Author's Note

Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you can find at the bottom of the chapter. Nothing from the Marvel universe is mine.

~ Refictionista, August 1, 2014

§ Chapter VI §
from a deep slumber she shall wake

"I can think of better things to do with my time than performing menial labor," Loki muttered to his brother. The dark-haired prince seemed very out of place, the leather of his simple, yet elegant, gold and green armor was a stark contrast to the grey and black cloth uniforms of the S.H.I.E.L.D. crews mincing about them. He cringed at the thought of performing the tasks of a servant. "This is beneath me. I am a god, and I shall not be bullied by these dull creatures."

"Do you remember none of your promises? You gave me your word to recompense this world." Thor said.

"Yes, well if it's all the same to you, then I'd like to be thrown back into a cage now."

"Agreed, I can easily think of better things to do with my time than babysitting you," Natasha Romanoff said condescendingly as she and Steve Rogers joined them.

"Yet, here you are," Loki mocked.

"I pulled the short straw," Romanoff rumbled in return. Loki tilted his head, not understanding. He looked over to Captain Rogers for an explanation. Loki had learned that the soldier out of time was one of the few Avengers, perhaps the only one besides his brother, who made any attempt at politeness towards him. For the most part, Loki found Captain America's do-gooder attitude almost unbearably boring, but he admitted to himself that the man had his uses.

"She means being here wasn't her choice," Rogers clarified. "Director Fury had a lottery using straws of different lengths," he nodded over to the Black Widow, "and she just happened to snatch the one that made her the loser, the short straw."

Somewhat chastened, Loki nodded in understanding. It angered him that the only one who had lost the gamble would spend time with him, but it was not much different than his life on Asgard. If anything, his station was more honestly dealt with here on Midgard. He affixed a formal mask and tone to hide the sting of the slight. "I see. My apologies for the shortness of your snatch, m'lady."

A shocked expression crossed Agent Romanoff's face, and then she stared venomously at Loki until he started to feel uncomfortable. "Have I offended you just now in some way?" he asked.

She gave him an intense glare that could have pierced a vein, and then walked away. Loki looked questioningly at Rogers, who shrugged. "I'm the wrong one to ask about dames," said the soldier.

Thor looked hesitantly at the two of them and then at Romanoff, who had stormed off to a spot a few yards away. She was now angrily opening and slamming shut the lids of nearby container crates. "Shall I... Should I stay?" he asked. He looked off in the distance, towards an outer door. "Lady Jane arrives any moment, and I am most anxious to greet her."

Loki had blissfully forgotten about the dull and depressingly plain scientist. What do those two possibly see in each other? Pinching his nose, he avoided looking at his oaf of a brother. "Go. Your presence will not make this monotony any less tedious. Quite the opposite, in fact. As such, you belong with the lady."

"Excellent," said Thor grinning broadly, oblivious to the sarcasm. He clapped Loki with his trunk of an arm across Loki's back and shoulders, "We should feast together on the morrow!"

Loki faltered forward from the force of the friendly gesture, and it annoyed him. Greatly. "Oh, I'm sure your lady would love..."

"Perhaps, we could all share a meal," Rogers interjected. He gave Loki a look, urging him to be quiet. Thor, still beaming, gave them both a quick bow with his head and trampled off in a way only the god of thunder could do.

"You will quickly exhaust yourself, should you continue your attempts to mitigate my behavior," Loki quietly told Rogers after Thor left.

"Actually, your shenanigans already exhaust me."

"I'm bored," complained Loki, never once considering an apology for his behavior.

Rogers gave Loki a concerned look. Romanoff, having rejoined them, laughed, "No one wants a bored god of mischief."

"Were I a mere mortal like you, I would consider it dangerous. So, yes, it probably isn't in your best interests," Loki pouted truthfully.

"Look," Rogers said, "let's just get these crates cleared from the hangar bay. I'll help; we'll get done twice as fast. Then, maybe we can spend some time finding something more suitable for everyone here." Loki looked unconvinced, but Rogers continued. "I don't think," he paused, "much thought... was put into what kind of service would benefit both S.H.I.E.L.D. and you."

An understatement, if there ever was any, thought Loki. He wasn't entirely convinced by the soldier's optimistic suggestion, but it did introduce a tiny spark of hope. They assessed each other critically and then both looked over at Romanoff. "I'm not lifting a damn thing to help him out," she spurted. She gave Loki another glare. "Get started over there," she pointed to stack of crates, "I'll be right next to you, keeping an eye out to make sure not one toe steps out of line. Now, move."

"You will regret ordering me about thusly, sniveling mortal," Loki threatened, much too softly to be heard by the Black Widow.

Having a god with magical powers was actually quite an asset when it came to moving heavy equipment. With a flick of a wrist or a nod of his head, Loki could levitate considerable weight with ease onto the beds of the waiting forklifts. Those, in turn, took their loads to outgoing trucks in the above ground loading bays. Rogers worked in silence alongside Loki, interrupting only to make sure that the particular crate or equipment was indeed on the list of items slotted for relocation.

It was about two hours into their efforts, during the hottest part of the afternoon, when the mistake occurred.

Rogers had bent over to examine a container with an assortment heavy machinery inside. With one heel against a steel support beam, he shifted his weight to force the huge load into a position where he could view the identifying tags. Had he noticed the slick oil patch collecting at the base of the pillar, he would have rethought the effort.

Unfortunately, he did not notice how his foot was positioned directly over the oil. He did notice his leg as it slipped backwards spectacularly in a clumsy and comical manner before he accidentally kicked the machinery behind the pillar. To keep himself from falling, he grabbed for the wooden paneling of the storage crate. As Rogers straightened himself up, he heard a strange clicking noise that sounded very much like a clock. However, each tick was followed by a faint hiss.

Behind him was the control panel to a larger machine, and realized his boot must have collided with a dog lever near the bottom. He looked behind the console and saw...

A coffin.

Well, at first glance Rogers thought it was a coffin. It was some sort of clear plastic or glass tank above a metal support filled with blue grey smoke swirling around a body. He guessed what was in it was a body; there was what appeared to be the outline of a human body through the vapors. The hissing grew louder and the smoke began dissipating. Yes, it was definitely a body, a woman.

"Hey, guys! Get over here," Rogers shouted. "Hurry!"

Romanoff and Loki, already having been on their way over when they heard the crash from Rogers' tumble, quickened their strides. Actually, Romanoff hastened over with a worried look on her face while Loki looked put upon. Rogers, uncomfortable with this unknown technology, was backing up away from the machine.

"Vot der'mo,"[10] said Romanoff.

Running down the center of the glass cylinder was seam of both metal and plastic. Indicators along the seam began to light up along regularly spaced latches. These lit clamps holding the seam together then unlatched simultaneously, and the two sides of the glass cylinder began to lower into the metal sides below the tank. A puff of cold pressurized air was released. The remaining smoke inside dissipated completely, revealing who was inside.

She was a slender young woman, in her late teens or possibly even early twenties, with skin so pale and cold that she was practically translucent. There were burn marks and soot on her pale cerulean silk blouse and she was missing one of her red Converse All-Star sneakers. Both her hands had been wrapped hastily in bandages. Her long muted-blonde hair, perhaps once beautiful and lustrous, was lank and brittle with faint ice crystals on the tips and around her hairline. She wasn't lying flat on her back. Instead, her body was twisted, her head rolled over to one side as if she had been dumped in the chamber unceremoniously.

The three stared at her for less than half a second, when their attention was drawn to a monitor on the control panel. It was some sort of odd ECG-like machine, and it now sounded an alarm as it showed a rapidly frightening arrhythmia.

"Get her out of there," Romanoff ordered. Rogers and Loki reached inside to grab the woman, then placed her on the ground away from the machine. Rogers shook his hands in an attempt to warm them after releasing her.

Rogers looked at Loki, "I don't suppose you could use magic to help her?"

"I cannot, I should not use healing magic without knowing the source of her malady. Even simply warming her could end in disaster," Loki replied. "She has no wounds that I can see." He lazily tilted his head, thinking. "Her hands are bound as if injured, but I do not see how such a thing could be life threatening."

Romanoff, already on the ground next to her, nodded as if she had asked Loki the question herself. The beeping of the machine continued with the unusually fast yet sporadic rhythm. She turned to Rogers, who stood unmoving behind Loki. "Steve, go get help, and tell the medic to bring an AED!" He ran to an intercom on the other side of the hangar.

It was then that the monitor sounded another alarm as the irregular heart rate stopped altogether.

"She flat lined," Romanoff said. She looked up in the direction that Rogers had run. "Steve, tell them to bring epinephrine!" she shouted. She searched around quickly, and then gave Loki a resigned look, "I'm going to need your help." He said nothing in return, merely crouched down on the other side of the prone body before them.

Romanoff checked for a pulse and then breathing, finding neither. She unbuttoned halfway down the woman's blouse, and placed the heels of both hands on top of each other near the bottom of her ribcage. She interlocked her fingers, straightened her arms and then brought the full force of her weight from her shoulders down fiercely on the chest of the unconscious woman beneath her. Loki's heightened senses heard the crunching sound of the woman's ribs snapping away from her sternum.

Then, Romanoff started singing, "Ah, ha, ha, ha. Stayin' alive. Stayin' alive."[11] She performed chest compressions in sync with the beat of the disco era song. Once her rhythm was going, she looked over at wide-eyed god of mischief next to her. "Loki, put the heel of your hand on her forehead and pinch her nose shut. Use the other hand to keep her chin tilted up." She glanced over, "Okay, good. Now, when I tell you, cover her mouth with your own and give her two full breaths." Loki raised an eyebrow, but nodded in questioning obedience. Romanoff pushed hard and fast a couple more times on the woman's chest as he watched, bemused.

"Loki, now," Romanoff ordered. Loki leaned over and breathed twice as instructed. The prone woman's chest rose slightly, then Romanoff resumed compressions.

A few minutes later, Rogers and a S.H.I.E.L.D agent arrived, followed by a paramedic, the latter carrying emergency equipment. Loki paid them no heed as he considered the young woman lying before him.

Her energy was skewed and her aura was full of static and discord, this he had sensed this since first laying eyes on her. Loki finally realized when his lips touched hers that she was suffering from a sudden and drastic withdrawal from the veiled realm. This is no ordinary human, he thought. He unexpectedly felt inclined to help the fellow magic user, and so he placed his hands over her head, pressing two fingers on her temple on both sides. Loki then tried to fill her void with his own energy. Unfortunately, his attempted transference either had no effect, or she was too weak... or he was too weak.

Romanoff was motioning for the EMT, giving him a rundown of the woman's apparent condition. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had remained standing off to the side; he listened to what the Black Widow said and afterwards took off running back in the direction he came. As the paramedic came forward with a syringe in his hand, Loki looked up and frowned. "Stop, you won't be able to help her with that," he commanded, but the paramedic ignored him. "Tell your fool to stand back," he shouted to Romanoff. She opened her mouth to protest, but then snapped it shut. The Black Widow had apparently decided to let an enemy help the woman, as the look in her eyes showed that she still didn't trust him fully. She nodded at the EMT to stand down; however, he only did so after she forcibly held him at bay by the arm.

Satisfied, Loki leaned over the unconscious woman's face again, tilting her chin back as he did before. Once again, he filled her lips with his breath, but this time he focused on saturating her with his energy instead of just the air from his lungs.

It worked.

§

The anticipation that began recently was now over, and Sydney tried to hold on to her complicated existence in the colorful and musical world as long as she could. Reality was sinking in, but she didn't want to lose the beauty that surrounded her. After all, she knew that she was looking at magic itself... and who would ever want to give that up?

So when the vague existence started to fade away as she felt someone's lips on her own, she resisted. At first because she could neither hear the music she had learned to love nor feel the magic which had been her companion for so long. Then... because a stranger was kissing her.

What the hell?

This time Sydney knew that she was alive, since there was far too much pain for anything else to be true and she could feel the presence of someone with powerful magic above her mouth. Then without warning, pain was all she could feel as the pressure left her lips, and she almost cried at the loss of contact. "Tell your healer to cease his preparations, she lives," she heard the man next to her, the one who kissed her, say with a slight British accent.

Sydney was confused; the one thought repeating in her mind was what is happening? It didn't matter, she was alive. She was alive! "I thought this was my famous sleep. I'm so glad I was wrong," she said; her voice felt like sandpaper on her throat. Sydney tried to smile, but the muscles of her cheeks were on fire from the effort of the few words she had uttered.

"What did she say?" a woman on her other side said.

Someone next to the woman was taking her pulse. She heard the voice of a much younger man, "Ma'am, can you hear me? Are you okay?" Sydney nodded, just slightly, in response. "What's your name?"

"Sydney," she croaked. "Sydney Bergström."

"Okay, Sydney. Do you know where you are?"

Sydney opened her eyes, looking around through tiny slits in confusion. Everything was blurry and far too bright. She nodded that she did not know where she was and closed her eyes again.

The younger man next to the woman must have been a nurse or paramedic, because she felt him put a blood pressure cuff on her arm. "That's okay. Do you know what year it is?" he asked.

"1996."

"Did she say 1996?" another voice near her feet asked.

Sydney felt a pen light being shined into her eyes as the paramedic forced open her eyelids. She tried to protest, but ended up coughing instead.

"What year do you think it is, Sydney?"

"1996," she said less confidently. Sydney heard someone make a concerned huff. She was able to open her eyes again, but couldn't read or even see their expressions.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" It was definitely an EMT asking these questions; Sydney looked toward the direction of his voice and could make out a large patch on the chest pocket of his uniform now. It was an eagle with the word "MEDIC" stitched in large, friendly letters over the body and wings of the bird.[12] Tears formed at the strain it took for her to read it.

"The lady is becoming increasingly distressed with these questions," the first man asked. That isn't a British accent, Sydney thought, but she couldn't place it. The strange dialect only added to the list of things that she didn't understand.

"What... what year is it?" Sydney asked. "How did I get here!?"

Silence.

"We need to take her to quarantine," the voice at her feet finally said.

Quarantine? "No," Sydney yelled, or as close as she could manage with her scratchy throat. She tried to sit up, but the pain to lift herself was so much worse than when she tried to simply smile earlier. She winced at the pain in her arm and shoulders. "Please," she whispered, "where am I?"

"You are two stories underground in one of the storage bay hangers at S.H.I.E.L.D. Central Campus in New York City," said the woman. Her voice wasn't exactly kind, but her tone seemed much gentler. Sydney looked at her, but the only thing she could get her eyes to focus on was the woman's red hair. It made the featureless blur of the woman's pale face appear as if it was on fire.

"New York?" Sydney asked.

"Yes, and it is 2014."

Sydney could sense that the red-headed woman was telling the truth, and whatever else the woman was now saying became static and drowned away. The situation was too much to handle, and Sydney cried out in fear and anguish as everything around her started getting dark. The last thing she knew before finally passing out was the arms of the stranger, the one with the strange accent, holding her and the soft rich smell of his leather clad shoulders.

§

[10] Vot der'mo (Вот дерьмо) is Russian (according to Google Translate) for Oh crap.

[11] Lyrics from Stayin' Alive, a song by the Bee Gees from the Saturday Night Fever motion picture soundtrack (which I don't own either). When I was taught CPR by my company's safety director, he told us that most people never learned how fast and how hard to do chest compressions. He told us to do them to the beat of Stayin'Alive, and I always thought that would be a very useful tidbit to share.

[12] Large, friendly letters...that's right... Don't Panic. LOL.