. Now I'm here at S.H.I.E.L.D. and I have a team. I have a mentor. I trust you and Nathan. That's much more then I had a year ago. So no, I'm not healthy, but neither are you, and neither is anyone in this screwed up job." I set down the glass, suddenly feeling sick. He has no idea how unhealthy I am. Every night my dreams are filled with blood and murder. When I decided to keep this to myself, I thought maybe it would get better on its own, but I was wrong. If anything, they are becoming clearer. Every night, a new detail I didn't remember before is added to the long list of brutal crimes I dream I did.
"If you don't mind, Zeke, I'm going to go back to bed," I whisper, dumping out the untouched water and slipping past him. He lets me go, only following me with his eyes. My answer was enough to stall his questions, but not for much longer. He'll have to report it if he thinks I'm getting worse. He'll have to say one on his team is compromised. I need to get a handle on my shit before that happens.
But for now, for now I have to try to sleep.
The sun is hot in Spain, especially on this tile roof. We've been scoping the three possible buildings for 27 hours now. In all that time, Zeke has been completely still except when we rotate shifts. Something about the way he stays completely still, the constant underlying tension in his shoulders, the eerie silence of even his breath, all remind a bit of Clint. That was something I never expected to see in Zeke, but as I get to know him better it becomes more apparent.
"Nathan, have you spotted anything?" I ask through our coms. Nathan is taking an east vantage point, whereas Zeke and I are taking the west. We've moved positions two times, and still no signs of life are coming from these buildings.
"Nothing," he replies in a clipped tone. His patience is wearing thin and so is mine. Zeke seems completely unaffected.
"Something's not right," I murmur mostly to myself, though I know my team can hear me. "If they were here we would have seen some kind of movement by now." I blink as my vision blurs for a moment in fatigue. We set up a system where two of us take watch for 12 hours, and then one person leaves to rest while the other stays and is joined by the third person. It started out with Nathan and I, then it was Zeke and I, but now it's all three of us because I know I won't be able to sleep anyway.
"Easy, Matheson," Zeke says, staring unmoving down his scope. His voice is quiet yet strained, calm with an undertone of tension, just like the rest of him.
"SHIELD's intel must have been wrong," I argue back, mostly to just say what Nathan and I have been thinking for the past five hours.
"Have you ever actually been on any stakeouts, besides training?" He asks with the familiar patronizing tone. I feel like reaching over and tipping his precious rifle over the edge of the building, just for some kind of reaction from him if nothing else.
"Yes," I lie through gritted teeth, putting as much force behind the one word as I can.
"Touchy, touchy," he responds with a small smile. "Someone needs their beauty sleep." I open my mouth to snap back a smart reply when he reaches over and places a finger on my lips. "Don't, you aren't pretty when you scowl." I grab his finger and fling it away from me.
"I don't care if you think I'm pretty," I continue to scowl.
He tisks under his breath, "that's unfortunate, I mean I am the only person it could possibly matter to."
"Are you saying I should try to impress you?" I ask incredulously.
"It's not like you have much time to impress people with you moody, scowling, teenage assassin charm in this line of work," he replies matter of factly. "I'm your best bet. Not to mention most girls find me extremely attractive."
"You… you are a pig and I could find plenty of men way better than the likes of you who would date me." There are moments, like last night, where Zeke is serious and concerned for my well-being. Then there are times like right now when I want to strangle that smug smirk off his face.
His laugh cuts across my anger. "It's too easy to rile you up, and very entertaining." His tone changes to mockingly soothing, "I'm sure you would find plenty of poor men who would fall for your French accent." Again his tone changes and he becomes oddly reminiscent and amused, "If I remember right, Kiara Marcelle was one hell of a seductress."
I groan comically, "Please don't remind me. I hated that alias."
"Whyyy? That gold dress was killer."
"Was that a stupid pun?"
"Depends, is it funny?"
"Or did you mean punny?"
"Now that was a terrible pun."
"Fuck you, Zeke."
"Yea, no, not really my thing."
"Do you always have to be an asshole? I think it's extremely annoying."
"No you don't, you think it's charming. And I'm not an asshole, I hide my inner pain under under my amazing sarcasm and you swoon when you see how broken I really am."
I roll my eyes but let my grin stretch across my face. Bantering with Zeke is one of the few ways I can really laugh and feel a release of tension. And not just a release like my punching bag is a channeling of anger, but never really makes it go away. Being with Zeke this way makes me forget my problems, makes me forget the reality of who we are and what we do.
"Omega Strike Team, I have a visual on movement on the northeast door of building number . A women, red hair, is moving your way." Zeke and I zero our focus in on Nathan's words. I calculate his position in my head and track her trajectory until I find where she should be coming into our sights. Sure enough, just as I slide my eyes to that corner of the building, a girl with wild red hair is sprinting towards the alley to the left of the rooftop Zeke and I are currently situated.
"I have… fifteen more hostels in pursuit." I frown at Nathan's statement. No wonder the girl is sprinting. I raise my binoculars and focus in on her. She has nothing about her to betray she's being hunted except a slightly maniacal gleam of what I can only describe as exhilaration. This bitch is crazy. A second glance shows me she runs with a limp, a bloody hand clutched to her side, and a bashed up face. But something tickles my memory. I know her, somehow. It's like when you have a feeling when you see someone, but you can't remember their name or where you ever could have met them. That feeling is like an itch I can't scratch, but something else trumps out her familiarity. A feeling of both dread and yet an odd sense of being drawn, as if I can't stop myself. There is some correlation between her and my dreams, I know it, it's like an element of the fantasy of those horrors has suddenly come alive in front of me, though I've never specifically seen her in my dreams. But I do know one thing, I can't let her die.
"She's not one of them," I whisper my realization. "We have to help her." I tear the binoculars from my eyes and look to Zeke. He has pulled his face away from his scope and is watching her running form looking like he might be sick. I reach over and place my hand on his forearm to get his attention. "Zeke! We have to do something. They'll hunt her down like an animal."
He jerks his arm away from me and rolls away from the edge of the roof. "We can't, you know that as well as I do."
"Why? Why not, Zeke?"
"We have orders—" His hazel eyes are blazing with an intensity and fire that I match with my own.
"So did I when I made a call to spare your life. Would you have me reserve that decision to just a few? I'm sorry, but I can't decide who lives and who dies like that." My voice nearly cracks at the end, but it stays strong except for a slight tremor.
"No, no you don't. That's up to your superiors. You're nothing but a tool they use. You're the gun, and they pull the trigger. It would be better you learned that now." I'm pulled to a stop by the bitterness in his voice, the harshness. He's never spoken that way to me before.
Shaking myself internally from the hurt I feel, I harden my resolution. "Well if you're too weak to help, I won't stop you. Just stay out of my way."
I push off and start sprinting the opposite direction across the roof. I tune out Zeke's curses and focus on the edge of the building. I count down the steps and mentally calculate just when I hit the edge and I'll have to jump to the next roof. I plant my foot right on the very edge with perfect accuracy and launch myself into the air.
Just one moment of suspension gives me a thrill before I land hard on the other side and roll to absorb the impact. I glance down at the street to see the girl has just entered the alley. If she has any sense, she'll take a right turn and head towards the populated area of the city. I run to the corner of the roof and watch to make sure she does as I expect her to. She does. But right before she rounds the corner, I see the men following her just come into sight. A shout goes up and they put on a burst of speed, but she's starting to lag. I turn and sprint along the edge of the roof until I come to edge and I take another flying leap to the next roof, mentally thanking Europe for such narrow alleyways.
I hit the ground running, keeping my eyes on my target. Damn, this is going to hurt. The next roof is across a wider alley. I wouldn't be able to make the jump, but I don't need to. I grab a device out of my uniform belt and click a button, aiming for the edge of the next roof, and then I jump.
My stomach drops for a moment as I free fall. To my eternal thankfulness, the grapple hook finds its purchase and the line goes taught as my downward trajectory is jerked to a painful stop, and suddenly I swinging with alarming speed towards the next building wall. I use the soles of my boots to break the impact, but my knees bend and crash into the wall. That stings like a bitch.
I take a moment to steady my breathing and then begin to shimmy down the line. I run to the center of the empty street, my target: a metal grate into the sewer system. In no time I have the grate off and lying to the side before I run to the street corner. Taking cover behind the building, I peek around to see the girl is heading my way with the gang still on her heels.
Breathe. Steady. Wait for the right time. I have a moment to think, and the question that comes to mind is why? Why do I feel so drawn to her? Why do I somehow know there is something very important about her, but I don't consciously know what it is? Why am I being irresistibly drawn to her?
Before I can find an answer, it's time to move. I wait until she comes within inches of me. My hand flashes out and I grasp her arm, pulling her into the alley with me.
Yet another moment arises where I have Clint's constant surprise attack training to thank. Instinct takes over before I can think when I see a flash of a knife in her hand. I block her upward slash and bend back as her left hook sails above me. In a fluid motion, I snap back up, kick her injured leg from under her and twist her arm holding the knife behind hers, making her release it. She struggles, and she's strong, but her movements are hampered by my hold on her. Even so, I know I only have moments before she breaks my hold.
"Listen to me. I'm here to help you." I release her and push her away from me. She swings around so I can see her wild eyes. I hold my hands up in a show of truce. I point to the grate, "Look, there's your exit route. Go, if you want." There's a tense silence between us. I study her eyes, trying to find something to answer the thousands of questions I have swarming my thoughts every time I see her. Finally, the questions begin to flood out. "Who are you? How do I know you?"
Her expression was previously guarded, but it suddenly dawns with recognition. The side of her mouth pulls up in a sinister smile, like she knows something I don't. Something bad. I take a step forward, my voice rising in intensity, "I need answers. Why do I keep having dreams? What am I missing? Who am I?" The words rise in hysteria until I am nearly screaming. Frustration, fear, confusion, and anger I didn't even know I had suddenly surface and I want to rip someone's throat out.
She steps forward and grasps my forearm, "I know who you are. I can tell you everything, if you will meet me outside the city a week from now at the bridge by La Corazon. You must tell no one. If you don't come alone, don't bother coming at all." I look into her eyes and see understanding. She really does know. She knows what I am going through. I feel an odd connection to her, as if I am afraid of her and I have an utmost loyalty to her at the same time. I suddenly realize I am shaking all over.
Simultaneously, both of us become aware of the sound of her pursuers just around the corner. I pull away from her grasp and try to collect myself, "Go, take the exit. Get out of here. I can hold them off." I clench my shaking hands into fists. My vision is becoming a red haze. Oh shit no. This has happened before, but not lately. The times I get tunnel vision and my consciousness blacks out
She hesitates, her eyes wavering. "You can't fight all of them on your own."
"I won't be. My partner is coming," I respond with more conviction then I feel. I know he will come, I knew the moment I ditched his ass on the rooftop, but I just don't know if he'll get here soon enough.
"I hope to see you soon then," with one last moment of hesitation, she tosses me the knife and sprints for the grate. I watch her disappear into the sewer before turning to the sounds of heavy boots slapping against the pavement. I look down at my balled my fists, one clenched around the knife. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm my pounding heart. I know her, I know this girl. The red in my vision is becoming worse. The girl's pursuers round the corner. They slow down when they see my standing in the center of the street, alone and unarmed, and no red head.
"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise," the foremost guard says. "We know the bitch went this way, just tell us where she went and we'll let you go."
"Sorry, I don't think you're intelligent enough to understand the directions I would have to give you." I reply with sarcasm by default. I'm fighting the red mist that is coming like a veil across my mind.
He laughs, walking forward casually, "I was hoping you'd say something like that."
I can't fight it anymore. I give one gasp before I am totally consumed by this bloodlust. I have time to smirk once at him before he throws the first punch.
Zeke's POV
Why do women have in their DNA to complicate everything? We had simple orders, but could Keira just stick to our sanction? No, she had to go running right into trouble.
I follow after her, hampered by the weight of the rifle strapped to my back. "Ortuso, she's going after the girl goddammit. I need your ass over here now."
"I'm on my way."
"Once you get to our stake out location, head west across the rooftops and keep an eye on the alley ways."
"Understood." I expect him to check out, but I'm surprised when he pauses and adds, "find her, Zeke."
It's an order for me to protect her. My jaw clenches, "I plan on it." I disconnect our coms and focus on trying to run with the rifle thumping against my back. I only stumble back slightly when I land the jump across the alley because of the extra weight of the gun, and then take off sprinting again.
As I run, I begin to pick up the sounds of combat getting closer. I skid to a stop at the edge of a building and look down. Below me I see the battle from a bird's eye view. Immediately I swing my riffle around to the front of my body and settle myself on the edge of the building, looking through the scope onto the scene. I immediately focus on Keira, singling her out from the others. I freeze at what I see.
She's cutting down the men down like a serpent amongst mice, not that 250 pound men are usually compared to mice. I've never seen her move so fast, in all the time I've known her. Something about her, everything about her, is off. For one, she's killing the men left and right with absolutely no regard to their lives. This isn't the same girl who wouldn't shoot even to defend herself. She slashes throats viciously, snaps bones with ease, and twists necks with effortless familiarity. There is more to her movements then just nearly unbelievable speed, her movements are completely wrong to her fighting style. She's using moves I've never even seen before. She's fighting with a precision that is uncannily accurate and deadly. But it's when I see her face that I know something is very terribly wrong.
Her face is splattered with blood that isn't her own and she is smiling a blood chilling smile. I barely recognize her face as the girl I am partnered with. Her face is something I've never seen before. It isn't twisted into some evil monster, rather she looks more beautiful than ever. It's like the beauty of a snake, the beauty of something lethal and deadly. A fallen angel. I don't know this person. She looks like she's enjoying this. This slaughter isn't self-defense to her, its cold blooded butchery.
With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I watch as she cuts through the men. I can't believe it, by herself she managed to subdue fifteen men. She is battling the last one, but he won't survive long. Suddenly, a movement in the edge of my scope catches my eye. One of the men who was previously lying still and bloody on the floor begins to laboriously stand. I see the man get behind her. He's in her blind spot. He raises a knife. She won't turn around in time.
My shot cracks like a symbol clap across the alleyway. The man falls, transfixed by the hole in his head. Keira whips around in time to watch the man fall. She freezes, staring down at the dead man. Slowly, she turns in a circle, as if seeing the carnage around her for the first time. Then she raises her eyes up to mine, and again I'm stunned by her expression.
Tears are running freely down her bloody splattered cheeks, but I've never seen such fear in her eyes. Fear of herself. Something is wrong with her, and she knows it.
Keira's POV
I collapse to my knees on the slick pavement. I vaguely wonder why it's slick. I lift my hands from where they are touching the street, and my hands come away red. It's blood. Without warning I heave all the contents of my stomach.
The bloodlust was like nothing I have ever felt before. Everything became muddled and crystal clear at once. All at once, I had finally felt like the missing piece to the puzzle had fallen into place. I knew who I was. I was doing what I had been trained for my whole life, what I had been born for. I don't know how I knew to fight like that, but suddenly my muscles knew what to do, even if my brain didn't.
But it's gone now. I'm left empty, confused, and horrified. Is that what I am? Am I a monster? Am I a wolf walking around in sheep's skin? Is that why I never feel at home in my own skin? Am I a nightmare wrapped in the guise an innocent fantasy?
Rough hands grasp my shoulders. I let out a little scream and jerk my head up to see Zeke. I reach out with my hands to grab him, and I realize my body is shaking with full blown tremors. I reach for Zeke, I have to know I am not hideous. I have to know I am not something that disgusts him.
I grab him and pull him closer then he already is, waiting for him to push me away in horror at the monster I am. He doesn't. He holds me closer. His rumbling voice is whispering something in my ear, but I focus on the cadence of his voice and beat of his heart rather than the words. I feel the dampness of his shirt from his sweat, and I find it comforting. I fist his shirt in my hand, and I realize his shirt is now stained with bloody handprints. My handprints. I stain anything I touch. There is blood on my hands. The question is, how much blood?
He draws us to our feet and holds me there. It's when I open my eyes that I realize they were squeezed shut. His hazel eyes find mine. I search them for an answer, any answer.
He has one to give. "Keira." He says my name as if it were a prayer. As if I were a fallen angel, and he will fall with me.
I am sitting numbly on the edge of the tub with my hands clenched so they are white. Zeke is crouching next to me with a rough washcloth pressed against a cut on my forehead.
I have never been so thankful for Zeke than in this moment. He led me out of the alley and got us back to the safehouse. I was too nonfunctional to even hail a taxi. He got us reconnected with Nathan and got us back to base. He never let go of me once. When we got back he knew exactly what to do. He calmly told Nathan to request SHIELD to erase the security camera footage from the… fight in the alley and then brought me in here. He washed away the blood from my hands and wiped it away from my face. He asked me if I was injured anywhere. I didn't know so I shrugged. He looked me over and found my bloody knees and a few gashes here and there, but I didn't care. I am just grateful he is here. He never looked at me with fear or reproach.
"Okay, I think you're all good. You should probably take a shower, and I need to change. I'll get you some clothes," he says.
I tilt my head back to look at him. I don't want him to leave, but I can't think of any good reason to make him stay. Don't leave me Zeke, I don't want to be alone because I'm terrified I'll turn into my nightmares, just doesn't sound very sane, especially after what he saw me do, what he saw me become. Instead I whisper, "Thank you, Zeke." I mean it. He dips his eyes in acknowledgement and leaves, shutting the door behind him
Zeke's POV
I shut the door carefully behind me. I don't want her to hear the inevitable barrage of questions Nathan will slam me with.
"How is she?" He asks right off the bat. I look at him sharply. His face is the perfect mix of worried and maybe a little frantic. But something I don't recognize is wiped from his eyes before I can determine what it was. But I do know it was odd. It sends the familiar prickle down my neck I get when there's something I missing about a person.
"She just slaughtered fifteen people, Nathan, how do you think she is?" But there isn't any real bite to my words. I'm too tired for that now.
"I saw the footage…" He says.
"Good for you." I pull my blood stained shirt over my head and throw it into the trash. "Did you ask SHIELD techs to erase it from the system?" I grab a new white shirt from my disorganized suitcase and pull it over my head, yanking it over my abdomen.
"Yes," he responds. He hesitates. "I can tell you're upset by something, Zeke."
"Upset?" I round on him and fix him with my most intense glare. To his credit, he doesn't shrink or flinch like nearly the entire population of the world would. "You weren't there—"
"It's possible she was overcome with adrenaline," he interrupts sharply.
"You saw the footage, Ortuso," I scoff. "That was more than adrenaline."
He shakes his head adamantly, "I've heard of training kicking in to its full extent in the field, when the person is under pressure—"
"Are you kidding? They don't even train people like that at SHIELD. No… you didn't see her face." I place my hands on the kitchen counter, gripping the edge and studying the granite pattern. "She wasn't Keira, she was someone different. I hardly recognized her…"
"What are you saying?" He asks slowly.
I look up and study his face. The way he's looking at me now, cautious and calculating, with his head cocked to the side slightly and his arms folded across his chest. I swear he and Keira are so similar sometimes. She will strike that exact pose, that exact tone, when she talks to me. I feel my heart constrict. "I don't know, Nathan! That's the point, isn't it? There's something going on here we don't know. There's something she isn't telling us."
"You're wrong." My head immediately whips to the sound of her voice. Seeing her standing in the doorway is a punch to my gut. Her tangled dark hair falls to her waist, her face is white as a sheet and her hands are still shaking slightly, but they're better than they used to be. She raises her huge grey eyes to mine and juts out her chin determinedly, "I have as little of an idea at what's going on as you do."
I stay silent and grip the counter harder. Nathan moves forward with open arms. She immediately accepts his embrace and wraps her arms around his torso with her chin propped on his shoulder. She meets my eyes from over his shoulder. I try to read any lies there, but I see nothing but her sincerity.
They pull away and Keira walks up next to me and pulls herself up to sit on the counter. She gathers one knee under her chin and swings the other leg. It's such a casual posture for the gravity of our situation, I'm a little thrown off.
"Let's start with the basics," I begin. "Has this ever happened before?" She studies her foot pensively, but other than that her expression is closed off. I lean forward and barely touch her thigh. She still flinches. "Keira, I need you to tell us. We are your team and you trust us."
She lifts her gaze to me and says softly, "You will have to report this."
The phrase isn't much, but I understand the implications. The more we dive into this can of worms, the more she's afraid we'll realize how messed up she really is, and the more evidence will be stacked against her. She could have her agent status taken away. She could even be labeled 'mentally unstable.'
I grip her knee, forcing intensity to bleed into my eyes and voice. "No, we don't. We watch each other's backs. If the situation were reversed, I would maybe even break protocol for Nathan," I glance sideways at him with a small grin.
He snorts derisively, "thanks."
"I know you're in love with me, but don't get emotional," I reply and turn my attention back to Keira. "I'm going to do what I can to help you, you have to trust that."
She studies me intently for a moment before suddenly coming to a decision. She begins to talk, her voice is much more resolute then I would have expected from her at this moment. "I can't remember specifically when it started. It's like one of those things you've lived with for so long you can't remember how it even began. It's those… dreams. They've been getting worse. I can barely sleep at night. At least, I used to think they were dreams. They get more and more vivid. I begin to see the fear in my target's eyes. I remember the feeling of holding their life and pain in my hands… I remember enjoying the control I had." her voice cracks and she breaks off, determinedly swallowing with a look of self-loathing on her face.
I remember waking up to her scream just a few nights ago. We had never slept in the same room before on missions, except maybe falling asleep over plans late at night. She had jumped awake some of those nights, but I thought it was a natural reflex. She would leave then, never letting us see her truly asleep. Now I know why. I knew she had trouble getting a full night's sleep in, especially when I'd pass the training gym at three in the morning to see her punching a bag with bursts of frustrated energy. I never would have guessed this.
"I can't explain it. I used to know who I was. I thought these images were just subconscious projections of my violent past… a way of those memories manifesting themselves that wasn't real. But then… they kept becoming more and more real. Not as in vivid, I mean I would get sudden feelings that something that happened to me years ago never actually happened, and these dreams were more real than those memories." She suddenly laughs bitterly, "I thought I was going insane. Until I saw her, the operative the men were chasing today. When I saw her it was the same feeling as the memories. The exact same feeling. I knew her, not necessarily that I remember knowing her, but I had feelings when I saw her that I can't explain. She has something to do with my… dreams." She raises her eyes and glances between Nathan and I, her eyes desperately pleading with us to understand. "I knew her."
"We believe you, Keira," Nathan soothes. I glance at him sharply.
"We do?"
His eyes harden as he slides them over to me. I don't know how he manages to do this when he's shorter than me, but he has this way of being able to look down his nose at me. "Yes, Zeke, of course we do."
"I wouldn't make this up," She tries to justify herself desperately.
I look down at her, "Of course I don't think you'd make this up. But it's not natural. This isn't some post mission stress, there is something fundamentally wrong here."
"I'm not crazy!" She almost shouts.
"I never said you were," I reply exasperatedly. "I'm saying, you either had a huge hit to the head that made you forget you were a contract assassin and inexplicably supplied fake memories of a fake life, or someone did this to you. I find the second much more convincing, don't you?"
Her voice gets suddenly soft. "Are you saying nothing of my past is real? All my memories are fake?"
Uh oh. Danger zone. I try to back pedal. "We don't know anything for sure yet, I'm just speculating." I try to draw her attention away from where I can see her thoughts going. "The real issue here is if this is real, then there are only a handful of people in the world with that kind of technology."
"We could make a list and track them?" Nathan asks.
"Maybe," I concede.
"We don't have that kind of intel," Keira speaks up. "Only SHIELD level eight would have access, and we're not even close to that paygrade."
"Don't forget, I was in the business far longer than you have been with SHIELD. I know organizations SHIELD has no idea even exist." My father dealt with all the low down dirty types, including the ones who didn't want to get their hands dirty. I was his weapon. I would take contracts for him that he got from others. When you do that enough, you have your ear to the ground and you hear some enlightening information.
"What if… what if no one did this to me?" Keira asks with a tremor in her voice. "What if I'm just… broken." She sounds helpless, like she's about to give up.
She can't do that. She can't give up.
"Hey, look at me," I put my knuckle under her chin and force it up so she meet my eyes. "I've seen crazy. I've worked with psychopaths. You aren't crazy. Maybe a little broken, maybe a little cracked, but nothing we can't fix."
She nods, looking deep into my eyes, searching for sincerity. After a long moment of silence, she pulls away. "I want to tell Clint."
Nathan and I frown at the same time. He beats me to objecting. "That's not a good idea, Keira. He'll be obliged by SHIELD protocols to alert the Council—"
"So are you and you're not running to hand me over, are you?"
"No," he responds slowly, obviously testing out how best to reason with an emotional train wreck. "Of course we aren't, but it is Hawkeye's job to watch for signs of instability in his agent. Telling him about this and then expecting him to keep it from the Director is a much bigger deal than simply keeping it between amongst ourselves."
I mentally applaud Ortuso's verbalization of my fears, but I can tell by the set of Keira's jaw and the steel glint of her eyes that she won't back down on this.
"I trusted Clint before I even knew any of you. He's more to me than just an S.O. to me." There are unspoken words I know she will never be able to say. She can never say how much she trusts Barton, how he pulled her back from the brink and she will never be able to repay him. How he was the first person to ever teach her how to trust. And fortunately or unfortunately with Keira, once her trust is earned she will stick to that person to the point of blindness.
"Keira, you have to believe us on this. Whatever personal attachments you have, you have to set them aside, for your own safety." I try to make my tone reasoning yet firm.
There was a time when she would have immediately bristled at my words, taken them with the firm conviction I mean them the worst way they could be meant. It shows how far we've come when she actually contemplates them before answering, "If both of you agree on this, then I guess I'll go with your lead. It doesn't feel right somehow," she ends with trepidation.
"Of all the things that could possibly not feel right about this situation…" I huff with a laugh.
She gives me a sad smile before jumping down from the counter and saying, "normally I would go for a run or destroy a punching bag, but since neither of those options are available I'm going to get some sleep."
I'm pleasantly surprised with her decision to deal with the stress of the situation in a healthy way. I nod and watch as she walks away. Finally, we're getting somewhere with this team of messed up, mistrusting, taciturn teenagers.
Keira's POV
I didn't lie to them… not really. I just omitted a few details… like the strange girl telling me to meet her in the middle of nowhere at the dead of night in a week… and I plan on meeting her… no big deal… right?
Except it feels like a big deal. For once in my life I feel bad about withholding information from others. They think I trusted them with everything. They think they're making progress. Well, maybe we are. Maybe I just need to do this to get it out of my head. Maybe she has answers. What possible harm could come of this, I continue to ask myself.
Just the small facts that this could be a trap, you know nothing about her, she could be HYDRA, she could be an agent for the Masteria, she could be working for literally anyone. I could die, I could be captured and tortured, but I coud also have all my memories return… Do I even what my memories back?
The last question haunts my thoughts. Maybe I don't want to know who I was. I don't think I was a very nice person.
Was? You don't even know if those dreams are actually memories. Right. I have to keep perspective on what I know definitively and what is pure speculation. For example, I don't know for sure that I'm a mass murderer who committed heinous crimes, so why don't I hang onto the hope that I am not that.
But it gets harder and harder every day to separate memories from dreams, reality from subconscious fears.
I lie down on my back and stare at the ceiling. There's no way I'm getting any sleep for a while. So much pressure is built up. I do feel better having shared a part of my secret with my team, but the stress of other things steal the relief I feel. Other things such as keeping this from Clint and keeping my midnight-rendezvous with a possible killer from my team.
"This is Omega Strike Team 113 calling for a 24 hour debrief," I hear Zeke say from the other side of the door. "We finished casing the building. We had a run in with a common patrol, but they were terminated before they could alert anyone to our presence. We… no, there were no injuries. Wait, there's really no need… yes sir. Yes sir, I understand. We'll follow directive immediately."
"Is there a new directive?" Nathan questions.
"No, but we will get new orders in 3 hours. From here till then we are expected to relocate to the nearest SHIELD base and join forces with the team there."
I'm too numb to really be properly startled by this, but Nathan isn't. "Wait… what?"
"I know, that's what I said too," Zeke responds sarcastically.
"We don't need other team members, we can handle this fine on our own," Nathan argues.
"I agree, but I didn't issue the order," Zeke sounds annoyed. His footsteps stop outside my door and he pushes it open. I roll my eyes, ever the gentleman. "Hope you had a nice nap, because it's over."