"It's been three weeks since the Battle of New York," Dr. Sanders said. "How do you feel?"
The Dragon stared at him blankly. Her physical wounds had healed a while back, but something had changed after the invasion of New York. The seven of them, labeled the Avengers, split up and took some time to recover after the battle.
The Dragon returned to her shitty apartment with her threadbare mattress and thin blankets. She boarded up two windows that had been broken during the battle and swept up the glass. She spent her days staring at that old pocket knife and her nights beating in the heads of opportunistic parasites that went after families huddled on the streets.
"Ready to return," she answered diplomatically.
Joel Sanders sighed and pursed his lips in sympathy. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. While SHIELD commends your brave actions in the Battle of New York, many agents still don't trust you after what you did."
"I understand." She did. It hurt her to say it but she understood.
"Would you like to talk about that day?"
"I lost control. One second we were doing fine. We were waiting for extraction. And then there was this…buzzing in my head. I couldn't stop myself. I killed them. I almost killed Christine too but she was able to stop me. Somehow. I don't know."
"Why do you think she was able to stop you?"
Her tongue darted out to wet her dry, cracked lips before she continued. "I think I let her stop me. I knew that something was wrong. I even said it before I attacked."
"What emotions do you feel around this event?"
"Guilt. Grief. Selfishness. I shouldn't deserve to feel guilt. I should be dead."
Dr. Sanders marked something down on his paper and nodded. "Now, have you had any memories of the past? Anything changed?"
"I-" She thought about the slim pocket knife that she kept in her boot. "No. No changes."
"Thank you, Jane. That's all I needed to discuss this session. I'll see you in two weeks."
She left the small office and headed down the hall to the elevator. Her finger hovered over the button for Rebecca's office but she changed her mind and pressed the button for the ground floor. Blake, Hill, and Fury were slammed with cleanup now. The last thing Rebecca needed was Dragon's problems on her plate.
As she exited the elevator, the Dragon found herself face to face with Captain Rogers. He looked just as surprised to see her. They hadn't seen each other since the day Thor took Loki to Asgard to pay penance. She simply tilted her head in acknowledgement and then disappeared out into the hustle and bustle of New York City.
She just wanted to spend her day in silence. Her headaches had been coming on more frequently and painful since the battle. She chalked it up to getting her head banged around quite a bit. Sometimes, the pain was so bad that she would curl up in her apartment, cover her head with her arms, and will the pain away.
Those nights typically came with nightmares. Signs and symbols that made no sense. A star. Snow. A cross. An old pistol. Trying to figure out what they meant just made her headaches worse.
But she couldn't spend her day in solitude like she wished. Christine sat lazily stretched out on the front steps of the Dragon's apartment building. The metal-manipulating mutant grinned at the sight of the Dragon and stood.
"Finally. Thought I would turn eighty before you showed up here."
"You have a key."
"And you hate it when people enter your space without you knowing. So let me in. I come bearing food."
The Dragon rolled her eyes but unlocked the front doors to let them in. They tramped up to the second floor in silence and didn't speak except to greet Mrs. Jones who was getting her mail. Christine looked around at the meager belongings in disdain.
"A painting or two wouldn't kill you," she grunted.
"Where have you been? I came back and you were gone. Becks said you left for rehab leave but wouldn't tell me where you went." The Dragon snatched one of the paper takeout bags out of her friend's hand and crossed the room to sit on one of the beach chairs that lined her cardboard table.
"Believe it or not, I went to go stay with my ex for a bit. He's a bit of a trauma psych so I figured he'd understand why I appeared on his doorstep at three in the morning looking like I'd seen a ghost."
"And how did that go?" She tossed a few ketchup packages at Chris who caught them neatly.
"Well, the sex is as good as I remember and we're still separated so I'd say it was a good trip. I'm back and ready to get working with you and Becks."
The Dragon grimaced and Christine immediately picked up on her resignation. "You're kidding."
"Sanders says that the organization still doesn't want me back. I am to remain in intelligence limbo. I can't leave my apartment without at least three security organizations watching me and yet I can't do my job despite helping stop a homicidal Asgardian god nearly a month ago. But I get it. You saw what I did."
"Yeah, and I saw that it wasn't you at all. It was like you were possessed."
The Dragon waved her off, clearly not wanting to discuss this any further. Instead, she changed the topic to something she knew that Christine would love to hear.
"I heard you have a lead. I figure if I'm stuck doing nothing all day then I might as well help you figure out who the fuck I am."
Christine perked up, stuffing fries in her mouth as she prepared her argument. Before she could say anything, the Dragon reached down and pulled out an object from her boot. She laid it on the table so Christine could see it in the light.
"New toy?" the mutant asked as she raised it up to examine it in better lighting.
"I found it. I…don't know how to explain it but it feels like it might be a clue. I think I might have seen it once before."
"And where did you find it?"
Her only answer was the Dragon taking a bite of her burger and a raised eyebrow. Christine studied the pocket knife. "It's old. Maybe from the 30s or 40s. Wouldn't hurt to ask Captain Rogers."
"And what? Pull him into the mess that is my life? Let's not taint America's golden boy."
"Fine. I'll run some tests on it. I'll let you know what I find out."
When Christine left, the Dragon found herself in the silence once more. The headaches kept coming and she hadn't had a full night's rest in almost a week.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she slumped her shoulders and kept her eyes on forward. Her feet wandered through the city, looking for trouble or security, she didn't know.
Night had fallen on the city that never sleeps and the homeless were stretched out along the ground. Apartments had been ruined and those with little to no money had nowhere to go while others were just too stubborn to leave and decided to help rebuild. Sleeping bags and cardboard boxes filled alleys and sidewalks, but nobody was going to stop them. Aliens had just fallen from the sky three weeks ago.
She stilled, the sounds of a scuffle reaching her ears. The Dragon slowly made her way to the alley, seeing three guys ganging up on another man. As one asshole went in for a cheap punch, she swiftly grabbed his shoulder. He spun around and threw a sloppy hit towards her but she easily ducked, slamming her forearm into his lower back which caused him to collapse. Her knee landed in his gut, folding him like a chair, and she tossed him to the side. The second guy noticed his buddy was down and he came swinging at her left and right but she simply bounced on her toes and evaded his hits before landing a sharp kick on his hip that sent him careening headfirst into the brick wall.
"I really advise you not to do that," she crooned when the third man pulled a knife. It glinted ominously in the dark but the assassin simply rolled her eyes. Her eyes flashed the brilliant golden hue that filled news stations with her face. The guy dropped his knife and sprinted out of the alley, leaving his buddies behind.
"Thanks," the guy they were jumping said. "But I had it covered."
"Oh yeah, it looked like you were really giving those guys a taste of their own medicine," she drawled. "Did you see the size of those guys?"
"Can't," he shot back, gesturing to the dark sunglasses that hid his eyes.
"Huh, well you held your own for a bit there."
"If they were so big, how did you take them out?" he sassed and she chuckled, watching as he bent down and retrieved a long white pole to aid him in walking.
"I don't usually pick fights with guys my own size so why start now. Let me walk you home, alley guy."
"Alley guy?"
"I don't know your name."
"Matt. Matt Murdock. And you are?"
She hesitated. Either she could give him one of her aliases or she could be honest. "Amber. Amber…Murakami."
"And how do I know you aren't going to walk me home, beat me up, and rob me?"
"Guess you'll just have to trust me."
Matt smiled at her, a real and genuine smile.
"So, what are you doing out here Matt?" she asked as they began to walk. She kept a steady pace so she didn't block his cane from moving side to side. As they were about to leave the alley, he hesitantly reached out and touched her arm and she stiffened.
"Sorry, I just didn't want to trip on that trash bag."
"No, it's...it's okay. I'm just jumpy."
"Veteran? I can feel the muscles and the scars." He slowly wrapped his hand around her bicep, easing her into his touch and giving her time to change her mind. She understood that he wasn't trying to hurt her. That small part of her brain that was screaming at her to run was quieting down.
"Something like that. Now, you never answered my question."
"I was coming home from work and they jumped me. I'm a lawyer."
"Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe?"
He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Landman and Zack."
"So I was right."
"And what do you do, Amber?"
"I'm in the security business, you could say."
"Police? National Guard? Is that why you're wandering around here and picking fights?"
"I mean I was present during the battle, but no. Excuse me for a second."
She extracted herself from his grip so she could crouch down next to a family curled up on the streets. The children were shivering from the abnormally cold New York spring night and the parents were doing their best to keep them warm.
"May I?" the Dragon asked gently, pointing to the weak trash fire they had smoldering nearby. The father looked up at her with desperation written all over his face. She took that as a yes and made her way to the fire. Rubbing her hands together, she inhaled a deep breath and then blew into her hands as if she was warming herself up. Shifting her back to them, she dropped a fireball into the can and watched as it lit up, providing a little more heat.
"Thanks," she whispered as she passed them. Matt took her arm again and they continued their journey. She would quietly tell him street names as they passed and he would let her know if they needed to turn or not. He let her know where his apartment was and they soon found themselves at the steps of his building.
"You're her, aren't you? The mutant."
"The Dragon, nice to meet you."
"You could be having parades and presidential awards right now but you're here beating up criminals and helping the homeless. A bit Robin Hood, huh?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, a sarcastic grin spreading across her lips. "Yeah, I don't deserve that. I'm just here avoiding all the paperwork. Besides, New York needs a little help."
"Ah, where are you from? Brooklyn? Midtown?"
"I'm not here for the city, I'm here for the people. Goodnight Matt. Stay safe out there."
His faint "you too" followed her down the street as she shoved her hands in her pockets and started to make her way back to the Bronx. Something caught the corner of her eye and she turned her head, staring at the old fashioned diner. It was like deja vu or a dream within a dream. She studied it before a tingle of electricity shot up her legs and into her spine. She winced and shook her head, pushing the oncoming headache at bay as she readjusted her hood and kept walking.
The Dragon fished out her keys and started to climb the stairs to the front door of her building when she paused. Something was wrong. Her feet remained frozen on the steps and no matter how much she tried to move them, they wouldn't. The icy feeling spread from her feet to her torso and up into her chest until it felt like she was choking.
"You really should have just left that knife alone. We wouldn't have to do this. You were doing so well," a familiar voice crooned.
She couldn't get air in. Fuzzy black spots crowded her vision. The Dragon collapsed to her knees and slipped under the darkness.
/
Christine frowned as she studied the blade in her hands. She turned it over in her hands and ran her finger over the carving on the handle. It was crude and misshapen, clearly not done professionally. The metal hummed in her hand and she could sense its age. 1943. Must be World War II related, based on the wear and tear and the dull edge of the blade.
A knock sounded on her lab door and she looked up to find Captain Rogers. He shifted from one foot to another, revealing his discomfort. She set the knife down and waved him in. He lifted his shield up for her to see and offered her a small smile.
"Agent Blake said you would be able to help me with this. The straps took some beating during the battle."
Christine patted the sterile metal table in front of her and he settled the shield down on its painted side. The mutant studied the junction where the straps met the metal and nodded.
"Easy fix. I'll even throw in a little reinforcement for fun. Take a seat, Captain."
Rogers looked out of place perched on one of her stools. He clasped his hands in front of him and settled them in his lap, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. "Blake said you served."
"Air Force. Lieutenant Murakami. I left three years ago. Didn't see a lot of combat. I was an engineer." She paused, her eyes staring off in the distance before she shook the thoughts away and continued working. "My ex saw a lot more combat than I did."
"I'm sorry." She knew he was genuine when he said it. He knew combat better than anyone. He had served on the front lines of war and then woke up after seventy years and dived right back into another war.
"Eh, I got a homicidal mutant out of the deal," she joked.
Captain Rogers didn't laugh at her teasing and she glanced up to find him staring at the pocket knife she had been fiddling with earlier. Christine picked it up and passed it to him. He immediately flipped it over and traced his thumb over the carved letters.
"I have a friend who found it. She asked me to figure out where it came from. I know it came from 1943 so maybe you might be able to help me."
"1943." He curled his hand around it. "Who found it? Where did they find it?"
"I…can't."
"You don't understand. This…I bought this. It came from a small shop in London. It was a gift. These initials…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn compass. Captain Rogers flipped open the top, revealing the arrow. Christine raised an eyebrow as her eyes darted between him and the object. He yanked out a piece of paper from the top of the compass and unfolded it. He flattened the drawing out on the table and Christine felt her heart fucking stutter in her chest.
"What the actual hell?" she blurted out.
A familiar face stared up at her. The paper held a drawing of a woman, her eyes light and her lips curled up at the corner in a daring smirk. Her eyes, her smile, her entire being… Nestled among the drawing was a smaller photograph of the same woman. Even though it was black and white, her hair and eyes were light. But…
"Ada Rogers. My wife. Died in 1945 thanks to a HYDRA gunman. Now I don't know where the hell you found this or who found this, but it's my wife's."
Christine blinked past her initial shock and pointed at the drawing. "That's your wife? Then why does she look identical to Jane?"
"Yeah, I've been wondering that too. What was I supposed to say? The world is ending and you can't remember anything about your past but you look a lot like my dead wife that I watched bleed out? Her whole face was burned."
"And the Dragon can't be harmed by fire," Christine whispered. "I need to call her. Get her here. This could change everything. Three years and she doesn't even remember her name. Your wife's name…AR. Ada Rogers. Is that her real name?"
He looked at her with ice in his eyes and she immediately got the hint. Whoever Ada Rogers was, she was more than just the wife of Captain America. Christine pressed the Dragon's contact and waited. The phone rang and rang before ending without even a chance for a voicemail.
"Brat," Christine muttered before dialing her again. Again, it rang a few times before ending the call. The mutant pressed the contact for the Dragon's neighbor and waited. They had gotten the older lady's number after a blizzard hit the city and the Dragon refused to let any of the older neighbors out when they could get hurt. So she gathered their phone numbers up and created her own personal neighborhood watch, taking care of all the grannies. In turn, they kept a vigilant watch over the assassin even when she clearly didn't need it.
"Christine?" Greta Harknell answered. "Is everything alright? Did you lose your key again?"
"No, Greta, everything's fine. Is Shelby home?"
"Oh sweetheart, I haven't seen her since yesterday. She left last night and never came home. That's so unlike her. Do you think she's alright?"
Christine gripped the edge of the counter tightly, small slivers of metal snaking up her arm. "I'm sure she's fine, Greta. Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow."
She crossed the room to the desk shoved in the corner. Stacks of paperwork, a laptop, a phone, and a desk lamp inhabited the small surface. Christine reached over and plucked the phone up off of the receiver. She typed in a number and waited.
"Yes. I need Fury, Hill, Blake, Romanoff, and Barton down here immediately. Code red. My reason? The Dragon has been compromised and Captain Rogers has some fucking explaining to do."