Azara's pov

"Miss Alarie... if you can hear me, squeeze my hand," I drift into a slightly conscious state, barely registering the voice's request.

"Miss Alarie, please squeeze my hand if you can," the woman repeats. My fingers twitch slightly and I hear a relieved exhale.

"Very good, now, if you can, try and open your eyes. Squeeze my hand again if you can't," her voice is concerned but hopeful.

I don't want to squeeze her hand, but opening my eyes seems impossible, "Miss Alarie, it's ok if you can't."

I fight to open them, the artificial light temporarily blinding me; my brain's attention is solely on the difficult task at hand.

"It's alright, don't hurt yourself," if I wasn't practically paralysed, I would've scoffed at the irony: every time - it appears - I get hurt, in a way, it's self-inflicted; I chose to get hurt so someone else doesn't.

I finally manage to crack my eyelids open enough to make out the severely blurry face of Helen Cho.

"Azara, it's great to see you awake, it's been a while," she accurately and carefully adjust something on a monitor next to my bed.

"H-ow lo-ng?" My throat is as dry and ruff as sandpaper but I speak anyway.

"Longer than expected," she answers vaguely. Her more frequent and fluttery blinks obviously displays her hesitance and even anxiousness to reply with a proper answer. She may work for SHIELD, but she's no field agent.

"How l-ong?" I ask again, my vision clearing with every tiring blink.

"2 months," she states in an odd attempt at nonchalance.

"2 m-onths!" I repeat, hoping dearly I misheard her.

"Yes, Miss Alarie, 2 months. I'm sorry, but your operation - despite being successful - had dozens of foreseen unforeseen complications. We knew there was a high chance that there would be problems we couldn't account for prior but..."

She trails off, again restraining from telling the whole story.

"But what, Dr Cho? Why was I out for a 2 months instead of a few day a week as you said before?" I feel fully awake, despite my whole body screaming at every little motion I weakly make.

"There was a dart-like object which was in you - presumably from HYDRA - which, when removed, released a secondary poison. I wasn't - as far as we can tell - a neurological stimuli but, but it did knock you out. There was nothing we could do apart from closely monitoring your completely stable vitals and watch the hours tick by."

She finishes fiddling and faces me, handing me an A4 sheet of paper.

"This is the scan we did of the dart and your wound; it's not pretty, I know, but you should feel lucky that I was where it was, even if it did impact and put pressure on the spinal chord," she carefully takes the paper back and places it in a brown-paper file.

"And Director Fury wishes to speak with you," she smiles weakly before leaving the room.

"Miss Alarie, awake at last," the tall, dark-skinned man, donning a long black trench coat and a simple eyepatch, steps through an adjoining room's door and into the light of mine.

"Your 'disappearance' caused quite a stir in the press. Where are you? What's your jail time? And a question I'm in agreement with: who are you, really?" His hands are clasped behind his back and his posture stiff. If I hadn't been trained otherwise, I'd already be spilling my deepest, darkest secrets, simply from his beady, glaring eye.

"I'm Azara Kamaria Alarie, daughter of HYDRA experimentalist and scientist, Dr Winton Alarie and the Greek goddess of the shadows, Azra. I was born and raised in Queens and have a master's degree in architecture. And the address is 221b Baker Street," I finish with a small, yet uncontainable, smirk.

"You're not the Bleeker Street Magican nor his Sherlock look-a-like, so don't give me that crap, Alarie. I know there's more to you than you've told anyone," he presses, as if he expects be to spill the beans at the snap of his fingers.

"Like what? Give me some kinda ball park area here. Favourite colour or what's my most common type of existential crisis?" I stifle a wince as I move a little too quickly.

He disregards my sarcastic question, "I know Agent Romanoff visited and I also know that I could land your ass in a much worse prison than this, even with Stark - well, more his money - standing up for you. I'm a powerful enemy."

"Fab, good to know. And uh, just an FYI, if you're going to come and interrogate me, at least bring Reese's peanut butter cups, they help with my memory and may also help how useful I a-"

A king-size pack of original peanut butter cups lands softly on my lap on top of the layered blankets.

"I know things about you, Alarie, things you don't think I do. But I have things I need to know, and I will," there's no kindness in his eyes.

I don't reply and just stare blankly at him.

"Rest well, Miss Alarie. Don't do anything... stupid," and with that, he leaves the room without another word, leaving it wide open.

"Thanks for the Reese's!" I call out to him weakly but I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hear it.

~~~~~~

"Azara, your results look promising and your recovery rate is incredibly impressive," Dr Cho is in my room again, jotting meaningless-looking notes down on a sheet of paper, glancing ever so often in my direction.

"So, when do I end up in a cell?" I question, fully aware I wouldn't let that happen to me: I'd be long gone.

"Maybe three months; maybe a year, maybe a month. I don't really know," she doesn't look up but I can tell she's paying attention to me.

I'm at war with myself.

I promised Natasha that I'd see her; find her. But it's been 2 months and I can barely move, let alone faze and get to her. Maybe she'd already gone? Maybe she'd already accepted that I wasn't coming? Maybe, even if I did go, she'd hate me for making her wait so long?

But I couldn't stay here; no less let Natasha hate me again, especially not if there's a chance she doesn't quite yet.

"Miss Alarie? Everything ok?" Helen looks at me, concerned.

"Yeah, sorry, I zoned out there," I apologise.

"That's alright. I was saying that worrying now won't help anyone. Worry increases stress and stress can have severely detrimental impacts on recovery."

"Yes, ma'am," I fake salut her.

Chuckling slightly, she continues, "Physio starts in no more than a week, so rest up."

~~~~~~

1 week later

"That's really good, Azara! Impressive for your first session," Helen comments as I grip tightly to the parallel bars, majorly aiding my walking.

"Thanks doc, I try my best," I don't let the fatigue show on my face and instead opt to plaster on a fake smile of satisfaction in my progress.

"Well, by the end of the month, I think you'll be right as rain," she assess my walking and jots a few notes down.

~~~~~~

3 weeks later

"In all my years, I've never seen someone recover so rapidly from a spinal injury," Helen smile as I stand, unwavering and unaided.

"You're not that old, Doc," I smile.

"I feel it," she chuckles, "but I'll be able to let you go soon. We'll keep you on special meds but other than that..."

We both know what an all clear means, "I'll be good to go into a cell to rot."

I don't say it to make her pity me but I can't say I'm thrilled by the prospect of prison.

"Tony will make sure you'll be ok and I'm sure that you'll be free soon enough," she's genuinely trying hard to reassure me but my pessimistic brain isn't convinced.

~~~~~~

Another week later

"You're officially in the clear, Azara. Congratulations, your full recovery was nothing short of miraculous," a proud Helen Cho shakes my hand earnestly.

"Really, Helen? A hand shake?" I chuckle pulling her into an immensely thankful hug. No one has ever really given me this much attention and care, or at least not in a long time.

"It's been a pleasure, Azara," she pulls away after a while and smiles once more.

There's a moment of silence before a sharp knock at the door interrupts our goodbyes.

"Prisoner 319, it's time to go!" A gruff male voice barks through the closed door.

"Well, my carriage awaits. Thank you, Helen, seriously," I say.

"Your welcome, Azara. I hope to see you again soon."

And, after leaving the room and quickly being cuffed, the next thing I know, I'm in a cell, staring blankly at the ceiling.

~~~~~~

Only a day passes before I'm bored out of my mind.

But I also know that it's time. It's time to visit Natasha.

So that's exactly what I do.

I slip into a shadow and vividly picture the image she had shown me, immersing myself in the snapshot memory.

Opening my eyes, a clear and calming breath of fresh air hits my lungs. I let my body soak up the sun for a few seconds before walking up towards the house in plain sight.

I half expect it to be empty and for me to just go straight to back to my cell, but I'm greeted by the faint sound of a radio resonating throughout the house, filling it with a peaceful atmosphere.

"Tasha? You here?" I enter what I presume to be the kitchen and am swiftly and suddenly slammed up against the wall, a knife pressed tightly to my throat.

I thought she would loosen it after realising it's me but she doesn't.

"Three. Months. Three months you had me waiting. Three months I've lived on my own, waiting," she whispers, inches from my face.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but there wasn't much I could do. The operation meant removing an underlying HYDRA dart which released an untreatable, temporary comatose drug. Vision hit my spine and I had a month of physio," I kind of expect her to disregard my explanation but she eventually releases the knife.

"Three months. I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead, even."

"I'm so sorry, Tasha. I'm so sorry," I don't move a muscle, my eyes focused on the conflicted spy.

But she doesn't reply.

She just crushes me in a desperate hug, burying her face in my worn-out shirt. Her grip on me doesn't waver as we stand in the kitchen, unmoving, until the sun begins to flicker below the tree line.

"It's been nearly an hour, Az. You know that?" Natasha lifts her head from my chest and glances up at the wall clock. There's a red line running across her cheek from pressing up against the creases in my top and it makes me smile slightly.

"Yeah, but it's not like we've got anywhere to be," I joke softly.

"I'm hungry."

"Is that you not so subtly asking me to make some dinner?" I raise a teasing eyebrow.

"Hey, I've been making my own food for three months now!" She protests.

"Pot Noodles don't count as cooking," I reason, gesturing to the stack of them in the open cupboard.

She huffs, annoyed, but doesn't continue to argue back.

"I'll make us some risotto, if that's ok with you? Do you have the stuff?"

"Yeah, I stocked up a lot. Probably too much," she motions to the cupboards.

"Well, it'll be done in no more than an hour," she groans loudly, "Hey! Good things come to those who wait, you know."

She laughs and sits up on the counter, staring at me.

"What?" I ask, cocking my head to the side in confusion as to why she's staring.

"I waited 3 months for you," she states, not in an accusing way; just matter of factly.

"And...?"

"I waited 3 months so I hope you're good," she says smuggly.

I laugh, "Wow, you got me there."

"Yup," she grins.

"Well, I'm the chef so I'm in charge, and I say go and relax. It'll take longer if you're here distracting me," I pretend to shoe her out of the room and she squeals cutely, running away and ending up near the doorway across the other side of the room.

"I'm not that distracting, am I?" She asks sweetly.

"At this rate, you're eating Pot Noodles," I tease.

"Ok, ok! I'm going!" She raises her hands in surrender and leaves the room, yelping slightly as I hear her trip over something.

I smile at just how dorky and clumsy one of the world's best assassins can be sometimes.

~~~~~~

"Dinner is served!" I say dramatically,  placing two full bowls on the outside table, the sunset casting a golden light over the peaceful house.

She smiles, kissing me lightly on the cheek in thanks.

"It looks amazing. When did you learn to cook?" She uses the salt and pepper shakers lightly.

"Home. I was good at that kinda stuff."

"You still are good at it," she smiles, eating a fork-full.

"Oh my god!" She covers her mouth and her eyes go wide.

"What?" I ask, ever so slightly panicked.

"It's incredible! Like, I've had proper french risotto that cost €200 a portion, but this," she points her fork at her bowl, "tops it all."

I laugh lightly, "Wow, thank you. I try my best."

"And you have made 'the best'," she compliments.

"Only 'the best' for the best," I gesture to the woman in-front of me.

Hiya everyone, hope you're ok!

Thanks again,

Much love, Shrimpward xx