A/N: I apologize for how long this took to get out. I never realized people actually wanted more. o.e Anyways, here it is! I'll try to update more often from now on. Enjoy!
I don't own Marvel.
It felt like my eyelids were sealed shut with paste and left to dry in the sun. I forced them open, my surroundings blurred. There was a soft light that made the room glow, and I could barely make out the bed I was laying on. A bed? I hadn't slept on a bed in years. I blinked, and everything slowly became sharper. I was in a hut, but it wasn't Sybil's. This immediately caused alarm to pool around in my stomach. A light breeze strayed in through the open window, where rays of moonlight struck the wood floors. It was somewhat calming, until I turned and saw the man sitting next to me.
It was the same man that had the blood on his face before. I jumped back, yelping in surprise, nearly falling off the bed in the opposite direction. "Who – who are you? Who the hell are you?" I jumped off the straw-filled mattress, stumbling back. I realized I was only wearing my worn jeans and white blouse, which was covered in red stains – my corset, jacket, everything was gone. My Katana as well. My Katana. I wasn't very steady on my feet; a wave of dizziness swept over me and I fell to my knees.
"Easy, easy!" The man hurried over, kneeling down to my level. His shirt was still bloodstained from before as well. "I – I'm Dr. Bruce Banner. Please, try not to hurt yourself," He spluttered, obvious concern in his eyes. His hands were raised, palms outwards, to show he wasn't armed. I stared, but stayed still. "Who are you?"
I wondered whether or not to answer him. He was not Indian, that was obvious. His white skin shined in the candle and moonlight. This was either a reason to trust him, or get the hell out. Sometimes escaped war veterans would harass women of small villages like this – I knew this from experience. However, this man didn't look like a veteran. He appeared perfectly sane. However, appearances often deceive.
I found my voice at last. "I'm Tate Mes," I said quietly. The words scraped against my raw throat, and I cringed. Bruce, or so he called himself, made a move towards me, and I flinched, stumbling back. I made a move towards the door, terror rising in my throat. I attempted to scream, but was cut short as a hand found its way over my mouth. His other arm was wrapped firmly around my waist, and I began to panic.
"I'm not trying to hurt you! I'm trying to help you, I swear," Bruce said in my ear. "I'll let go, but please try and relax so I can just talk to you." His words were spoken slowly and calmly, as if trying to console a small child. Somewhere in my mind I knew this man truly was trying to protect me from myself, and though I did not yet trust him, I stilled, and he let go of my mouth and waist. I crouched over on the floor, dizzy and breathing heavily. "Are you alright, Tate?"
"What do you think? You're the doctor," I muttered, straightening up a little. "Where are my things?" Bruce gave me a blank stare, and then looked over at the corner of the room, where the rest of my clothing, Katana, and satchel sat in a neat pile. I headed over there, my knees shaking as I went. The doctor obviously noticed, because when I turned, he was standing directly behind me with his arms out as if ready to catch me if I fell. I jumped. "What the hell?! You can't just – just go and sneak up behind people like that!" I snapped, grabbing my things and swerving around Bruce to sit on the bed. I felt my face redden. "I'm sorry. I'm just…jumpy." I started lacing up my corset. There was a small silence, in which I only heard my heart beating nervously and cicadas buzzing outside.
"You know, that thing doesn't really help your respiratory problems," Bruce said, pointing at the corset.
"What do you know about my – my "respiratory problems"? Anyways, I don't lace it very tight," The second part was added in a murmur. I slid on my jacket, a red velvet garment with silver embroidery and flowing sleeves.
"I know you have the worst case of lung and esophageal scarring I've ever seen. I know you very nearly choked to death on your own blood and would have had Sybil not gotten to me as soon as she did," Bruce pointed out. He was correct. What bothered me was the fact that he had looked into my mouth while I was unconscious. "I also know that I'm not letting you leave until you tell me how this happened."
"Genetics. Cancer. Smoking. Take your pick, Sherlock," I retorted, strapping on the belt that held my Katana. I headed towards the door, taking slow, steady steps as if trying to drunkenly pass a DUI test. It was obvious how weak I was. The illness was simply wiping me out completely.
"I can help you, Tate. I know you've been to every healer within fifty miles. I have advantages that none of them had. I can get my hands on the most advanced technology –"
"Then what the hell are you doing here in the most remote part of India?" I said, turning my head the slightest of a fraction.
"The question is, what are you doing here, Tate Mes?" Bruce responded without hesitation, and I turned around, giving the man a look of intimidation that didn't seem to faze him a bit. This doctor had no business prying into my past, but there was something about him that no other person I had seen in two years had, and that was empathy. Bruce was the only person to show any sort of empathy towards me in the two years I had been living this life. I was also curious about his claim to help me – and what it had to do with the reason behind his empathy.
"I am here because I have no choice." I chose my words carefully, speaking slowly and deliberately before I walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, staring at the grains of the worn wood floors. "They think I'm dead, but I'm not. If I ever show my face in the real world, I really will be dead."
"Who is 'they'?" Bruce asked softly, sitting next to me. When I didn't respond, he asked again. "Tate, who is 'they'? Are 'they' the ones who injured you?" I felt my heart race and my palms turn moist. I clenched and unclenched my fists. "Tate, you can tell me. I promise."
"It – it's an organization in the United States. They call themselves the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. S.H.I.E.L.D. for short. S.H.I.E.L.D. and I don't get along, per se," I explained, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop myself. When I looked at Bruce, he had a mixed look of confusion and shock on his face.
"I – I don't believe S.H.I.E.L.D. would do something like this to you. They're certainly a reliable organization that has done wonders with technology, but –"
"Oh, they certainly are, Dr. Banner," I mocked him, standing up once again. "I figured you wouldn't believe me, you, a wealthy doctor who has no care for anyone else in this world. What do you know about S.H.I.E.L.D., anyways?"
There was another short silence until Bruce spoke, his hands still folded in his lap. His face revealed nothing more. "I know they're after my…special abilities. What else do you think a, erm, 'wealthy' doctor like me would be here for? I'm hiding, just the same as you, from the very same organization and possibly more."