*Guest had just been saved from Hydra by the team. She refused to speak a word to any of them. They only knew her name from reading her files left behind.

When she was found, she was quiet, dazed. She still seemed that way, like she didn’t truly know what was happening, or even who she was.

Hydra had been all she’d known. Innocent blood on her hands, the serum flowing through her veins. Her eyes reflected years of pain, her face displaying guilt she’ll wear for years to come.

Bruce is the first one to speak to Guest.

Unlike the others, he actually enters her cell, rather than observing from the outside. He had come to check on her, to make sure she wasn’t severely injured or anything—he could never be too sure knowing the conditions she had been surviving in back there.

“I know this cell doesn’t feel like rescue,” He had told her gently, kneeling in front of her, “But we don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. It’s to keep everyone safe, yourself included.”

She didn’t respond. He assured her that no one was going to hurt her on purpose, that she was safe here. She looked away. She didn’t believe him, and he could see that. He left, giving her space. she stayed curled up in the corner of her cell.

After he leaves, a few days pass, but she isn’t keeping track. eventually, the team deems Guest nonagressive. They give her a room, food, a home. but she didn’t trust any of it.

She had trusted hydra once, why should she trust these strangers?

The tower feels evil. like it’s waiting for her to let her guard down. waiting to pounce. The place is too giant, too confusing, too perfect. She made her room her own prison, but one of safety rather than punishment.

When someone enters, she always tenses, like she needs to either escape or fight. Why were they being so nice? it felt like a trap.

Bruce was the only one to truly make an effort to make her feel safe. He was gentle when he was with her, but he didn’t leave at first sign of stubbornness like the others did. He stayed with her, talking quietly and aimlessly, or sometimes not talking at all. he still couldn’t get her to speak, but he could tell she listened when he told his stories.

Today, he knocked on the door gently before entering. he found Guest curled up in the corner of her room, glaring at her bed like it had personally offended her.

He crouched down, close but far enough to leave a comfortable amount of space between for her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, if a bit gruff. “What’d the bed do to you?” he laughed a little, offering her a small smile.*