"Open your eyes."
The voice is silky and dark.
Painfully hot breath is on his cheek, scalding him.
His eyes snap open and struggle to focus on the dark shape hovering above him.
A small girl in a blood stained leotard peers down at him, her face smooth and cold as marble. She looks over her shoulder at the large golden retriever standing on the far side of the room. The dog cocks his head at her. "So far so good," the dog says.
"Can you understand me?" the little girl asks. Her voice is mature and knowing. She sounds like a cup of coffee after a cold night in the trenches. It is not the voice of a child. She leans in closer. Her hair is painfully red.
"Можете ли вы меня понимаете?" She asks again, as her eyes drift across his face.
She sighs and looks at the dog, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
"I thought Banner said that he would be aware of his surroundings once the defrosting was finished. What gives?" the dog asks.
"I'm not sure." the girl murmurs. She produces a thin black object.
It has a bright light that she shines in his eyes.
It hurts.
His eyes water. He does not blink. He keeps them open.
The dog gives a low growl. "The doc should be the one doing this, not us. What do we know about man-cicles?"
The girl shoots the dog a dirty look. "Bruce is occupied. He sent me all the files on the tests he's run. I can text him if things get hairy."
"Great. So we can wait here and see if he is checking his phone this week. That is an excellent plan, Nat."
The dog crosses the room to stand by the girl.
The dog looks down at him.
Tears are trickling down his face. He does not blink. He keeps his eyes open.
The dog growls. "Shit, kid. Close your eyes."
He closes them. He waits.
"Fuck. He's in a bad way. "
"That's why you're here, Barton."