Disclaimer: As usual, just my OC belongs to me and even that's not official. The rest all belongs to Marvel Studios, which belongs to The Walt Disney Company, and ABC, which I recently learned also belongs to Disney.

Chapter One

December 19th 2012

Captain's log:

…

No, no; too cliché.

Hm. I'll figure it out later.

Moving on.

As this school year's winter recess draws near, I finally have time to resume my research regarding what the hell happened to me earlier this year.

Since being forced to become a consultant of sorts for SHILED, I have been allowed limited access to information SHIELD has collected on select otherworldly events. That is, as long as I'm able to add to what they already know, which I have been. However, I haven't told them is that I've also been documenting all of this information in hopes of learning how what they've recorded and what I know from movies, cartoons, video games, and comic books all fit together.

SHIELD also doesn't know that a lot of what I've told them is inferred and taken from obsessive fans on Tumblr. Lucky for me, those fans are all very thorough in their analyses; thorough enough to sound important to SHIELD and nearly impossible to prove wrong. Looks like all those hours on the internet may have played a part in saving my life. Who knew?

Anyway, in addition to this, I've decided that it is my responsibility to keep a record of what has happened to me so far, what happens to me in any given moment, and all other findings related to this strange reality-plot-twist. As all other sci-fi/fantasy fanatics know, things like this never happen without cause and reason, and I think it's safe to assume that it is in my best interest to figure out what exactly that cause was and what that reason is.

…I'm just asking for trouble now, aren't I?

Oh well. I can be productive and attempt to prepare myself now, or I can let myself fall into whatever trouble is waiting for me and just wing it. As fun as the latter may sound, I think it's time I learned a little thing called responsibility.

But that's not interesting, is it? I'm sorry to say that absolutely nothing otherworldly has happened in the last seven months—oh, who am I kidding? I am not sorry to say that, not in the slightest. I am so relieved that this world has been so uncharacteristically boring since May. I would've died a stress-induced death if the world didn't decide to calm the hell down. I—

…I spoke too soon.

Someone or something is behind my mirror, or maybe someone or something is in it. Whatever "it" is, it's causing the space around the mirror to pulsate. Hm. Okay, I know that I alone am not equipped to deal with whatever this next level, horror movie BS is, but at the same time, thinking like that isn't going to kill my curiosity. There's only one way to do that. Let's see…

I bought that mirror at Anthropologie. Typically, allegedly-haunted objects are old and handcrafted, not sold in bulk. I think it's safe to rule out the possibility of a supernatural occurrence.

Science is extremely advanced in Marvel's many universes and the possibilities really are endless. There's a good chance that what's happening here can be explained scientifically. The reason could be physical, biological, or chemical. Steve is the only other tenant left in this building, as everyone else has gone somewhere warm for the holidays, and he isn't the kind of guy to blast any music with intense bass, which is the only physical explanation I can think of. Only that corner of my bedroom seems to be affected, so it can't be an earthquake or any other natural phenomenon, ruling out a biological explanation. I doubt the pulse has anything to do with a science experiment gone wrong because again, no one is here, so no one could have performed a failed experiment and have it seep through the wall my mirror is hung on. That rules out chemical.

Oh, there's also astronomical; this is the MCU and aliens definitely exist. Although, I'm sure if the source is an alien planning to land in my bedroom via overpriced, full-length mirror, Thor and Friends™ would be on it.

And, again, because this is Marvel, the source of the pulsating might even be a mutant and if it is…well, I hope they're friendly because I'm about to get a closer look at this thing.

I must have been drugged or maybe just an idiot because who the hell does that? And—ow. I should not have touched it; son of a bitch just shocked me.

Well, touching the glass seems to have stopped the pulsating, so the problem has either been resolved or it's about to get—ow. Ow ow ow. Yeah, it got worse. The pulsating has been replaced by a high-pitched noise that keeps getting louder and louder and I should probably leave before I go deaf—

Then, all of a sudden, the noise is replaced with the sound of glass shattering and me screaming. The throw my arms up and turn my face away from the mirror, hoping to shield my eyes from the broken shards, but there are none. Instead, a cold, ice blue, mist-like substance starts to fill the room. It doesn't seem to be affecting me in any way. It feels like normal, cold fog and I seem to be breathing it in fine, no light-headedness or anything.

When the fog clears, nothing about my room has changed and I don't feel any different. Although, my hand has fallen asleep and I'm grasping something cold and metal in it. It's a small silver flash drive that definitely wasn't there before. How did…hm. Maybe whatever's on it will tell me how or why I have it.

"Alice? Hello? Are you still there? If you're trying to scare me, cut it out."

Oops. I forgot. I've been in a Skype call with Gage since I got home from school.

"Yeah, I'm here. Did you…did you see that?"

"See what?"

"You didn't…there was this blue light and…you didn't see anything weird happen on my end?"

"Your video cut out for a few minutes, but that's it."

"It did? Huh. I'm going to call you back in a bit, Gage."

I close Skype before plugging the USB into my laptop and wait for the computer to find it. When the little USB icon finally pops up on the screen, I open it. There's only one file on the drive and it's titled "Iron_Man_3_Trailer". That's weird. Even weirder, it's dated "March 6, 2013, 12:04am". I'm about to open it when there's a knock on the door that makes me panic and download the trailer onto my laptop before shoving the flash drive in my bra and slamming my laptop shut.

"Oh, hi Steve, what—"

Steve Rogers is standing in my doorway, holding his SHIELD-designed smartphone in front of my face. Well, he meant to. He overestimated my height and had to awkwardly lower it six inches, but you get the point. I step aside so he can come in, then shut the door before taking the device. When I'm finally able to read what's on the screen, I groan. The message says: "0-8-4 detected across the hall. SHIELD in pursuit. What's Alice been up to?"

Again with this 0-8-4 crap. How does SHIELD know everything and how did they find out about this as soon as it happened? Is Steve spying on me? Do they just have eyes everywhere?

"Why is it assumed that I did something? I didn't do anything, things just happen…" I pause and sigh. "Any chance you're allowed to tell me what an 0-8-4 is?"

"'Object of unknown origin'," Steve answers. "The Tesseract was one. From what I'm told, there haven't been many others."

My eyes widen in horror of realization. "They're going to take Loki's helmet! I have to hide it. But where…hey, did you leave your apartment unlocked?"

Steve sighs, caught between amusement and irritation, then shakes his head. Damn. Well, shiny gold cockroach helmet, I bid thee farewell.

I walk back into the living room and peer out of the window. There are two standard black SHIELD SUVs parked right outside this building and one across the street, facing the opposite direction the first two are. There's a SHIELD agent standing by each vehicle, but no one is entering the building.

Then, there's a knock at the door and another quick peek through the peephole tells me it's Natasha and some nameless SHIELD lackey. He's most likely some techie here to check for any remnants of this 0-8-4.

"Hi Natasha," I say. "Or do I address you as Agent Romanoff? Just Romanoff? Just Agent? Come on, help me out here. Oh, and hi SHIELD lackey. So, title or no title? Natasha or Romanoff?"

The boy looks offended, then replies in somewhat ill-suited feminine voice, "Hello!"

"Alice, this is Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz," says Natasha. "Or FitzSimmons as they're commonly referred to as in SHIELD."

"Oh. Two SHIELD lackeys," I say.

"They're sort of a package deal," Natasha explains. "They need practice being out on the field. They're being considered for a new, top secret assignment."

"I'm assuming by that tone I don't get to know?" I ask.

"The assignment is still in its early stages; they don't even get to know," Natasha answers. "And neither do I, but we're not supposed to complain."

The Simmons half of FitzSimmons is very enthusiastic about whatever the hell she's doing with all that equipment, as is the Fitz half, though he doesn't smile as much.

"Anyway, Alice, any idea why we're here?" asks Natasha.

As I recount the story of what happened five minutes ago, they listen as if this is just another Wednesday night for them and I'm telling them an only-semi-entertaining story about work. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise, considering this is what they do for a living. It's just a little alarming how normal this is for them in comparison to how shocking it is for me.

"From this mirror here?" asks Jemma, and it's then that I notice she speaks with an English accent. It's cute. Sometimes I wish I had a cool accent, but then I think about whether or not people would complain more or less about how much I talk. I suppose it would depend on who's listening. Maybe having an accent would make my chattiness more bearable to one person, but more annoying to the next, so really, I guess having an accent wouldn't make a difference.

Anyway, FitzSimmons takes turn scanning the mirror with various devices while I try to convince my legs not to give out. Hiding an object of unknown origin in my bra has turned out to be terribly nerve-wracking.

"What exactly are you guys doing?" I ask, then immediately regret opening my mouth at all. My voice shakes and I notice both Steve and Natasha making mental notes of it.

"Looking for irregularities in the electromagnetic field, possible remnants of extraterrestrial or otherwise foreign energies, that sort of thing," says Fitz.

"Oh! I think I found—hm. It's gone. Oh! There it is—no, gone again," says Simmons with a pout. "Fitz, would you check in with SHIELD to see if they still have an 0-8-4 appearing on their radar."

"The 0-8-4 was off the radar before we got here," says Natasha. "We're only here as a formality and so you two can get a feel of what it's like to be working out in the real world. If there's nothing here, then we leave."

"But we are getting something, it's just not staying," says Simmons. "And it's leaving absolutely nothing behind."

"It left one thing behind," I finally admit, removing the flash drive from my bra. "I wanted to see what was on it before I decided whether or not to give it to you guys, but I was going to pass out if I didn't tell you the truth, so here."

Some of the truth, that is. I feel less guilty about the file on my computer. The way I see it, putting something in my bra is going out of my way to hide it, but if they neglect to check my computer during an investigation, it's on them.

I hold out the drive for one of them to take, but before someone can, it flies across the room and hangs suspended inches from the center of the mirror. There's another explosion of electric blue mist and the sound of glass cracking. The devices in FitzSimmons' hands whir like crazy for a split second, but they quiet once the mist clears. Jemma is absolutely giddy after this strange occurrence, while Fitz has paled considerably. Steve has pulled Natasha behind him and out of the nonexistent line of fire, but she doesn't seem to be least bit disoriented, though she does have one arm shielding her face.

FitzSimmons starts running around the room scanning everything, looking for the flash drive or traces of that strange substance, anything that they could bring back to SHIELD as proof that this all really happened. They both come up empty and while they're disappointed, I end up finding some comfort in knowing they saw it, too.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," says Fitz. "Like it never happened. What are we supposed to tell Hand?"

"Same thing as last time," Simmons replies. "It's gone."

"Last time?" I ask, but no one responds.

"All right, then, time to head home for a debriefing," says Natasha. Steve and I walk them to the door, but they aren't gone for more than eight seconds before Natasha pops her head back into the doorway. "While I'm still here I might as well tell you: don't make any plans for tomorrow. That goes for both of you."

And with that she leaves for real. Now I can finally breathe easy.

"What was on the drive?"

And suddenly I have once again forgotten how to breathe properly. Dammit, Steve…

"Who knows? The mirror took it, you saw. I didn't get a chance to watch the—I mean, I—oh, just follow me," I say, defeated. I explain while I lead Steve back to my desk, "There was a media file that I downloaded before I answered the door, but I honest to God did not get a chance to watch it beforehand, and before you ask why I didn't show it to them, it's because I wanted to know what it was before I decided whether or not it was a good idea to tell SHIELD. It's not like I was hiding it from them; they're the ones who didn't check the laptop. Besides, the video probably got wiped after the whole fog thing happened."

I sit down in front of a closed laptop for a minute before I turn to face Steve. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, I'll check," I resign.

Surprisingly, after some unusual interference, the video is revealed to still be on my computer. I have to take several deep breaths before I click on the file.

Blue mist appears yet again, but this time it starts in the middle of the media player window and moves outward to frame it. There's some static before the video starts.

"I'm Tony Stark. I build neat stuff. I got a great girl, and occasionally, I save the world. So why can't I sleep?"

"You elected me on a single platform. I will defend this country at all costs. The Mandarin must be stopped."

"You don't know who I am. You'll never see me coming."

"What are you going to do about these attack?"

"The whole world is going to be watching."

"The question: where is Tony Stark?"

"Things are different now. I have to protect the one thing I can't live without. That's you."

"Mr. Stark."

"Today is the first day…of what's left of your life."

"I'm going to offer you a choice: do you want an empty life? Or a meaningful death?"

"You're not a man. You're nothing more than a maniac."

"I'm not afraid of you. There's no politics here; it's just good old-fashioned revenge."

"We do need backup."

"That's your department."

"There's my boys."

I'm left sitting there in absolute shock. Holy shit, this looks like a great movie! He has a whole army of suits! And he's facing his archenemy! And I don't even get to watch it. Damn. Unless…

I spin my desk chair around and see that Steve is still there, frowning at the computer screen. That answers that: I'm still here and Steve just saw…all of that.

"You should call Stark," says Steve.

"You should call Stark," I respond. "I'm sorry, that sounded like I was mocking you. I just don't have his number. He's a celebrity, he lives on the opposite coast; we don't really know each other like that."

And, to be completely honest—to myself, that is; I'm not ready to admit this to Steve or anyone else—I still can't seem to register the fact that Tony Stark is, in this moment, a real person. After all, I haven't seen him since the Battle of New York and we barely spoke to each other during that time period. On top of that, he was my favorite Marvel character, emphasis on the character part. I can't help but feel like what I saw was just another movie trailer. I cannot presently wrap my head around the fact that all of those things I just saw might happen to a real person that I know, or could even be happening right now.

"This isn't something we can keep secret," says Steve. "Especially if there's a chance those things could really happen to him."

I nod, even though I'm still processing everything. "I have another flash drive around here somewhere. We could bring it to Stark Tower tonight and have JARVIS forward it to him."

Steve considers this for a moment before saying: "Sounds like a plan—"

The second Steve responds, that electric blue mist appears on the screen then is pulled from the side of my MacBook and back into the mirror. The force pulling it is enough to send me rolling to the opposite end of the room and even Steve, the man built like a brick wall, stumbles backward a few steps. This goes on until my computer starts to spark and sizzle and—

"OH MY GOD FIRE!"

My entire desk is suddenly engulfed in flames. Oh, come on, isn't that just overkill now? The wall behind my desk is almost entirely blackened by the fire, as is the floor beneath it, and the desk itself has already given out and become a pile of slowly melting PVC and charred wood. I struggle to get out of my office chair and end up having to pull myself along the wall and hope the momentum being created by the mist will do the rest of the work and push me out of the room. So far, it's not working thanks to my complete lack of upper arm strength.

Of course, freaking Captain America is able to walk out of the room using minimal effort, grab the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. As soon as the fire goes, so does the mist.

"How am I going to explain this to my aunt?!" is the first think I think to say. "All of this is going to cost thousands to replace and repair. Not that money's really an issue for her, but having maintenance work done over the holidays a minor inconvenience!"

"We still have to find a way to warn Stark," says Steve. "He might not believe us, and with good reason, but some of that stuff, real or not, looked too serious to ignore."

He's right. There's no valid argument for me to make here, even if I really wanted to argue. Still, before we actually do anything, I need to find a way to dispose of the half-charred, half-melted laptop…and the pile of other half-charred, half-melted objects. After that, I suppose…we'll have to make a trip to Stark Tower. Oh, that's so weird to even think about.

Despite the mental distress this past hour has put on me and the physical damage it's done in my room, I'm glad there's nothing left behind to get me into even more trouble with SHIELD. Even so, I can't help but wonder whether this strange occurrence was the last of its kind or the first of many.

AN: Just wanted to say, I am not completely happy this fic. It's actually killing me how I have stories that I am happy with for most of the other MCU films that came out but I've been stuck trying (and ultimately failing) to make this one good enough for my unnecessarily high standards. I finally just gave up and decided to publish this one as is because Dr. Strange is coming out in two months and HOLY SHIT I love Dr. Strange and it recently hit me how there's a fair amount of material in the Earth-616 continuity that could help this little series I've been writing.

But honestly, this particular fic on its own is just a fuckload of exposition for Alice's story arc mixed in with some elements of the MCU. I almost scrapped the whole thing and replaced it with a hastily done oneshot, but I already dedicated too much time to this so I'm committed now. Besides, there are famous authors whose books are just not worth the money that was made off of them and this fanfiction thing I do is just for my own entertainment and the entertainment it may or may not bring others, so what's the harm in putting this up? That said, I just remembered I need to go take my anxiety medication.