Day 1
Steve was being given a tour of the country's capital when a window five floors above them shattered and a woman, wearing a white bodysuit (swiftly turning red), fell onto a car parked on his right. Agent 21, a petite Asian woman who for some reason could not (or would not) disclose her name, swiftly moved into action, whipping out her gun and speaking into an earpiece Steve had not even known she had had on her person.
"Stay calm, everyone!" she said, her voice ringing with authority as she approached the woman who'd fallen from the building. She was already pushing herself onto her elbows and trying to get up, but her gaze was unfocused and she fell heavily onto her stomach on the asphalt. "Captain!" Agent 21 got his attention urgently, not taking her eyes off of the woman. "I need you to keep an eye on her – make sure she's okay. I'm going in."
"Alone?" Steve called after her, but did not receive an answer, as Agent 21 entered the building, body lowered and ponytail swinging. He was sure SHIELD would have some sort of backup, perhaps even already stationed in the building.
Steve was flattered; he knew why Peggy and Howard would have chosen the acronym, but at the same time he was somewhat intimidated. None of his friends were left to oversee operations, and he was not sure how much he should trust the new director. He called Nick Fury new, but in truth, he had been in SHIELD much longer than Steve himself had, and working for SHIELD technically made him subordinate to the one-eyed man.
The woman groaned again and Steve, carefully, dropped to one knee.
"Easy now, ma'am," he said, approaching with his hands up to show he was unarmed and meant well. Her unfocused gaze slid to him, and her mouth was open as if she had forgotten to close it. She was bleeding from several wounds, the most prominent in her abdomen. Even Steve had seen enough to know that her apparel was bizarre – a black masquerade-type mask and a form-fitting one-piece bodysuit with pads protecting her shoulders, knees, and elbows. Steve guessed it was some sort of armor, and it would have made him blush, if he had not learned what 'crop tops' and 'hot pants' were (firsthand) earlier that day. Why, they even had undergarments on full display in store windows!
"G-gotta get – P-Peter – I screwed u-up – Godd-damn it!" the woman spluttered, spewing blood from her mouth, and Steve pursed his lips, but got to her regardless.
"Easy now," he repeated, as he pulled off his shirt and propped her up against his arm, using the shirt to apply pressure to her wound. He kept his ears open for signs of attack or danger, but he only had eyes for this woman, whose life could very well be in his hands. She was obviously distressed by something, because she kept trying to tell him something, but he shushed her gently. Her eyes were stormy grey, the color of tombstones.
Agent 21 returned, speaking rapidly into her earpiece again.
"No hostiles confirmed – affirmative; the woman is early to mid-20's; Caucasian; light blonde; at least 5'4"; has on some sort of body armor I've never seen before; shot several times – at least once in the abdomen, several other superficial wounds, though there were no casings; the wounds are very clean, like nothing I've ever seen before; affirmative. Will do, sir." She sounded grim, and Steve turned to her.
"What'd they say?" he asked seriously.
"Get in, Captain," she said, with a sigh, as a black van pulled up with a screech before them. "This is what I get for trying to show you Baskin Robbins. Obviously the ice cream gods wanted me to show you Ben and Jerry's," she muttered, as she got in after Steve, who was carrying the Jane Doe in. He didn't know what to say, as he was pretty sure she was joking, but at the same time he was equally concerned that she might actually believe in ice cream gods. He'd learned of stranger things – things that would have been considered blasphemous in his heyday, and things he'd thought impossible. (But then again, he'd been thought impossible, too.)
At least the woman's bleeding was letting up. She'd fallen unconscious in his arms, and her breathing was shallow but stable. It wasn't until much later that he realized that she was impossibly light.
"We'll take things from here, Captain," said Maria Hill politely yet firmly, as Jane Doe was wheeled in on a stretcher.
"Really?" he asked incredulously. He was still suspicious of everything going on, and he wanted explanations. Also, he'd like to know whether the woman survived, if nothing else. There was no threat in his voice, for all that, simply disbelief that they were excusing him at the height of all the activity. Hill opened her mouth to say something, but Nick Fury cut in, appearing, as always, from the shadows.
"The captain can stay. I'm sure he'd like to know what's going on as much as I do," the director said drily. He had a calculating look in his uncovered eye, as if he wanted Steve to know that it was an act of trust on his behalf. "Captain." Hill retreated, taking care of some other urgent matter of business.
"Sir," Steve said shortly. "And you'd be right – it's my third day out of the ice, and already people are being shot in my near vicinity."
"It's not a regular occurrence," Fury reassured him.
"It's probably not a coincidental one, either," Steve replied evenly.
"Agent 21 informs me that you stabilized Jane Doe's condition before and on your way here. You probably saved her life," Fury stated, in his slow manner. Steve did not reply; he had no words. He had saved innumerable lives 70 years – a lifetime – ago, and this time it had required no big sacrifice. He hadn't lost another Peggy. At any rate, he wasn't entirely sure whether the director was commending his saving of a life, or his saving of a life that might need to be interrogated at a later date.
Steve was saved from having to think up a suitable reply when he heard screams, and a nurse fell backwards out of the operating room, unable to stand back up but retreating by dragging his body out of the way. Both leaping into action, the two men barreled into the operation room – Fury with his gun out, Steve his fists. What they saw confused Steve so much, he almost pulled out of his defensive stance.
Jane Doe – her long silver hair nebulous about her face – was floating two feet off the operating table, eyes wide and stormy. Her mane of hair had devoured all the light in the room, giving her the appearance of an angel of death with a halo of shining hair. They'd removed her mask, revealing a pale, bruised face that might have been pretty under all the discoloration and swelling. Steve saw through the hole in her bodysuit a small pink line shrinking, right where she'd been shot, leaving behind nothing but a dark bruise. Her hands were brought up at her sides, in a strange form, as if they were cupping small bowls.
"Where am I?" she demanded, voice hoarse, whipping her head back and forth as scientists and nurses screamed and avoided her. A wind seemed to pick up about her, and operating tools were thrown all across the room. "Take me back!"
"Stand! Down!" Fury yelled, and her eyes locked onto him. Several emotions passed over her face, but all Steve caught was longing. She dropped so quickly and unsteadily it was a wonder that she was awake at all, and held her hands up in surrender.
"Alright, don't shoo-," she began, but was cut off when a bullet exited her body via her chest, her eyes and mouth wide in surprise. She crumpled like a soda pop can under a boot, and Steve, for the second time that day, was covered in her blood. He wiped at a speck of it above his right eye and dropped to check her vitals. She was alive, but unconscious.
"Agent!" Fury snapped at the offender, who dropped the gun he'd been holding as if it had stung him. (The whiplash had probably surprised him, if nothing else.)
"I'm sorry!" he yelled, his voice very high. "I panicked!"
Steve guessed it was his first day, too.
Thirty minutes later, they were in a safe conference room, Jane Doe looking drawn and pained, but healing incredibly quickly. The moment she'd regained consciousness, maybe 40 seconds after the agent responsible had been removed, she'd hissed, "Don't. Shoot." She'd then demanded that they discuss the matters at hand: her abrupt arrival, for one.
When one of the nurses approached her, she had lifted one finger, and a wind picked up in the room, circling her person. "I wouldn't," she'd stated grimly, so the nurse didn't. Jane Doe, however, requested a change of clothes, and received a backless hospital gown, which made everyone other than herself (especially Steve) uncomfortable. She was given a pair of nurse's pants, as well, leaving only her back open for view. It was covered in lean, tan muscle, which only accentuated the criss cross of white scars. The woman noticed Steve looking, and gave him a pointed look. Steve turned away.
Neither Fury nor Hill looked as if they enjoyed being taken at her pace, but Jane Doe had the upper hand in that she had information to disclose, and that she was willing to do so. Their judgement, however, would be their own. The one thing that Jane Doe was adamant on, however, was that Steve join them, though for what reason, none of them could fathom. Now, they sat at a long table, with Jane Doe on one side and the other three facing her.
"I," she stated gravely, "am Alizeh Valenteri, leader of the Avengers." She held up a single finger, looking furious, when both Fury and Hill made to object or interject, specifically about the Avengers, whatever that was. "Let me explain, please."
"Well, then, get on with it," Fury drawled impatiently.
"I am from another dimension – Earth 627, actually. I have no idea which dimension this is, but I'd like to say for myself that it wasn't voluntary. I wouldn't actually break a trillion intergalatial and interdimensional laws just to get to wherever this is. A mad scientist opened up a wormhole and shot me straight through it. It's lucky I even have all my limbs and appendages attached, though it might turn out that your food is horrible or some shit like that."
Her speech was met with stunned silence. Steve understood nothing, and wished, for once, that he hadn't been allowed in on the secret, though he did understand that this woman had just used two expletives on two separate occasions, all within hearing distance of himself. Maybe he could convince SHIELD to put him back under the ice.
Alizeh Valenteri, whoever she was, seemed just as surprised as the others when she registered the differing levels of shock blooming on their faces.
"So you mean to tell us," Fury said, enunciating every syllable, "that you aren't even from another planet, or another galaxy, but from another dimension?" Alizeh shook her head mournfully.
"I was afraid this would happen," she said, choking on her own voice. "If you don't have the technology to send me back home, there's no way they'll locate me, and the courts who oversee these laws won't interfere."
"How can we know whether you're telling the truth, or whether you're feeding us bullcrap?" Fury ground out, smoothing a palm over his bald head. Whatever they were discussing, it seemed to be very distressing for both parties.
Alizeh looked up long enough to answer, just as sadly as before. "Because I know who you are. Nick Fury, director of SHIELD, Maria Hill, second in command, and I'm guessing Steve Rogers, the super soldier. You are all dead in my dimension." She sniffled, but interrupted Nick Fury's arguments by saying impatiently, "Maria, get Agent Inomata to Google me or something, would you? I'll probably show up on Facebook or something like that. My middle name is Watson."
A minute of condensed silence later, Maria was informed through her earpiece that Alizeh "Ali" Watson Valenteri was in fact a, "15-year-old high schooler in Midtown High, in Queens," Maria relayed in a hushed voice. "There's even a picture. Look." She thrust the phone in Fury's face, and Steve caught a glimpse of a laughing teenage girl uncannily like the woman opposite him.
"So in this dimension I'm 15," Alizeh murmured, shaking her head again, distraught. She looked up, her eyes clearer than before, "Take it or leave it, but until someone gets the tech for accurate interdimensional travel, I'm stuck here, and if you guys don't even have the Avengers, you're going to need all the help you can get."
She, willing as she was to help out, did not enjoy being put in a cell until further notice.
"What are you going to do with her?" Steve asked Fury just as the latter turned away, and he was not sure he'd like the answer either way. The director stopped, and half turned toward him.
"Whatever necessary," he stated simply, and continued on his way.
Steve had been right. He didn't like the answer.
Hi, everyone. This is a rewrite of the story I had up before, and I hope you enjoy.
Please leave behind reviews of what can be improved on, or how you think the story should go!