It turns out that my premonitions were not entirely inaccurate. I spend the night in a cell. Alone.

My impressions of the site is that I’m somewhere which is a cross between a gym and a jail. There are tall gates and bright lights and the atmosphere is wildly oppressive. If I hadn’t spent several months being taken apart in an experimental hospital, I might be intimidated. As it is, I know how much worse this could be and I’m grateful.

The people here have obviously been alerted to my arrival. They have a remarkably spacious six by six cell waiting for me, complete with toilet, shower and heavy steel door. It’s not exactly homey, but once again, could be so much worse.

Ken puts me in there with hardly a word. If Tom were here, he’d probably still read me a bedtime story and tuck me in. I get the idea that it’s going to be a long time before that happens again. A plastic mattress and pillow are all the comfort I’m getting.

“Night,” I say softly, trying not to be weak. He’ll hate me for weakness now, almost as much as I’ll hate myself.

“See you in the morning,” he says.

“0300?”

He doesn’t reply, just walks away. He saved my life again, but apparently that doesn’t stop him from being angry. Or maybe this is just how handlers treat their ‘material’. I really don’t know.

I don’t sleep very well that night. Part of it is because I’m reflecting on the utter clusterfuck of my life. Part of it is missing home. Missing Tom. Missing Ken. I hope Ken is in a better mood tomorrow.

I close my eyes, and what feels like a second later, I’m awake again. Ken is standing over me. I get the sense that it’s early. Whatever time it is, I’m just so relieved to see him that at first I almost forget why he’s here and what we’re doing.

“Get up, Brown.”

He’s not in a better mood.

“Hello, sir,” I say, hoping the sir earns me a few points. I get out of bed too. It’s not like I’m missing much lying there.

“Take your clothes off.”

Usually when Ken wants my clothes off, he takes them off for himself.

“Why?”

He gives me a hard look. He is wearing a black sweater, pants, and combat boots. He looks ready for anything. He also looks fucking hot, as usual. I have to start seeing past how handsome he is though or this is going to be pure torture.

Under his hard bicolor gaze, I get naked and drop my clothes in the bag he provides me.

“If you’d done as you were told, I would have given you these,” he says, hefting a pair of overalls which he took out of the bag I put my clothes in. But, because you answered back, you get nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He walks to the door and opens it before gesturing to me with his head.

“Step out, Brown.”

He expects me to walk around this facility naked? I must not be understanding him. He can’t possibly want me to be naked. Especially as he knows exactly how I feel about my body. Being seen unclothed is bad enough when you have a normal-ish body. It’s unthinkable when you look like the bride of Frankenstein.

“Give me something to wear.”

“You forfeited the right to clothing. Now hurry up, before the others come on duty. Unless you want to be seen.”

“Oh fuck you.” My temper flares. This is ridiculous. This isn’t how you train people… or maybe it is. Special forces go through some real fucking hazing in their training. I bet Ken’s been through a lot worse than this. Doesn’t mean I intend to put up with it.

“No,” he growls. “There’s not going to be any fucking, Brown. You’ve seen to that by hiding things from me and making this a matter of national security.”

I suppose I can’t be surprised he’s throwing that in my face.

“So I guess I was pretending not to be a spy, and you were pretending not to be an asshole,” I bite at him.

“Out. Now.” He jerks his head toward the door again. I cross my arms over my chest, hiding a small percentage of the scars that marr me.

“Or what?”

“What part of being my material didn’t you understand girl?”

“I might be your material, but I haven’t been given a lobotomy. Give me the goddamn overalls.”

Now, of course, he can’t give me them. If he backs down now I win and he loses, and that’s no way to start whatever this is off on the right foot.

Ken strides toward me, scoops me up over his shoulder, and carries me out of the cell, butt ass naked. He called my bluff alright. Jesus. What the fuck. As he strides down the hall, I start attempting to negotiate.

“Ken, come on, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll do what you say next time. I get it. I fucked up.”

“You’re right about that, girl. And it’s sir.”

He sets me down in a gym. Points at a treadmill. “Start running.”

He’s trying to humiliate me, and I don’t understand why. So I wasn’t immediately obedient. So what?

“Start. Running.”

I stare at him. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Ken leans down, his eyes locked on mine. “You have been given one chance, Mary. One chance to be something more than what you are. To make what you did wrong right. Most people never get this chance. So how about you get on the damn treadmill and start running instead of giving me attitude.”

“I don’t care.”

“What?” He jerks his head back, surprised.

He doesn’t get it. I didn’t agree to this because I wanted a second chance at life. I agreed to it because I wanted a second chance with him. If this means I can’t have him, or if it means I end up hating him, then I don’t want it. It’s just not worth staying around for.

“If this is how you’re going to be, I don’t want a second chance. Get someone to put a bullet in me. This isn’t fucking worth it.”

Ken swears under his breath. “Goddamn you are a pain in the ass, little girl.”

In those two last words, I hear the love he still has for me, and I can already see the frustration on his face. He’s doing what he thinks he needs to. Apparently, being an asshole is integral to making me a good spy. Hell. Maybe it is. What do I know.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll get on the treadmill.”

He straightens up and watches me as I get on, still entirely naked. And I start running.