Unravel

A few days later Liz felt - at least physically - better.
Emotionally, however, she had reached her lowest point about an hour ago. After worrying herself into another panic attack that had ended with her hurling into the toilet, psychiatrist after psychiatrist had been sent to her room. It had lead to nurses fussing over her and her freshly healed wounds that now threatened to start bleeding again. She had stopped counting how often someone suggested treatment for PTSD.

If she indeed was suffering from post-traumatic stress, it didn’t surprise her. Getting kidnapped, tasered, shot and in the end almost killed might do that to a person. But she wondered how other people coped with it. Other people namely being the former assassin she nowadays couldn’t keep off her mind. Despite the selective mutism and the nightmares she had witnessed, he seemed to fare well. At least, that’s what Liz had thought until Natasha had told her about the fire in the apartment building, how it came to be and - her least favourite bit - who had started it.

Apparently Bucky had been in the building, with no back-up, without anyone knowing. Why was anyone’s guess. And while Liz knew that he had gotten back without as much as a scratch on his body, it had left her feeling uneasy. But what else was new?

Everything that was happening was making her feel awful, she had already realized that. So she stroke a bargain with herself to not buy into her inner panic as much as she usually would - to instead just take a breath, and let it go.

Sighing, Liz kept tuning out everything around her. The third psychiatrist of the day, sitting at the foot of her bed; the frantic nurses running down the ward; the incessant hum of the TV. She had forbidden everyone from touching it. It represented the last tether to the world outside, so it wouldn’t escape her completely. Who else could update her? Her only friend was the reason she was in hospital in the first place and the rest would risk their lives or freedom, if they wanted to visit her. But it wasn’t like she could tell Dr. Whatshisname.

“Elizabeth?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, deciding to give him at least the tiniest feeling of victory. He had been talking for a while without her giving him any indication that she was paying attention at all. In comparison to the other two he seemed young, too young, in Elizabeth’s opinion. No wrinkles tainting his brown skin, too enthusiastic. Fresh out of university. She could spin that in her favour.

“I asked what you were thinking about.”

“Have you had many patients yet, Dr…?” Liz asked, waiting for him to fill in his name for her.

“Kapoor-”

“Have you?” she taunted.

Dr. Kapoor blankly stared at her and sat up straighter in his chair. She was making him uncomfortable. “Ms. Moore, if you are worried about my qualifications, I can assure you that-”

“You know, every person who has sat in this room with me today has said something along the lines of ‘mutism is a sign of an overwhelmed mind’ when, in fact, no one once considered that I just really didn’t want to fucking talk to them. So, Dr. Kapoor. What’s your take on me then? I think we’ve all got it figured out that PTSD is not just possible but a given. What else? Mood swings? Anxiety? Maybe even an ED, as one person so kindly suggested, as she saw that I only stuffed my face with cereal.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Ms. Moore?” Kapoor asked. Liz hated how intrigued he looked. As if her little outburst had been everything he had waited for.

Taking a deep breath, Liz collected her thoughts, tried to make a simple statement out of the fragments zipping through her mind. “That maybe some people do not fit nicely into any of the categories of your handy little book,” she sneered.

But when Dr. Kapoor laughed, Liz felt lost. What?

“Ms. Moore,” he started with a smirk. “We are not trying to squeeze you into a category. We’re way past that. You have never had any issues that needed addressing over the last few years, you’ve had regular check-ins with a psychologist - as required by your job. What happened is not the result of any disorders. This is just your body’s way of telling you it’s been through enough trauma and you are right, we do need to address that. But I don’t think you have understood why exactly I am sitting here right now.” He kept smiling, as if he knew something that she should be dying to know.

“That is?” Liz tried to seem not too curious.

“We are trying to determine whether you are fit to be released from the hospital. Physically, as well as emotionally.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Liz’ eyes grew and she tried to sit up taller, feeling suddenly small and overwhelmed. Going back? To where? Where could she still go after this literal shitshow?

“Now,” Dr. Kapoor interrupted, sensing her budding panic, “When, how and where this all will happen is still in a planning phase, so to say,” he tried to soothe her anxiety. “However, I do have a proposition. Or more, the FBI has asked us to get you to agree.”

“To what?” Liz asked, barely audible.

“Another interrogation, this time on Rikers Island. As well as to bearing witness to a further interrogation of Mr. Donovan, in the hopes of you finding any clues that could help the FBI along.”

“They…” Liz started, too shocked to speak. They wanted her to come face to face with Ewan. “I’m not sure.”

“Being unsure or not wanting to do it is perfectly fine. We’ll just have to let your superiors know,” he said and started arranging his notepad, stood up to leave. But before he could take even one step, Liz spoke up again.

“When did they want to come get me?”

Dr. Kapoor turned around, surprised. “Today. But we’ll delay it. Or cancel it. You’ll be asked down for another questioning anyway when you’re released. The FBI has never liked questioning people here unless completely unavoidab-.”

“I’ll do it.”

Liz didn’t know what had gotten into her. She scared herself with that statement. Had she not only thought it? Why did her mouth say it out loud? Did she? Dr. Kapoor’s expression seemed to say so.

He slowly lowered his notepad until it was lying on Liz’ blanket and used his now free hands to support himself against the hospital bed. Studying Liz’ face, she could feel the wariness and insecurity radiating off of him. He didn’t want to agree.

“Considering your momentary state, this isn’t recommend-”

“I’ll do it,” Liz repeated herself, more sternly this time. Dr. Kapoor inhaled softly.

“Are you sure?”

Nothing. She couldn’t say yes yet. When the full force of what an encounter with Ewan would entail hit her, she went mute. But she needed to get this over with. She needed to look him into his eyes and ask him what could make him do what he had done.

So she nodded, and Dr. Kapoor reluctantly left her room to go inform the FBI of her willingness to put her through hell.

***

It had taken a mere hour between Dr. Kapoor’s visit and the arrival of the FBI agents. During this hour, Liz had done little more than put on clothes, pack her bag and gaze into space. She could have showered or washed her hair but she had used up all energy she had left when she nodded her approval. So her hair would have to stay stringy and dirty for a while longer.

Liz hadn’t been surprised when Agent Flores and Brooks appeared at the hospital, ready to take her to Rikers Island. But this time they were keeping their mouths shut. So the ride to Rikers Island was long but quiet, with a lot of time to panic. Liz felt her body go on auto-pilot the moment she stepped foot outside of the hospital. No emotions could touch her. She was numb, cold. Just not all there.

Then, when Rikers Island appeared in her field of vision, she waited for a panic reaction that never came. So when Flores ushered her out of the van and into the facility, she obeyed. It all had gone so quickly. She only realized how time had gone by when she found herself in a dark room staring through a two-way mirror to see Ewan and two agents on the other side.
This had been the first time since she had left the hospital that she felt something, even if it was nausea.

Ewan was looking worse than she could have imagined, all exacerbated by the orange coverall he was now forced to wear. The shadow under his eyes had turned purple, his pale skin had turned yellowish, his posture was off, his eyes were glassy. If she had looked at it from a professional point of view, her mind would have labelled him ‘guilty’ immediately. But this was Ewan, who had done inexplicable things due to yet unknown reasons.

And the fucker wouldn’t say even one word that mattered. Ewan hadn’t asked for a lawyer but the poor fellow who had been assigned to him was already grasping at straws.

The tinny sound of their voices being played through outdated speakers made the experience even stranger.

“Mr Donovan, are you aware that not speaking up will not work out in your favour?”
“No one can piece together the information to form an understandable motive. Were you pressured?”
“Is someone you are close to in danger? Are you being blackmailed?”

Liz was pretty sure he had been asked the same questions several times over the past few weeks but apparently he still hadn’t budged. But this time they had an ace up their sleeve and she was sure they were going to use it. She just didn’t know when they would bring her into it.

However, when one of the agents questioning Ewan made a gesture with his hand, causing Flores to grab her arm and tell her that it was showtime, her mouth went dry and her breathing got harder.

The last thing she heard before she was out of the room and in front of the other metal door was her name through the speakers. “Now that got your attention.”

And with that Liz was shoved into the room. Or at least it felt like that.

Liz clenched her fists, trying to express her panic and frustration in some way that didn’t include hurling immediately. Ewan just stared, though Liz could see that his glassy eyes were getting glassier. This was wrong in so many ways.

“Ms. Moore, have a seat,” Liz heard on her right and before she could acknowledge it, a hand was on her shoulder and trying to guide her towards the only empty chair.

Her body did not yield immediately. Every fiber in her body strained against being pushed closer towards Ewan. She knew something was amiss, but he had still hurt her. In more ways than one.

Trying to take a deep breath without giving into the nausea, she finally took timid steps towards the unyieldingly cold metal chairs. She tried to focus on everything else but the sorrowful look Ewan kept sending her. The curve of her spine against the chair. Her cold toes. The trembling of her hands. The sheen of sweat on the back of her neck.

“How are you, Miss Moore? Recovering, I hope?” one of the agents asked, his friendly smile seemingly fake after she had just seen him trying to intimidate Ewan.

Liz nodded her head, avoiding all eye contact, playing with her bare fingernails instead. She could feel Ewan’s piercing gaze upon her.

She needed to get through this, she told herself. No one could hurt her here. Her wounds had almost healed and were scabbing over, leaving an array of scars on her stomach. Ewan was in handcuffs, armed agents were around her.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and nodded again, more firmly this time. “I am,” she answered, her voice not as loud as she would have liked but the piercing gaze she was able to send Ewan gave her back the tiniest feeling of control.

“Wonderful!” the agent answered, clapped his hands and turned back towards Ewan. His eyes held contact with Ewan while he continued speaking, “At least some good news here. Can you give us a rundown of how you getting shot happened?”

“No,” Liz answered confidently, making the agent swivel around. “I can’t give you any details because I don’t know. He asked me to go with him. I went. He said he was sorry. I got shot. I blacked out.”

“Did you find anything to be amiss before that?” Did she? Would telling the FBI about his strange phone calls and worried expression be helpful? On the one hand, he had already been taken into custody. They had already enough evidence to put him away for quite a while, they just wanted to know why. On the other hand, would she be throwing him under the bus and, in extension, herself? Ewan knew more than any person in that room.

He knew about Hydra. The Avengers that had gone off the grid. Bucky.

Liz could feel her heart skip a beat and made a split-second decision. “He was on the phone with someone and seemed… agitated. I still believe he was forced. I can’t… It doesn’t make sense any other way.”

Looking at her hands, she waited for the agents’ rebuttal. Or Ewan’s. For anyone’s. But all agents were waiting for Ewan to speak up.
Everyone was prepared for more silence, more pleading, more threats, but none of them were prepared for the words that came out of Ewan’s mouth.

“I acted alone.”

Liz’ head snapped up at the sound of his raspy but determined voice. She felt confused and scared at the same time. His eyes were still glazed over but now held a sternness that made her shiver.

“I shot Liz, I ran, hid. Came back for my wife, got caught before I could finish the job,” he elaborated.

Liz couldn’t breathe. She was pretty sure the agents felt the same way. It had been days since they had caught him and tried to get him to talk. The interrogation room was as silent as could be and while she waited for the agents to make a move, Ewan took the complete silence as his cue to continue. Liz just wanted him to shut up.

“Why, you want to know? Why not? Laws are apparently not as effective as our country would have liked us to believe, so why not step outside of that for once. Why? Let’s just go with ‘Just because I could’.”

“The fire?” One of the agents prodded, scared that using too many words would maybe spoil their chance at getting a full reveal.

Liz watched Ewan like a hawk. The way he smiled grimly and shrugged his shoulders, his eyebrow arching upwards just a little bit. “Like I said.”

Liz felt herself shiver at his words, his expression, his emotionlessness, and waited for more to come - to hit her like a freight train. But nothing more came.

Suddenly Ewan was harshly hauled up by the back of his coverall. Ewan yelped at first but then chuckled. When he was standing, the agent pushed him towards the door, sneering, “Off you go.”
But Ewan wouldn’t budge. Not yet.

Turning around once more, he focused on Liz. “What? Did you really think someone was making me do this? That they had hid something of nuclear proportions downtown and I was just trying to do everything I could to stop it? That I was just under Hydra’s thumb? Get over yourself.” he sneered.

Liz swallowed hard. That was exactly what she had thought. Ewan laughed at her expression.

“As if. Stop being so fucking naive, Liz. It’s the one thing I’ve always hated about you.”

And with one last harsh from the agent, Ewan was out of her sight. What stayed, however, was the nausea and before Liz could realize what was happening, she felt the bile rise in her throat.

The spams that made her body convolute made her whimper ias the strain on her wounds grew with each wave of nausea that hit her. She registered the groan emitted by the remaining agent and him sending for someone to clean up her mess and a nurse, but other than that Liz was all consumed by her own questions, nausea and - most of all - self-doubt.

So she didn’t realize when people started pushing her out of the interrogation room and into the brightly lit hallways, or out into the sun and then the van. But what she did notice was the fact that none of the agents were keen on keeping her for her own interrogation. Poor Dr. Kapoor was probably going to have to pay for the negligence she had pushed him to commit.

Liz felt the van come to life and the chatter of the agents died down. They had put her into the last row of seats on her own and pushed a bag into her hands, presumably for her to hurl into. But Liz’ nausea was growing. Every bump in the road felt like someone was punching her gut harder until she couldn’t hold herself back much longer.

“Let me out,” she said hoarsely, careful not to throw up then and there, but her heart rate kept rising and the wetness that had been building up on her forehead started rolling down in pearls of sweat.

“No can do, honey. Use the bag,” she heard Flores mutter.

“Let me out, please,” Liz muttered again, frustration and nausea all mixed into growing anger. But when Flores ignored her play, Liz slammed her arm against the car door with every bit of strength she had.

The pain in her forearm made black dots appear in her vision but she could see all of the agents had turned around, all paying attention to her with varying degrees of confusion and apprehension on their faces. “Let. Me. Out,” Liz seethed.

Thankfully, Liz felt the van pull over not too long later and the moment it stopped, her hands were on the door handle, immediately pushing it open, just to fall on her knees on the concrete outside and giving in to the nausea for good.

Liz could remember the last time she had thrown up that much. She never would have thought that she would prefer one time of throwing up to another, but here she was, wishing back the time when she was too young to know better and the night she stayed up throwing up into a bucket while her grandfather pet her hair. She definitely would have prefered that to being on her knees somewhere on the outskirts of New York, hurling onto the ground of some backstreet.

Flores and another agent had gotten out of the car, too, but had both turned their back to Liz for the duration of her retching, trying and failing to give her the dignity she wanted.

But Liz couldn’t stop. Each new wave of nausea was brought on by her thoughts spiralling into an even worse one. Ultimately, she didn’t want to go back to the hospital. If they released her, where would she go? Her apartment? Not likely. Where else? Home? As if. She wanted to stay in New York, that was for sure. No, she needed to stay here.

Retching one more time and then casting a glance at the agents, she saw that they still had their backs turned to her. So Liz made, as she had done so many times that day, a split-second decision. A not very well thought out decision. But by the time she started reprimanding herself for it, she had already retched for show one more time and gotten up, to quietly shuffle down the backstreet and sink into obscurity the best she could.