"It's my fault," said a voice nearby. "I should have learned kung fu."
I groaned and opened my eyes. The bright light made me regret it immediately. I closed them again.
"Are you okay?" asked another voice. Simmons.
Am I okay? Yes, because my regular day includes getting knocked out and waking up with both hands cuffed behind my back. "Head hurts," I said, carefully opening one eye. The light was a little more bearable this time, but still not pleasant.
The door above us swung open and guess who came in? Camilla Reyes.
She came straight down to us.
"You're supposed to be dead," she said to me. "Phillip told me the whole thing was a trick of the Mandarin's. Why?"
"Because they didn't trust the guy who was supposed to shoot me with real firearms, so they just gave him a prop gun instead. If I'd been shot in the head, I would probably be in a coffin right now. I don't have superpowers or anything, if that's what you're thinking." I have abilities, yes, but I wouldn't call them "powers". They're absolutely useless from a practical standpoint, as far as I can tell.
"You were also reported missing at the same time as the Battle of New York."
"Some guy attacked me and a friend. He was connected with S.H.I.E.L.D. and they wanted me out of there before something else happened. As it was, my friend didn't get away and was missing for a couple days."
She removed a piece of neatly folded paper from her pocket. "Phillip had this in his office. You gave it to him before the Battle of New York."
What had I given Coulson before the Battle of New York? Oh… right.
Coulson had agreed to stop pressing me for information if I would write it all down for him, for it to be used or not used as he saw best. I'd trusted him to make the right decision, not knowing what else to do.
"You've been hiding a lot from them, haven't you?" she said, indicating the group.
"Everything I have told them is true. I am not a liar."
"It's not as if you told us anything in any case," muttered Skye.
"You can see the future, can't you?" asked Reyes.
There was a moment of silence.
"Close, but not quite," I replied. "Keep guessing."
She grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me upright.
"Tell me what it is!" she yelled, her face so close to mine little spots of moisture hit my face. Ew.
I said nothing.
My head hit the wall behind me.
Mom and Dad were definitely going to notice the bumps, bruises, and the gashes when I got home. This would take some explaining.
"I'm not asking," she hissed.
"I know."
She switched her grip to my throat. "Tell me. Now."
"Not a chance."
For those of you who don't know what it's like to be choked, I'll tell you. Highly unpleasant.
Footsteps pounded nearby. Some one yelled something. Her hands left my throat. I collapsed to the floor. Footsteps retreated away from me.
I lay on the floor, gasping for air, praying that whatever had called her away would cause her to be gone for a long, long time.