Owner	Pose
Melina Vostokoff	After a few weeks recovery, the first of which was spent in an induced coma as the internal damage had been so bad, Melina Vostokoff was finally well enough to move from medical to lock up. Which means she's well enough to be questioned, also. Someone pulled her out of her cell's bed this morning and plopped her down into a bare interrogation room. She's in generic clothes. Gray sweatpants, a black shirt. No one's forcing her into prisoner orange or the like. Despite a lack of bobby pins, her incredibly long hair is done up in a crown braid she can do with nothing but the weight of her own hair and expert hands. Her hazel eyes stare forward, numb. Lost. She's barely said anything since waking up other than asking for her daughter once. Yelena has not been back. Maybe the woman has given up.
Phil Coulson	She sits in that room for a while. Maybe they were early getting her. Maybe it is a tactic. But after several long minutes, the door opens, and in walks a man in a generic suit, with a generic tie, holding a generic folder in his right hand. Phil Coulson looks over the prisoner as he steps inside and the door closes behind him. "Hello there." His tone is polite, pleasant even. He walks over and takes a seat opposite her, placing the folder down on the table in front of him. "I am glad to see you are in better shape. How's the food? I thought it was terrible, myself, but maybe it is more to your liking."
Melinda May	In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, Melinda May prowls the observation room beside the interrogation room, pacing back and forth before the one-way glass window. Her skin crawls to look at the woman. But she *needs* to be here. To see this. The problem, of course, is that her constant fury, locked in place by the moment the serum entered her veins, is at war with the emotions she can sense in the woman in the other room. She doesn't *want* to feel anything from the woman. Doesn't want to feel sympathy or empathy... all because of her empathic gift. Life was much easier before those damned terrigen crystals. She takes a deep breath and stills herself. "She's given up," she tells Phil flatly over comms. "Despair. Resignation. She doesn't even have enough energy to hate anyone any more, it feels like." He might as well know what he's walking into. "I don't know if she'll give you anything or not." Not out of loyalty. But because she just doesn't care. Then again, maybe, without a sense of loyalty or any reason to care, she'll sing like canary. May could only be so lucky. She chuffs out her frustration and turns back to the glass... leaving Phil to do his work.
Melina Vostokoff	Slowly, her hazel eyes pull up from the table and stare at the incredibly generic looking man in front of her. They narrow slightly, maybe a flicker of recognition on her face, or maybe distrust? But then they drop again. "The food is very...American." She answers simply. Honestly. The tone is disdainful and unsurprised. "It is food." Then her head slightly turns, staring at the mirror for a moment. While she can't directly know who is back there, she knows she feels *something*. The press of emotions that should not be. Her neuroscience gifted mind knows it's something outside, something not from her. "Your friend is loud." She states flatly, a test.
Phil Coulson	"Emulated the world over, but never perfected, am I right?" Phil keeps his gaze on her across the table. "There is a certain simplicity to it. We don't hide anything in our food. No spice to sneak out and burn your lips after you've already swallowed." Phil nods. "What you see is what you get." He turns his gaze towards the mirror, and chuckles, before looking back to Melina. "You think she's loud now?" Another soft chuckle. "Look. Let's just cut to the case. You don't want to be here. I don't want to be here." He nods towards the mirror. "You don't want her to be here. So just do us all a favor - tell us how to undo it, and we can all go our separate ways."
Melinda May	May snirks in Phil's ear, beginning to pace again. Yeah. She can get a *lot* louder -- as the night Vostokoff stumbled in certainly proved. She tries to clamp down on it, but it's difficult without finding other sources of more calming emotions. And Phil's surface affability, hiding the greater depths below, only does so much. Phil's technique has always been 'Dad'. Whether he's encouraging, cajoling, chiding, scolding, or promising outright retribution. It's like a comfortable old sweater. But it doesn't fit right over Melinda's shoulders. She'd sooner use Peggy's sharpness or Daisy's inquisitiveness. Or Jemma's analytical zen. That one's remarkably good for calming her down. But, to be fair... Nothing's really going to work today. Not unless Vostokoff is more forthcoming than May expects.
Melina Vostokoff	A smirk flutters across Melina's fuller mouth. Even as old as she supposedly is, she's lovely. All Widows are. "Greasy and oversized." She mutters about American food, and then leaves it at that. Her Russian accent is thick through her words, not bothering to hide it. There is no reason. The woman's head then tilts a bit more, curiosity creeping into the feelings that May is getting from her, the only thing that isn't despair and the numbness of a woman who has accepted her own death. "...it is the woman. The one they own now, isn't it? You know, I did not wish to harm her. It is simply orders. They gave words. Directives. I am simply... messenger." And then he asks about how to undo it. Her smirk turns bitter. She shakes her head very slowly. "...I do not know. They... rip that from my mind. Maybe you torture me enough to find it again. That is how they remove it." Her last comment is nearly a dare to him. Maybe even a request. Nothing May feels from her says this is a lie.
Phil Coulson	"Yeah, yeah, I get that. But..." Phil shrugs. "Sticks to the stomach better that way." He glances down at the folder, and then back up at the woman across from him. "I understand that you have been around long enough to know that the "I was just following orders" excuse doesn't fly so much anymore, right?" He leans back and crosses his arms - it works a little artificially, now, because his natural tendency had always been for the left hand to go underneath - now it is the right. "Listen. I get it. I know what is going on, you're in a bad spot, we're in a bad spot. So let me just cut to the chase here. I believe you when you say you don't know how. They wouldn't give a simple line soldier any insight into that, doesn't make sense." He watches her intently. "Above your paygrade. I get the same thing. Point us at who /is/ important enough there to have the info."
Melinda May	May steps back from the glass, watching Melina with sharp, angry eyes. She can feel that curiosity. There's still life in the Russian, after all. "I don't think she's lying," she growls reluctantly, confirming Phil's gut feeling. "But I think she's a scientist. She said something when she was brought in about creating the shit." Doesn't mean she remembers it. "She knows something about the antidote. I don't believe she's just a foot soldier. Not any more than Romanoff is." Elite solider, sure. Not just a grunt. But smart enough to figure out more than she's told.
Melina Vostokoff	That question from Phil gets a dark, tired laugh from her. It's loud. Grating. The sort of laugh that rakes across the skin and doesn't come from a place of joy, but the edge of insanity. Melina shakes her head slowly to him, flickers of sadness and pity clear behind her greenish gaze. She's not even bothering to hide it. "Me. I am the one. I make it. I make the drug. I have whole farm of pigs who do anything I say. I... miss them. I miss my pigs." The wash of emotions May gets frmo Melina when she talks about the pigs is practically the same as when she thinks of Yelena. They are family. "I make the fix, then they rip from my mind. Only Dreykov. He know. Or maybe no one. They do not want fix. They want... control. That is all. I tell all of this already. When my daughter was here." She didn't say that exactly, but she did mention Dreykov. At least her story is consistent.
Phil Coulson	"Yes, yes. Like I said, certainly someone important enough to have it, has it. That's what we're looking for." Phil sighs quietly. "See, here's the thing. It's pretty important that we undo it. And we've only really got a couple of ways at that." His fingers tap absently on the folder on the table in front of him. "We could probably get it out of your mind - it might hurt, but we could. But I know I wouldn't want anyone messing around with my mind and my memories, so..." He pauses for a moment. It's brief, but it's there - a slight tilt of his head, a slight chance in the focus of his eyes. He is back to the present almost fast enough to not be noticed. But it was there. "...we want to do this the easy way. Point us in the a different direction than what we've got to find a way to reverse it, we can call off our current mission, which honestly, is way too dangerous for my liking, and find another way." He pauses. "And I'll need you to write down every single word that you used on her. Every last one."
Melinda May	May doesn't miss Phil's momentary distraction. She can feel it, pregnant with an anxious, speculative curiosity. It makes her still for just a moment, too. And is enough to distract her from dwelling on her own tangle of emotions to focus on his. At the end of the day, she's still the Cavalry. No matter how much she hates the name. She may have earned the name in Bahrain, but she built it alongside Phil Coulson. So, his distress will always cause her to react accordingly. Except, in this moment, it's just one more thing she can't do anything about. She chuffs a sloft growl in the back of her throat as her frustration spikes.
Melina Vostokoff	A slow, faint shake of her head comes. There is almost sadness in her eyes, if Melina can really feel anything. "I told you all I know. I gave all I could. This is why I give Yelena a dose, and Natalia, Nadia, and Darya... I give them all some, so they have freedom. I give them every last bit. Dreykov is very cross. He kill me, when you let me go. It is okay. Yelena is free. The other girls, they are free. If you make more, it is good. But no one else knows. Dreykov does not care. Only for the control, not the freedom." But it's more information than they had. Other people have doses and that is more hope, though maybe they are all used. And Melina's been sneaking them around for a while now, it seems? Is she already a defector? The question of the words gets a roll of her eyes, "They do not help... You can use them against her, if you wish too, but what does knowing them help?" Still, she reaches over to whatever writing impliment he offers her and starts writing. She truly doesn't care. The woman has tossed her life away already. 'Voin. Skorost. V odinochestve. Uchitel. Spasitel.' For those who know Russian, the words: Warrior. Speed. Alone. Teacher. Savior.
Phil Coulson	The folder spins around under his fingers, stopping at precisely 180 degrees. Must be a practiced motion. "This is our current plan." He slides it across the table and opens the flap so Melina can read its contents. It is a dossier of a SHIELD strike plan. Yelena at the lead. A few in in support also in the city. But she is going in alone. It outlines the strategy - strike at the Red Room. No backup. Extract the information. It is stamped HIGH RISK. Volunteer only. Those clever phrases that the military uses to describe a possible suicide mission. Phil just sits there at the seat, waiting for Melina to react.
Melinda May	May watches Melina write the words down. That SHIELD might use them against her is a bit of a concerning thought -- she knows SHIELD isn't all ICERs and restraint. But in Phil's hands, in Peggy's hands, those words are safe. It doesn't stop the tension, a frisson of fear, rising within her. She grows still again. Watching. Then, Phil is pushing a folder across the table at Melina. May actually doesn't know what's in the folder. She can guess. She knows Phil. Knows his tactics. Instinctively, she braces herself for an emotional reaction. There's still life in the Russian, yet.
Melina Vostokoff	While Melina did not think her situation could get worse, what's in the folder teaches her otherwise. Her daughter's life waved in front of her, in black and white. She doesn't let the emotions well show on her face, but May can feel the spike of panic, hatred, helplessness, and love that all spills out of her in reaction to that file. Whatever she does or doesn't feel, she DOES love Yelena. Her eyes narrow on Phil, a flash of hatred there. "Oh... you Americans are as cruel as the Russians. I should have know. Using people's children against them as hostages. It is no different than putting a baby in a firing line, you know? This is what you do." She hisses quietly at him. She wants him to look his sins in the face, if he is going to do that. "I will not write your mission for you. You KNOW that is foolishness. I do not have better answers. I will go, if you wish. Find what I know. I do not think I can double agent. They want me dead. They will not trust, but we can try. But... do not use her for my sins. You are supposed to be better. You HAVE me. You HAVE everything I have. Asshole."
Phil Coulson	The paper with the words is retrieved quickly. Phil had the presence of mind to bring the special pen in. The kind that whose ink diffuses light in such a way that it doesn't appear on camera. The folded up piece of paper residing within his pocket is now the only copy of May's code words. And it won't even see Level 10. Phil watches Melina squirm, and his face does take on a sympathetic tone. "I just needed to know for sure. I'm sorry." He closes up the folder and pulls it back. "We value our people too much. We'd never send her into something like that." He stands slowly, tapping the folder on the desc to punctuate his words. "We would do the same thing if she was the one whose mind was at risk. Believe me when I say that." He nods to the mirror, and heads towards the door. His hand reaches for the doorknob, and he pauses to look back at Milena. "If anything does come to you that can help - anything at all. We would appreciate it."
Melinda May	Oh, yeah. There's the reaction. May hisses through her teeth as she feels that panick and hatred and helplessness. And the love. She knows that's the key. She doesn't, however, actually say anything to Phil about it, because he's smart enough to know what nerve he's hit. The hatred is obvious. The love is obvious. It's only the panic that he might not see as easily. "Remember," she cautions him, "she's a Widow. Put her back too far against the wall and she'll strike back." Not that May's all that different, herself. Hell, loathe as she is to admit it, the serum puts her on much the same level as Belyakov and Vostokoff in more ways than one. "It'll take me at least 10 seconds to get to you." Which is more than enough time for someone at her skill level to cause serious damage. Thus, when he decides the interview is over, she breathes a soft, silent sigh of relief. It's not much progress -- though the words are a bit of a coup -- but it does take him out of the line of fire. That's enough.
Melina Vostokoff	The fact that Melina *didn't* strike out against Phil is proof alone of how much the woman has given up. Yes, she could have near killed him in that time. It wasn't worth it. Her eyes narrow in more hatred and a little more distrust, as he says they would never do the mission. She clearly doesn't believe that. "...You are asshole, Philip Coulson. One thing they leave out of your file we have. That you are asshole." She calls after him. She makes no promises of giving more help. She gives no other words at all. She simply slumps back into her seat, staring at the table again, letting her emotions curl in on themselves back to numbness once more.
Phil Coulson	A slow shake of his head at the doorknob. "No. I am just willing to do whatever it takes to protect people I care about. Just like you." Was it wise to admit that to her? Maybe not. But Phil never let wisdom get in the way of a possible tactic. He opens the door and steps through, closing it behind him. A glance to May. "She's got nothing to left to give us." A statement, although an implied request for confirmation. He glances to the panel to the side. "Erase visual. Authorization Coulson." He looks back to May, and pats his chest. "We'll talk later."
Melinda May	May can feel Melina curling in on herself. She can sense they've lost the woman. Empath or not... she's not sure she cares. She glances to Phil as he comes in, her expression tight, unhappy. She nods simply to his words, lips pulling slightly to the side as he wipes the interrogation record. "She's done," she tells him. "She'll throw her life away now, to protect Belyakov. But she won't give us anything more." Or, more accurately, she won't give Phil Coulson anything more. But, they'll make do. THey always do.