Vision tilts his head at her askance. "Clearly there is a misunderstanding of the circumstances. Ma'am, if you will please take a moment to examine your surroundings, you will observe that this is one of your subterranean medical units. You yourself approved the requisition of the gurney and medical restraints currently accommodating you. I would surmise you anticipated the need for them in just such a circumstance as this… namely, that you are moderately injured, but resistant to your body's requirement for rest and recovery."

"And your suspicion would be correct."

The voice of Alfred Pennyworth should be a familiar one to the shackled heroine, but as the trusted butler of Brianna Wayne approaches, he can see from the sweat pouring from her, the dilation of her wide eyes, and the spirited struggle against her restraints that she is not as amenable to reason as she would normally be.

"Ma'am." Alfred reaches out to clasp her shoulder, hoping that she will recognize the touch of her friend and ally where perhaps sight and sound are distorted. "You were exposed to Dr. Crane's fear toxin, except it appears to have been made more potent, possibly by Ms. Isley. The distance between us was too great and so I commissioned Vision to retrieve you and bring you here. Do you recall your encounter?"

Though Vision is quiet and deferential to Alfred, in the wake of the butler's inquiry he poses one of his own. "Do you still intend to render me apologetic?

________________________

Panic delves like a knife into her chest. His words inspire a contemptuous huff. Misunderstanding? Wayne's heart skips several drumming beat. Hostile but obedient, her gaze turns to the damned walls. Dark brows furrow, knitting together harshly over the slope of her nose.

"The-- the Batcave?" She rasps. Confusion permeates every syllable of the stunned utterance. Every word he spoke, caused her to shiver with something a few shades short of recollection.

How had she gotten form that forsaken alley to here? The question lingers in the depths of her eyes.

A timbre so familiar it ought to be etched into the core of her bones causes her gaze to shift. The man it belongs to is HOME. More than Wayne Manor, more than brick and mortar, her ever-present guardian is the only true safety she has KNOWN. Yet, he shouldn't be here? He shouldn't be in the fray of this, seeing her destruction, this anger.

He grounds her in ways this stranger can not. Violent is the force clawing like vicious talons INSIDE of her. She rips at the binds keeping her tethered, but it is now use. Even with her enhanced strength, Wayne isn't strong enough to make them YIELD. No amount of tugging is rewarded.

Crane? Islay? Suddenly, pieces of her fragmented mind are trying to slot into place. They had intended to does the entire city, a second time.

"No--"Her answer is half a shade less venomous than before. Everything is still submerged in an impenetrable, thick haze. She remembers very little after the confrontation with the two villains. "My head-- it's---" Her cranium feels like a casing for a violent storm.

It’s a joke, of course. He knows her schedule top to bottom, as well he should; he would be a poor liaison indeed if he didn’t. Another smile reaches his features, this one perhaps a bit embarrassed. “I get the sense neither of us much wants to leave just now, but… maybe on a night the wine isn’t hitting quite so hard, yeah?”

And it would have reason to – the bottle’s contents are fully gone, and the place has been very cozy for the last 45 minutes. Nevertheless, even a little tipsy, he’s still a man of chivalry, and makes a point of paying and tipping generously. He even graces her knuckles with a chaste kiss, and with another one of his Mona Lisa smiles, he says, “Maybe a hint for next time. If we’re optimistic.”

Their parting at the doorway is capped off by an awkward though well-intentioned apology on is part as he diverts to the restroom. It’s not unreasonable to assume the wine is responsible. But it does mean that Phoe goes outside alone, and makes her way out to the parking lot on her own.

And perhaps it’s the warm buzz of the wine, or the headiness of having been out on her second date… or that the dark shapes in the lot are well-hidden amongst the other parked cars… but her first indication of their presence is the sound of sudden quick steps on the pavement from all around her.

A hand reaches around her from behind and clamps a wide strip of tape across her mouth. Two pairs of strong hands are on her, gripping her wrists and upper arms and holding them out and away from her. The dark-clad men drag her away from her car and towards a black van whose side door is wide open.

Two more men inside are holding up a straitjacket between them.

Their objective is clear.

_____________________________________________________

He speaks, and it is like the world listens. Her breath catches in the confines of her throat, heart flittering like a butterfly inside of her chest. Phoenix’s tongue ghosts along the curve of his lips at his revelation. Giddily, she has to inquire. “Oh? Will it be as fun as this one?” She asks, gaze haplessly falls to the cupid’s bow of his lips. There is a promises lurking there in the undercurrent of his invitation. “I am. In fact, my entire Tuesday can be yours, should you speak for it now.” She answers with a wicked, intrigued grin.

The urge to kiss him is ever present. Coulson is right though, she doesn’t want to leave - but if they continue pressing forward as they were now, it would end in a tangle of limbs and ruined sheets. She sighs never having been denied like this before. It only makes her pine after him harder. Especially, when his lips place a kiss upon her knuckles. 

She leaned in to kiss him at the door, but he is quick to excuse himself. Phoenix lets out an elongated sigh, staring after him. It’s just as well, he could be trouble. 

The brunette steps out into the darkened streets. Her keys are jangled effortlessly as she ambles towards her car. She stops, midway. The hairs on the back of her neck have helplessly raised. She’s not alone. Her steps tread faster, carrying her towards her car. But she is not moving fast enough. 

Suddenly, she finds herself trapped. “Listen, I don’t have any money.” It’s not entirely true. There is spare change crowding her wallet. However, that doesn’t seem to be what they’re after– 

Phoenix lets out a shout, one for help, before she reaches for her gun. A gun she can not reach in time. “HELP!” A pause. “SOMEBODY?!!! HELP ME!!?”

The exclamation is not as entirely innocent as it seems. First it is to serve as a deterrent, to make the bad guys think better of this. Second, if she would have to shoot one in self-defense, at least she gave them an opportunity to amend their ways. Juries were more sympathetic that way. 

So focused is she on the menace in front of her, that she fails to protect her own back. And that is when she hears it, the crisp peel of fresh duct-tape. Crude hands hurriedly fumble to press it over her lips.

She moves to fight it. “LET ME GOO!” The order is muffled, almost incoherent, as she tries to FIGHT back. Her arms and legs are flailing. According to training, she tries to make herself as heavy as possible. Force the kidnappers to struggle with her weight, though obviously she is not as well built as her co-workers. 

They drag her as though she is nothing more than a rag-doll.NO!!! NO. She can’t let them wrestle her into that van. It would be a death sentence. Her heels drag futilely against the pavement. She refuses to go along with this!!! Her heart feels as though it just might EXPLODE with how painfully palpable it beats. 

Phoenix is outnumbered. Outmatched. Outgunned. She is tossed inside the black van, fighting every inch of the way. Her legs push outwards, colliding with the knees of the men closest, before they hastily make another attempt at aiming for the nearest one’s crotch.  

WHO WERE THESE BASTARDS? 

This Meme: Accepting @brooklynislandgirl Honorable Mentions @tangleweave ~~~*~~~

"I haven't committed a crime yet."

Though she had been tempted. It was one thing to be told that she was at risk of finding herself a nice quiet dark room to live in. It was another to threaten everything she had built up to this point. Only two weeks after her last failed tip had her more up in arms than she needed to be.

She was more angry at letting herself put the team at risk. She had two jobs. Keep them in line as the mastermind of the team, and keep them safe. She hadn't done that. She let her target worm her way into into her mind and spreading doubt. Suppressed fears of not being good enough, of being kept in a cage. Paying the very price that she was trying to keep the others from. After all what good was someone's word when it couldn't stop what was looking like an inevitability.

Naveen Andrews

I’m so sorry

whats getting me is that she already had stage 4 ovarian cancer back in 2001 and almost died from it bc our shitty GP in SC wouldn’t listen 

and im llike