Chapter Ten: Toga Party?
"It seems that I have been held
In some dreaming state
A tourist in the waking world
Never quite awake."
Blinding, Florence + the Machine.
.oHOPEo.
Author's Note: I know I said everything would be answered in time, but perhaps that is not…any time soon. I'll drop hints, though. Keep your eyes out! I know you're all smart. You'll figure it out. I have faith in your sleuthing skills. More notes at the bottom.
Thanks: Sam0728, Padaloki, TimeLady945, and Nadi Razola for your reviews! Also thank you to my new followers and favorites. You all mean the world to me.
Warnings: profane language, replay of death.
[Shout out to MunchyKool: I told you more Florence was coming!]
.oAVENGEo.
Silence fell like an anvil upon the quinjet, punctuated only by the breathing of seven people.
There were actually eight people on board.
But only seven were breathing.
Clint twisted around from his seat in the cockpit, catching Steve's attention. "Is she…?"
"Yeah." Steve's voice sounded oddly thick as he replied. "She's gone."
Clint closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled heavily before turning to help Natasha pilot the complicated flying contraption. Unnoticed by anyone else, her hand snaked out to grip Clint's thigh in quiet, mutual comfort.
A strangled hitch interrupted Peter's breathing. He scraped the mask off his face, scrubbing in an effort to fend the itchy-prickly feeling of tears off. He still clutched at her hand like a lifeline, but she didn't clutch back, and that was the sinker. Because she wouldn't clutch back. Ever. Barely a week ago, he'd felt it, that strange hovering in his chest, like vertigo. The vertigo had tugged at his heart, letting him know that he was on the cusp of something great. There was a strong friendship to be found there, with her, or at least the potential for a great friendship. But now that feeling was gone, leaving a gaping maw right there in the part of his heart labeled what could have been.
He chafed at her wrist, as though the simple motion could make the blood flow again. His mind knew it was a hapless effort steeped in denial and pure want and loss. His heart promised fruition. His heart was thoroughly disappointed after a few moments.
Everybody startled as a loud bang shook the quinjet. Tony pulled his balled up, suit-covered fist out of the dent he'd made in the wall. "I'll meet you guys there," he said darkly, dropping his faceplate and streaking out the door.
No one uttered a word of acknowledgement.
Peter looked up as Bruce, who was looking just a smidge green around the edges, sighed loudly. Together, the somber pair threw a folded up cloth over the body.
(Because thinking the words "Annie's body" or even "her body" was too painful.)
Thor watched in obvious misery, his hands worrying at Mjolnir's handle.
Why, Loki?
.oHOPEo.
Anna whirled out of control, slipping and falling until –
She woke with a jolt, groaning as her senses returned one by one. First her hearing activated. Her ears strained to pick up some noise, breathing, shifting, rustling, anything, yet the only sensory input she received was the rumble of a great machine. Second came touch, sensation, the feeling of being utterly exposed and rather chilly (not cold, never cold) on a surface that exceeded the definition of uncomfortable. She twitched her fingers and felt the rustle of linen over her skin. Then came scent – her eyes watered as her nose was viciously assaulted with the scent of chemicals – followed by taste – her tongue scratched dryly against the roof of her parched mouth, sticky and barren at the same time. Sight came hot on taste's heels, finally, as she remembered how to peel her eyelids open. They protested like door hinges in dire need of oiling. All she saw was white, and at first that made a ribbon of panic unwind in her stomach, but as she focused she saw a crosshatching pattern – a sheet, then, covering her from crown to sole.
A subdued groan tore from the bottom of Anna's throat as she sat up too hastily. She locked her teeth against a second outcry, stretching her stiff limbs every which way in an effort to dispel the tingles that were stabbing at her bones with sadistic glee. After that, her body began to register pain, and she almost ground her teeth into nonexistence. Her stomach was particularly empty and quite dissatisfied about it, her joints ached from disuse and began to complain like grumpy old men at a rap concert, and her chest felt like one big bruise.
She took in her surroundings – a wall of large metal drawers, long silver tables, several sinks, an awkward scent of decay smothered with chemicals, and some strange jars filled with unmentionable horrors – and she concluded that she had been dispensed in a morgue. A rather cold morgue, at that. No, wait, she was cold because she was naked. She was naked and in a morgue. Someone was going to walk in at any moment, ready to slice and dice her like an unfortunate frog in a middle school biology class.
All of this, highlighted by the fact that her clothes were missing, put Anna in a Very Foul Mood.
She uttered the most eloquent word that came to mind.
"Fuck."
Of course, that was when the door swung open, inviting the entrance of three far-too-cheery-looking coroners. When the first one caught sight of her, he froze like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. The other two froze in the same comical fashion.
They stared at her.
She stared back.
At the end of the procession, Coroner Number Three made a nice welcome mat as he duly fainted.
She kept staring.
Coroner Number Two, a stringy, gawky figure with the strong scent of "never been laid" hanging all about him, turned out to be the bravest of the bunch. "Um," he said expressively, raising one finger to viciously ram his runaway glasses back into place, "I'm certain that the case file listed you as 'deceased'."
"Ah." Anna's right eyebrow sprinted madly up her forehead. "I see. You sound as though you're very sure about that. Should I lie back down? I can't guarantee that I won't squirm when you touch my stomach, though, I can be very ticklish."
Coroner Number One's eyes popped out and rolled away. Coroner Number Two audibly gulped. "No." His voice wavered demurely. "No, I guess you shouldn't lie down."
"Oh, good," she exclaimed, hopping down from the table. She swayed dangerously with each step. "I have plenty of scars as it is, so I'd rather not add autopsy scars to the mix."
Two's cheeks and ears flushed an alarming shade of crimson as she tottered towards them.
"What?" Anna snapped irritably.
His expression was an accurate rendition of the phrase "count me down as scared and horny".
Coroner Number Three picked himself up off the floor, only to faint again as Anna stepped into his direct line of sight.
Anna blushed madly as she realized that her current choice of outfit didn't exist. She snatched the sheet from the table and wrapped it around herself firmly, tossing the tail over her shoulder like a toga. She kicked her head back imperiously, daring them to say a word in regards to her body.
Fortunately, they kept their opinions to themselves.
"So. Take me to your leader." Her tone brooked no room for argument. At their blank stares, she rephrased. "Director Fury." You duller-than-spoons twits, she added mentally.
"Ah…wouldn't you like to dress first?"
She hissed as her chest complained. "Not particularly," she snarled, making both coroners cower in fear. "In fact, I don't even want to be on my feet, but neither of you look like you could carry me, so I guess I'll have to make do."
They both seemed momentarily offended before they peered at their gangly appendages and concluded that she was correct.
"Director Fury and the Avengers should be meeting in the conference room." Coroner Number One spoke for the first time. He stood at eye level with Anna simply because there was a prominent slouch in his posture. His voice was vaguely reminiscent of a cat gargling steel wool. "It's only one floor up."
"Well." Clutching at her impromptu toga, Anna swept by them with all the dignity of a stately queen – never mind that she almost tripped over Number Three in her haste. "Show the way, gents."
As it turned out, the coroner floor was as dead as its name implied. Anna and her two man entourage encountered no other souls on their journey to the elevator. She let out a breath of relief – then swiftly regretted it when the elevator doors slid open to reveal a packed space.
She hissed in frustration and stopped the doors from closing as her bumbling tour guides struggled to assert territory in the small space. Finally, she turned to the other elevator passengers and rumbled low in her throat, making herself look as crazy as possible. The task was not so hard, considering that she was clad in a scant toga with dried blood decorating her skin.
Everyone in the elevator collectively shifted to the right, allowing enough space for the two coroners to squeeze inside. The shiny silver doors seemed to sigh in relief as they were finally allowed to close.
For being such a short ride, it was the longest in Anna's life.
"Aren't you that girl?" one brave soul asked, squinting at her. "The new agent? The one Loki kidnapped?"
"Avenger," she corrected waspishly, "and yeah, what of it?"
He threw up his hands in surrender – please don't hurt me, crazy lady. "Nothing!" he squeaked meekly. "I heard she died, is all."
Her eyelid twitched. "Well, I'm not dead, obviously, but I am very upset, and that is a very touchy subject for me, so I would politely suggest that you back off."
The jubilant ding of the elevator made Anna want to punch something. She settled for stomping onto the landing noisily. "Show me where to go," she barked at the coroners. Note to self: apologize to the coroners later. Also, play matchmaker for Number Two for being such a trooper.
They stumbled over each other nervously and she squeezed out a put-upon sigh. "You know what?" She rolled her eyes. "I'll find it myself."
She tilted her head to the side, listening carefully. Anna recognized the baritone of Director Fury and clomped towards the noise ominously, like a great thundercloud approaching a tiny village. At least, as ominously as she could while she pitched, swayed and stumbled like a ridiculously seasick giraffe.
Upon reaching her destination, she blinked vigorously to clear her vision of marching ants. She tried to straighten up proudly but decided against the action when her toga threatened to fall down – no need to give her teammates, especially poor, innocent baby Peter that traumatizing and/or tantalizing image.
With her chin as raised as possible and her gaze flinty, Anna twisted the handle.
.oAVENGEo.
"I know this is hard for all of you," Nick Fury drawled, focusing on each Avenger in turn. He sat at the head of the table, hands folded neatly, face carefully schooled in almost somber neutrality. "But you'll just have to work past it as a team. In fact, you should embrace the anger and sorrow you feel. Let it help solidly unite you all in your common goal."
Tony snorted derisively but said nothing else.
Peter's cheek rested on the table, his arms splayed out on the wood in a 'v'. He pulled his head up long enough to score his teeth his along his lower lip. "She made sandwiches for me," he muttered finally. "They weren't all that great, but at least she tried. It was kind of endearing." His face returned to its previous place on the tabletop.
Thor gazed at the table morosely, memorizing the whorls of the wood. "She allowed me to eat a whole box of the Popping Tarts," he lamented softly.
Peter's response was muffled. "Actually, that was my fault. And it wasn't a whole box, either."
"Wait." Bruce's eyebrows knitted in the center of his forehead. "You two let him have the Pop Tarts after I specifically instructed everyone to keep Thor away from the Pop Tarts – "
Bruce's anti-Pop Tart tirade was cut short by Fury's frantic discussion into his comm unit. "What?" He scowled furiously. "Johnson, speak clearly, you know no one can understand you when you babble like that. What? Togas? Zombies? What are you talking about? What do you mean, 'I see dead people'? I thought Agent Hill ordered you to stop watching Haley Joel Osment movies after midnight!"
The Avengers exchanged bemused glances, mourning atmosphere temporarily forgotten.
Just as Fury clambered to his feet, the door swung open to reveal Annie, in all her toga-clad, dried blood-spattered, haggard glory, leaning against the doorjamb as though she had not been dead for nigh on twenty four hours.
"I hope I'm not too late to the party," she groused hoarsely, gracing them all with her too-sharp smile. "I tried to make it in a timely manner, but I'm afraid I got a little held up."
The Avengers plus Nick Fury stopped and stared at her in open-mouthed shock.
She stared back.
Peter made a solid clunk on the floor as he tilted his chair back too far and lost control.
Annie continued to stare. She folded her arms across her chest. "Are you guys going to catch flies all day or what?" she asked testily.
The room exploded into a frenzy that could be likened to starving piranhas at feeding time. Shouted demands "you're alive?" and "why would you do that to us?" quickly turned into "what did you know of this, Fury?" and from there the whole matter devolved into a deluge of incomprehensible racket.
Annie brought her thumb and forefinger to her nose deliberately, pinching the bridge in an illustration of exasperation. "Hey, everyone," she announced, gaining no listening ears in the rapidly growing din, "I'm absolutely fine, but I'd like to have an important discussion if you would all kindly shut up."
She took one wobbling step into the room and, in a manner that she would find extremely embarrassing later, swooned. Rendered completely unconscious, she landed in a graceless puddle on the floor.
This effectively shut everyone up.
They stared.
Steve was the first to react. Hopping over the table neatly, he rushed to Annie's side and pulled her into his lap. He grasped her wrist with a terrified fervor and desperately searched for a pulse.
The other Avengers waited with bated breath.
As the Captain's body language relaxed, so did the rest of the Avengers. "She's just sleeping," he assured them. His brow puckered in confusion.
Silence choked them all.
"Well…" Tony was, as usual, the first to shatter the Emergency Glass of Silence and reach for the Axe of Annoying Chatter. "What now?"
.oHOPEo.
What, indeed?
Notes: I am so tired of giving later-than-intended updates. I've been extremely sick with a cold and a sinus infection, back to back. I've been so congested that I couldn't even see straight, let alone think straight. Or talk straight. I sound like Sleipnir because I am…a little hoarse. Horse versus hoarse, get it? Badum-tss!
All jokes aside, I had hoped to reach the Halloween chapter before Halloween, but since that's several chapters ahead and there's barely three days until Halloween, I think it's safe to say that it's unfortunately not happening.
On another note…AND THEN THERE WAS CRACK. Honestly, I don't even know where this came from. I hope you guys like it, I wanted a palette cleanser from all the doom-and-gloom of the past few chapters.
Coming up in the next chapter: the happy Avengers reunion and a brief peek at what our favorite (misunderstood) villain is up to. Oh, our poor baby.
Until Chapter Eleven, dearies! And don't forget to REVIEW! Pretty please?