SHE HAD SLEPT FOR TWO DAYS. She wasn't aware it had been two days, of course, but when she did finally wake, it was as if she was a person she didn't recognize, and it had taken her much too long to remember where she was, her heart racing as she sat up, looking around the room that was much different than what her room in the facility was, only to remember all that had happened to her, the memories flooding back so painfully that her head began to throb.

She didn't remember everything, of course, but she did remember how she wound up in the room she was in, though it was much different than she remembered it to be. Now, it had a TV and a desk and her closet was open to reveal so many clothes that weren't there before.

When she moved, it was as if she was in another body, her movements and actions so different than what they used to be, both unfocused and more focused, acting on her own, yet as if she was different, and it was then that she realized that the only piece of her that was there was the piece of her that had given up so long ago.

She stayed there, burrowed under her covers, for what felt like hours, though in reality was no more than five minutes, staring at the black screen of the TV, her room so cold, yet her blankets so warm, not that she wanted the temperature raised.

She didn't understand what she was thinking, as it was as if she wasn't thinking at all. In truth, she wasn't hyperfocused, calculating to the point of constant thinking. Rather, she was constantly thinking, but at a rate different than what she was used to, unable to fall into line of it all.

She could feel herself breaking from the inside out.

She took a deep breath, beginning to climb out of the bed, only to freeze, her entire body seizing violently. She couldn't even scream, feeling the searing pain that was quickly becoming much too familiar overtaking her, causing her to fall off the bed onto the ground, unable to move her limbs, bent in such a way that, when the pain finally left, she was still in major pain, twisted in such a way that her body didn't want, similar to twisting her foot the wrong way.

When she finally untangled herself from the heap she had fallen into, her legs were shaking and her cheeks were stained with involuntary tears, her entire body shaking.

Making her way to her closet, she reached out with shaking hands, sifting through the clothes, trying to understand what she was feeling now that her senses were that of a regular person's, taking off Bruce's sweater and shorts, putting on another large sweater and shorts, only different.

She liked that the sweater only touched her in certain places, because while her body was now fully detoxed, she wasn't sure what she liked to be touched or not, so at least she had options, the sleeves running farther down her arms because the sweater was bigger than it needed to be.

She thought back to Bruce who was only an inch taller than her, wondering why his sweaters were so big. It didn't make sense to her as to why someone would wear ill-fitting clothes, especially ones that would only get in the way.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the door, testing it, surprised to find it unlocked, stepping out carefully, looking down the hall on either side, wondering where she was supposed to go, trying and failing to remember which room Bruce's was.

Then she heard footsteps behind her, which stopped a ways away. 

She turned slowly, finding Clint Barton standing there with a lollipop in his mouth, readjusting something in his ears. He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, waving it in greeting as he spoke carefully. 

"Hey, how's it going? I'm Clint. You still hopped up on drugs?" he asked, and she shook her head, because there wasn't much else she could do, and he gave her a small smile, "How're you holding up?"

She just stared at him, unsure of what he wanted to hear, and he faltered, glancing around, laughing uncomfortably, and she didn't understand why he was uncomfortable. "Uh...you wanna find Bruce?"

She nodded, and he nodded as well, motioning for her to follow him to the elevator at the end of the hall, careful to make sure she was standing next to him, and she couldn't blame him for his caution, though she thought of how vulnerable and non-threatening she was now that her serum was no longer in effect.

She stepped into the elevator carefully, her stomach twisting in fear as she thought of the feeling she had experienced the last time she was inside, tugging her arms around herself in an attempt to keep herself safe.

Clint noticed her movements, shifting closer to her, pressing a button, speaking loudly. "So I think Bruce and Tony are in the lab, but we're locked out of it right now, so how about I get you something to eat? I'm kind of banned from the kitchen, but I think Arabella's up there, so you can ask her."

She knew he was speaking loudly to keep her attention away from the elevator which was appreciated, but not successful, and she could only stare at him as she took in his words, understanding them all, just not quite in the right context.

Clint shifted, looking at her carefully. "You know, we're not gonna hurt you. I don't know what they told you, but we're the good guys. Or we try to be, anyways. And you're not the first person I've met who was used like a weapon."

She raised her eyebrows at that, and he nodded. "Try talking to Natasha. You two aren't the same, but I think she'll get you. And I'm here too, I get what it's like to be alone."

She swirled her tongue around in her mouth, still trying to get used to speaking, her voice hoarse and quiet as she said, "Thank you. For this. And for speaking to them."

"About letting you stay?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded. He couldn't help but laugh, putting his hands on his hips. "Listen, I wasn't gonna let them go against you when they're totally fine with me and Tasha, it's not right. And considering you weren't aware of anything you were doing, I'd say helping you is a no-brainer."

She could only nod, turning back to stare at the elevator door, deciding not to tell him that she was aware of it all, just not in control.

The elevator doors opened and Clint stepped out, motioning for her to follow, and she did carefully, still struggling to decipher all the thoughts she had in her mind—whether she had any or not—climbing up the twelve steps up towards a kitchen and small screening area.

"Stark's got a lot of viewing areas, but we usually hang out here, so if you want to find us, we'll usually be here or in the training area. You'll figure it out soon," Clint said, and she had a feeling that he was going to be someone she would seek out often.

"Hi,"  a voice called out, and she turned towards the kitchen to find Arabella Rivendell floating bread and other items around in the air, a purple glow surrounding all of them, "Are you hungry? I was just making lunch."

She took a moment to think, unsure of whether or not she was hungry, instead simply nodding and making her way over to Arabella who smiled, tucking a strand of her wild hair behind her ear, the ingredients faltering slightly when she did, her eyes widening as she tried to regain focus.

 "Toasted or no? Are you allergic to anything? I didn't bring out stuff like mayo or relish since they're gross, but I can if you want. Do you want vegetables? Do you eat meat or dairy, I actually learned that Asians are typically lactose-intolerant, at least those who don't live on the mainland since, you know, they're isolated and cows," the girl rambled, and she could only stare at her, looking towards Clint who was smiling fondly, shaking his head.

"Bella, take a breather," Clint said, and the girl laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Sorry," she said, all the ingredients floating down onto the counter, "You don't really know what you like, huh?"

She shook her head at the younger girl, coming around the counter to look at all that was there. She didn't know what Bruce had put into the sandwich she had eaten before, but she did like how it tasted.

"Can I have what Bruce made?" she asked, her voice still scratchy, and Arabella nodded, flicking her wrist, and she jumped as bread zipped past her head, flying into the toaster.

"It was just a ham and cheese sandwich," Arabella explained, and she filed that away for future reference, watching her go about making her own sandwich, piled high with everything.

Clint turned his attention away from the two of them to someone who was making their way into the room, and he smiled, walking towards the people who were making their way inside; she was still able to hear footsteps, which was good.

She found Natasha Romanoff walking in, Steve Rogers not too far behind, the woman looking smug while the man simply looked exasperated, rolling his eyes at her back as she moved to stand next to Clint, the two beginning to move their hands in specific motions to each other.

"It's American Sign Language," Arabella explained, catching her confused expression, the bread flying out of the toaster and onto a plate, being piled on with ham and cheese, "Clint's not Profoundly deaf, but he needs hearing aids and he's working on his signing, so."

She didn't understand, but she had a ways to go before she could realize that she was able to say what was on her mind, not just think it while watching her body do things that she didn't want it to.

She turned, watching Steve open the fridge, pulling out fruit and milk, making his way over to a machine. She watched in wonder as he began to pour milk into the contraption, tossing in the fruit after peeling them or removing parts that she didn't understand.

He glanced over towards her, raising an eyebrow, only to nod in understanding, shifting so she could see him work, moving carefully as he closed the lid on top of the machine, plugging it in and holding the top as he pressed a button.

She startled at the loud noise, the machine whirring to life, but she forced herself to watch as the solid fruit were replaced with a thick substance. It was only when he reached into the cabinet and pulled out two glasses and poured all the contents inside that she saw the blades, and she shivered.

"They're called smoothies, apparently," Steve said, handing one over towards her, "I'm still getting used to stuff around here too, but these are pretty good."

She took the glass from him carefully, wondering if this was some trick, if he was trying to poison her under the pretense of being kind. 

He must have caught onto her suspicion, as he raised his own glass to his lips, taking a long, steady sip, Arabella whistling in the background, causing him to falter only slightly, his face red as he frowned at her.

When nothing happened to him, she raised her own glass to her lips, taking a small, tentative taste. 

She felt her eyes roll back at the shock of flavor that hit her all at once, a shudder rushing through her body as she tried to get accustomed to it, and she tried to relax, opening her eyes to find Steve smiling down at her.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," he said, giving her a small smile, and she tried to smile back, though considering she never had before, she wasn't quite sure she had done it correctly.

She turned her attention back to Arabella who had cleared her throat, holding up a plate that held her sandwich. She reached out to take it, only for the girl to pick up her own plate, making her way towards the couch, and she could only follow her.

"Here, I was just about to start watching cartoons, so you can sit next to me," Arabella said, handing her her own plate, and she looked over towards the others who smiled, Steve eyeing the TV curiously, leaning against Arabella's side of the couch, the girl reaching out to hold his hand.

"Bella, honey, Steve doesn't believe in hand holding, it doesn't attune to his old fashioned sensibilities," Natasha said, and Steve just frowned at her, his eyebrows furrowed more than they already were.

"Cap, we've been over this, we don't need the self-righteous American hero persona. We've read your files, we know how much you hate the government. And authority," Clint said, throwing himself onto the other couch, Natasha perching herself on the armrest by his head.

While the other began to talk, Steve arguing with the others who just smirked up at him, Arabella trying to sit in his lap, she continued to stare at the TV, watching as a little boy with a big head and buckteeth spoke to a floating couple with similar bodily proportions.

"I loved this show growing up," Arabella explained, turning her attention back to her, "I was ten when this came out, the same age as Timmy. Here, do you need subtitles, we always turn them off when Clint isn't here."

"Well, I am here," Clint pointed out, and Arabella hummed, turning her attention back to her, and she nodded her assent, because there was nothing else she could do.

She had yet to grasp the concept of disagreement.

While she watched the TV, mesmerized by what she was seeing, trying to understand exactly what was occurring, Natasha watched her, her eyes calculating as she took in everything she was doing, trying to determine whether she was truly innocent or simply playing a con.

Clint tapped her tag, signing with one hand. "Look at her. She's harmless."

She shrugged, signing with the hand no one else could see. "I can seem harmless if you want me too. You know I can."

"Tasha..." he frowned.

"Clint..." she glared.

Before either of them could continue their silent disagreement, JARVIS' voice filled the room, lowering the volume of the TV, some of them jumping, their newcomer included.

"I apologize for the interruption," the AI spoke, and she looked around fiercely, her heart racing as she recognized the voice from when she had been caught in the vents, "But Dr. Banner is requesting our guests' presence in the lab. Captain Rogers, you have been specially requested to escort her."

"I can do it," Clint offered, but the AI cut him off.

"I apologize, Mr. Barton, but I was instructed to insist that Captain Rogers bring his," the AI faltered, sounding much more human than any of them expected, "Quote, 'cute little ass' down to the lab with our newest guest."

She could feel the AI's presence leave the room, and she turned to look towards Steve who had his face buried in his hands, bright red everywhere she could see him, looking almost ready to pass out as he stood, motioning for her to follow him, the others whistling as he walked off.

She rose to her feet, looking towards the others who gave her a variety of expressions, turning her attention back to Steve who waited for her, ready to escort her down to the lab.

Experiments. She was familiar with that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Now that there are other women in the picture, it's gonna be really hard to find a way to differentiate when the 'she' stands for the main character or the other women, but we're gonna roll with it, you'll be able to tell.

Also, that statement about Asians being more likely to be lactose intolerant actually has truth to it, so don't come in here being like "I'm Asian and I'm not lactose intolerant" because it's just being more prone to due to human geography.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!