𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐘 ━ ⋆ marvel

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ⅲ. SICK WITH THE SAME DISEASE

RUSSIA, 2007

└── 【🕷࿐°*˖✧⋅⍟⋅✧˖*°࿐🕷】 ──┘

Dr. Alina Petsch was very strange, Noelle had decided early on. The young girl's frame of reference was admittedly rather small, but considering the fact that her world consisted solely of armed guards, and stone-faced soldiers, Dr. Petsch stuck out. A lot. Though, Noelle wasn't entirely sure that this was a bad thing, as she could hardly complain about the rush of genuine, human warmth she felt when a gentle hand would be placed on her cheek.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Noelle saw the Doctor a lot more than she used to. When Noelle was five, Dr. Petsch would merely swing by every once in a blue moon to check in on her 'cognitive progress' as she had called it once ( only to watch Noelle's head tilt to the side in immediate confusion. ) However, as time flew by and Noelle grew, her visits to the Doctor's lab had increased in frequency.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ She didn't necessarily mind these trips though, in fact she had even developed a favorite part. She would be yanked from the cold floor of her cell and practically dragged down the hallways, stiff and still, frozen with fear, only to be deposited in the comfortingly familiar little room that Alina Petsch inhabited. Sitting neatly on a nearby table was a little wire crate. Inside, ever present, and unblinking was a fat white rat, with two eyes a shade of red Noelle had never even seen before.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The only red Noelle knew was coppery blood, dripping from wounds and stuck in the grooves of the stone walls, and the brilliant crimson star that decorated the Soldier's arm. This was different though, a soft, muted hue of red, one far closer to being pink or mauve than red at all. She liked it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Dr. Petsch had even let her hold the not-so-little rat once, chattering on about what he ate, and how he was doing his part for HYDRA. Noelle hadn't paid her much mind though, too enamored by the mass of warmth and fur tucked neatly in the palm of her hands. She had brushed her thumbs over the top of his head, lips curling into a little contented smile as she peered down at him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The rat peered back, and Noelle understood what he meant by it. He was trapped too, and in that instant, there was an unspoken comradery between the two, man and lab rat, though who was who it was almost hard to tell. It was the same feeling of relief and safety she got from the looming figure of the Soldier. He was tall, broad, and just about as fond of speaking as Noelle herself was, but equally as trapped. He understood.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The rat understood. They all understood each other. How could they not? They shared the same cage.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Noelle supposed it was a prison, it fit the concept of what a prison was. Cold, unfeeling, but it wasn't as if she knew any better. To her, this prison was her home, for better or for worse, because she had never seen anything beyond those stone walls, not even the murky gray sky outside the Siberian facility.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You're doing much better." Dr. Petsch spoke from her desk, peering up from the stack of papers in her lap to finally look at Noelle, cracking a little smile. "You've put on some weight, which is good, and you're getting much taller." The words were all in English, which Noelle struggled to fully understand.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Perhaps the non-starter was that she was only half listening, curious eyes peering into the gentle pink pools of the rat in her hands. Noelle pressed her nose to the soft fur of its head, overwhelmed by the simple joy of holding something living in her hands, warmth and a tiny rodent heartbeat drumming against the tips of her fingers. "В том, что..." Noelle paused, frowning. "...хороший?" Is that good? The little girl asked in Russian, her croaky, unused voice almost failing her.