The small Miller Lite desk lamp glowed cheerily behind your laptop as the Summer light streamed mercilessly and wonderfully through the large window of your second-floor dorm. The faintest hint of your "Coffee with dark chocolate chip" flavored greek yogurt could still be tasted on your lips as you licked them in absent-minded dubiousness. You were trying to finish this monologue you were supposed to write for your final group project of this semester, and you hated it. Every single word, every single character that tumbled out onto the open Word document before you filled you with a deep sense of irritation. First of all, group projects equaled terrible in your mind, and that's mostly because they really do suck balls. Secondly, you only had two more days until you were free for the Summer. You really could not wait, so much so, that to be required to do such a stupid project for a class you hadn't wanted to take to begin with was really killing your mood. The most aggravating piece of all of this was that you knew that given the chance you could write all of your partners' parts too and better than they could, which you'd hate to admit out loud because you knew how that would sound. But, hey, it's no wonder you identified with characters like Sherlock Holmes and Khan, you know, anti-heroes and villains, which always garnered you funny looks from your Captain America and Superman loving friends.
Your roommate was studying for her exams, quietly and unobtrusively, which you really appreciated about her, though you regretted somewhat that you could not always return the favor. You got so bored and so anxious to be active in something, but unable to concentrate, that you had a pension for getting into a little bit of partying and late-night wanderings, which resulted in your arriving back to your room at obscene hours and sometimes quite intoxicated. Though you were tame compared to the vast majority of your other classmates, and your roommate never complained of you disturbing her in any consequential way. Still, sometimes you wished you could just be satisfied like all the other boring people around, but this world just didn't seem like enough sometimes. Enough to keep you interested that is. At least when it came to the human population. You had a healthy appreciation for the beauty and wonder of natural things and even inanimate things like buildings and monuments, but people in general just seemed so BORING. Good God help you and forgive you, but most people were so boring, and those that weren't were all older than you with lives separate from the path you were on. You wished more than anything that villains, heroes, anti-heroes, and all of that magical and sci-fi stuff was real because those characters were interesting and the prospect of adventure ensuing with characters like those around was practically guaranteed.
The clock at the bottom, right-hand corner of your computer screen read 5:55 and your roommate stood up, gathering a couple things, before informing you that she was off to meet a couple people for dinner. She invited you, but you politely declined in favor of finishing your painful and aggravating work. Mostly because the prospect of socializing with unfamiliars was terrifying and even more irritating than the half-finished monologue that your eyes were focused on now. She left and you were blessedly alone. Not that you didn't like her, but being alone was so much better. That way you couldn't feel anyone thinking near you because, as strange as it sounded, it was really distracting when you could feel someone thinking near you or when you knew someone was thinking thoughts near you. That was probably just the product of your active imagination and your chronic neurotic tendencies combining in a soupy mixture of nervous paranoia that coated your mind.
You kept attempting to take deep breaths to keep from exploding with anger and rage-quitting. This is what prevented your from taking notice of a muffled hissing sound coming from your closet, until it began to grow in intensity. Your I-pod was in the back pocket of your dark-wash jeggings, and you were reaching for it when your ears pricked up at the noise. You frowned. What the hell? you thought, almost muttering it aloud. You cautiously rose from your desk, creeping to the closed closet door, the hissing growing to a growling. Your candy-apple red t-shirt felt thin in the face of the chill that was emanating from within your closet, as you inched closer and closer. Your two-tone Vans glided silently along the carpet, until your hand gripped the cold, metal handle turning it ever so slowly, the chill becoming almost unbearable. What you found when you looked inside your closet was unbelievable to say the least. Where, once your shoes and bags had rested in a happy state of pandemonium there was a gaping, shining portal. Like straight out of the video game Portal. Your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped. "I'm dreaming, right?" you whispered to yourself.
As you stared at the portal, you became transfixed. You tried to look away, but you couldn't. You tried to moved your feet and your legs, but neither responded. Then you began to panic, hyperventilating and barely holding back a hysterical cry. Suddenly, the portal was pulling you in, like a tractor beam, and you were plunged through it to God-knows-where and God-knows-when.
The next thing you knew was contact with a cold metal floor, and gasping consciousness. Light, noises, voices, shouts of surprise, and your vision refocused, as a sense of sudden concreteness nauseated you with its utter heaviness. A vaguely familiar voice said, "Since when do cute, nerdy co-eds pop out of thin air—Guys! You shouldn't have! My birthday's not even 'til next week." Your head still felt fuzzy, but you tried to regain control and turn towards the source of that voice.
"Tony, seriously? We would never give you another person as a gift. That would be a crime against humanity…for so many reasons. Besides your birthday's not until next month, so stop trying to pull that crap," said another familiar voice.
"Oh, c'mon, Bruce! You're no fun. I'd give you whatever you wanted for your birthday, science buddy."
"I'd never ask for a person."
"Touche, Jolly Green Giant. Touche."
"Tony," said Bruce in a menacing tone.
You finally had oriented yourself mentally, but you were thrown for a loop by the sight you took in, not believing any of it for a second. There, in what appeared to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting room were none other than Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You barely registered Clint Barton hanging quietly to the side, observing his fellow Avengers and you, curiously assessing the situation. Before you had a chance to adjust to this situation, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Thor Odinson, and Director Nick Fury burst into the room, preparing themselves to begin the scheduled meeting. Phil Coulson was right on their heels. You gawked, a numbing state of shock settling in. Nick Fury caught sight of you, as did the rest of the group that was piling in. He stopped cold and looked at Tony. "What did you do?"
"What! That's the first thing you ask? What did I do?" Tony shouted indignantly. Bruce chuckled, but looked over at you worriedly because you hadn't spoken a word since you appeared from nowhere. You were just sitting there gaping at all of them, and he could sense you were very confused and possibly afraid, and he felt bad.
"For once, Fury, Tony really didn't do anything. She appeared from thin air just a couple minutes ago. I think she's in a state of shock, and I don't think we should just let her sit there on the floor," Bruce said.
Steve was looking at you with concern, and was nodding along with what Bruce was saying. "We can figure out who she is and how she got here after we've made sure she's okay," said the super-soldier with an air of finality, which Fury bristled at. You felt inside you a bit of control returning and seized it greedily, using it to blink rapidly and take a deep breath. Words started forming on your lips, but, before you could refine them into a rational statement, they tumbled out.
"Dude, what the hell did I smoke?"
Tony burst out laughing, and Clint snickered from his perch to the side. You blushed and shook yourself. "I mean, 'cause you guys can't be real. You're all just characters from comic books and movies. This is impossible!" You barely got the words out, before one of your favorite quotes of all time passed through your mind. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Dammit, Sherlock, you thought angrily. Then you pinched yourself. Really hard. You cried out, muttering, "Okay, so not a dream." It occurred to you that, if this was real, then you might never see your mother or siblings again. That realization washed through you, and you desperately fought back the wave of nausea and torrent of tears that threatened to burst over. "Oh God," you whispered unintentionally. A hand was laid on your shoulder, and you almost jerked away when you realized it belonged to Steve (Captain freakin' America!) whose intense, deep blue eyes stared back into your own equally vibrant and unique eyes.
"It's okay, kid. No one's gonna hurt you. Now, what are you trying to tell us?" he said with the most serious of expressions. You were emotionally overloaded and distraught, but your natural sarcasm seemed to come out of its own accord.
"Oh, just that Timmy fell in the well…Again. He's a real klutz," you said, scoffing at yourself and beginning to rub your temples. Tony snorted and Bruce was trying to conceal a smile. "Sorry, Steve—er, Captain Amer—I mean person who I don't know," you stammered, unsure whether you should reveal all that you knew, biting your lower lip because you'd kind of ruined any chance for true subtlety that you might have had just then. Still, you could control how much you revealed. Steve stepped back from you, looking confused.
"Very smooth," said Tony.
"Oh, shut up, Iron-sides," you snapped, and then you resisted the urge to slap yourself. Iron-sides was how you always referred to Tony in your fangirl sessions with friends. Bruce laughed and Clint and Natasha did, as well.
"Wait, do you know who all of us are?" Steve asked.
"Yes, of course, I do. I have no idea what the hell all of this is, but not ten minutes ago, I was sitting in my dorm, working on some stupid final project, in a world where you guys are just fictional characters in comic books and movies, where there's no such thing as magic or sci-fi stuff to the extent that's in all of those comics and movies, when this hissing sound came from my closet. I went to investigate and found a big-ass portal just chilling in my closet. Like a portal straight from the video game Portal. Then I got sucked in and wound up right here, where I am now." You stopped and took some more deep breaths.
"How do we know that any of what you're saying is true?" Fury asked.
"Okay, I know all of you guys' super hero names and real names. You're the Director of the top secret organization S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Nick Fury. He's Steve Rogers aka Captain America. He's Tony Stark aka Iron Man, he's Thor Odinson aka Tropic-Thunder, he's Bruce Banner aka The Hulk, he's Clint Barton aka Hawkeye, and she's Natasha Romanov aka Black Widow. Oh, and he's Agent Phil Coulson, who we all should love and cherish. I know all of this because I am a huge, delightfully nerdy fangirl. If I were some sort of counter agent come to sabotage whatever it is you're meeting is about, then you think I might have come up with a less conspicuous infiltration plan, in less conspicuous clothes, and a bit more, I don't know, armed with weapons. Unless you count music as a weapon because I do have, in that case, a very deadly I-pod sitting in my back pocket," you finished, your tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Well, she has a point," said Clint, stepping into the light. Bruce nodded, while Thor looked somewhat perplexed by the whole situation.
"The assassin speaks true. I concur. I see nothing about this young Midgardian lady that suggests she has any sinister motives. Though I am not sure what comic books and these pods-of-the-I are…" the handsome god mused aloud. Tony smirked.
"Alright, now that we're hopefully done interrogating and possibly traumatizing her, can we maybe decide how we're going to figure out how to get her home?" Bruce suggested.
"We have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment, in case you have forgotten why I called you all here in the first place, Dr. Banner," said Fury grumpily. You felt a pang of panic, but it was diluted by your curiosity. Yes, you were concerned with getting home, but you also wanted to know where in the Avengers' storyline you were. You'd missed a couple of the movies from recent times and weren't entirely certain what was going on. "I think it goes without saying that you will keep everything you hear in this room a secret on pain of death." Fury looked at you, eyes practically boring holes into your skull, and you nodded emphatically. "Good, now, I called you all here to discuss the terms of Loki's rehabilitation. Thor has been a liaison on our behalf with Asgard in order to arrange for Loki to be put under our care, so to speak. He will be able to speak, so don't get any bright ideas, Stark. He will be under house arrest within Stark Tower, and his powers will be greatly reduced." Tony began sputtering out protests, as did the rest of the team, aside from Coulson and Thor. "There will be no negotiations. This plan of action is final and already under way. Get used to it. Dismissed. Stark, the girl stays at your tower until such a time as a solution is discovered for returning her back to her universe. She is not to leave, unless supervised by at least one Avenger, preferably one of the ones that is actually a fully-functioning adult." There was some more sputtering.
"I'm not a child! I don't need to be babysat!" you cried out.
"You know too much to be let out into the world without someone keeping an eye on you, on the off chance that you're a very good liar or that one of our many enemies catches wind of a weak and vulnerable college kid who happens to know our secrets. I'm sure you follow my logic," Fury finished, raising his eyebrows as if daring you to contradict him. You gulped as the implications of all that had happened sunk in, chewing at your bottom lip again nervously. With that, Nick Fury left the room trailed closely by Coulson.
"Well, kid, guess you're stuck with us," Tony said, smirking.
"Are you sure it's not you who's stuck with me?" you asked irritably.
"Don't be such a Warhead Sandwich," Tony said dismissively, his vernacular confusing Thor again and Steve too this time. "Just think of it this way, you're getting an early vacation with the Avengers included as a bonus. So, c'mon—Y'know, it just occurred to me that we have no idea what your name is…"
You stood up, Steve reaching out to steady you when you swayed with dizziness. You tried not to think too much about the fact that Captain America was practically holding you because you knew you would blush if you did. You introduced yourself and looked shyly at your shoes, shuffling your feet a bit. No amount of high school or college theater prepared you for speaking to some of your favorite fictional characters of all time in person. All of the Avengers collectively said greetings in return.
"Well, now that all the boring stuff's out of the way, let's go give you a tour of your new vacation home! Before all that Loki shit crashes down and puts me in a bad mood for the next century," Tony chimed with a wink that caused a slightly embarrassed flush to light up your cheeks.
The mention of Loki jolted you mentally, as it occurred to you that you would be living in the tower with the god of mischief and lies. Well, to him you'd probably just be another quim, and you'd never speak or even cross paths, and then the Avengers would find a way to send you home and that'd be all she wrote. Right?