It has been exactly twenty-four hours since Nick Fury, director of SHIELD stood on her doorstep. It was the first time he met her, picking her up from the porch, the street lights flicking off as the morning sun started to rise. The grass then was still wet from the late night shower, a few leaves and branches had scattered through the street.
Then she watched the clock change and the zero after eight am changed to one but the memory still hung fresh in her mind. She looked down from the clock, back to her coffee, two creams, one sugar. Just how her father liked it. She hated it, but it woke her up and it reminders her of the family she lost. The family that would wake up at seven thirty every morning and have breakfast on the table by eight. Her mother always made her oatmeal, two scoops of sugar and diced strawberries. Her brother Garrett would eat toast with peanut butter and bananas on it.
"Morning," She looked up from her coffee, it was now cold and she decided not to drink anymore.
"Oh, ugh, morning," she looked at the man walking to the sink. His shirt was wrinkled, a navy blue and dark gray work pants. She couldn't remember his name but she saw him yesterday in one of the labs, looks as if he hadn't changed.
"How did you sleep last night?" He asked reaching for a box from the cabinet. He had set a kettle on the stove.
"Oh, all right," Which was a lie. She didn't sleep at all. She had laid in her new bed thinking. She was the last standing of her family, being moved to a new state, surrounded by people she didn't know, forced into a new job. Her bed was uncomfortable, the sheets were too soft, the mattress hugged her body perfectly and she hated it. She liked how her sheets had smelled, like a day at the beach. The ones that she laid on top of last night smelt distant and unloved.
"You're lying," He pulled out the chair next to her and slid into it. "I can see the purple under your eyes. It's okay. You lost the last of your family and thrown into a situation you have no control over. I understand that." She remembered his name after a few minutes of silence. Bruce, she had remembered when she saw him first; his eyes were glazed over staring at a floating tablet. It wasn't until Clint cleared his throat did he notice their presences.
"Thank you Bruce, it'll take some time that's all," She dumped her cold drink just as he started to pour his hot water. He added a spoonful of sugar and a light amount of honey. He held next to his lips before taking a drink.
"Take all the time you need. No one is rushing you. " Placing the coffee next to him he reached behind her, grabbing the newspaper he grabbed the cup and went back to his chair. She left then, leaving him to his thoughts and the current news. On the way to her chambers she bumped into a red head, she was walking next to a tall blonde. They were both wearing uniforms; both skin tight, one black, one blue.
"Melinda," Steve spoke first, "How was your night?"
"It was manageable," she curved around the truth like she has done since her childhood. "Thank you." Before they could make out anything else she had started walking, she stopped in front of her room but decided to walk past it. She walked through the halls, letting her fingers glide under the smooth walls. She touched figurines and tables. If it was within in arms reach she had touched it, as if it would bring her a sense of security. But the items were too cold, they were unfamiliar to the ones that she had nesting in her town house. These were all mint condition, no sign of touch, no sign of movement.
It wasn't until she felt a small jolt in her fingertips did she look down. It was a box, small, no bigger than her fist. It was black, and she could see her face in it, it was cold, and it seemed like it was never touched. She placed both of her hands on the lid; since she got her she felt comfort. It seemed to purr under her touch, vibrating slightly. She felt around for a seam or a hinge, any indication to which way it opens but nothing was there. It was just a smooth black box.
"It's cold in here," she jumped at the voice. She had become so lost in the item she forgot where she was standing. There was frost slowly creeping on the glass table, and she realized she could see her breath. She turned and found Tony, he had his hands shoved into his pockets, he was shaking and his lips had a slight blue tint to them. She didn't even realize the temperature change; even now the cold didn't bother her. It seemed more like a welcoming hug. "Jarvis, What's the temperature in here?"
"Twenty degrees Fahrenheit, sir." The ceiling has responded with a British accent.
"Crank it up," he spouted never breaking eye contact with Melinda.
"What is this?" She motioned to the glass box, the frost around it had already begun melting, and small droplets of water littered the surface.
"It was my father's, I'm not sure what it is but he told me to keep it safe. I've used it as a decoration. You're the first one to notice it Marissa."
"It's Melinda," she corrected him, "does it open?"
"I don't know. Are you cold?" His lips had changed back to their natural pink hue. He had pulled his hands out of his pocket and folded them over his chest. He was wearing a blank gray shirt and a pair of worn jeans.
She went to answer him; he walked past never giving her a chance to answer. She glanced on last time at the box and followed him. As soon ash stepped out of the room she felt a sense of disconnection. She felt a need to walk back and pick up the box and hold it. To take the box into her room and feel it run on her finger tips. Watched as the lights reflect on the surface. But she followed Tony down the hall, he had said something and she didn't hear him. Instead of asking him to repeat she let him continue on with his conversation.
There wasn't anything eventful through the day. She had found Hawkeye on the roof, after struggling to climb up onto the glass he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. She felt comfortable around him, maybe it was because he was the person she met in the city. She had talked to him about the box, he sat and listen interjecting only at the end.
"Is there anything different about you? Or about your family?" She had to think about it, she would have said yes. She wanted to say it, to say she was normal, just a helping people on fake body part at a time. But there was a hesitation for some reason.
"I don't know," she finally answered. The wind had picked up; she clutched her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry."
She didn't look at him but she knew he was looking at her. She could feel his light blue eyes settling on her skin, she waited. She waited for the "why?" or the "what do you mean?" But it never came. He, unlike all the others, understood the confusion. She didn't know his back-story but she knew, somehow, he had felt the same way, asked the same questions.
"We are all broken here," he stood up pulling her into a standing position, "You'll fit in perfectly."
She didn't see him the rest of the night, but when she walked back to the hall to her room, once again she walked past. This time her fingers didn't hover over the wall; she didn't feel the paint under her fingertips. The lights were out; the wind was a whisper in the background. If they weren't in bed, she guessed, that her housemates were in their respective areas tinkering.
She knew that it wasn't there when she entered the room. She felt it missing. The spot where it had laid was empty, with nothing to suggest it sat there. She placed her finger on the table where it sat, recalling it. She didn't know how, but she knew where it was. And she followed that instinct, down the hall, down the stairs, past the glass doors and right in front of Tony.
"How'd you get in here?" He stopped, feeling as if he was being watched. It sat in front of him. It was reflecting his tired face, bags slept under his face and his facial hair was calling for trimming.
When she reached for it he pulled it away from her. She moved quicker next time, letting the cool material rest in the palm of her hand. It took only a few minutes before the frost started to form on the glass and steel around them. Tony folded his arms across his chest and looked around.
He looked at her and the box, "Who are you?"
"I am broken."