Till the End of the Line

All she could hear was the pounding of her own blood in her ears; a dull, painful throbbing in her temples that seemed to extend to the back of her eyes. She could feel the darkness pressing in on her. The unrelenting, stifling darkness, that went on for what seemed like forever. Sometimes she could see shapes forming in the dark. Molten blackness shifting in the corner, creeping in vaporous strands up towards her bare feet, like tentacles preparing to ensnare her.
Every now and then she was dragged from the confines of her gloomy cell to a small, white chamber, to be questioned in the menacing glare of bright fluorescent lights by men in white coats with clipboards and harsh faces. She didn't know which she hated more: the dark cell, or the white room.
A faint scratching noise emerged from one of the corners of her cell. She tensed, as she always did when the sounds started, always unsure whether it were rats scurrying around on the floor, or the approaching steps of guards to bring her to another interrogation. The sound persisted, slowly growing, forming into shapes, joining with the strands of black mass moving ever closer. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, which she quickly pressed shut, covering her face with the one free arm that wasn't chained to the wall above her cot. This was the way it had been for days now. For weeks. Maybe longer, Sarah had no idea anymore. She couldn't tell what time of day it was. There was no way for her to find out either, even her meals were scheduled irregularly. Or they weren't, she wasn't sure.
Sometimes she'd wake up in a sweat, her head filled with faces and places and feelings that seemed in some way familiar to her, but that she just couldn't place. Things like names and dates blended into each other at random whenever she tried to remember something. At times, she found herself wondering what her own name was. Sometimes she'd find herself inhibiting a body without understanding what exactly a body was, let alone realising that it was her body. She would sometimes murmur her own name to herself, or James' name, in a slow, droning whisper, just so she wouldn't forget. But every so often the words passed her lips without her knowing what they meant.

Sarah was woken from her slumber by the sound of the door to her cell being thrown open. The room was instantly filled with the noise of metal rods beating against the concrete walls while the guards approached her. Instinctively, she cowered, once again covering her face with her free arm, even though she knew this wouldn't stop them from taking her. She saw a sliver of light from the crack in the door through which they had entered, three, maybe four large men and one woman, who immediately placed a bag over her head before they unchained her right arm. Sarah squirmed, fighting their grasping hands with all the force she could muster, pleading in sobs: 'Please… Please, don't. Let me go! Please…' but, as usual, this made no difference. She continued to beg and whimper while they led her forcibly to the interrogation room, where she was pushed into a chair before the hood was pulled off.
Her eyes watered in the bright glare that was beating down on her and while her sight was adjusting she could distinguish a man in a white coat with a clipboard sitting in front of her.
'Have you slept?' she heard a male voice ask. She closed her eyes against the light and swallowed hard. Someone poked her under her right shoulder blade with something hard.
'Have you slept?' the voice repeated. Sarah nodded, her eyes still streaming. 'I need a vocal response,' the voice prompted.
'Yes! Yes, alright? I slept. I slept. I did.' Her speech was slurred, and she found it very difficult to annunciate, the words spilled out in a stutter.
'Then we can proceed. You harboured Barnes in your apartment in Washington for several weeks before you embarked on your… road trip, shall we say?'
Sarah began to nod, hardly knowing what she was agreeing to, then quickly added: 'Yes,' before they could poke her again. While the interviewer scribbled on his clipboard she tried to understand what they were trying to get her to tell. He'd mentioned Barnes. It sounded familiar. She gazed around at the white walls and the wooden desk, racking her brains. Barnes. Barnes… Sergeant Barnes. 107th regiment. Saved by Captain America from behind enemy lines. It had something to do with newspapers. This, she was sure of. She'd read something about him in a newspaper. But according to the interviewer he had lived with her. She had "harboured" him, he'd said. Suddenly, faint images swam before her eyes of a study, her study, with a desk full of newspaper clippings and a man sitting beside it, his eyes cast down on the photos and papers in front of him.
"Sergeant James Barnes…" a familiar voice echoed in her mind, "I may look like him, but I don't think he's here anymore."
James. Bucky. His face was suddenly etched clear in her memory and more tears welled up in her eyes when she realised that she'd almost forgotten about him, about them. She gazed back at the man in the white coat, determined not to give him any more information about James. Not that she knew any. She just knew she had to deny everything.
'After you left your apartment, you remained in D.C., though, is that right? Where did you stay?'
'I don't know.' Another hard poke in her back. She let out a weak whimper.
'Miss Falsworth, I need you to comply. Where did you and Barnes stay after you left your apartment?'
'I don't know,' she said again. She received a few more jabs, harder this time. She started crying loudly, 'I swear I don't know-I don't know¬¬-I don't know! Please stop! Please…'
'All this time spent together, the two of you must have gotten close,' the man went on while the poking subsided. 'Of course, that's inevitable when you're on the run together,' he continued when Sarah didn't respond, 'but was your relationship purely platonic?'
'Yes.'
'Let her have some more.' The man instructed, and the jabbing started again. Sarah sobbed harder than ever, 'Please, please don't do this! Stop it! Stop!' The man's voice rang out clearly over the din: 'Were you and Barnes intimately involved?' All she could do was cry and whimper and try to shield herself from the metal rods as best she could, even though her arms were tied up behind her back.
'Take her back,' she heard the man say. Without really knowing what she was doing Sarah started to scream. 'Please, just let me go! I don't know anything! I don't! Please!' She continued to cry out even when the bag was placed over her head once more and she was escorted back to her cell. They chained her arm up to the wall again and left her sobbing in the dark, with only the moving shadows and rats for company.

Sarah had no idea how long she'd been crying. She'd fallen asleep a couple of times in between, although she may have just imagined it. Her head was filled with the images of her apartment, the memories of James, the hard expression of her interviewer.
She was sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest, hugging her knees with her free arm. The door to her cell opened, the sound of metal rods banging against the walls rang in her ears and she closed her eyes instinctively. A bag was pulled over her head and her hands were tied together on her back before she was forced out. It felt like they were taking a longer route than they usually did to the interrogation chamber. After what seemed like an hour, they finally halted. She was once again pushed into a seat, but this one felt different than the chair in the white room. To her surprise, the bag was suddenly lifted from her head and Sarah blinked confusedly against the bright lights surrounding her, although these weren't as bright as the lights in the interrogation room. She was sitting in the back of a car. She caught a glimpse of a sour-faced woman closing the door before the engine started and the car began to drive.