Remembered

Chapter Four: Detained

A bit of kindness goes a long way.

The staff was alive, and it sang to me a song of comfort, power and security I had never experienced in my life. It bid me never let my fingers unfurl. My eyes ran over the smooth material, alien and beautiful and I basked in the vibrations it emitted. My arm quivered up to my shoulder.

The world spun madly, orbiting around me and the staff, the only things on earth that mattered. I was plastered to my spot, but happy to be there. Words and people and reality blew around about my conscious mind. What they were yelling at me didn't matter and I couldn't hear it anyway. What they pointed at me, guns, fists, threats, whatever, couldn't even compare to what I had in the palm of my hand.

It was very similar to that night in Germany, but this time I had no remorse, no sorrow. I was the staff's and it was mine. I could tell it anything, and like a lover it would do anything for me in a heartbeat. It was my lifeboat. I was happy, truly blissful and content, for the first time since I was a child. All of my anxiety melted off like snow. I would never have another panic attack. The staff would breathe for me. And keep me safe.

A word tickled my ear, a whisper: "Siri." It was Romanov. All of her beauty and strength could never match the staff's. "Put it down. You proved yourself. Put it down."

I watched, detachedly, as her fingers curled over my white-knuckle grip. She pried them open. With every inch of my flesh that peeled away, the seduction and power of the staff slipped out like a knife from my gut, until I was left scared and helpless. A mortal, and a weak, cowardly one at that. I collapsed into arms.

Someone brushed hair off my hot face. The world stopped spinning. Real noises, a jumbled of arguments and orders, flooded over me. I was crying. Again. Making a scene, embarrassing myself.

A jagged hole was left. It made by all that temporary comfort, security and power, really really hurt. I was just a speck of dirt under the fingernail of humanity. All shreds of pride fell away. I wept for Luke and his boyfriend.

I wept for myself and what I'd done, and for the pain of letting go of control, and for the fact that it had seduced me in the first place, and for my leg and my lost dream of being a ballerina.

I cried when Steve picked me up off my bad leg. I cried because I was mad at being myself, being at this juncture of my life, because I chose Germany over Australia. I cried because Loki made me kill a human being and I was to blame, not him. A human being.

I cried from embarrassment, because no matter how hard I tried to control myself I continued to break apart over and over. I cried because I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't stop living. I cried for home and for my mother and the stupid chickens with their stupid chicken politics.

I cried in the elevator, while Steve talked to me, down the hall, around all the corners. I cried because he wouldn't shut up and leave me alone.

And then I cried because he left me alone in my tiny prison with my tiny bed, the lock clicking into place like the cock of a gun.

I was alone for a long time. My prison was small. I could see almost all of it from my bed. Just four metal walls that hummed slightly, a security camera, a folding chair, a door and my bed. I had nothing to distract me.

I had slept for a while, fitfully, and woke up in a sweat. My jumpsuit was hot, but it was much better than being cold. I was left with my thoughts, which was uncomfortable. They bounced around from dance, and worrying about my career, to home and my mother. I missed my neurotic dog, Pogo. He did this thing where he would stick his butt in the air and covered his nose and eyes to get attention. When I got home, I would pick him up, andI wouldn't put him down, ever.

I thought about Luke and my one day with him. And then inevitably about that night. And then Loki.

Gersemi.

He was so sure of himself. I wondered about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Director Fury. Would they ever let me go? Did I deserve to be let go? No.

I hadn't seen my babysitter since the lab. Why had Agent Romanov been so friendly? And Steve. I surfed channels in my mind. How long I had been in my room?

I needed to use the bathroom soon. I didn't want to deal with my babysitter, though. She was so severe.

"Hey." Dr. Bruce Banner peeked his head around the door. "Can I come in?" I gaped at him. No one asked to enter prison. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then hands, dragging my bad leg into a sitting position.

"Sure." Finally, a distraction.

"Thanks. I brought lunch." He did, indeed, a tray laden with a sandwich, an apple and bottled water. My mouth immediately salivated. I was starving. A girl could only live off of protein bars for so long. He put the tray on my lap, when I was situated, leaning against the cool steel of the wall behind. The bread was thick cut, wheat; the peanut butter let off a smell so delicious that my stomach rumbled boisterously.

Dr. Banner smiled crookedly. "Aren't they feeding you?" he joked.

"Um." Was all I could get in before my mouth was full of the best pb&j I had ever experienced.

"Aren't they?" his tone changed to something darker.

"They are." I said around the sticky peanut butter and jammed another mouthful in, savoring the texture of fluffy fresh bread. He pulled the only chair in the room closer to sit opposite me.

He watched me eat like a dying alley cat. I blushed. The sandwich was already almost gone. I brushed jelly off my mouth, looked for half a second for a napkin and then decided to suck the remaining morsels of flavor off my fingertips.

"Sorry." I wasn't.

"Don't be. You were hungry."

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?"

"Uh. Good?" I hadn't had any visitors come to just visit. This guy was quickly becoming my favorite person, with the food and all. Asking me how I was.

"The leg?"

Oh. That. "It hurts." My words were guarded. It wasn't a subject I loved to think about for long.

"That's to be expected. And your head?"

I touched the back of my skull. There was a small goose egg where I fell on it, when my leg was broken. "Fine."

"Do you mind if I..." He pointed to my head. Right. Doctor Banner. I guess he wasn't here to chat.

I leaned forward and he stood up. I winced as his fingers brushed my hair out of the way of his view.

"Tender?"

"Yep." I twisted the cap off my water. After a moment, he sat back down.

"It doesn't look too bad. I think you'll live," he said smiling again. I studded the label of my water, avoiding eye contact. I didn't deserve to. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I came here to check on you. What I saw in the lab...I'm worried about how you are coping with all of this."

Oh great. Isn't that cute.

"Why would the guy keeping me prisoner be worried about how I am coping?"

"You aren't my prisoner."

"No? Is the door locked?"

"Well- "

"That's what I thought."

"Director Fury told me that you're free to move about the ship. If you can get around. As long as you don't seek out Loki or enter the bridge or touch the staff again."

He saw the look of confusion on my face.

"We are on a flying aircraft carrier. . How are you coping?"

I struggled for words.

"That good, huh?"

"Why do you care?" And I was back to mad, again.

"I want to help you."

"Then tell me what is going on. Let me go home. Give me my leg back." I demanded unreasonably.

"I want to help you, Siri, I do." I watched his eyes watching mine. There was honesty, and plain written concern in them. And something else, almost hidden, just under the surface. A secret? Tragedy? Even if he was just a doctor, I couldn't help but like him.

"How?"

"Talk to me."

"Okay." I responded automatically, regretting it immediately. I didn't want to.

"I only did one psych rotation, but I do know that talking can really help." He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Okay." I picked up my apple, looking for the best place to start.

"Okay." He repeated. "I guess we'll start with your family." I waited. "What about them? Do your parents have a history of mental illnesses?"

"What?" That was rude. And kind of funny. It reminded me of a ridiculously stupid pick up line I'd heard once. Did he really expect me to open up and spill my heart and soul after asking that? He shifted in his seat, realizing how his question sounded.

"Do you really want to know how I am trying to help you?" He asked suddenly.

"Yes." Real answers? "Yes, please."

"I think if I can diagnose you with some kind of mental illness, it will give S.H.I.E.L.D. an excuse to let you leave. An alibi."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not crazy."

"You sure looked it, back there."

I knew what he meant, but come on, that's so rude.

"You don't think so? Everyone who has talked to you has said you are volatile."

"They broke my leg! They are holding me here, won't tell me anything. They won't even tell me what happened to my leg or what's wrong with it. Did they expect me to thank them? And that's not even touching on Germany! He framed me!"

"Loki has certain abilities. Trustworthy people have been compromised. Agents. He does something to their minds. Director Fury understands that you were under the influence of Loki. It would totally understandable if you had been-"

I shuddered at that memory. But if anything, it was the staff that confused me. In a nice way. It was like a drug. Banner's eyes traced my body language.

"Fine. What about your parents? Any history?"

"Don't know. I'm adopted." Judging from the amount of times I was asked about my birth parents, I should start wearing a sign that says, "adopted."

"Tell me about your panic attacks." I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from losing it. My heart pounded.

"I get them sometimes."

"I gather. Do you take any medications for it?"

"No. My mom doesn't believe in inorganic products. And I guess I just took after her. She gave me homeopathic stuff growing up. And vitamins."

"Do they help?"

"I don't know. I don't take them on a regular basis."

"How often do you get them?"

"The vitamins or the anxiety?"

"Panic attacks."

"Um once or twice a month. Maybe." I lot more than that if it's a bad month, I didn't add.

"What happens?"

"Nothing really. It's like dred in the pit of my stomach, and then I forget how to breathe. And my rib cage feels like it's collapsing in, imploding, squeezing all my organs. I can usually talk myself out of them though."

"Is there a trigger?"

"Not really. I just start to feel really out of control."

I watched as his face transformed from detached doctor asking questions to a miserable man. His forehead wrinkled in thought and his eyes glazed over. He aged at least ten years under the weight of what he was thinking about. Suddenly I needed to know him. I had to know his story, and reason it looked like he was falling apart inside as much as me.

"I know how it feels to lose control," he said finally. I looked down at the apple, nested in my hands, glad this wasn't about me anymore.

"It's bad," I prompted, wanting to hear more.

"Yes." His hands pricked his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

"What happened to you?" My question rolled out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"I get angry." He polished the lenses on the hem of his untucked shirt.

"Oh."

"I lose it. And a part of me takes over, turns into a monster." That sounded familiar.

"Me too."

"No. I actually turn into a monster." He mumbled, slipping the glasses back into place. He blinked at me.

"What?"

"I literally transform into a monster. They call me Hulk." His mouth twitched in a half smile.

"Hulk?"

"Big green angry indestructible monster-man who runs rampant, smashing everything in sight."

I just stared at him. Despite his smile, I didn't think he was kidding.

I was breathless. I didn't know if I could trust him. Then again, he was the most trust-worthy person I had met on this Helicarrier. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You could just explode at any moment?"

"The other guy hasn't come out in a while. I manage my stress. Which is the point of me telling you all this. I want to help you manage your stress so that you get fewer panic attacks. I know what's it like to be there."

"Do you ever, like, kill people?"

"Yes." No anger in his eyes. Just sadness mixed with regret. He had it really managed.

"I did." I whispered.

"I know."

"How do you live?"

"I forgive myself."

"How?"

"I have to forgive myself every day. And I help people. It makes me feel better, like if I can save enough people, somehow it balances out what the other guy did." His hands rubbed each other, a nervous habit. I thought about that. Would I ever be able to forgive myself for killing Luke?

"I can't." No way.

"It takes time. And it helps when you have support."

"Do you?"

"No. I'm too dangerous." His lips pressed together tightly."You can learn to manage yourself. Swallow your pride and let people help you. Let me help you."

"I don't know how."

"Just do it." He watched me shake at the thought. He leaned back again. "And get a prescription for some anti-anxiety medication. If I were licensed, I would do it, but I've been out of the country for a while."

"Is that what you are going to tell them?"

"Who?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.? Director Fury? That I am..." I searched for a second, "...mentally...mental?"

"It would give you an alibi."

"What else would you tell them?"

"An eating disorder, maybe."

"What!"

"You look to be way under a normal BMI."

"I dance!"

"You should eat, too."

"I do! You just saw me scarf down that sandwich."

He crossed his arms and his eyebrows rose. I took a huge bite of my apple, too. It was so delicious. Probably the best apple I had ever had in my life. I jammed my teeth back into the fruit.

"We'll see." Is all he said, but a smile returned to his face. I liked it.

When he paused for a moment, I worked on my apple, feeling much better. Maybe all I needed was food. Or someone to listen to me. Even understand me. He stood and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. I swallowed my apple bite, and my pride. "Dr. Banner?" He looked back at me over the rims of his glasses.

"Thanks. For the food. And the talk." His smile widened. He came close and to my complete surprise, he gave me a light hug around my shoulders. It felt so good to be touched by someone who wasn't hauling me around or restraining me.

"You'll be ok."

You know how they say, "be careful what you wish for."

Sauté, step sauté chat, sauté chat, sauté passé, balancé and balancé en tournant, sauté passé, grand waltz, and double attitude turn turn, chassé tour jeté, and grand jeté into the wings…

Someone cleared his throat. My eyes shot open, my arms frozen in second arabesque and my face lifted into the imaginary warmth of stage lights. Stravinsky's Firebird music faded into the humming of the wall beside my bed.

"How long have you-" I hadn't even heard Steve open the door. I had been daydreaming about flying across the stage, escaping my prison for a little.

He flashed a shy smile. I gulped down my annoyance. Dr. Banner's words were fresh in my mind. He seemed to think I would make it out of this mess alive. That was a game changer and my new tactic was to comply. I would be on my best behavior.

Or Should I act crazy?

Oh, never mind, I'd already done that without trying. Right.

"I was just, uh, marking," I told him as he stood there waiting for me to say something.

"Marking what?"

"A ballet combination."

"Dance." He sighed. He was in a mood. I could see it in the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

"Have you tried it?" I asked, trying to pull him out of his dark place. I didn't want to be dragged down with him.

"Uh, not ballet." He clarified. I figured. "But I dance."

He would be the best pas de duex partner with muscles like that. I imagined myself in a lift, securely balanced over his head, elated. And then laughed.

Too late, I realized it looked like I was laughing at him.

He scowled. "I can dance."

"What kind?"

"Swing. My mother made me take classes with her because my father refused to go." My face lit up. I loved Swing. "I don't do it anymore. Or I haven't. I am not even sure if the music is still around." His eyebrows hiked up, creasing his forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"Frank Sinatra was the guy in my day. You know, jazz? Count Baise?"

"In your day?" He couldn't be that much older than me.

"The forties."

I had nothing to say to that. The nineteen forties? He watched my confusion and then took a step back in surprise.

"Wait. You don't know "

"Know what?"

"Who I am."

"Should I?" I examined his face closer, squinted my eyes. Nothing. I had never seen him before. "Are you on the news?" He kind of looked like some anchorman maybe.

His chest inflated in the classic bro stance that was so cheesy. "I'm Captain America."

I laughed.

He put his fists on his hips and raised his chin. "Steve Rodgers?" he said. "Captain Rodgers? You have never heard of me?"

I laughed harder. He had to be an actor or something. He didn't break character for a second.

"Okay, Captain America."

"Really! I am. I have the suit." I wasn't improving his mood. I could tell. But something about him coming to visit made me lighthearted.

"Okay." I said grinning. "Halloween is in October. It's only... " I trailed off, distracted by the thought of time. I had no idea how long I'd been here.

He deflated, sighing. "Never mind. I used to be someone famous in the forties."

"Yeah I know who Captain America is. The super solider from the forties. Had comic books and trading cards and action figures and stuff. My stepdad has this collection in the garage." His face had fallen to something like misery.

"What?" I couldn't help teasing him. "Seventy years?" I prompted, trying to be serious and play along.

"Seventy years. It seems like just yesterday I was promising... " He stopped, shook himself out of it and gave a little smile.

"You're good." I said smiling, too. "You should be an actor, not a dancer. Or soldier."

"Excuse me?"

"The whole Captain thing." He looked at me blankly. He definitely was committed.

He clasped his hands behind his back, his face stony.

I had pushed all his buttons, I guess. I wiped the smile off my face. "Sorry."

"No apology needed. I understand it is hard to take all this in."

"Yeah." Understatement of the year.

The door opened again. Agent Findar strode in, tight hair and frown."Captain. Thought I would find you here. They need you on the bridge." She said, not looking at me.

Steve stiffened, saluted her, and then waved at me.

"Bye..."

It was just the agent and me.

"I am taking you to Director Fury."

I was stunned. I thought Directory Fury would never talk to me. Just make life changing decisions for me without actually meeting me. Now that my wish had been granted, I didn't know if I wanted to face him, whoever he was.

"Now?" I asked.

"Now."

"Okay." I said meekly. This was it. I was finally going to meet the wizard of oz.

Then there was the problem of how to get me there. Steve had left. Agent Findar was strong, but not strong enough to carry me. She stood me up and had me lean on her. We hobbled to the door. I was sweating by the time we were out of the room.

I really couldn't ignore my bladder anymore. I could either hold it and probably burst, or ask her to stop by a bathroom on the way. I couldn't hold it any longer.

"Can I," I started. Her already grumpy face turned into a full scowl. I swallowed and continued. "Can I use a restroom?" She huffed and then nodded.

We trudged slowly down the hall. She refused to look me in the face. I guess she had lost a bet and got stuck with me. It was hard not to scowl back, even though she was doing me the favor.

I grunted with the effort. My good ankle was killing me and the strange metallic cast was really heavy. We were only a few yards away from my room. I didn't know how I was going to make it the rest of the way. I wiped at my face, breathing hard. And here I thought I was in good shape. I watched her check her watch.

God, what was her problem?

We eventually made it to a bathroom. It was a single toilet in a small room, with tiny stand up shower and a sink. No mirror. She steadied me; I unzipped the jumpsuit, and then she lowered me down. Was there no end to the embarrassment?

Her mean mug didn't falter as she left me to it. She was seriously going to wrinkle early.

After a few moments I heard voices outside of the door. I zipped myself back up, unsteadily. It had been a while since the last shot of pain killer. How long had it been?

I couldn't make sense of time. Dr. Banner had said lunch, but it felt like it should have been breakfast. And that was a while ago.

"Ready!" I called out, tottered to the door and struggled to pull it open without any traction. My leg was starting protest loudly.

"... take it from here, Agent." I heard a male voice through the crack in the door, before I lost my grip. The door closed again. And then opened from the other side. Agent Coulson's face appeared, smiling disarmingly.

"Good afternoon, Siri."

"Afternoon?"

"Approximately 3pm."

"Oh." But what day?

"I will carry you the rest of the way, if you don't mind." I looked him over. He didn't look strong enough. He was like forty and kind of skinny. He saw my trepidation. "I got you." He swung my arm around his shoulders and bent to lift me. And then I was up. He was hiding a lot of muscle under his black suit. I was face to face with his name tag. Agent Coulson. Level 7. I wondered how many levels there were in S.H.I.E.L.D. He seemed pretty high up. He had a good picture. And a kind face.

"Hungry?" he asked. I was. But thirst was now priority since I had used the bathroom.

"Yes."

"Good. We are meeting Director Fury in the mess hall."

I squirmed.

Lots of dialogue in this segment. I really really love Hulk/Banner. I'd go for him, if I were Siri. But I'm not (thank the Lord.) Thank you for reading and extra thanks to those that have favorited, followed and reviewed.

Love to you all,

-Coy