Spaces In-Between
A/N: I never know whether to put AU in the summary or not; technically speaking, most fanfiction is AU, isn't it? Not meant to be a sprawling, epic tale. Just the story of a girl with a peculiar talent and how her life becomes entangled with the Avengers and the Odinsons. Rating for all eventual language, explicitness, violence, dubious consent/rape, and plain ol' adult themes. If you like some OC, great. If not, this won't be for you.
I had already written this story before and taken it down. I'd like to try again; same basic plot, but completely rewritten and the story cleaned up a bit. I ended up hating certain directions I'd taken and would like to start anew, as I still like the idea. So. let's try again, shall we?
Clouds loomed overhead as if to choke the city of any starlight; even the moon struggled in its murky depths. The overcast sky glowed a nuclear yellow-orange as it absorbed the lights of the gaudy buildings beneath it. Traffic clogged and unclogged the streets like clockwork. Droves of people milled around, splitting like the ocean before me as I walked among them. The night felt biblical, epic somehow, standing on the precipice of something interesting and strange. I hiked my backpack up and studied the buildings along my stroll. I paid special attention to the ones sporting the most darkened windows - although, at this hour, a dark window could mean a vacant room or a sleeping tenant. My heart sank. The odds were too risky. It was stupid to have waited until nightfall. Foolish.
I eyed empty park benches with dismay. It wasn't often that I had to utilize them, but if I had no choice...
I trained my eyes ahead of me. A benefit of being alone and homeless was that I didn't live by a timeline. I could be anywhere, any time I wished. It may have been night, but the night was young. There were plenty of empty homes in New York City, and I would find one.
My fingers wiggled restlessly as I scanned. I continued on like this for what seemed like a long while - walking, slowing, scanning, studying windows and curtains for movement, debating. I finally settled on chancing another shot with one of my preferred locations: a large apartment building which came with furnished rooms. Empty furnished rooms. I tried to keep my stays here at random intervals, and only ever for one night at a time. It was silly of me to keep coming back in the first place, but reliable was reliable, and an overstuffed couch was worlds better than a bench. At some point, somebody would notice my presence. They always did. And I always moved on.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and tried to remember which room I had stayed in the last time. I guessed and kept my eyes on the window as I moved closer to the building. The good thing about New Yorkers was that nobody gave a shit about you - they kept their eyes focused on a destination and pushed past you without really seeing you. I'd done this quite a few times in the middle of crowds, in broad daylight, and as long as you were tucked inside of a big city you could count on everyone being inside of their own heads. I retreated into my own as I neared the edge of the sidewalk closest to the building.
I closed my eyes and imagined the room. I saw the shadows cast by the furniture. I could almost smell the stale air inside. My skin rippled with goosebumps as I focused, gathering myself -
"Watch it, bitch."
I cried out as hands shoved me backward, windmilling my arms to retrieve my balance. It was failing, and I stumbled back. Somebody elbowed my ribs as they shared the others' sentiment - to get the fuck out of their way.
I had a moment to wonder what in the hell was up everyone's asses before my feet slipped off the curb into the street. An explosion in my hip sent me in a different direction than I'd expected to go, and there was a horrible screeching. My skull cracked against the pavement. It was enough for an impressive light show behind the eyelids. I choked on empty lungs, air having been expelled around the same time my head thumped the street. My fingers clawed above my ribs as I willed the air back into me. It's okay. I'm alive. I blinked up at the dirty sky, glanced stupidly at some of the faces watching me. Not too many faces - New York, remember. Too busy for this tame of an accident. It hurt to breathe. My vision went blurry and grey around the edges - darker than grey. Fuck.
"Jesus - Is she -?"
"Nah, she's alive. What the hell? This is my car, Barton, I knew I shouldn't have let you drive - no better than a fucking teenager, I swear."
"She jumped out at me, dickweed! Anyway, shut up. Not the time."
"Yes, wow, how convenient for you. Not the time. Cut me a fucking break. Stick to a perch, you goddamned pigeon."
I turned toward the bickering voices; two men had exited the car - a very nice, very expensive looking car - and were a lot closer to me than my ears let on. Terrible, white-hot pain flared in my hip as I made to sit up. It radiated through, down my thigh, churning my stomach. A sound left my throat as I attempted to keep still. My vision darkened dangerously and I fought to stay awake. I tried to make words and they dribbled from my mouth like so much whispered nonsense. I focused on a park not too far away, a bench, the grass, the idea of lying on it -
- every cell in my body lit up and tingled through, vibrating and shifting. I wasn't in the street anymore. My mind made a valiant effort to keep pushing through the space. I was stuck in the inbetween, a limbo of matter, and the darkness that wasn't actually dark was cloying, hiding things, things that could survive in the nothing, so I pushed and pushed -
- I opened my eyes to the same street again. Sweat rolled down my forehead. My hairline was soaked, I could feel the air licking against me. I shuddered and made quiet sobbing sounds. I'd almost made it, but I failed, and now I had people seeing me do it, and the men were staring at me with bug-eyes. I touched my hip and hissed as it throbbed and jolted. It was just like I'd read in books - exhaustion crept through in the form of dark clouds, swallowing my vision and my consciousness.
...
"Hey. Girl. Hey."
My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. When I made to speak, my mouth felt like it was lined in cotton. I made meaningless gestures with my hands and brought a hand to my forehead. My head was pounding.
"Hey, she's awake! That's it, come on."
"Jesus, Tony, back up. Give her time to come to on her own."
"Yeah, Tony," I slurred. "Please. Water." As an afterthought - "Who - where am I?"
My eyelids finally wrestled their way up and I saw three men: the two from the car and another man. One of them I vaguely recognized, but from where I couldn't pinpoint. He had his arms crossed over his chest and watched me with much interest. I decided right away that this must be "Tony". Why did that make sense?
"Welcome back to the living, sleeping beauty. For the record, I'm not the asshole that ran you over - this sorry motherfucker is." He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the man beside him, a fit dishwater-blond in a loose muscle shirt. "That's Clint. Sue him."
Clint glared daggers at "Tony" and looked back to me. "I didn't run you over, you just kinda danced? Into the street? And I hit you?" He fidgeted as his face twisted into an uncomfortable expression. "I'm sorry?"
The third man came smoothly around the table and handed me a glass of water. I tried to sit up and he gently guided me back down. "No, not quite yet. You've got a little concussion. Nothing that taking it easy won't take care of, but sitting up might make it ache more. Drink." I eyed him and took his advice. I guzzled the water like I'd never had a drink before, clutching the cup with both hands.
"I'm Bruce. I'm taking care of your hip - can you tell us what happened?" He pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"My hip?" It throbbed a painful rhythm, as if talking about it brought the pain back to life.
Bruce nodded. "You've got an intertrochanteric fracture. Luckily, it's the easier kind of fracture to take care of. You're in good hands. Now... wanna tell us what happened?"
I related the incident up until I was on the pavement. "And then I guess I passed out." Tony smirked and narrowed his eyes. It made me want to hit him and admire his good looks.
"You're skipping over a very important part of the story, kid," he pressed. "I believe there was a disappearing act?"
Bruce gave Tony a look, but said nothing and waited. I shrugged a little. "What do you mean?"
"Don't do that - you can't bullshit a bullshitter. Ever heard that one?"
"Yeah. You're a bullshitter, then?"
Tony cocked his head. "I've been known to tell a few whoppers in my time. This business calls for 'em once in a while."
"What business would that be?"
Tony's eyebrows furrowed and he clucked his tongue. "You're really busting my balls, aren't you? Are you telling me you don't know who I am?"
"Tony, Jesus..." Clint shook his head. "Running away from the point."
I started to squirm during the following silence and bright rays of pain radiated from my hip. "Can I have something? For the pain?" I gasped.
...
The room was bright and comfortable. Intricate machinery lined some of the walls. Translucent, floating screens. White and black and chrome, red and gold accents, a voice emanating from the tower itself. I felt silly and tired and fantastic. I'd told them the gist of what I could do - how do you explain something you aren't totally able to grasp? I focused on Bruce's hands. He had good hands, efficient, capable. I wanted him to touch my face. I wanted more of whatever he put into my bloodstream. I understood entirely how addiction could begin.
"What did you give her, man? Can I have some?" Tony asked. Bruce grinned.
Tony turned to me and snapped his fingers. "Over here, babe. You were describing your talent. You can travel between dimensions."
"Not dimensions," Bruce interjected. "You know that. Come on."
Tony scoffed, leveling his friend with a poisonous glare. "Yeah. Okay. You travel between... spaces. Worlds. Whatever, fuck. But how?"
"I don't know. It feels like... unraveling. And... no. It feels l'm pushing through some barrier, and there's a sort of tickley-torn-apart feeling, and then I'm put back together on the other side. But really fast. And not painful."
"That's pretty... um, far-fetched. Car accidents are pretty traumatizing for either party. Are we all sure we're not... fabricating things?" Bruce rubbed his neck and looked at the other two men. Clint launched into an angry diatribe in retaliation. I watched and smiled at the way he threw a tantrum at being called a liar. Through the comfortable haze, I focused on the fact that it didn't matter whether they believed me or not. I couldn't pinpoint why I was telling them about t, anyway. Tony was watching me; I focused on everything and anything but him. His facial hair was very precise. I liked the way he smirked at everything. I wanted him to stop looking at me like a new toy and also wanted him to come over and talk to me. Tony Stark, I'd figured out, billionaire tech genius. Member of some elite crime-fighting outfit, along with the other two and then some. Everything made more sense once I'd realized who they were. The fancy digs, their interest in my ability, Tony having a goddamn medical floor in his tower -
" - tomorrow morning. I hope that sounds all right."
I blinked and focused on Bruce. "What?"
"We're going to perform the surgery tomorrow morning. There are certain things we need flown in, and we'll keep you sedated and comfortable through the night. Sound okay?"
"Sorry, yeah, sounds good. I feel really good."
"I know." He hooked a couple of wires up to me and smoothed a sheet near my legs. "Jarvis is going to keep his proverbial eye on you. If anything goes wrong or a reading is off, he'll know, and alert us immediately. If you need anything and we're not around, ask Jarvis and he'll grab one of us." I nodded and, looking satisfied, Bruce left with Clint in tow. Tony remained, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
"You hungry?"
I hadn't thought about it until he mentioned it. Good drugs. Very good. "Starving."
"You like shawarma?"
