005.

____________________

Steve looked at them all, then back at Selene, still unconscious, still small against the bed. He didn't see a monster.

____________________

The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of seared steak and melting butter. The soft hum of the stove's vent fan droned in the background, but Selene barely heard it over the steady pounding of her heart.

She sat stiffly at the counter, her golden eyes flicking between three points of interest: the steak on the stove, the elevator doors—the only entrance and exit to the floor—and the cityscape beyond the glass windows.

The latter was beautiful, glittering with golden lights against the inky black of night, but it was a view she didn't trust. It was meant to distract. To lull her into some false sense of comfort.

But she wouldn't let it.

Selene kept her back straight, her hands curled around the edge of the counter to ground herself. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to move, to fight, to run—but her hunger kept her in place. The rich, savory aroma of steak was like a leash, holding her down, taming her for now.

Across from her, Steve moved through the kitchen with an ease that felt out of place for a man built for war. He plated the food with careful hands, completely unbothered by the tension sitting between them.

"I started cooking a couple years ago," he said suddenly, breaking the silence as he glanced at her. His voice was light, casual. Non-threatening.

She didn't respond, only narrowed her eyes.

He sighed but didn't seem surprised by her silence. "It started as something to do, you know? After waking up in this time, everything felt... foreign. I needed to keep my hands busy, so I started trying new things. Cooking just stuck."

Selene exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes never leaving him. He spoke like he wanted to relate to her, like he thought they had some shared experience. But he didn't know anything about what she had been through.

Steve glanced at her again, noting the sharp way she kept eyeing the exit. He set the plates down on the dining table before taking a seat, motioning for her to do the same. "I don't usually cook for anyone else, so I hope it's good." He smiled, warm and open. Too trusting.

Selene hesitated.

Then, her hunger won.

She stood and made her way to the table, taking slow, calculated steps. She sat, staring down at the food in front of her. The steak was thick, perfectly seared, the juices pooling into the mashed potatoes beside it. The scent alone made her mouth water, but she forced herself to remain still.

Steve picked up his fork, flashing her another small smile before cutting into his steak. "Dig in," he encouraged.

Selene's grip on the fork tightened. Calm. Stay calm.

But then she blinked—and something in her snapped.

Her vision tunneled. The world around her blurred, the edges of her sight going black as instinct overtook thought. Hunt. Kill. Consume.

Her fingers twitched—then she lunged.

There was no control now. No restraint. She tore into her steak with her bare hands, ripping pieces off with unnatural strength, devouring it like a beast starved for days.

The plate shattered under the force, shards of ceramic cutting into her skin, but she didn't stop. She barely noticed.

Then—her eyes darted to the broken shards, still covered in meat and sauce.

She reached for them.

Steve moved faster.

"Whoa, hey!" His chair scraped back as he lunged, grabbing her wrist before she could shove the glass into her mouth.

Selene's head snapped up, her golden eyes now wild, feral.

And then she attacked.

The force of her movement sent them both crashing into the table, flipping it onto its side as she struck like a cornered animal. Steve barely had time to block before she slashed at him—literally slashed—her nails elongating into wicked, sharp claws.

Shit.

Steve's mind flashed back to the first time they met, when she had been a pure, unrestrained force of nature, half-shifted into something more beast than human. That same wild fury burned in her now, her body moving with deadly precision, trained instincts perfected by Hydra.

She was fast. Too fast.

Steve dodged another strike, the air whistling as her claws missed his face by inches. He grabbed for her wrists, but she twisted away, using the momentum to flip onto the counter, crouching low like a predator ready to pounce.

Her lips curled back, revealing elongated canines, a deep, guttural growl ripping from her throat.

Steve raised his hands in a placating gesture, his heart hammering. "Selene—snap out of it."

She launched at him.

They crashed into the kitchen cabinets, glass shattering as dishes fell to the floor. Steve grunted as her claws raked across his arm, barely breaking skin—only because of the serum.

God, she was strong.

She wasn't just fighting—she was hunting.

Steve's mind raced as he deflected another strike, dodging her snapping jaws. He couldn't fight her—not like this. She wasn't in control.

Restrain her. Don't hurt her.

He waited—watching for an opening.

Then, just as she lunged again, he caught her.

Using her momentum against her, he twisted, locking her in a chokehold from behind.

Selene thrashed violently, snarling like a rabid animal, her claws scraping against his forearm as she tried to tear herself free. But Steve held firm, using his strength to keep her in place without crushing her throat.

"Come back, Selene," he murmured, tightening his grip just enough to hold her still. "This isn't you. Fight it."

She bucked against him, her body trembling, but she was slipping—her wild thrashing becoming weaker, her growls turning into ragged, uneven breaths.

Then—her body slumped.

Her eyes fluttered, her claws retracting, her breathing uneven as she finally passed out in his arms.

Steve held her for a moment longer, his heart still pounding. Then, carefully, he eased her down onto the floor, his hands shaking slightly as he brushed her hair away from her face.

"Dammit, Selene," he muttered under his breath, his chest tightening at the sight of her unconscious form.

He exhaled, his head dropping back against the ruined kitchen cabinets.

Then, softly, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

_____

The room was eerily silent, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Selene lay still in the hospital bed, her face pale against the white sheets. The wild, untamed force that had torn through the kitchen was nowhere to be seen now—just a girl, unconscious, fragile despite the undeniable strength she possessed.

Steve sat beside her, arms crossed, jaw tight. His mind replayed the fight over and over, the way she had snapped, the way her golden eyes had gone void of humanity. She had been doing better, starting to trust him, starting to settle in. And then this.

He clenched his fists, guilt gnawing at him. Had he pushed too hard? Was it something he said?

Bruce stood at the other side of the bed, checking Selene's vitals, scanning over her body for any injuries she might have sustained. She had healed fast—too fast—but it was still standard procedure. Meanwhile, Tony paced near the door, phone pressed to his ear, arranging for someone to clean up the wreckage they had left in the kitchen.

Clint was out on a mission. Natasha, however, was here—standing just beside Steve, arms folded, her sharp eyes flicking between him and Selene.

Steve could feel her watching him, studying him, and when he turned to meet her gaze, her expression gave nothing away.

Until she spoke.

"She's going to mess up again," Natasha said, voice low enough that only he could hear. "Probably worse than this."

Steve's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.

"What Hydra did to her... it doesn't just go away," Natasha continued, still watching him closely. "It'll take years. Decades. And even then? She'll never be the same. She'll never be normal."

The words hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

Steve turned back to Selene, staring at the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. He knew Natasha was right—of course she was. She knew better than anyone what this kind of past did to a person.

But it still hurt to hear it out loud.

Natasha sighed, shifting her weight. "Just... don't get yourself hurt," she muttered, softer this time. There was something unreadable in her expression before she looked away.

Bruce, having finished checking Selene over, adjusted his glasses and turned to the others. "Her transformation... it wasn't just a loss of control. That was primal. A survival response." He crossed his arms, frowning. "If we don't find a way to help her manage it, it's going to happen again. Probably more often."

"She's like an animal," Tony commented, finally hanging up his phone. His tone was dry, but there was something in his face that wasn't quite mocking. "No offense. But the whole tearing-through-the-kitchen, eating-with-her-hands, almost-eating-glass thing? Not exactly standard 'super soldier rage.'"

Bruce nodded. "It's something deeper. Instinctual. The way she reacted—it was as if she couldn't even tell friend from foe." He hesitated. "I can relate."

That made Steve look up.

Bruce exhaled. "The Hulk—he's not just anger. He's primal. He reacts to threats in ways I can't always control. I had to learn. Had to train myself to stay in control, to resist. But even now, I have limits." He looked back at Selene. "And she might, too."

Steve's fingers curled against his knee. "So what do we do?"

"We start by figuring out exactly what Hydra did to her," Bruce said. "A full blood panel. We need to know everything—her regenerative abilities, her shifting capabilities, the full extent of her enhancements."

"She's not a lab rat," Steve said sharply.

"No, she's a ticking time bomb," Tony cut in, crossing his arms. "Look, I feel bad for the girl, I do. No one deserves what Hydra did to them. But if she snaps again, what happens if it's not you in the room? What happens if it's some poor intern? Or a civilian?" He gestured toward the bed. "We have to know what we're dealing with. For her sake and for ours."

Steve's teeth clenched. "She's not dangerous."

"Steve." Natasha's voice was quiet but firm. "She is."

Steve looked at them all, then back at Selene, still unconscious, still small against the bed. He didn't see a monster.

He saw someone who had only ever known chains.

And he wasn't going to be another person who saw her as nothing more than a weapon.

_____