AN: I am so tired...bleh! It is cold and rainy today, so naturally I am lacking in all motivation. Fortunately I have kicked myself from my stupor and finally uploaded. I give you chapter 3 which gives you a little more information and undoubtedly more questions. Don't worry, all shall be answered in due time. ;) Originally, 3 and 4 were all one chapter, but it was ridiculously long. So enjoy and let me know how well you think SHIELD ranks in the department of hospitality. That is an oh so subtle hint to review...please? Happy reading! ^_^


3

There was a sluggish haze that rested over me; very reminiscent of a wet blanket. As for my body, well, let's just say that I was having trouble believing that I hadn't been smashed flat and blown back up like a balloon. In short, I felt like hell. I rubbed a hand over my face or, more accurately, tried. The said appendage was not being obedient, but it was not due to a failure of bodily functions. I opened my eyes only to immediately shut them. Whoever decided that it would be pleasant to wake up to stark brightness was an idiot. This was grievance number one.

After several seconds of opening and closing, my watering eyes finally adjusted to the abhorrent light. I quickly found the reason for my lack of movement: I was restrained to the bed. Grievance number two. I was obviously alone—for now—in some sort of medical facility. This was denoted by the IV protruding from my arm and the scratchy gown covering my form. I eyed the previous contraption with disgust and suspicion. Just what the necessity for that was I didn't know, but I had never needed one before. I could have woken up in a ditch and been just fine. In fact, I had.

I tested my binds and found with satisfaction that someone had been slacking on the job. After all, I was only an unconscious woman and not some talented psychopath hell-bent on world domination; such a lack of appreciation for the former. With a smile, I wriggled my left wrist out of the strap that wasn't quite tight enough. Free, I undid the other and sat up. My legs followed suit and I moved achy muscles that had been in one position too long. The next thing to go was grievance number three: the IV. I unhooked it, not bothering with the tube portion, and slid off the bed. They had shoved that nasty thing into my vein and they could take it out. It was only a matter of time before someone came to check up on me anyway.

I'd had the pleasure of being in a hospital sparingly in my life—something that I was more than happy about—but this was much more…barren and meticulous than I remembered. Wasn't it customary for there to be out-of-place homey touches to put me at ease in these institutes of terror…medicine? An unhappy indicator that I had stepped into something that was not very likely to let me go from its grasp. The Baron had been bad enough, but my gut feeling told me this was much worse.

Not that I had been offered a lot in the way of choices, but I was sure that shoots-with-sticks could be very persuasive when necessary. Speaking of, I wondered if I would be seeing the dashing agent again. I found him likeable, despite his being a bit off. Of course the same could be said about me. Though really, who uses a bow and arrow in this age of advanced weaponry? Granted, his was fancy, but still such a choice was reserved for hardcore hunters and medieval nutcases. It would be better if I didn't, I decided. Any such affinity never panned out and I had been successful at avoiding such for the last twenty years or so. It wouldn't do well to break stride now.

There were two doors in my room. The furthest I assumed was the way out, and so the other could only lead to the bathroom; that depending entirely upon my surroundings being based in some sort of normalcy. There had been times, to spite me, that my luck had been that of the contrary, and I half expected to find a closet as I opened this door. Luckily, this was not one of those times and instead I found myself stumbling into a bathroom.

I grimaced at the face in the mirror and happily basked in the hot water that I carelessly splashed over my face. It felt so good and I instantly longed for a hot shower. It was a luxury not to be had. My clothes were nowhere to be found (grievance number four), not to mention the fact that I was probably not supposed to be up and about. This thought instilled a sense of foreboding and I washed that much faster.

I had managed a thorough scrub down, which included a vigorous brushing of my teeth with soap and finger, when I noticed I was not alone. I should have felt alarmed at the sudden appearance of a man in the doorway, but I wasn't. The smooth, hot, and potent had yet to pleasantly cascade down my throat, bringing with it the coherent and reasonable. Morning coffee was essential in the abatement of the beast within. Mine had been left to stew and rage for far too long. I glared in the mirror at the man in scrubs. His expression quickly changed from disbelief to disapproval. I did not fail to notice the syringe clutched in his right hand. Turning suddenly, I thrust out the arm sporting the IV for his observance.

"This," I made my irritation apparent with that one word, "does not belong here."

He merely stared at me, no doubt weighing which course of action to take. Fortunately for him, I had made that decision already.

"I don't do these. So, I want this out. Capeesh?" I knew I was being curt, but frankly, I didn't care. So far, what I had awoken to had not inspired anything of the opposite nature.

For good measure I added, "I promise I'll go back to bed like a good patient once this is gone."

That seemed to do the trick because he nodded to me and began to walk forward. It was strange, though. Weren't nurses (he was missing the telltale stethoscope and white coat that said doctor) supposed to make you feel comfortable? They did things like fluff pillows, fetch food and drink, and more importantly talk to their patients. Also, that syringe was still in hand. Just what exactly was that for anyway? I had three thoughts in rapid succession. First, as far as anyone was concerned I was still unconscious. Second, this just might be an unsanctioned visit (he was being awfully quiet). Third, seeing as I was still supposed to be in a comatose state, that needle and its contents were definitely meant for me. Whatever was going on was not for the general know how. Great.

I jumped to the side just as he lunged for me. His fingers grazed my arm but found no hold. I ran for the door. He, however, was much quicker on the uptake. He successfully snagged one of the ties to my hospital gown, forcefully yanking me backward. My bare feet slipped in the water that was a result of my earlier cleansing. My momentum then flung me sideways and took my attacker down with me. I slammed hard into the tiled floor. The syringe was knocked from his hand and slid in front of me—my salvation.

I dove for it. It was just in my grasp when I was again yanked backward, by foot, and flipped over. Now being straddled, I did the only thing I could think of and I hurled myself forward aiming my head for his face. He wasn't expecting this; moving down to free me of my newest possession, he collided perfectly with me. I felt a crack, saw a flash of white, and was freed from the weight that had held me down. With my vision again clear I crawled forward and took advantage of his stunned state. I stabbed and emptied the contents of the syringe into his neck. At the puncture he tried to stop me, but it was too late. After a few seconds he obediently went limp and I slumped to the ground.

My head hurt, my side hurt, and I was sure that I had blood on me. Was it really too much to ask to have just a few normal occurrences every once in a while? Apparently it was. No one had rushed into the room, so it seemed that my scuffle had gone unheard. Will wonders never cease? Sitting back up I got to work. My current location was not a safe one and so I aimed to change that. Stripping the nurse, who I had learned from his key card was Jeremiah Freeman, of his scrubs, I swapped my gown for them. It was less conspicuous. The blood on the shirt couldn't be helped and maybe it would go unnoticed. Not likely, but I could hope.

I clipped the card backwards on my shirt pocket, successfully hiding the picture ID, rolled my pant legs up (they had to be too long), and washed the blood off my face. That was as good as it was going to get. I had no shoes. Jeremiah's feet were giant, and so again I had to hope that no one would notice my bare feet. The odds were not stacked in my favor. The last two things I did were rip the IV out of my arm—I thought quicker would be better, it wasn't—and I pulled Mr. Freeman into an upright position. An undeserved kindness, but I was not about to leave him to choke to death on his own blood and have that over my head as well.

A moment later I stood before the other door, my exit, and took a deep breath. There was no noise beyond that I could hear, so very carefully and quietly I opened it a fraction. There was no one directly in front of the door and not a sound. Taking a chance, I opened it fully and peeked out. There was not a person to be found. I didn't waste any time and shot out into the hall, going right, not bothering to shut the door behind me. Mr. Freeman was going to need some medical attention and it was better that he received it sooner rather than later. On a hunch, I had kept the syringe intended for me. It was carefully wrapped and stuffed in my pants pocket. I had thought it best to keep what little proof I had in support of my being attacked. Just in case things didn't turn out how I wanted. So far everything was going nicely, but I knew just how fast events could turn.

Rounding a corner, I stopped short when I spotted a desk. I was about to turn back when I realized that it was currently unoccupied. That was strange. Negligence was a far cry from Agent Barton. Granted, our acquaintance was brief, but we had been in a highly volatile environment. A lot could be learned about a person in moments like those. So I highly doubted that someone with such discipline and training would work for an organization that wasn't the same. The logical conclusion: I must have gotten up during the graveyard shift. It figures that my morning would actually be in the middle of the damn night. Well that was to my benefit, I supposed. Pressing on, I paused when I was adjacent to the desk. There, sitting quite forgotten, was a sweater.

"Don't mind if I do," I uttered to myself and snatched the piece of clothing.

That would go a long way in making my soiled attire not so obvious. I was beginning to feel quite good about my situation and it showed. A building confidence began to radiate in my posture, in the swagger of my walk; or maybe my swagger had absolutely nothing to do with this newest assurance. Maybe it was more about the pain in my hip. It smarted and burned like I had been pressed, most cruelly, by an iron and then unceremoniously dragged over pavement for a quarter of a mile. It was always the little things that made such a lasting impression. Whatever the reason and more to the point, I was beginning to feel that I might just make it out of here. That was, of course, entirely dependent upon whether the key card I had procured had clearance to swipe me through the door just ahead.

Glancing behind me to make sure I was still in the clear, I pulled the card from my pocket. I really had no idea where I was going, but I trusted that eventually I would come across an exit. My choice of routes thus far had all been based on instinct, an inkling that this way would be better than the other. I never planned anything beyond a basic outline of what I wanted to achieve. I had learned, a long time ago, that planning just didn't work for me at all. I doubted there was anyone else walking around on the Earth that went with the flow like I did, not that I had had much choice in the matter. That seemed to be a running theme in this life of mine—my lack of choices.

I stared at the door a moment, hoping that this wouldn't end with an alarm being triggered or a sudden meeting with security on the other side. Here goes nothing. I tensed and swiped the card. After a second there was a beep, a click, and the door began to open towards me. I would have smiled, but at that moment two armed men stepped into the hall behind me. No doubt the pesky security I'd wished to avoid. Why do automatic doors have to be so slow?! I tried to seem nurse-like, tried not to nervously glance back at them, but my acting skills were severely inadequate. They made their way toward me like a moth to a flame. One had a hand resting on his holstered weapon, and the other was talking into a radio. Fantastic. The doors were not quite wide enough to let me through comfortably and they were closing in. I would have to force my way past.

"Ma'am, you need to come back with us," one of them warned.

I didn't really look to see who. Someone was trying to salvage the situation, hence the lack of alarm and backup. I had been in a similar state of affairs back in the day. In Queens, if I remembered correctly. Some underling had lost me and he was desperately trying to save his worthless hide. It hadn't gone well for him, seeing as I had escaped with a significant amount of his boss's money. Same story, different era.

I did not hesitate; I shoved my way through the opening doors. Another painful experience, but the shouts from behind drove me forward. After a mere second I was free and running. From the commotion at my rear, I knew they were in hot pursuit; but I had a significant head start. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was how to run.

My feet thudded down the hall and I began to come across, low and behold, people. This section seemed to have staff on duty. There was some preliminary confusion at my sprinting form, but this was quickly rectified by the cries of "stop her". Several people sprang into action and I narrowly dodged them, adding to those already on the hunt. I jumped over a janitor's cart, hitched a short ride on a bed, and tripped into a roll. Someone had actually shot at me and this last maneuver had kept me from becoming a fatality.

Ahead was a large intersection with more guards. A trap if I'd ever seen one. I had thus far avoided close quarters contact and I was not inclined to start now. Especially against any sort of military personnel; mobsters and crack-heads were one thing, this was altogether different. A large ninety degree desk took up one of the corners. Most likely a nurse hub, judging by the computers, various files, clipboards, etcetera. Well, what was once a station for work was now my personal thoroughfare. This was going to be close. I sped up and focused on my breathing. My pulse thudded loudly in my ears, my battered left leg protested the exertion, but it didn't matter. There was only the obstacle in my sights. Various shouts and warnings fell on deaf ears. I was almost there and was completely unprepared for the abrupt appearance of a body in front of me. On instinct my hands shot outward and shoved the barrier out of my way. The poor woman who had happened out into the mayhem was alarmingly propelled into the waiting arms of security.

I vaulted up and landed perfectly upon the desktop. Not missing a step, I flew over it, spilling various items to the floor. At the end I dove off, tucked myself into a roll, and summersaulted to my feet. Just a fraction after I landed there were multiple thuds in the wall to my left. I didn't look to see what they were shooting at me now. At least the order to kill had been rescinded. As I veered left into yet another hallway, I was greeted by the charming monotony of an alarm. It was so nice to be wanted. On the bright side, straight ahead was a most beautiful sight. A door with a placard beside it that read: Stairs.

Oh, the glee I felt when I shoved that door open. I paused momentarily in the stairwell to gasp in some air. I had temporarily shaken my admirers, but that wouldn't be for long. The whole place was on alert for me now. I briefly considered going up, but that was shattered by a sudden commotion from above. Nope, I was going down and fast. Bypassing the steps entirely, I jumped upon the rail and positioned myself on the outside. I slid down, my hands gliding over the spokes until I was hanging from the bottom rung. In unison, I flung my legs forward, then back and swung myself to the landing below.

Immediately rising out of a crouch, I made a move forward and was abruptly assaulted by a wave of dizziness. It was so unexpected that I fell hard on my knees. The pain gave me an edge of clarity and I forced myself back up. It took a considerable amount of effort to get to this level's door. My body seemed to be shutting down and yet in the same instance fighting to stay conscious. My injuries were minor, I should not be passing out now—I couldn't! Shaking my head to try and clear it, I made ready to push open the door. It was an unnecessary action. It opened of its own accord and I stumbled unprepared out into a waiting sea of black.