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3. Information
In rare occasions, lithium can cause hallucinations.
The muscled attendant with the chestnut curls brought breakfast into her room: gray oatmeal and an orange. Natasha's mouth watered at the sight of the fruit, but she didn't allow herself to eat it. Instead she hid it under her mattress while she shoveled the porridge into her mouth; once the attendant returned to collect the tray she had eaten the entire contents of the bowl.
She had learned long ago food had to be eaten as soon as you got it in captivity. Whether they serve you chicken feet or bugs, Romanov, close your eyes and eat up. That attitude had gotten her through many bouts of imprisonment.
"Wow, you ate that shit. No one eats that shit." The attendant checked her tray, sniffed the bowl. "You didn't pour it down the toilet, did you? It stops up the plumbing for the whole floor if you do that."
"No." Natasha wanted him out of the room so she could start putting some of her plans in motion.
"Say, did you bleed when they gave you the injections? I saw one girl bleed all over the place." The man emitted an inappropriate amount of laughter; she felt a thread of disgust curl up her spine.
"No," she repeated.
"You won't get the room service every day, you know." His face turned surly.
"That's fine – I don't mind fetching my own food."
With a gust of relief she watched the attendant head to the door. He opened it with his hip, winked at her, and left at last.
Natasha got off the bed to retrieve the orange and the soap she had stolen. In the stinking bathroom she used one of the extra pairs of underwear from her drawer as a rag to scrub the toilet, the floor, and the tiny sink. She pulled the orange apart with her nails and used it as an air freshener; once she had scrubbed the floor a second time with the peel and rinsed it the room smelled almost fresh.
That done, Natasha filled the sink and stripped off her hospital clothes. She soaped every inch of her body before dunking her head in the cold water to wash her hair with the other half of the orange squeezed over her curls.
There was no towel; Natasha used the extra pair of drawstring pants to dry off. She had spent several hours after lights' out altering her spare hospital gown to tie up the back and under her breasts more tightly. She didn't have much to work with, but in the dull dayroom among the faded patients she knew she would shine like a star.
A pair of Velcro tabbed sneakers and flip flops were lined up underneath the tiny bed on the chipped tiles of the floor. Natasha pushed her feet into the sandals - the more skin she could reveal, the better.
Maria drooped on the couch with a splotch of oatmeal on one cheek. Natasha wiped her off, felt for Hill's inner arm to inspect it and found a series of telltale pricks leading up the flesh like a perverted dot-to-dot. "Can you hear me?" she whispered into the woman's ear without much hope. Maria simply stared at a point no one could see; her hand hung in mid air when the inspection was over.
The same ancient Time magazine lay on the table with Fidel Castro staring off into the distance under his signature cap. Natasha picked it up and, when Carl came past, she gave him her brightest smile and asked for something to write with. "Can't have no pencils or pens," the man responded, eyeing her breasts under the modified hospital gown.
She smiled. "Is there any chance you can bring me something without a point? Please?" He grunted, looked her over once more, and moved off.
The cushion next to hers squeaked as Loki sat down beside her. "What was that little performance all about?" he demanded.
"That's rich, coming from the king of the performing arts himself. Did Rebecca come through for you last night? Or should I say – did you come through for her?"
"It needles you, does it not?" His smile was reflected in his eyes; they sparkled as though he and she were chatting at a bar in an enjoyable conversation tinged with flirtation.
"Not at all. I wish you every success, and I hope you will do the same for me."
He inclined his head. "Of course."
"Actually, I wanted to give you some information."
The smile disappeared. "Why?" The question was direct, firm, immediate – the metaphorical pounce of a lethal tiger with bared claws.
"You gave me some useful knowledge yesterday about the safe house in the woods. I thought I would pay you back for it."
Loki flicked his glance over her. "Are we to be partners? I do not work in pairs, Agent."
"No, not at all. However, at the moment the only person – and I use the term ironically – I can relate to is you. I would guess it's the same in your case, although you do have your pet – but of course you need to present a certain front when you are with her, no?"
He edged nearer and the smile hovered at one corner of his mouth. "Gods," he whispered, "you and I are alike after all. I did not realize how much – but I will not make that mistake again. And you smell divine, Agent."
"I smell clean, and in this atmosphere that is a rarity." Natasha leaned away from him. "Do you want the information or not? I won't offer it again."
"Oh, I do."
"Be careful of the injections – they are altered in some way to be more powerful than any on the legitimate market. I'm immune to medication, but…"
Disappointment swirled in his eyes before Loki began to laugh. "Medication is the last thing I need to worry about - I am a god. These Midgardian potions have no effect on me."
"You know best, of course," Natasha continued. "I'm bioengineered to resist them as well – I'm sure you know all about that already from your temporary jaunt inside Clint's mind – but despite my medical history I felt something yesterday when the doctor gave me an extra round of meds. Just wanted to let you know."
"Thank you for that advice, as useless as the injections themselves. You still owe me information, by the by, or at least some sort of payback."
He edged closer again, and Natasha rose smoothly from her seat. "I've been timing your girlfriend's visits to the ward. She arrives at 45-minute intervals and the next should occur any moment. Since she holds all the power in this place for now I prefer to keep my distance from you and stay in her good books – your Rebecca doesn't seem to enjoy seeing our little chats."
Loki opened his mouth to retort, but she went to stand next to the kid in front of the TV. It was with a surge of triumph she saw the double doors open and Rebecca walk into the dayroom; as the nurse paraded around the space and found her way to Loki's side, Natasha caught his eye.
He was surprised by her impeccable timing, she knew that much. Even inside that hideous, stinking, degrading place, she had won his respect for the second time.
Whether it was a good thing or not remained to be seen.
"I love the space you've created," Natasha gushed. After the last session with Dr. Holmes, she decided the best way to survive was to get in his good graces, to become the sillier version of Natalie Rushman. "It's so calm – so peaceful – I feel I can get well at last when I'm here, doctor."
He sat in the same position, his hands steepled in front of him. At her words he pushed out his bottom lip in a considering attitude and munched his mustache. "I'm glad to hear it."
"I really mean it! However did you come up with the design?"
It was a stab in the dark, and it seemed to pay off. A spark kindled in the doctor's eyes. "I'm the only one who knows the full layout. When it was being built I changed architects and construction companies several times to make certain I was the sole person with the plan…"
His voice tailed off. Natasha sat forward eagerly to distract him. "What a great idea! It takes real intelligence to come up with something like that. By the way," she added hastily, "last night I dreamt I was fighting a version of myself – a dope ganger."
"A doppelganger," he corrected her.
"Oh, is that the word? I'm such an ditz!" Natasha giggled and flapped one hand in front of her face.
"I suppose you won the fight," he commented.
She laughed much harder and longer than the joke warranted. Pretending to catch her breath, she bit her bottom lip and watched him under her eyelashes; the idiot had no idea he had just given so much away. "I think that's my life, you know? Always fighting my urges? And trying to suppress my better half? When it should be the other way around?"
As she babbled on, Natasha turned over what he told her in the back of her mind. So the man had created the hospital, and it was built to some mysterious specification. That meant there was a reason for the injections, and if her ideas were correct she had to act right away if she wanted to save Maria Hill's life. The one question she couldn't answer was What did Loki have to do with it, and why was the god in there with her?
"Do you ever feel like that, Dr. Holmes?" she concluded, tilting her head as though she begged for his advice.
Unconsciously he mirrored the tilt. "Perhaps, when I was much, much younger. I think you have frozen during the maturing process, and we just have to unlock that…" The psychobabble continued, and Natasha tuned him out, nodding at intervals while continuing the aspect of breathless interest. She considered and discarded a plan to seduce him – he was too obsessive, too involved with his design and what probably was a grand plan to release any information with that method. It would needlessly endanger her, and she wanted to keep as safe as possible within that gray atmosphere.
A squawk came from a box on his desk – so his "design" didn't include a modern system of communication. "What is it, Annika?" he asked, pressing the button on the device.
The answer was unintelligible. "Forgive me." He stood and walked to the door. "I'll be right back."
As soon as he left she stood up to search his files but sank back in the padded seat when the door opened again. A tall man entered wearing a delivery worker's dark blue jumpsuit and matching hat pulled over long, blond hair; he stopped dead when he saw her.
Natasha looked up and felt relief pour through her veins. "Thor. Wow, you just made my day."
She was inordinately glad to see him; he was the first truly good person she had encountered since her mysterious arrival at the hospital; besides, she had missed him. They hadn't spoken since his return to Midgard.
Not only that, Thor was a connection with the outside and SHIELD; just seeing his ready smile made her feel normal for a few seconds. However, she knew they didn't have long.
"Thank the Norns, the information from Lord Stark was correct." He was carrying a box and the kind of clipboard used by UPS drivers; he put it down to clap one hand to Natasha's shoulder.
She covered his large hand with her own. "So this is a SHIELD op. Good to know."
"The doctor man will return soon so I cannot fill you in completely at this moment," he replied. "However, I can give us a little more time." Thor moved away and wedged himself in front of the door; his height and broad shoulders completely covered the wired window set into it. "Natasha, have you seen the Lady Maria?"
"Yes, and it's vital you get her out at once. I have the feeling she won't last long here."
His keen glance softened. "I can only take one prisoner out at a time. If I bring her it will raise suspicions here, and security might tighten…"
He was interrupted by a series of annoyed raps on the other side of the door. Natasha waved his concerns off hurriedly. "Right, right. I'll take care of all that. Just get Maria back to HQ as soon as you can – you would make things a lot easier for me if you can rescue her."
Thor nodded. "I shall begin the quest straight away. Now I must leave, but it was good to see you."
The knocks increased in volume, but she had to ask him one last question. "Did you know your brother was here as well?"
Thor froze, and a look of horror followed by sorrowful pity suffused his open, honest face. "Natasha," he said gently, "that is impossible. My brother no longer lives - Loki died in my arms as we battled Malekith together in Asgard."