Chapter 7
When Peter woke up, he was warm. It was the first thing he noticed as it was such a stark contrast between the sterile, terrifying lab and wherever Peter was now. Peter almost didn't want to wake up, he felt so comfortable. Yes, he still ached a little in his arms and a few other places, but he was warm! Even his neck didn't burn anymore, instead if felt sore and inflamed, like when Peter once got a bruise on top of a really bad carpet burn.
It hurt, but it was so much better than it was. Peter opened his eyes to a soft blue ceiling. The sudden reintroduction of color made him smile and giggle. It was so pretty! Peter never wanted to see the color white for the rest of his life!
Trying to sit up was a messy matter, one that involved multiple attempts and no little effort. All of Peter felt clumsy and weak. It was hard to coordinate enough to use his arms to hold himself up.
Peter was in a plain, small room. Oddly enough, the main colors were blues and greens and the ceiling looked like it was made of rock, merging with the wall seamlessly, as though the room was dug into a rock wall. It was so odd.
Peter found himself surprisingly elated at the wall to the side of his bed having a window set into it. Peter couldn't see out of it from where he was sitting, but soft blue light filtered through to dance on the opposite wall- which was made up partially of a closed curtain, once again blue- rather prettily. Peter wanted to touch the light, it was so beautiful. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the kiss of the sun on his cheek.
Peter wanted to touch the light. Just to feel it. Groggily, Peter rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Huh, that was weird. He could see really well, but he didn't have his glasses. Peter squinted, to determine whether it was just a trick of his eyes. Nope, he could see all the way across the room in detail. Well, wasn't that dandy?
But, Peter had more important things to be doing, like getting up and touching that light. Wobbly, peter scooted over to the side of the bed, once more feeling strangely clumsy and lightheaded.
Peter felt something brush his arm and frowned. He tilted his head to look and froze. The blanked was floating! Once he had untucked it from around himself, his blanket glided in the air, weightless!
The sound of rustling drew Peter's attention from the miraculously floating sheet over to the curtain, which was being pushed aside. A blue woman floated through, apparently suffering from the same weightless malady as Peter's abandoned blanket. The woman wore a white coat.
White coat. White coat. White coat.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Peter, startling the woman, who responded by screaming as well.
"NO!" Yelled Peter as he flung himself off the bed. Instead of hitting the floor, Peter somehow hit the wall. He floated too! Peter paid the realization no mind as he stared at the woman in horror. Her coat was so white! It was danger! She was danger!
With another scream, Peter dove under the bed, instinctively pushing off the wall using his feet. He knocked his chin on the rocky- was this whole building built in a mountain?- floor but managed to squeeze between the bed and the floor. It was a tight squeeze, the water woman white coat would never be able to crawl in after him.
After Peter hid under the bed there was silence, only the soft breathing of his own body keeping Peter company. Then, Peter saw hands gently grab the edge of the bottom of the bed and his heart rate picked up again. A blue face, to match the hands, peeked under the bed, eyebrows furrowed as she looked on him with concern.
"Peter," she said, and he jerked because she knew his name. How did she know his name?
"Little One," the water woman continued, "you don't have to be afraid. Nothing will hurt you here. Can you come out from under the bed?"
Peter wanted to. She seemed very nice and trustworthy. She reminded him of his own mother a little, though Peter hadn't seen her since the plane crash, he still remembered how kind she was.
But, just as the woman's hair drifted down with the float mechanics of the room, so too did the edges of her white lab coat. And, upon seeing it, Peter started hyperventilating and a terrified keen escaped his lips. It was danger and hurt!
The woman pursed her lips, unsure what was upsetting her charge so, she had just come in to see if he had woken up, and if so to check on his healing gills, but upon seeing her the boy had panicked. She wondered if it had something to do with the child's race. Were all human children this skittish? Perhaps as a defense mechanism against the many dangers of the surface, they only trusted their parents.
Nakita, as she was called, was puzzled over the small human-Atlantean hybrid. If he acted more like his Atlantean side, she would certainly know what to do. Atlantean children were comforted by tactile comfort and music. They were very sensitive to sound and tone and enjoyed being held close whilst being sung to. But, Nakita supposed, Peter was only newly part Atlantean. His new instincts may not have fully kicked in yet or they may be recessive in comparison to his primary human DNA.
What had those scientists done to the poor child? Nakita had a young boy of her own at home and she shuddered at the thought of her own son going through such.
The boy's lips parted and Nakita hoped he would speak, if only to tell her what frightened him so.
"Namor! King Namor!" The child's voice rang out clear in the small room of the palace infirmary, surprising Nakita.
AN: So, who can tell me what Peter doesn't realize here? It's something specific that I dropped major allusions to and if nobody gets it, I will be very very concerned at the collective IQ of my readers.
