Chemical Poison

With winter growing stronger by the minute, howls of whining winds trapped Anneliese within the tent and contained to her bed. She was frozen. Stuck as the shadowed men lurked towards her; their black military uniforms and silver eight tentacle octopus pins attached to their collars humanised them. Made an unwanted nightmare into reality.

But their faces are still hidden. Darkness cower at the sight of monsters, she thinks. And it seemed darkness would not cower at her, would not hide but push her into the light more. The fire-lit floor lantern flicks diminishes and then burns brighter until her left cheek glows. She's on display; seen but she could not see; found but unable to find them. 

His hands, pale and slightly red from the cold, delicately adjusts the gun. The gold engraving on its side scares her, it maims her into a perpetual freeze. There, in her uncle's handwriting is 'O. Schmidt'. With a soldier's skill, she watched as he placed something on top, she hadn't the slightest clue what it could be but she knew it could only mean bad things.

Bad things for her.

She had thought herself braver. That she was fearless when forced in front of the men of her family; that her time with Howard had meant she had borrowed his steel bones. Yet, as the shadows dissipated and his face - her face, their face, the Schmidt's face -  appeared she knew she was wrong.

A smirk tugs at his curled lips as his piercing beady eyes land on her. They look down at her. They judge her and then they land on her fingers holding the blanket far tighter than necessary.

It lands on her wedding ring.

"I don't think Johann is going to be happy," He mutters as he takes a step towards her. "He had great plans for you, cousin."

Cousin.

Cousin.

In the past, it was an endearing word. It meant so much more than their familial ties and the blood that linked them all. She had used it to say 'you're my favourite person ever, you mustn't ever leave me' and she was sure he was something of the same. Now? Now it was venom dripped in honey. There was false sweetness flaking at the sides that begged for violence. It was more of a curse than any other word Alexander had sworn. 

With her heart racing, Anneliese spiralled. This was the plan. It was always the plan to draw them out into the military camp. To make them distracted by her family's obsession with control and women. To attack them when they didn't see it coming. 

But she hadn't expected Oskar. 

She left Germany still loving him. Seeing him as innocent amongst all his horrid crimes. She mourned him and often found herself scolded by her father for missing her cousin who actively partook in her punishments. Yet, as the years grew, she came to fear him. She hated him, she loathed who she assumed he had become - what he is now - but she missed him. And that was what she feared the most. Missing the family that she knows she shouldn't. 

Herbert had been her guess, but in all honesty, she had just expected any other soldier or associate of her Uncle to come for her. She hadn't expected him. Her defences weren't built for a man she had come to love as her brother, as her only friend in a manor of blood and knives. 

As his boots creek against the tent floor, Anneliese is propelled by her fears. Why was she just sitting there? Why was she not responding? The reasonable thing would've been to scream. To yell for help the second she heard the familiar drawl of Oskar as he remained hidden in the shadows of her tent. Perhaps she should have scattered away from her bed, made a dash towards the exit or to something sharp like the lamp next to her. Maybe, just maybe, when Oskar dragged himself to stalk towards her, all dressed in the usual black Hydra Uniform, she should have done anything to gain the attention of the camp.

But she did no such thing.

She was frozen her mouth agape as the familiar brown hair and beady black eyes stared back at her. In her youth, she hadn't seen the familiarity. She was ten and he was so so so much older than her. How was she meant to compare herself to a man with a shaven head due to military school? Yet, now, maybe she always instinctually knew, how similar she resembles to Oskar. 

He expected her to scream Anneliese finally realises. Maybe she would've screamed when she was ten and hiding from them during hide-and-seek or when she got either one in trouble, but she wasn't ten anymore.

"You're in shock," Oskar states, his tongue grazing across his teeth. 

No shit.

Oskar unbuckles his coat, revealing the strapped knives on his waist for Anneliese to see. The red-stained daggers were terrifying, and she knew better than to question a man who had his knives framed in the manor from his kills. Especially men who were personally trained in the art of cutting.

"How disappointing you have begun," He says. His eyes never leave hers as he takes another step towards her and Anneliese estimates he's not even a foot from the bed. The closest they've been since the night before she fled. "Scared, in shock, and married to a weak man."

"He's not a weak man."

A chuckle leaves his throat as his boot hits the bed causing Anneliese to pull the blanket tighter. She stares up at him in both shock and horror as he straps the gun to his waist and uses both hands to lean onto the bed.

It took everything in her not to scream. Maybe she should, but she feared if she screamed now, with Oskar so close to her they would only find her blood on the snow, her body mutilated into a hundred pieces. 

"Have you already forgotten your lessons?", he muses. "A man who loves is a weak man, how simple it would be to force him into submission at the slightest cut to your pretty skin."

Anneliese's heart began to race. This wasn't how it was meant to be, she wasn't meant to die. But was it really ever a sound plan? They were always betting on their infatuation with control and if he suddenly didn't want that? Well, she was dead.

"We don't have the time to debate your poor choice of a husband," he lectured just as he had when she was ten. "We only have a few minutes before Herbert grows agitated and begins shooting down this camp, or more specifically, your precious shiny husband."

Oh god. 

Oh god.

Both of them were here. She hadn't anticipated that.

Within a second, Oskar had ripped the blanket from her trembling fingers and grabbed her wrist to pull her off the bed. A squeal leaves her mouth as she stumbles. 

"Don't touch me!", she shouts. Maybe had she yelled minutes earlier someone would've heard her, but with how the storm rages on, she isn't so certain anyone would've heard a gun go off. 

Oskar rolls his eyes, "There she is. I was hoping for a fight"

He throws a black jacket at her and Anneliese's lips curl up in disgust. It was the same leatherly uniform jacket that he wore and Anneliese wasn't completely stupid to know why she was to wear it.

"I'm not wearing that."

"I don't remember giving you an option."

A small, weak fire started to build up within her. She was terrified and scared and wanted nothing more than to flee. She felt like she was ten again. If given the opportunity to run, she would take it. Yet, Oskar had just offended two of her most beloved things in a matter of minutes: Howard and fashion.

Picking up the coat, she inspected it. Functional speaking, Anneliese knew she would be warm even if they sent her to Serbia. Yet, as her eyes crawled towards the collar, her mouth gapped open. A Hydra pin shines brightly.

"No," Anneliese states. A lengthy pause followed.

The coat she could deal with. Even with it being a crime against fashion, the pin was not something she would wear. She would not be objectified, to be claimed as his, as a Schmidt. 

She was a Lorenz.

She is a Stark.

But she couldn't be a Schmidt, maybe Howard was right. 

She's never really been a Schmidt, no matter how similar she may be.

"No?", he says cooly as his eyebrows lift.

Anneliese stands her ground: "No."

Oskar's lips curl more and his white teeth glean from the lanterns. The more she stares at him: the frown wrinkles more pronounced, the cuts on his chin from a shave, and the purple under eyes, the more she sees him as a stranger. He wasn't the Oskar she knew. He couldn't be.

There was Oskar of her youth and then there was this. It grew increasingly more important to make the distinction as her lungs seized at the way he stared at her. As if she was a foreign object to die for, to sacrifice blood and skin to obtain, the way Johann had looked at her mother.

Perhaps the Colonel was right after all.

"Put the coat on Anneliese," Oskar finally says, straightening his back. 

She doesn't protest. He had used her name. It sounded foreign to his tongue, and perhaps it was. Her arms slid into a coat far too big for her and it was her down. Had she not seen the coat as a disguise to leave camp unseen, a means to keep her warm, and to remind her of the blood that runs in her veins - maybe she would've seen it as a cage to keep her grounded. It weighed so much that she knew she couldn't possibly run with it on.

A pleased look is what she's greeted with as he walks towards her and then behind her. His back is to her and she knows this is her chance to run, to flee, to fight him back. Anneliese's gaze temporarily stares at the tent doors and back to Oskar as the thoughts of running, screaming for help in the unforgiving snow clashed with what she knew was right.

This was always the plan. To be taken. Even if the plan wasn't there, she knew better that a Schmidt was more deadly with their back turned: unable to see whether they were grabbing a weapon or poison to make you beg for a quick death. 

So she doesn't run. Instead, as Oskar cuts a clean exit out the back, Anneliese pulls the pin roughly and watches the silver octopus fall to the ground. Where it belongs.

Anneliese isn't given another second as Oskar grabs her, one hand over her mouth and the other on his gun as he pushes her to the cruel frozen night.

It darks and is cold and utterly terrifying.

They hadn't been caught. Hadn't even passed a single guard on duty. It only reminded Anneliese how underprepared they were for war against her Uncle, how much they had undermined him. The mission to distract them had turned into a suicide: there would be no escape once Johann had his hands on her.

By the time they reach a clearing in the forest, Oskar pushes her towards the ground. The gun was now aimed at her.

"Do you plan to kill me?", Anneliese struggles to say.

"Of course, he won't," came the dry drawl of Herbert. Anneliese did not freeze this time, having slowly come to terms with the long journey to wherever Oskar had taken her. She would come toe to toe with Herbert. There would be no Stark security or masks to control the rage he held for her and the resentment she saved for him only.

Pushing herself off the cold, damp grass, Anneliese brushes the snow from the jacket before she straightens her back and turns to face Herbert. Vulnerability crept over her shoulder as she heard Oskar shuffle closer towards her.

With only the moon as a source of light, she could only see Herbert as a shadowed figure. 

"Because you plan to?", Anneliese baited. 

A chuckle falls from Herbert's lips, "Trust me, cousin, if I was allowed to leave a mark on you I would."

Suddenly, a clothe covers her mouth and Anneliese's eyes bulge wide. She kicks, she screams, and she claws at Oskar's arms but it is of no use. Slowly, as Herbert comes into view and she can see his sneer and the ugly scar that plagues his neck, does she recognise what this is?

"But I think a family reunion would be more fun."

Her screams are muffled as the cloth, now burning her skin, is pressed more tightly against her mouth and nose. The cloth was damp and Anneliese's mind swirled at all the possible chemicals it could be: acetic acid - a slightly sweet smell that stopped her mind within a second.

A strange mix of red wine, rotting paper, and run. A chemical smell that smelt somewhat sweet. Anneliese knew what it was far quicker than she had liked. Sometimes she preferred the unknown.

Chloroform.

They wanted her unconscious.

"Have you started it up?", Oskar's rough voice vibrates against her back as she continues to struggle against him. "Schmidt wanted her within the next three hours."

Her eyes started to feel heavy and her voice was growing hoarser, whether from screaming or inhaling an extreme amount of chloroform, she wasn't sure. This was a losing battle that she had no way out. She rather be cut into a million pieces than be unconscious around Oskar and Herbert. They were family she recognised but felt like strangers. She didn't know anything about them but their name and past.

And what she knew of their past terrified her more.

"Of course," Herbert lazily says as he pulls out something from his pocket. Anneliese begins shaking against Oskar more. Stamping her heels against his boots and finding small victories in his curses with every attack. "You're the one late."

Oskar begins to push her forward, seemingly unfazed by the new energy rush propelling Anneliese into action. She elbowed him, used her nails to claw at his coat and tried falling to the ground. But all were in vain - he was much stronger now and he was already strong to begin with.

It was only then did she heard the sound of a plane, and then she saw the inside of it. She was given a short break from the chloroform, but she knew it was too late. Her muscles had grown weak, taking precious seconds to attack back as she struggled to raise her own body from the floor. 

She was so focused on breathing in fresh air that she wasn't ready for their rough hands on her. Pushing her back down as they tied her hands together and then her feet. She was bound, drifting to sleep, and struggling to breathe.

"You shouldn't have left" Oskar whispered in her ear as she fell in and out of consciousness.  "And you shouldn't have come back. You only have yourself to blame, cousin."  

Anneliese eventually wakes. She's being carried and her body goes rigid. Her mind is still fuzzy and she can't hear a single thing, but what she sees is enough to chill her to the bone. She's surrounded by metal walls and cement bricks that offer no warmth, no safety, nor humanity; only red bloody torture is etched in it. It was devoid of life and there was absolutely no other way to explain the building to be anything but clinical. Yet, the scent of roses attacked every corner of the facility. Its alluring scent tricked her mind into believing that she was safe.

She was not safe. She was never safe.

And there was nothing safe about the banners that lurched on the tall walls. Their dark red colouring clashed boldly against the hallways of brick and granite. Anneliese wouldn't quite describe it as blood, and she knew it wasn't comparable to the wounds of a broken heart - but, instead, it was the colour of who inhabited the building.

Roses, the banner was painted to match the colour of the Schmidt rose. The black-printed octopus symbol stood proudly on the red banner, or perhaps it was the other symbol: a pair of roses, that terrified her. As she's carried further down a never-ending corridor, she realises that there are only banners on the wall; not a single rose is in sight. If there were no roses, then why did it smell so strongly of them? No life in a vase and no petals to pluck off.

Even the doors, made of some sort of metallic metal, made her feel smaller - to feel less human. Everything about this screamed the ugly truth of humanity. The handles screeched as Herbert opened the door to a simple room.

It was nothing different to the hallways she used to walk down in her uncle's Manor. Completely grey with nothing much to it but the banners that plagued the entire building. That was, until she saw the small wooden stool and table... with a glass vase and a rose inside of it.

And that was exactly when Anneliese knew she wasn't safe at all. The floral aroma had engulfed her as the guards forced her to sit on the stool, having her stare down the familiar rose. A simple rose, yet the pain caused her whole body to sear against the uncontrollable heat.

This was a rose she used to grow in her garden.

It was a smell she couldn't forget. She couldn't possibly know how many hours she had spent cultivating her rose garden back in her childhood home, but she was certain that it was more hours than the gardeners on the estate.

She dropped to the ground and for a brief second, she thought this was it. Her eyes clenched shut as she awaited whatever pain she would have to endure. But nothing came. The doors locked with a sharp clang and she was alone.

Alone with a rose that seemed to overtake every part of the room. And Anneliese couldn't help herself but to smell it, to let it completely take her. The scent was far too addicting for a woman to ignore it. It was what home smelt like. She missed home.

But this was not home, it was a prison.

Days came and nights dissolved into nothingness. She had been alone, in silence, for what she expected to be over two days. She was hungry as she slowly chewed on the last petal from the rose. There was no more water left and her throat grew scratchy, the thought of speech seemingly impossible.

Yet the scent of roses never left. It was driving her insane. After the first day of waiting in the corner, eyes forced open - trying to evade exhaustion - she had cried. Then, she grew angry and threw the glass vase across the room. And then she had considered just ending it all.

The sharp glass danced across her skin as she contemplated pushing it further, to watch herself bleed out. It would hurt, yes she was sure of it. But it would hurt much less than whatever Johann had in store for her. As she digs the glass into her skin, a sudden fog overcomes the room. It burns, she screams, she cries, and eventually, she's out cold.

The next time she wakes up, she isn't alone. The smell of sweating bodies and dried blood forces her nose to scrunch up. But she keeps her eyes closed, choosing to believe if she doesn't see the bodies that are pulling her up from the ground is far better than knowing.

"It's a woman," a man says with a British accent.

Her eyes fly open. Within a second of seeing herself in a cage with around five other soldiers, she quickly shuffled away from them all. She goes to pull the coat she was given to find it gone: she was wearing the dark green dress she had changed into when she arrived at the camp base. Memories of the past two-something days came to her quickly: the Colonel saying the camp was impenetrable and yet she was sitting in a cage with... with-

"You're not German," Anneliese croaks. "You're not Hydra."

The same British soldier from before is the only one to reply: "And you're certainly German with that accent."

A squeal leaves her throat as five pairs of eyes all stare at her curiously, some of them focusing more on her breasts than anything else. They looked starved, their hands raw and portions of their different coloured military uniforms were bloodied.

They were soldier and they were not Hydra.

"They're prisoners," she whispers to herself.

"Oh shi-"

"Falsworth!", a different American soldier hisses. 

The British soldier, supposably called Falsworth waves the American off. "Oh come off it Barnes, the girl is clearly crazy. Of fucking course we are pris-"

Anneliese's ears perked up at the name of Barnes. Her eyes narrowed to the pale boy with dark brown hair. there was something familiar about his eyes as if she'd seen him before. She couldn't be for sure. 

"Do you think Hydra would keep a crazy woman alive?", a different American speaks. The sudden sound of voices was overstimulating after so many hours without anything but her own voice.

Her eyes meet Barnes.

"I think I know exactly why Hydra would keep her," Barnes says in a low voice.  

"Outside of being a pretty little thing to look at?", Falsworth chuckles.

A soldier arrives at the cage and clangs his gun against the steel bars above Anneliese. She leaps away before the doors open, where a squad of seven ever the cage and drags her out.

"He is ready for you, Miss Lorenz."

Her eyes widen as the soldier grips her arm roughly as she's dragged out of the cage at the same time Barnes says: "Isn't she Stark's fiancee?"