honey
She’d been known for her knives at SHIELD- as she’d quickly become more comfortable with them than any gun she’d trained with. Most days, she didn’t even carry her gun because she was simply that confident with her knife skills in any combat situation. Hell, she’d loved them so much that she named the first one (which, over the years, became her favorite and most-trusted weapon) she’d grabbed when carefully looking over the array in the armory. The blade was four inches with the slightest bit of serration on one edge, and the handle she’d had custom-wrapped in a beautiful, wine-red, vegan leather. She named her Patsy.
For Louise’s one-year anniversary at SHIELD, Peggy had a sheath made to add onto her thigh holster, custom-fit to Patsy. It was made out of the same leather Louise had the handle wrapped in, with the initials L.A. stamped into it.
At Louise’s five-year anniversary celebration, the crowd had urged her to cut the first slice of cake with one of her knives, and after a small fit of laughter and some chanting from her coworkers, of course she’d obliged.
The panic she was feeling from being trapped was quickly replaced by something she couldn’t pinpoint. She hasn’t felt heartbreak before in her life, but Louise thinks this may be it.
She’s entirely vulnerable, left sitting in a room god knows where, only clothed in her underwear and bra (she makes a mental note to find who took her clothes, to give them hell when she gets the chance), and she doesn’t have the things that she relies on for safety when she’s caught in a sticky situation; the hand-crafted metal blades that had just as much shaped her time working as an engineer as the Stark Tech she’d build countless machines with. Louise felt like her safety blanket she’d become so used to having was ripped straight out from under her, and now, the panic finally came to join with the heartbreak- causing a pain to pull at her chest and tears to start pooling in her eyes, a choked sob making its way out of her throat.
Whoever brought her to this place must have been standing right outside the door because the second the sound left her mouth, the metal door swings open and the same tall man she remembers from the last time she was conscious waltzes through the doorway. His hand rests at his hip on his gun, and the other sends a quick motion to… someone outside the door?
“She’s awake,” he chuckles gruffly and nods at her, Russian accent still too thick and hard for her to understand in her state.
Within seconds, another man crosses the threshold, quickly making his way into her space. He hadn’t been one of the four men that had been there when Louise was taken from SHIELD. His hair is black, the looks from his dark hazel eyes immediately making her uncomfortable as his gaze travels over her bloodied and nearly bare body. She feels like his eyes are burning into her skin the longer he looks over her.
“Well, good morning princess,” he drawls, voice gruff. American.
The pet name makes her even more uncomfortable, which she didn’t even think was possible.
A hand brushes her cheek which makes Louise jump and jerk her head to the opposite side- a mistake- as the dull throbbing in her head instantly becomes a sharp pain that makes her wince and suck in a breath. That pain passes in a split second as a slap makes its way across the same cheek his hand had just caressed. Asshole.
Before Louise can manage to bring her head up on her own, his hand roughly grips her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his directly for the first time. His eyes gleamed with evil, darkness, and mischief. The look all but paralyzes her, making her feel completely unsure of what he was going to do next- making Louise feel completely at his mercy. She’s never felt so helpless and the thought shakes her to the core, bringing another round of tears, and she quickly scolds herself for showing that much weakness to this man so fast.
“You should learn to look at someone when they’re talking to you, sweetheart. No need to be disrespectful.” He shoots her a smirk and removes his hand from her chin only to bring a finger up to wipe away the single tear that had betrayed her and started making its way down her face.
She jerks away.
Another slap, opposite cheek.
He tuts at her, turns, and walks out the door into the hall, turning left.
Louise lets out a breath and relaxes her shoulders.
That relaxation doesn’t last for more than ten seconds, though, as he returns with an identical chair, placing it no more than two feet in front of her own. He circles it, he sits. He smirks again, he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans back in the metal chair.
“Ready to start?” He questions.
Louise shoots him a glare before straightening and squaring her shoulders as much as possible with the handcuffs on.
He chuckles and rolls his eyes before leaning forward, offering; “We can do this all day, honey,”
“Fuck you,” she manages through gritted teeth and a sore jaw before he has the chance to finish rattling off the newest pet name.
Once again, everything is black before she can even list off the insults she had in mind for the man.
Gaining consciousness is even less fun the second time around.
The throbbing in Louise’s head has started spreading down her neck, and opening her eyes is proving to be much harder than before, too. However, when she flexes her arms to try and wake up her body the slightest bit, they shoot open.
It's a different room, a different chair, a different temperature, and best of all; different restraints. She’s now in a? Lab? It looks like? Thick leather straps are tight across her arms, legs, wrists, ankles, and chest. God, it’s like something out of a horror movie- like when the patient in an asylum gets thrown into a chair and wheeled off to get tortured by a posessed nun or something. She can’t really register if that gruesome thought fuels fear or anger in her mind before the tall man and the man with the audacity to call Louise sweetheart walk into the lab.
“So, maybe you’re ready to start now that we’ve so graciously made you more comfortable?” The American says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
She can’t deny that- on the bright side, this chair is astronomically more comfortable than the small metal one in the last room. At least it has some padding and doesn’t feel like it will break out from under her at any moment.
He catches that she’s letting her mind wander and clears his throat impatiently.
She shoots him a glare while cocking her head to the side.
He clearly still doesn’t appreciate Lou’s absolutelyangelic demeanor, as the action causes him to pull something from his belt and flip it out. It opens up like a police baton, but with a click of a button, the tip starts to glow and crackle with bright red electricity.
“Cut the shit, honey, I don’t have time to deal with your attitude,” he growls out.
“Don’t call me that,” Louise grumbles back.
“Will you stop being such a bitch and actually cooperate if I call you…” he trails off before turning to a table and grabbing a file, flipping it open to the first page and turning back with a smile plastered across his stupid, dumb face. “... Miss Anderson?”
Hearing her name fall from his mouth disgusts her in ways she can’t begin to describe, and Louise can’t help but grit her teeth, sending a searing pain down her spine and making her flinch.
“Probably not, but it’s a start,” she replies after a neck roll and a second of recovery.
He says nothing, but chuckles and rolls his eyes, stepping off the table he’d reclined back against.
“Fine. Let’s do this, then. Where’s Stark.” He’s inches from her face when he spits the words out, making her heart stop.
“Why?” Louise can only hope the fear that undoubtedly crosses her face didn’t show as much as she felt like it did. Why do they want to know where Stark is?
“Mr. Stark has something we want, Miss Anderson,” he’s still too fucking close to her face.
“Which is?” She pushes, punctuating her words harshly.
“Ha! And why would we tell you?”
“Well, you assholes clearly have a file made on me already, so I’d hope you know that Stark and I worked closely on many projects. If you let me know what it is you’re so desperately searching for, I may know where it’s at. Hell, I may have even worked on it with him,” Louise attempted to lean forward as much as possible with her restraints as she spoke, holding eye contact and glaring while trying not to let the fear consume her.
“Cut the attitude, princess,” his words are short, his voice raising.
“I told you, don’t fucking call me that!” Her voice raised more than his, and she immediately recognizes her mistake.
He sneers at her before raising the still-crackling baton and bringing it to her left thigh, letting it hover for a moment, letting the warmth radiate into her skin. Lou’s eyes go wide as she frantically tries to move away, obviously to no avail when the leather containing her doesn’t budge.
He presses the stick into her leg and she lets out a sharp scream as the skin of her thigh feels like it’s being lit on fire. He holds the electricity there for what feels like an eternity, but what is probably no longer than five seconds. The pain absolutely wracks through her body and tears start barreling down her cheeks before she can fight against it. She’d expected the burn to feel more like a taser, like the ones she had to get shocked with during her training at SHIELD. She hadn’t expected it to feel like a lighter was getting permanently buried into her flesh.
Louise writhes against the chair and the restraints, pain only growing due to the movement. Choked sobs are leaving her throat as she stills, hoping that if she tries not to move as much as possible, the burning would start to subside. The man takes a few steps back and crosses his arms over his chest once again; he smiles watching her suffer. Seeing that look on his face immediately forces her to power through, the new, brewing anger causing a wave of adrenaline to shoot to her thigh, letting the burn turn more into a dull ache than sharp pain. She squeezes her eyes shut, tight, trying to pull focus off the leg and to why the hell they want Stark.
When she opens them, she finds the man’s eyes as soon as she can, giving him a look that dares him to try again, a look that she hoped said you won’t win that easily, dick.
She feels the tears still rolling down her cheeks unconsciously as he shakes his head and makes his way back towards her, smile still prominent. He crouches when he is about a foot from her, tilting his head up to look at her, eyes burning into hers nearly as much as the baton did into her leg.
“Serum,” he says firmly.
What? What serum?
Louise lightly shakes her head, eyes closed once again, searching her brain for what he could be referring to.
“Sorry, what?” What are you talking about?” Lou replies, though slightly aggressive; confusion and pain coming out in a slight wave of anger.
He didn’t take the aggression well, apparently, as he quickly stands and grumbles something under his breath while gripping her right arm with bruising tightness. She watches as he quickly steps to her right side as well, lifting the baton once again as he moves. She realizes what is happening just a moment too late, bracing herself just as the torch presses into the skin of her upper arm. This time, he doesn’t hold back. He decides to drag the electric point from her shoulder straight down to her elbow. He doesn’t even stop at the restraint tightened across her upper arms and her chest; he simply burns right through it, melting it along with flesh. By the time the burning reaches the crease of her arm, her vision is nearly completely white, with the stinging so harsh that Louise is genuinely surprised she is still holding onto consciousness. She feels his presence leave her space, though her head is beginning to loll slightly from side to side as feeling starts to come back to her limbs, one by one.
When she is able to open her eyes fully, vision restored and ringing in her ears minimal, the man is seated in another metal chair in front of her. If she never sees another metal chair again, it would be too soon.
“So, the serum? Where is it?” The softness in his voice catches Louise by surprise when he speaks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’s caught off-guard by her own voice coming out slurred and hoarse, barely understandable.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He shouts while rushing her, his hands flying to either side of the headrest- a portion of her hair getting caught beneath each of his palms as he grips the chair. The intense stinging at her scalp causes her to wince and look directly up at him.
“I swear, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. He never told me about a serum? Jesus, I don’t even know what he would be using a serum for…” she begins to ramble, rattling off every thought she’s having about this serum. Clearly none of it is helpful, as Louise hears the crackling of the baton start up again, so out of it that she can barely register the pain as he presses it into a spot near the original wound on her left thigh.
Louise opens her eyes, feeling movement around her. Another man had come in at some point, one she doesn’t recognize; he and the tall guy were working on taking off the restraints as the other man pulls out a phone and begins talking. It sounds like he’s just mumbling, though, so she tries to gather the energy to focus in and listen, to little avail. All she’s able to make out is “she doesn’t know anything,” and “asset,” as two pairs of hands grab both of her arms. A scream turns into a sob within a split second when one of the men tightly grasps the burn on her right arm, deliberately pressing into it as they lift her to her feet.
“Rumlow, where do you want her,” the tall man says.
“Uh, I don’t- just, take her back to the room. We can deal with her later,” the man on the phone, Rumlow, replies, going back to his phone call immediately after.
“Rumlow.” Louise slurs out a couple of times, trying to commit the name to memory, however foggy it may be.