Knife
She handled the knife carefully, its blade gliding gracefully through the fruit, peeling off the skin flawlessly. She repeated the motion, relishing the way the knife cut through the matter so easily. Another piece of the apple's skin was peeled away, the flesh inside perfectly smooth. Flawless. Her knife skills were excellent. She just wished she could use them on something besides apples. Not that anyone needed to know that.
She peeled the apple with the knife until all the red was gone, exposing the white inside. She proceeded to chop it into slices, leaving the core with the discarded skin. She slid the apple slices over to where a fit young man in scrubs inspected the other apple slices she had already finished.
"You're doing very well with this," he commented as he put the slices into a bowl.
She smiled modestly, the gesture not reflecting anything she felt inside. But nobody needed to know that.
"Alright, now that we've got the apples all sliced up, let's come and mix up all the ingredients for the filling together." The man beckoned her over to him, and she trailed down the counter towards him, her fingers reluctantly letting the knife slip from her grasp to remain on the cutting board.
She did as the man in scrubs instructed, feigning obedience. This was the only way she got their trust. Obedience. Even if the obedience was feigned. Nobody needed to know that. So she mixed brown sugar and apples in a bowl with a myriad of other ingredients and poured the mixture into a pan already lined with pie crust. As the man instructed, she put the pie in the oven and set the timer for the necessary amount of time.
"You seem to be doing pretty well today," the man commented as she peered into the oven window, inspecting the pie inside. She looked up at him and simply smiled. "You like cooking and baking, don't you?" he inquired. She slowly nodded. "That's good. They should let you do more of it for your rehab. It seems to calm you down quite a bit."
She smiled brightly at the man. Inside, however, she was simply thinking to herself that he had no idea. Inside, her smile was a wicked smirk, a crooked grin, a threatening promise. He had no idea. Inside, she pictured his demise… which would come soon. But nobody needed to know that.
"Alright, then, let's clean up the stuff on the counter, shall we?" he suggested, gesturing to the mixing bowls, spoons, cutting board… and the knife. She smiled softly and nodded. He nodded approvingly at her obedience.
He gathered up all the dishes before she could get to them, though. A flicker of irritation sparked through her, but she held it in. In time, she could use it. But not now. She still had to get to that knife. Which, right now, was in his grasp and not hers. She just had to figure out a way to reverse that.
"So what would you like to do?" he asked. "Want to wipe down the counters? I can grab you some paper towels while I—" he paused as she shook her head. "Then what would you like to do?" he asked, hesitating a little. She wasn't being obedient anymore. That unsettled him. But she knew how to settle him again.
She gave him a falsely tentative smile, widened her large eyes, and pointed to the sink. She mimed a scrubbing motion.
His smile grew and he nodded. "Dishes? Sure, you can do the dishes."
She smiled, pleased with the results of her little act. They always fell for it. Do a little smiling, a little innocent-eyes, and a little too-timid-to-talk. Sometimes they took it as stupidity. That worked for her. They were the stupid ones: they fell for it. One would think that SHIELD employees would be a little more wary of her. Surely the other, more experienced rehabilitation caregivers had told him about her?
He set the pile of bowls and other dishes on the counter next to the sink. She followed and took her place in front of the sink.
"Do you need my help?" he asked helpfully as she started the water and took the sponge from its place.
She looked at him with a falsely bright expression and shook her head.
He smiled. "Okay, just offering." He handed her a mixing spoon, and she began cleaning it, praying he would hand her the knife soon. But until then, feigned obedience. "I really don't see what the big trouble is with you," he said thoughtfully. She gave him a small frown, not entirely fake. "I mean, most of the other guys say you usually misbehave and shout and threaten them with things, but…" he handed her a mixing bowl as she finished the spoon. "You seem pretty well-behaved to me."
She smiled. So clueless and stupid. Keep thinking that to yourself.
"You don't look like how I pictured you would, either," he commented. "When they would talk about you, I pictured this deranged kid who wore rags and had her hair all matted or something, and screamed at you for everything. Instead, you're this pretty little thing, so helpful, independent, well-taken-care-of, and so quiet. They said you could talk," he said suddenly. "You can, can't you?"
She nodded wordlessly.
He just shrugged. "Well, anyways, it's nice to see that you're doing so well today. It's been much nicer than I expected it to be."
He slid the knife toward her along the counter, and she smiled to herself. She wrapped her soapy fingers around the handle. She met the man's eyes, dropping the mask of innocence. Her docile plastered-on smile slipped away, replaced with a twisted smirk. The act was over.
The man noticed immediately when she didn't just wash the knife and put it away. His eyes flashed in surprise and he dove away from her a moment before she flung the knife towards him. He somersaulted and took cover behind the counter as she dashed over to the wall, where the knife had buried itself point first next to the stove. She yanked it out of the wall and turned to face the man.
To her dismay, he had pulled a gun and pointed it at her. He still crouched on the floor next to the counter, his eyes still slightly surprised at her sudden transformation from innocent to murderous. Still, he had had the sense to pull the gun. He wasn't quite as stupid as she had thought… or hoped.
She glared at him, assessing the situation. Knife against gun. They were both ready for a fight.
"Drop the knife," he ordered quietly, his voice taking on an attempted soothing tone.
It only succeeded in infuriating her. Her grip tightened on the blade.
"I swear, if you hurt me, I will shoot," he continued.
She narrowed her eyes. If she hurt him, he would shoot. They would see about that. "Two inches from the right ear," she whispered, her voice that of a girl, not a monster. She was not at all what she appeared.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
She simply smirked and hurled the knife at him, and then dove into a somersault before the knife buried itself in the wood of the counter.
The gun went off, but she was already on the other side of the room. He hadn't even meant to shoot. It was a shock reflex. She quickly circled back around the counter to see him, stunned. Her knife was buried in the wood two inches from his right ear. He stared at the girl, an evil, twisted, taunting expression on her face. Such an expression didn't belong on her young, pretty face, but it was there nonetheless.
"You lied," she accused in a sweet voice. "You said you'd shoot if I hurt you. I didn't hurt you, but you still shot. You lied." She sauntered a little closer, a smirk playing on her lips.
He backed away toward the door to exit her room, his gun still pointing at her. She shook her head and pulled the knife from the counter. She heard the door open as he started to back out of the room.
"I had a much nicer time than I expected," she call to him nonchalantly, her voice dripping with mocking disdain as he fled the room, and the terrifying girl within. She glanced up at the door, now closed, leaving her alone. She smirked. "By the way, you forgot to take the knife away from me," she murmured to no one. She inspected the razor sharp point of the knife and smiled.
Then she seated herself on the floor in front of the oven and waited for the apple pie to be done as she flipped the blade from hand to hand, savoring the feeling of having a weapon.
00000
The door opened an hour and a half later, and a man with an eye patch, a bald head, and a trench coat entered, looking wary.
"Director," the girl called in welcome. Her voice was that of a cheery young girl greeting an old friend. Of course, that was just a front. A game she played with the Director. He was well aware of her tricks and tendencies, unlike the unfortunate caregiver earlier that day.
"Emmie," he greeted her curtly.
Emmie's upper lip curled in disgust at her name. It sounded so… soft. But she still preferred the childish nickname to her real name. She hated being called by her real name. It was her mother's name. She hated her mother. She walked over to the wall and pulled out the forbidden knife from where it was stuck point-first. She had been throwing it repeatedly for the last half hour, after she had taken the pie out of the oven. The wall was riddled with holes where the knife had hit its mark hundreds of times.
"What are you doing?" he asked, a wary edge to his voice.
"Playing with a new toy," Emmie spat mockingly.
He let out a sigh. "I figured as much. Hand it over, Emmie."
She smiled grimly. "Ask please."
His one eye focused on the girl's wide, bright green ones. "Emmie, I'm not playing."
Her green eyes flashed in warning as she turned away from him and threw the knife once more. It stuck in the wall, buried deep in the plaster. She slowly walked over to it and pulled it out before turning to face the Director again. "I'm not playing either, Director. I've been practicing with this for a while. My aim's pretty good. Ask that caregiver from earlier. You know, the one that left the knife here? Yeah, I kind of missed hitting his right ear with this thing by two inches. On purpose," she added significantly, holding the knife so that light glinted off the blade.
"You don't scare me," he said firmly.
The young woman smirked. "Maybe I should."
"You also don't amuse me," he continued, as if she hadn't said anything. "Now hand over the knife, Emmie. We have something more important to talk about."
Her eyes widened in worry and shock. "Is this about the body?"
His eye widened as well. "What?"
"I swear, it wasn't me," Emmie said defensively, then paused. "Well, it wasn't my idea…." she hesitated again. "Well, they let me…" she wavered once more. "Okay, well, I got away with it," she finished, her voice defensive.
The Director stared at her. "Emmie, did you-?" he broke off at the sight of her elated grin.
She burst into a delighted laugh at his shock. That was all an act. There was no body. She had just wondered how he would react to that. And the results were quite favorable to her twisted sense of humor.
"Emmie, that is not funny," he growled.
The girl smiled, wicked mischief glinting in her eyes. "Opinions, opinions. I thought it was quite amusing," she said nonchalantly. The knife was still in her hands, idly turning over and over.
"Emmie, give me the knife," the Director said in a warning voice, still obviously a little shaken from the scare she had given him. "We have something to talk about."
"You guys didn't find the bomb, did you?" she asked lazily. "Or did you finally notice the vials of missing neurotoxins? Or is this about the sample phase gun?" She said each in quick succession, each question making the Director's eye widen slightly more every time.
"Emmie-?!" he broke off again as she bit back more laughter. "Stop that," he spat in irritation.
"You're just easy to trick, Director," Emmie said disdainfully. "It's too easy."
"That's because it's very easy to believe that you would do any one of those things," he muttered.
She smirked.
"That's not a compliment, young lady," he said warningly.
The girl rolled her eyes. "And don't call me young lady. I'm not your daughter or anything."
"Speaking of," the Director said suddenly. "Your mother is worrying to death about you. She doesn't understand why you continue to refuse to cooperate with your rehabilitation."
Emmie's face hardened at the mention of her mother. "Shut up," she hissed.
"Your mother wants you to get better, Emmie," he continued to speak, his words concerned. But to the girl, they sounded taunting.
"I said shut up," she spat, clenching her jaw.
"Hand over the knife," he ordered.
She immediately did so, impulsively, hoping he would relent if she obeyed. "Now stop talking about her."
The Director shook his head in exasperation. "She is worried, Emmie. She believes you can still get better."
"Tell her she's wrong, and tell her I don't want to hear about her," Emmie muttered, her hands shaking. "Now get it over with, whatever it was you wanted to talk about. You're getting me mad, Director, and you know nobody's happy when I'm mad."
The Director shook his head again. "I don't understand you, Emmie."
She didn't respond, glaring at him.
"Anyways, I came to talk to you about something that's happened. It's very important. Do you understand that?"
The girl narrowed her eyes at him. "I understand more than you think I do. You think I don't understand that I'm not the center of the universe. You think I don't understand that things happen outside this room. You think I'm just a little girl with the impulse to kill things. You think I don't know that SHIELD's biggest project is having a little bit of a setback," she said softly, her voice holding a slight threatening tone to it.
He frowned. "How do you know that?"
She grinned. "I didn't until just now. You confirmed it. But please, continue telling me that I don't understand things," she smirked. "You're so obviously right, Director."
He studied the girl in front of him carefully. She was pleased to see the uneasy look in his eye. He didn't like being reminded that she was actually an intelligent girl, not just a prisoner that had to go through rehab to get rid of those nasty violent tendencies. He didn't like being reminded that she was a manipulative, malicious, mean little murderess. She liked reminding him. It was worth seeing the uneasiness in his eye.
"As I was saying, Emmie," he said slowly. "We do have a setback in our biggest project. You remember what the project is?"
She nodded. "The Tesseract." She smirked, but inside she really felt fear. But nobody needed to know that. The Tesseract made Emmie hurt. She couldn't remember much of her life before the Tesseract. She only remembered the pain during.
The Director nodded. "It's been stolen."
She raised an eyebrow sardonically. "You have low enough security on it that you allow your biggest top-secret project to be stolen? I thought SHIELD was supposed to be smart or something… silly me."
He glared. "It was stolen by a very dangerous man, and it's going to take a lot of work to get it back."
She shrugged nonchalantly, her thoughts travelling back to the knife in Fury's hand. She was wondering if it was worth the fight to get it back. Probably not. . "So? What's that got to do with me, Director?"
He leaned forward towards her. "Because it's got to do with me."
Emmie feigned innocent quizzicality, really feeling more of an angry confusion.
"I'm going to have to leave the base for several days," he continued. "So that means I'm not on call to retrieve knives from you," he held up the knife she had handed him and looked at her pointedly.
The girl simply smiled. No Director, no rules. The caregivers had a much harder time handling her when the Director wasn't around. She had caused injuries before when the Director was gone. She wondered if she could break her record of injuring six caregivers in three days. Maybe she could inflict more than just injuries this time.
"I know what you're thinking," he commented, looking at the girl's smirk. "You're thinking of ways to cause havoc around here while I'm gone."
She quickly shook her head, eyes widening innocently. "I would never—"
He cut her off with a glare. "The marks in your wall say otherwise."
She glanced over her shoulder at the wall behind her. It was marked with multiple holes where the knife had struck it hundreds of times. She smiled at the sight. "Fair point, Director. So what are you going to do, induce me into a coma while you're gone or something?"
"No," he said shortly.
She turned back to him, a questioning look in her eyes.
"I'm taking you with me."
00000
Miles and miles away, the god of mischief listened with interest as Agent Clint Barton told him of the inner workings of SHIELD. He had already heard the tales of Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Bruce Banner. Clint had also informed him of Director Nick Fury. He was rather satisfied with the cornucopia of information the Agent had given him, actually. He normally wasn't satisfied (satisfaction wasn't in his nature), but Barton was a sufficient supply of intelligence.
"Is that all the members of Fury's Avengers Initiative?" the god of mischief questioned.
Barton nodded, his eyes glazed over from the spell placed on him by the god.
"Very well." The god of mischief stood and started to walk out of the room.
"Wait… there's someone else you might want to know about," the agent said suddenly.
He paused and glanced back. "An Avenger?"
Barton shook his head.
The god turned to face Hawk Eye. "An agent?"
Barton shook his head. "More of a… I'm not sure what you would call her… she's not a prisoner, per se, but…"
He frowned. "Not an agent, not a prisoner. Yet you feel I should know about her? What is she?"
Barton sighed. "A girl. She's only a teenager, but she's… dangerous. Very dangerous. Fury's probably going to try to keep her close to him while they try to regain the Tesseract. I thought you might want a little information on her. She's… kind of important to certain people in SHIELD," Barton said lightly.
The god of mischief raised one eyebrow, his interest piqued. This girl sounded like she might be useful. This might be worth his time. "Tell me."
Note from LoquaciousQuibbler: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, everybody. This story, as you may or may not have already gathered, does become rather dark, what with the two main characters both being evil psychopaths. I started this story so that I could do some experimentation with my writing style, and to kind of test the waters for a twisted story like this. I wanted to write something with an innocent-looking psychopath—like me! (Just kidding)—and Emmie happened. (Don't worry; I'm not really a psychopath… I just think of these things while Emmie actually does them. She escaped from the mental asylum in the back of my brain. Does that make me a psychopath? Maybe… anyways…)
I will warn you that there are themes in this story that some do not approve of. Just be forewarned that, while I've gotten an abundance of positive response from this story, there are some people who say it is too wrong. There is not any smut, so there is no reason whatsoever to report me. This story is rated T with good reason, though.
Twisted Minds Think Alike ends up being borderline romance, but I've left it in the angst/adventure section because of the fact that it's not a conventional romance by any means.
Alright, thank you all. I hope you continue to the next chapter. Before you do, leave me your thoughts, why don't you? ;)
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