II Would You Rather Work in a Hospital or at a Graveyard?
i Scene A: The Hospital
Ali came to on her back, with the world rolling past her.
Standing opposite her were Nick Fury and Maria Hill.
"Yess," she slurred. "I made it to heaven, motherfuckers!"
A blurry man beside them cringed as if she had stepped on his shin.
Ali slipped back under.
Ali woke once more in a clean white room with a drip in her arm.
For heaven, the cots were awfully New York-ish; that is, lumpy and probably the final resting place for hundreds of old ladies. Goddamn it. This was hell, wasn't it?
A nurse came in to check on her, and only then did Ali notice the slight ringing of an alarm. Her left ear did not make sounds. Her body did not listen to simple commands like 'fart', 'sit up' or 'feel'. She couldn't feel. That wasn't good. That probably meant that her body was feeling too much pain to function properly and that she was drugged up good and proper.
"That's not good," the nurse muttered to herself as she checked Ali systematically. "You shouldn't be up yet."
"What?" Ali tried to say. She sounded like her abuelo's old lawn mower, the one that claimed two of Uncle Jorge's toes in '73. "When does the torture start?" She leaked blood from her mouth., which she only knew because of the red meandering its way to her eyes. The nurse wiped her up, but looked at her as if she were the lizard apocalypse. She moved out of Ali's sight, and next moment, Ali was going back under.
When she woke up the next time, Ali could feel again.
It sucked, so she went back under.
Eventually, she woke up again.
Fourth time did the charm, right?
Either that, or it was four balls, walk of shame, collect $200.
Ali could still feel all the pain, but it was bearable at this point. Her eyelids were caked. Her breath was foul. Her toes were so swollen she wondered if her feet still fit ten of them. Somehow, she pushed herself to her forearms. It felt like an hour before she made it to sitting. By then, all the alarms in the world seemed to be going off. Ali ignored them. When the devil came for her with his 70s lawn mower, she would be ready for him.
Nick Fury entered the room, followed closely by Maria Hill.
"You guys are the devil?" Ali blurted out. Nick and Maria exchanged looks.
"You entered the stratosphere at 6 miles an hour and left a small crater in Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard – and survived. If anything, I'd say that you're the devil. Explain. Who are you. How do you know us?" Nick demanded. Ali's brain seemed to be struggling with all of his words, for she took a while to think, before shooting off questions in turn.
"You don't recognize me? Stratosphere? Hell has a functioning atmosphere? Does that make me a racist? They have Martin Luther King Jr. in hell? Racial equality is a sin?" she blabbered, before Nick held up a hand for her to shut up. Ali's confusion was mirrored on his and Maria's faces, and the truth slowly dawned on her. "I made it to heaven?"
"You're still on earth, if that is even where you originate from," Nick snapped. "We don't recognize you because we don't know you – in fact, whoever you are, you don't even show up on any of our databases."
Holy shit.
Noah Cohen.
Transdimensional travel.
Peter. Peter. Peter.
Ali's world closed in on itself, and her 9 year-old breathing anxieties flared back up. A siren seemed to go off just inside her left ear. She focused on breathing in and out, in and out. It took an hour for her to respond to any external stimuli. When she did, she began to spout incomprehensible word vomit.
Peter. Peter. Peter.
Someone drugged her.
Ali went reluctantly under, sobbing incomprehensible madness.
When she woke up again, she was prepared.
"Agent Inomata. Director Fury couldn't be here," Sakuya Inomata introduced herself as the ceiling came into focus. Ali's left ear was functional again. She sat up.
"Yeah," Ali said, and her voice was gravel. "I know."
"You're in SHIELD custody now, Miss… Ali. We hope to get your statement and some personal information. Director Fury has decided that you are not a threat, for now, so there is no need to worry," Inomata said, pulling out a tablet.
"What year is it?" Ali asked. Her voice was still dead. Inomata stared at her for a moment before responding.
"March, 2012," she said at last.
"Right. I'm Alizeh Valenteri; 25 years old; and I'm enhanced," Ali said, still in that dead voice. When they were done, she managed a simulated smile. "How long have I been in this bed? I really want to get out already."
ii Scene B: The Graveyard
Demand for Steve went up exponentially after the incident of the 'Fallen Angel,' as it was later dubbed. SHIELD had swooped in before the media could, but the crater wasn't something so easily removed as an unconscious body. Even though his role in the recovery of the angel was simply due to being in the right place at the right time, the agents of SHIELD still somehow attested it to being a courageous righteous patriotic man. It was exhausting, truth be told, especially when the rumors hit the streets and his anonymity all but evaporated.
Before, he had been treated as though he were actually a hundred-year-old man, and needed to be served on hand and foot. He'd refused all of SHIELD's 'help' except for the bare minimum, which was the safe house he was currently situated at and the occasional assistance of agent Inomata.
In his next meeting with her, he brought the matter up.
"I'd like somewhere to recuperate in peace, if that's not a problem."
Inomata seemed surprised, but took it in her stride.
"It's not. I recently heard that they're relocating the Fallen Angel herself. Perhaps it would be better to relocate you together," she replied. "In fact, I think the two of you could help each other, seeing as your situations are similar, to a certain degree."
"Did she come from space?" Steve asked, half sarcastically. Sarcasm. It suited Bucky more than him, but he refused to be apologetic about it.
"Even further – she comes from a different dimension, a different world that's almost the same as ours, but filled with different people and with different governments and technology," Inomata explained gravely. Steve blinked twice, quickly. It sounded like one of the books he'd read long ago as a child. Into the looking glass, indeed.
"If she agrees, I think that would be fine," Steve said, building up his resolve. Inomata nodded slowly, looking to the ground. She brought her eyes back up slowly.
"I'll see to it that even if she doesn't, we'll get you somewhere you can rest and recover. I apologize if this is too late coming, but thank you for requesting the move. If there's anything else you require, don't hesitate to ask," Inomata said gravely.
She talked like a business letter, sometimes, whenever she was trying to distance herself.
Peggy did that, too, whenever she was irate.
Both Steve and Inomata left with heavy hearts, belied by smooth expressionless faces. Steve wondered what corpses Inomata had yet to bury in her heart.
Author's Notes: God, I hope Steve gets his chin back up soon, or I'm going to go mad. I promise next chapter he does some grave digging, and after that things start to look better for him.