EDITED :)

~

          Apparently volatile, (probably) mentally unstable, adorable, sexy assassins such as moi are enough to put SHIELD, the Fantastic Four and the Avengers on edge. Why, you ask? Haven't the faintest idea, I answer. Ask the author, she's the one who made me so over-powered in the first place.

          The never-ending halls of the SHIELD Hellicarrier twist and turn and stray from one another like a labyrinth, twisting one's mind nearly as much as the halls do themselves. Despite not all members of each team currently present, the Fourth of July Stripper, the Tinman, the Fourth of July Stripper look-alike aka Tinkerbelle, Big Bird and Patchy the Pirate can't seem to get enough of me, hence how we ended up here, the five of them and an additional ten SHIELD agents escorting me to my undoubtedly charming cell.

          With so many floors and levels between myself and freedom, I just know that to get the hell out of Dodge, I'm going to have to kindly ask each floor to burn a hole in itself so I can mosey on outta here. In other words, I'm gonna rock the shit out of this Hellicarrier as I blast hot enough fire to burn and eat through the metal like acid.

          Fun times, yeah?

          Growing tired of the strangling silence sitting between us all, I decide they haven't heard enough of my melodic voice today. "Left, left, left right, right left, right on left," I imitate a soldier in a deep, patronising voice, immediately receiving agitated glances from the ichi member of the Fantastic Freak Show and the san members of Earth's Mightiest Weirdos.

          I shrug, the cuffs eating into my wrists. "What? Y'all don't have any entertainment up in here. Oh! I know something that oughta provide quality entertainment." Sucking in a large breath, seconds later I begin to belt out what probably will result with me being thrown off the Hellicarrier.

          "One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety nine—"

          Patchy's single eye swivels to land and start burning into me. "Shut. It."

          Well, evidently it's someone's time of the month.

          Eventually, we reach a large, metallic door that parts to reveal a cell that for some strange reason reminds me of a cylindrical fish bowl. I know I'm quite a catch guys, but seriously?

          Face scrunching at the faint familiarity of it, as two agents take their time guiding me towards it, I snort upon recalling where I've seen it before. "Isn't this the cell you kept that Loki-motion God in? The one who could petition for a L'Oreal ad?" Upon Barton's affirming nod, my grin merely broadens. "Didn't he escape?"

          You can hear crickets chirping it's fallen so quiet in here.

          The closer I get to the cell, I begin to discern another person ensnared in there. It doesn't take long for the familiar face of Samuel Hemmings – my new partner in crime right after Ally – childishly sitting cross-legged and making shadow puppet shapes with his hands, the power-restricting cuffs also wrapped securely around his wrists. Upon noticing me, a goofy, large grin lights up his tanned face. "Ah, fancy seeing you here Lilly. What brings you to these here parts of town?"

          My shoulders shrug on their own accord, hand flippantly waving him off. "Oh, you know me, ever the traveller. Heard this was quite the quality establishment, absolutely charming around this time of year. This particular tourist attraction even kept that Pesky-Humans-Kneel-Before-The-God-That-Wasn't-Good-Enough-For-Daddy-To-Give-Me-The-Throne-So-I'll-Invade-Another-Planet-Instead guy from Asgard."

          Sam's nose scrunches in recollection. "Didn't he escape?"

          The guards hold me in place as Patchy starts to press away at the control panel, and I nod in confirmation at Sam's inquiry. "Yeah, must've been friends with Houdini." Conceal don't feel, don't let them knooowww...

          The moment the doors open to the cell, I am rather inelegantly and unkindly shoved in, only to turn around as the doors yet again shut and scowl at the agents. "Ey ey, easy with the merchandise. I ain't cheap; unlike those rags you call uniforms."

          Sam makes an 'Oooh' sound behind me, hissing as if he's been burned. "I'm sure Cap can lend you seventy years worth of ice for that burn."

          "If you're quite done," Fury's tone of pure attitude cuts into us. "Then I can finally lay down the ground rules—"

          I tilt my head, confused. "But we're not on the ground."

          "– of your temporary stay in Casa-de-SHIELD." Standing ready at the control panel, he wears the air of the Grim Reaper on Judgement Day. That sarcasm was almost as palpable as my own. Naw, after all this time, I'm rubbing off on him.

          Fingers tug on the sleeve of my suit, my eyes falling down to Sam on the ground. "You're about to be given the serious talk," he mockingly warns, tone grave.

          Gasping, a painfully fake tremble enters my voice as I turn back to face the pirate with his hands hovering over the buttons. "Gasp! Buttons! My worst fear," by the end of it, my tone has fallen into a deadpan so unemotional; it even calls forth my resting bitch face to pair with it.

          Chuckling, Sam rises to a stand and re-takes a seat on the little bench at the back of the cell, where I soon join him as Patchy disregards my input and begins to go over the 'ground rules'. "You try to escape, you so much as scratch that glass, and its 30 000 feet down in a steel trap." He presses a button and the ground beneath the cell swiftly disappears, putting on show just how high up we are and how quick the sky could swallow us up should we step one foot out of line. Yikes. I can control air but I'm about as good as flying as that plane that Captain Crunch crash landed in back in the 40's.

           Satisfied with his lovely presentation, Fury closes the trap once more, the roar of the wind and altitude disappearing with the sky. "Then we'll see who's in trouble."

          Touché Patchy, touché.

          Not smirking with my lips, but rather my eyes, I mockingly appraise the Director of SHIELD and the four super heroes with their glued gazes directly on me. "Ah well, you got me Patchy. Congratulations! I mean, this is quite an impressive cage, but not built, I think, for me."

          That glare only intensifies at the further use of his new nickname. "Built for something a lot stronger than you."

          Rolling my shoulders languidly like a prowling jungle cat, my plain expression with the mischievous glint glazing over my hazel eyes narrows in on the Director. "Stronger than me? Ouch, my pride." My hand clutches my heart dramatically, but only for a moment. "However, I seem to recall the darndest of things... Wasn't it the last time you kept someone in this cell, they not only weren't as strong as the person this cell was built for, but escaped nonetheless?" My eyes flutter to the camera 'hidden' in the corner, where no doubt the rest of the heroes are watching earnestly – including one Dr Bruce Banner. "Funny world we live in."

          Hands clasped behind his back, Fury waltzes to a stop before the door to the cell. "We won't be making that mistake again."

           If I had slitted eyes like a reptile, they would have just perniciously dilated like they do in the movies. "You better hope not," I slowly drag out in a playful yet dark tone that offers all the promises a villain possibly could, eyes momentarily finding the Captain and throwing him a wicked wink.

          With the silence that falls on the outside of the cell, I pivot my body to face Sam like nothing ever happened, holding my hand out with my flippant, lively voice returning. "Thumb war?"

***

          "The warden threw a party in the county jail, the prison band was there and they began to wail."

          "The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing, you should've heard them knocked-out jailbirds sing—"

          "Let's rock everybody, let's rock ~ Everybody in the whole cell block, was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!"

          "Oh for the love of God, please stop." I can practically hear the SHIELD agent charged with looking over us banging his head repeatedly on the control panel, an unsuccessful attempt to drown out the duet Sam and I are beautifully belting out right now. "Loki was easier than this."

          "I'm thinking a bit of Cell Block Tango, Sam," I lightly suggest, cross-legged on the floor in the centre of the cell like Sam was when I first spotted him in here several hours ago. "You know, the whole 'They had it coming, they had it coming, they only have themselves to blaaammmeee—"

          "If you'd have been there, if you'd had seen it, I bet ya you would have done the same!" Sam is quick to continue, the two of us quite animatedly taking pleasure in pushing the buttons of every SHIELD agent that comes in here to watch over us.

          A few hours have passed since we checked into Casa-de-SHIELD, as Fury so eloquently named it. And yet, enough time has passed that hunger begins to claw and gnaw at us from the inside like an animal – another brilliant motive for pissing off as many SHIELD agents as I can.

          Having had quite enough, I rise to a stand in one fluid movement from where I'm seated on the floor, spinning to face the security camera spying on us in the corner. The very same security camera I'm sure at least one super hero is currently looking at us through. "Hey, lookie here ye ole mighty heroes of Captain Patchy. HYDRA treats their prisoners better than this! I'm just about starving right now, and if I shrivel away and die, whose beautiful face are you going to look to when HYDRA decides to pull a dick move and you have no reason as to why? Other than them being dicks?" Not like I know what HYDRA has planned, but if it gets me food then I'm set. "Other than that face, of course," I realise, pointing to Sam who is still sat on the floor. "He'll be dying of hunger with me."

          Sam blinks. "I will be?"

          "Of course," I rationalise, staring at him in a 'duh' manner. "We're in this cell together. Just because you got more muscle on your bones, doesn't mean you're gonna outlast me buddy. It's not like you've ever been lost in the Swiss Alps for three weeks with no food and hardly any warm clothes on before."

          The HYDRA agent's jaw just about drops to the floor. "You've been lost in the Swiss Alps for three weeks without food before?"

          I snort. "No, but neither have you, so shush it."

          More time passes, rather as eventful (aka no eventfulness whatsoever) as the last few hours, until we reach about the half an hour mark since my complaints. Around then, one flameboyant, womanising Super twat by the name of Jonathan Storm just casually waltzes in with two pizza boxes, the agent at the panel flipping a few buttons to allow him into our cell as the playboy announces "Who's up for pizza? New York style."

          "Is there any other kind?" I ask, eagerly awaiting for him to place the food down.

          Sam sends me a deadpan look for my query. "Italian, Lilly. There's Italian pizza."

          "Eh, the ones I had in Italy were plainer than the ones here," I justify; Sam's deadpan cracking into a smile as we begin to dig in. Only after taking a few bites each, do both of us pause to notice that whilst yes, the cell has yet again closed, Johnny has yet to vacate out of our breathing space, sitting directly in front of both of us.

          Blinking, I regretfully remove the pizza away from my mouth and inquire "Is there something I can help you with Tinkerbelle? Or can a couple criminals eat their pizza in peace?"

          The grin plastered on his face is rather distant, as if he's smiling at me but not at what I said. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're a professional assassin."

          One perfectly plucked eyebrow arches on my forehead as I chomp down on another bite of pizza, asking whilst the food is still in my mouth "Why ish that sho hard to believe?"

          The super hero seems exasperated at my own question, not knowing whether to laugh in amusement or disbelief. "You're kidding right? You broke into the Baxter Building in a disguise that was not at all disguising, stole from us whilst we were in the room, almost got caught after that because you wanted McDonalds, and now you're acting like you're on a holiday instead of being trapped in a cell! You have got to be the worst assassin I have ever heard of."

          I use my pizza to point at him, doing a rather average Captain Jack Sparrow impression. "But you have heard of me."

          "I expect some emotionless, scary, cynical, rational person when I think of an assassin," Johnny continues, disregarding my comment in an attempt to vent his frustrated inability to wrap his small mind around the idea of it all. "I mean, have you met Miss Romanoff in the other room?"

          Sam stares at Johnny perplexed. "You call the Widow Miss Romanoff?"

          "I'm too scared not to."

          I shrug, nodding at Sam to back Johnny. "He's not wrong."

          "Anyway, point is, I didn't expect someone like you. Someone carefree, sarcastic, playful, compassionate—"

          "Whoa ho hey," I cut him off, waving my hands as much as I can with them bound by the cuffs. "Who said anything about compassionate? The only thing I'm compassionate about is my food—"

          "Your friend, the one we chased after at McDonalds," Johnny elaborates, hardly touching the slice of pizza he had swiped. "The pirate in the other room was saying something about it not fitting your MO, the way that you fled from the fight without fighting unless necessary. You wanted to get her out, yeah? Seemed like it."

          My eyes narrow sharply. "You're awfully observant for a flirtatious playboy who can't even remember to zip his pants up."

          Startled, he checks his pants and quickly zips his fly up, returning to me as if it never happened. "Not an observation I completely made on my own," he admits, completely unabashed. "Paul Bunyan was talking about it, so it got me wondering too. You're not really heartless, are you?"

          "Not heartless Tinkerbelle," I dutifully respond, flipping back into a joyful mood as I munch and swallow another mouthful of food. "Just using my heart less."

***

          Ah yes, Batty-Natty is late to her own interrogation session with Sam and I, how typical.

          Back in the interrogation room for twenty minutes or so now, Sam and I are just about going through our fourth round of chopsticks after several rounds of rock, paper, scissors – spoiler alert: he won nearly every time – when quite possibly the scariest person on the planet finally decides to make a guest appearance.

          "You know, I don't ask much out of this relationship, Bestie," I begin our heart to heart, clasping my hands together in front of me in a rather formal manner, seriously staring the red-headed assassin in the eyes. "But a little effort and commitment on your behalf would be greatly appreciated. You were so late, I thought you had run off and left me for another assassin arch-nemesis."

          "If only that were so," she deadpans, taking a seat directly across from the both of us, appearing rather unimpressed with the fact that she's talking with me yet again. Ouch. I have feelings and they are currently hurt.

          I hiss from the pain. "Cut me real deep just now Bestie."

          "You're awfully unconcerned for an assassin currently trapped in the middle of enemy territory," Natasha notes, monotonous voice momentarily hitching and head tilted a couple millimetres to the side in intrigue.

          "It's what I like about working with Lilly," Sam chimes in, blonde hair askew as he goofily grins at the Russian. "She's a very optimistic person."

          "Awww shucks," I wave him off bashfully, lightly bumping his shoulder with my own. "Thanks Sparky. And anyway, I would worry over your own concerns there Bestie," I continue on, having noticed the small up and down movement the security camera in the corner made. Ah, about time. I love my little Allie-Cat.

          My archenemy's brow quirks in mild amusement, entertaining my presumably meaningless warning. "And what would those be?"

          "Well, for starters, you're about to lose power in 3...2...1."

          Before 1 even fell from my lips, all the power in the vicinity sizzles out from the sizeable EMP that rips through the Hellicarrier in a few nanoseconds flat. For those brief nanoseconds, I can feel the force from the pulse pressing down and suppressing me on the inside like vice, but the experience is so brief that my brain only registers it after the power dies and the cuffs sizzle out, burning my wrists mildly as they release me from my entrapment.

          Finally.

          The Hellicarrier wavers in flight just as quickly, throwing us back and forth like we're on a frigate being slapped around by storm waters, but is immediately stabilised by latent power reserves thank the heavens. Dying isn't exactly on my agenda any time soon thank you very much.

          Natasha is quick to respond, even in instances as unexpected as these. Unfortunately, at some point during her attempt to lunge across the table and seize me before I'm even capable of responding herself, she instead grasps Sam who is reeling back from EMP rather painfully.

          Shit, forgot his specialty is electricity.

          Kicking my legs up as swiftly as I can, my whole body manages to fit on the chair whilst I pull my legs into myself, quickly responding by lashing out and kicking the edge of the desk (shotty, got it in the dark) and shoving it with all my might. I can hear the scraping of metal on metal, the sound of both Romanoff's chair and the desk flying back, followed by the thump of her colliding into the wall with the back of her chair as the table traps her between.

          A small whoosh of air brushes past me as the metal furniture is launched back, Romanoff evidently attempting to drag Sam with her. Lunging out, I feel my fingers curl around the black leather of Samuel Hemming's suit, yanking him back and out of the scary Russian lady's grasp.

          Seconds later, with no power to lock the door or cuffs to suppress our abilities, Sam and I are bursting from the blackness of the interrogation room into the blackness of the hallway, only illuminated by the scattered fires lit from the hundreds of amps passing through the metal walls as a result of the EMP. Despite no red alarms blaring like doomsday hath cometh, the hot, red, alarming fires and yells of urgency from agents paint an even more frenzied scene of chaos. Hmph. I've seen worse. I've lived through worse.

          For a couple hallways, I'm almost dragging Sam down after me as he still tries to recover from the taxing energy burst of the EMP, screwing around and causing his powers to sizzle and zap from time to time. Little spider webs of electricity crawl along his body because of it, drawing more attention to him and consequently me.

          I really should've taken his powers into consideration, dammit.

          Manoeuvring the SHIELD hallways with everything lit was arduous enough, but with anarchy running the halls and thousands of sounds of mayhem, yelling, guns, footsteps, metal scraping metal, the thumping of bodies running into one another or the walls, orders, and everything in between distracts and overloads my senses so much that my sense of direction is muddled. Having to fight and deal with agents along the way doesn't help that much either.

          "Right, had enough of this," I huff, Sam coming to a light stop beside me in the middle of yet another hallway now that he's coherent enough to run by himself.

          Reaching out to the sporadic fires depicting a rather hellish atmosphere as I inhale evenly, having to resolutely focus on nothing but my control, I can feel the air and smoke and heat rumble and circle down my throat and into my lungs, the fires growing and convulsing towards me as I breath in. My breath holds for a few seconds, allowing the fires to swarm closer around me like a tornado of reds, yellows and oranges. And then, I exhale.

          And that exhale sends all the fires and more through the roof, the heat strong enough to eat through the metal ceilings and floors like acid until the soft blue of the sky peeps down at us through the destruction.

          Fortunately, we appear to only be three floors from the Hellicarrier's airstrip. Unfortunately, my little stunt seemed to have warranted some unwanted attention.

          I help Sam up first, and he nearly makes it to the first floor above uneventful, until the red, white and blue Frisbee of Freedom yet again decides to make a guest appearance in my getaway, slamming into Sam's side and nearly sending him flying back to the floor. I have to give Hemmings some credit, not everyone can maintain a grip on something as they're practically dangling in the air after Captain America himself threw his mighty shield at them.

          Which reminds me...

          Sam, now having enough energy and grip to pull himself the rest of the way up, continues escaping after I beckon him to go on without me, using the few precious moments I have before the Independence Day Mascot reaches me in his Terminator sprint mode to pick up the fallen shield myself. Huffing a stray strand of my amber brown hair dangling in front of my eyes irritably, I take a few steps for momentum before throwing the damned thing with all my power back at him, singing rather off key "Wheeeennn Captain America throws his mighty shielldddd, all those who choose to oppose his shield must yielddd. If he's led to a fight and duel is—"

          "—hopefully not you," he grinds out, barely catching it and with a semi-painful grimace at that.

          "Ouch, Captain Kill Joy. Guess I should've yielded."

          As you may imagine, he almost pummelled me into the ground quite a few times during our fight, barely being held off by my occasional burst of fire or air. It's not until I fall for a feigned punch towards my abdomen that he finally manages to nail me, turning his attack around at the last second to twist my arm and pin me to the nearby wall.

          My other hand immediately shoots out to attack him back, only for his shield hand to drop his shield and grab it as well, now pinning both of my hands to the damned wall. I think it's safe to say, this is the enemy-foe-opponent version of angry fighting sex. I mean, come on, he's currently got me pinned to a wall, the space between the two of us practically non-existent. I'm legitimately breathing in Captain America BO and air.

          There is a faint whiff of some rather nice cologne though—

          Nup. Not going to even think about that.

          Laboriously breathing from the strenuous, exhausting task of fighting a freaking World War II super soldier, more hair has escaped my now freed ponytail, strands hanging tediously in front of my face and probably making me look like a psycho. He wears such a stern, serious expression when he fights; brows furrowing and forming a tight knot in between one another, lips parted from his own marginally heavy breathing.

          Squirming in his grip momentarily, I instead opt to see if I can throw him off guard with some suggestive conversation – early 20th century guy, you know? Still has to have that old-fashioned, gentleman blood in him somewhere. "Do you always pin yourself to your enemies like this? Or am I just the lucky girl who caught your eye?"

          I must give the man credit; his serious, determined expression and iron grip hardly waver for a moment. "I'm not risking you getting away. Not again. You've gone too far, Nightshade."

          "Alright alright, I get it, some mistakes were made—"

          "Murders, Nightshade. Some murders were made."

          "No need to be so negative about it Captain Crunch, most of them weren't nice people." That only seems to make him even more peeved. However, I have still yet to see him lose his temper. Hmm, will have to work on that.

          "That still gives you no right. You need to feel the hand of justice—"

          "Oh I feel it alright, just not where it should be."

          Now that prompts some furiously stuttering on his behalf, a fairly perplexed and somewhat aghast expression adorned on his face. The tightened bear grip around my mildly burnt wrists loosens in the slightest, and I have to repress my smile at the reaction. Great, now if I can just—

          "Wow, okay, is it getting hot in here or is it just the assassin Cap should be dealing slaying his existence? Or is he slaying her existence? Either way it's hot in here and I'm pretty sure I just interrupted their moment."

          Trust Tony Stark to ruin a perfectly good getaway.

          Twisting my hands around in Cap's still loosened grip, I turn the tables on the super soldier and curl my fingers around his own wrists, raising the temperature of my hands until they burn his skin and he has to reel back from the assault. Ducking out of his entrapment entirely, I swiftly spin a few meters away from the super hero until I spiral towards the ground and slam my fist into it with all of my momentum. Ice cracks and spreads out all along the floors and walls in such a startling quick manner that if you blinked, you missed it happen. Unfortunately for the washed up heroes, they blinked.

          With the ice now having spread to ensnare them in a cold shell up to their torsos, a charming smirk twists at the corners of my mouth, and I gracefully rise to my full height again to dutifully bow. "Many thanks for the fun times and wonderful memories gentlemen, but as you may see, they really weren't that fun or wonderful and I would love nothing more than to escape this nightmarish hellhole in the sky. Toodles!"

          I may not be able to fly, but I'm still capable of launching myself quite a distance up with small bursts of air, all but shooting myself out of the Hellicarrier through the holes I made and onto the airstrip above like one of those wack-a-moles popping out of the ground. Eyes briefly flinching from the sudden onslaught of light after being in the dark for some time, I elegantly land and roll on the concrete flooring of the airstrip, scouring the wide, open space to spy a certain HYDRA agent waving at me from a quinjet that is most definitely not SHIELD's.

          Stabilising the air around me – tad hard to breathe so high up – I sprint with all the might of an Olympic athlete towards the jet, wasting no time climbing aboard as SHIELD agents fire bullet upon bullet at the aircraft. Throwing myself into the cockpit so the cargo door can close behind me, my heavy breaths thrum in my chest and demand my lungs to greedily steal as much air as they possibly can.

          "That," I huff and puff, having to occasionally pause between words as the jet powers down the airstrip and into the sky, nearly being hit by several RPGs along the way (but no jets to follow us, thanks to the EMP). "Wasn't fun. Why – why did I think – fighting super heroes was a good idea?"

          "I dunno," I hear my Lord and Saviour Allison Renegade call from the pilot's seat, Sam coming into my peripheral vision to check up on me as my best friend answers my question. "You're the crazy assassin with the powers! I just stay at home and watch Netflix, maybe send out an EMP occasionally to save your dumbass."

          "My dumbass thanks you," I call back, chuckling along with the two blondes as the sound of gunfire progressively fades away and is numbed by the roar of the jet's engines.

          Allowing some time to catch my breath, the only thoughts that twist my mind are those that belong to America's Golden Boy. Him. Steven Grant Rogers. How dare he try to sell a pretty picture of justice and righteousness to me. To me. Doesn't he know who he's talking to?

          Doesn't he know that you can't sell dreams to someone who has walked through nightmares?

A/N: Now that I'm going through and editing all of these chapters, the author's notes are kinda outdated and irrelevant, so I think I'll start putting QOTD's instead.

QOTD: Favourite comic character (side character, villain, hero, love interest, DC, Marvel, pick your poison) of all time?

AOTD: Actually having trouble answering this myself, but I'm a pretty big fan of Bucky Barnes and Selina Kyle (Catwoman). And practically every Batman villain ever. Yeah, I like both DC and Marvel, sue me.

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L