So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too.

DAY ONE

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MAY 1ST 2012

2032 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D CIVILIAN SURVEILLANCE UNIT #7121482301 (STATUS: ACTIVE)

RAWLINS WYOMING

LOKI OF ASGARD

EXTRATERRESTRIAL TERRORIST

She lives here. It's not the knowledge I gained from the agent or the doctor that confirms this for me so much as the sight in front of her little mortal excuse of a 'home'. She has flowers growing, in a desert no less...

Roses, ferns, daisies of varied colors, and even sun flowers. They have grown healthy and tall, their leaves full and their petals without a single blemish. Despite the arid climate of this place or its combative temperatures she has managed to make these plants thrive.

They are beautiful, these fruits of her labors, and their very existence mocks me. All they represent, love, respect, confidence and shelter, innocence, and pride, I thought I took that from her and she... What once was identifiable is a violet cape daisy is no little more than a damp mass of pulp, still bearing the impression of the inside of my fist.

I knew who she was when I saw her. She had changed of course. Her age and her appearance vastly different then when I saw her last, but I knew her face. I'd once spent years in its presence. It was so very familiar to me and so foreign all at the same time. I thought I'd stolen that expression from her, I thought she would never wear it again.

I mourned her... It was by my own youthful ignorance that I lost her, I will own to that mistake without shame because that's what it was, a grave mistake. I misjudged the situation, and it cost both of us greatly. ...I thought her dead, and she dared to stand before me with a smile!

"Bring her to me now." The agent that had been standing in quiet obedience during my moment of nostalgic study does as he is told with little fanfare, the only sound created by him that breaks the night is a respectful "Sir" and the whispering grate of metal teeth rotating into place.

She may deserve a better reunion than the one I am offering her, but this is the one she will receive. I do not have the time or the patience to convince her to come willingly. The people she so foolishly chose to offer her allegiance to will not allow it of me.

TUESDAY, MAY 1ST 2012

2038 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D CIVILIAN SURVEILLANCE UNIT #7121482301 (STATUS: ACTIVE)

RAWLINS WYOMING

NORA ELAINE

Oh god. I look pruney. That's my major observation now that I finished towelling off and notice my hands. The skin on my fingers is pasty and wrinkly looking, and I don't like it. But at the same time it's nice that that's my biggest issue for the rest of night, the level of water content in my skin.

Once I was in the hot water, which honestly might have been too hot since I still look a little pink, and had my music going I sort of lost track of time. I wasn't even sure how long I had been in there until I got out and decided to check the clock.

It, like every other clock in my house is set to AM and PM, unlike the military time I'm used to, but seeing is I am just supposed to be a civilian I have to play the part which is why my clock now frustratingly reads 8:38 pm instead of the 7:02 pm it did when I dipped my toes into the water.

I'm really glad now I choose to simmer the soup, and that it started out frozen. It probably wasn't the most responsible decision I ever made, to just leave the stove on unattended like that for ALMOST TWO HOURS. If I burned down the house, that Clint picked for me no less, I'd never get to have another one, and I really don't want to go back to base housing. I've gotten to used to being able to have stuff, I don't think I could stand it.

"Okay little man. Surrender the pajamas." I planned on leaving him in my bedroom to take his after snack nap while I soaked away the day in the guest bathroom since it had the only tub in the house. My own bathroom has a walk in shower in its place. Apparently I'd misjudged and I hadn't given him enough 'in my presence time' which meant he was practically clawing through my door and crying.

So of course I let him join me in the bathroom, and for the time being, take over my towel. But when I needed it to dry off, and forced his surrender, my adorable brat decided that the stack of clothes I planned to put on would be a worthy substitute, and curled up on those too.

Unfortunately for him I don't feel like walking around naked, even though I've been assured that this house has no internal visual surveillance, the only video surveillance is set to watch the perimeter and the outer walls.

At the base privacy was an issue for obvious safety reasons. As well as in my first apartment, excluding the bathrooms of course because that was actually part of S.H.I.E.L.D public housing program for visiting government officials.

Still despite that knowledge I guess I just developed the habit of not doing it. That and the fact that I actually prefer the feeling of some kind of tactile sensation against my skin. Nudity, even in private just makes me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. Having something cover my skin just makes me feel secure.

He wasn't as asleep as he was when I reclaimed my towel from him, but still grumbles in protest as I once again lift him like a rag doll and up take away his comfortable spot. I make the effort to appease him by offering the towel back, but after a moment of study he seems to find it too damp for his taste, and only gives me one of his annoyed looks beyond his half asleep eyelids.

Once I have the indigo cat night-shirt on and shorts I decide it's time to leave the steamy bathroom at last, and of course that includes me deciding it's time for him to exit with me. At first he is upset with the fact that I once again am moving him, but it's quickly forgotten and forgiven since my arms are warmer than the floor, not to mention softer.

The only thing I have left to do before I take the doorknob in hand is turn off my radio. I have a few of them around the house. Ever since a certain unplanned and traumatic encounter with Tony Stark in early 2010 I've been getting a new 'more advanced than it should be 'Sirius' radio at odd intervals. Each comes without a sender address, but since the first came loaded with French music it's pretty clear who their from. If they weren't I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D would make me keep turning them in for unwanted AI checks and debugging.

I've also been assured that their existence has nothing to do with any of Clint's personal brand of influence. I'm still a little skeptical about that though, because I remember he was borderline livid about the situation when it happened, and made quite a few promises regarding the state of Mr. Stark's face. Enough so that S.H.I.E.L.D had to officially order him to not touch Tony Stark, and that they redefined projectiles is an extension of himself, so there would be no shooting him either.

Speaking of Clint I should probably decide what I plan to make tomorrow, that way if I have to pick up anything from the store I'll have time after work.

Knowing Clint he'll probably prefer something spicy because he's insane; that's another mystery I haven't figured out, nor do I want to. My one experience with it was enough. Maybe I can find something to use those wasabi peas he left here, since I'm never going to eat them. I can just make a separate non spicy version of whatever I cook for myself.

That was the plan. Exit the bathroom, go back down the hall and through the living room, then cut through the kitchen to my little office/laundry area off of the garage and look up a recipe online with wasabi peas in it. It was the plan until I came around the corner and stopped short, letting out a startled gasp because there was a man standing in my house!

I calmed considerably in the next fraction of a second when I recognize who the silhouette belonged to. It's Clint.

That answers the who part, but the why is still very much unexplained. Clint's shift isn't due to end for three more hours, and I've never known him to leave early. I don't think he is even allowed to given what his job is. He also always calls first if I'm not expecting him, and generally if I don't answer he assumes the answer is not today. So I can only assume that if he is here it's because something is wrong. "Clint?"

His response just makes situation even more confusing. "You're not dressed." He doesn't even say it to me really, he has his back facing away from me, looking at something outside the window. He even has his fingers pressed against the glass like that might help him see it somehow.

"Uh, well I..." My words cut off for a second as I feel Jareth's muscles start to stiffen beneath his skin, and even the beginnings of a growl I can't quite hear yet is vibrating out of him. Is he scared? He's never been afraid of Clint? "...I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither did I." This time he turns around, and some of the confusion about his strange behavior evaporates, but it's immediately replaced with fear. Oh god, his eyes! Clint has beautiful eyes, I actually love the color of them, they remind me a little of the sea, they're so many little specks of different colors meshed into one. But I'm not seeing Clint's eyes now, I'm seeing irritated eyelids, and a blue glowing light.

Worse than the observation about the state of his eyes is the fact that I know that glow. I see it every time I visit him in the lab, set beyond the few feet I'm allowed to enter. His eyes look like the cube!

"Clint, what happened to you?" Concern had me taking a step forward, but then I stopped. Reason one was the raising growl that emanated from my arms is I moved closer, and reason two was the realization that Clint might be 'radioactive' for lack of a better term. His eyes are glowing with the energy of the Tesseract, this only makes my worry grow for him even greater. What if it's hurting him?

He doesn't answer me though, the sound of a passing car and its headlights catch his attention. It catches mine as well, but for a different and entirely unpleasant reason. My front door is closed, but the light came through anyways. There are a series of holes where my doorknob should be. He...those are…Oh my god those are bullet holes! He put bullet holes in my door?!

I found the situation strange and somewhat unsettling before, but now I'm just scared. His demand does not make it any better. "Let's go."

It's probably not the best idea to say no to someone who you just realized shot out your door, but I do, because, well he shot out my door! "N-No." His expression pretty much confirms for me that it was a very bad idea, but I'm still fairly confident that he won't hurt me. He just isn't thinking straight from whatever the energy did to him, it's still Clint though, he's still my 'big brother'.

But even with that reassurance I find myself backing away from his advance. I've always known people found Clint frightening, but he never showed that side to me so I never really understood why before. I understand why now.

"I-I don't know what's going on..." As I back around the corner I free my hands for the next part, switching my hold on my very upset kitten to one, and letting him drop carefully to the floor. I'm a little relieved that even though he continues to growl and hiss he shows the sense to stay away from Clint while he is like this. "...but I'll just call the b-base and well figure this out o-okay?"

My hand doesn't even make it two inches toward the phone before he gives it a reason to stop. "Phone's dead Nora." He says it with a smirk as my eyes shoot to his. "The whole systems down. You didn't think I'd actually let you call for help did you?" Now my hands are finally giving in to that urge to start trembling uncontrollably.

This time he doesn't pursue my retreat, he instead leans against the corner wall casually, almost like this whole situation is boring to him. "Now we're short on time so I need you to be a good girl and come with...oh." The bored look in his eyes vanishes and I think I almost wish it would come back.

I made it all the way through the living room, and to the little dining room area set behind my couch before I did something to warrant his full attention, I let my fingers find a weapon. Though in the back of my mind I'm pretty much aware that it wouldn't matter what I held, it wouldn't do me any good, not against Clint.

All the same I feel a little safer having even just this letter opener in my hand. Safer, and yet disgusted. It's Clint. I'd never want to hurt Clint, I don't want to hurt Clint! Even just holding this thing feels like a terrible betrayal, but I can't put it down because my hand literally won't let me.

His already bright eyes light up even more. I know that look, and normally I like that look only now it's skewed by the situation and it scares me. It's the same look he usually wears when S.H.I.E.L.D finally manufactures one of his new designs, turning it into a functioning arrow-head for him to play with that he can't wait to field test. That's the look he has now as he pushes out of the lean and to an upright position, he looks eager and excited, to see what I'll do. He actually looks glad, like he was hoping for this.

"Well now..." He only pauses to take the cuff of his glove between the opposite fingers and yank it off, completely ignoring my whimpered "Please Clint, you're sick or something, this isn't you..." as he finishes removing it and tosses it haphazardly to the floor before moving right on to the next is he continues his rather unsettling sentence. "Never thought I'd see 'that'..."

"It's me Clint, your 'sister'..." The other glove hits one of the vases on the table by the wall and makes it shatter against the floor. It makes me jump with a small yelp, but he doesn't even blink. I can barely take my eyes off his hands, and I'm trying to because I know I should be watching all of him instead of just part, but I can't. Why would he do that? He knows?! "...please, you know me!" The pleading in my voice only makes him smirk. He thinks this is funny?!

Then the smirk is gone, everything light and casual about his demeanor shifts, going from scary to scarier as his expression down to his posture becomes cold and lethal looking. "I can do a lot with 'alive', so make a move."

I made a move. I ran. It was a stupid move, but an all honesty I think any move I would have made would count as stupid in a situation like this. Running from a man trained to kill and not thinking straight, or go with him, either sounds like a terrible idea no matter how you spin it. So I choose run on the hopes that I could make it outside. He said he took out the whole security system, so I know the panic button in the kitchen is out of the question but if I can make it far enough I might be able to draw attention from the neighbors, and S.H.I.E.L.D when they got here.

They would to get here sooner to later, if Clint was here, and in this condition they'd send someone to contain him. They have to, Clint is dangerous like this and there's no way I can handle him on my own. Even the thought that I could try to contain him is insane. Someone has to be coming!

The coffee table and couch between us didn't do a thing to slow him down, in fact I think he used the table as a boost to clear the back of the couch because I heard his feet land heavily back on the ground a half a second before my hair decided to go the opposite direction and take my head with it.

The breath that would have turned into a scream from the pain that caused doesn't even get the chance to come out. The next thing I know I've all but been thrown backwards, and my spine slams into the handle of my inset wall oven. Before my body can even bounce back forward from the momentum of hitting a fixed structure like that, his is pressed against me, and his forearm is pushing against my throat.

A plan, if I even had one besides escaping him, loses all precedence in light of the fact that I can't breath!

I'm going to die! He's going to kill me! And I don't even know why this is happening! I saw him only hours ago, and he was laughing with me. Now he is suffocating me in my kitchen and he looks ecstatic about it.

"Cli..." I managed to gain a fraction of an inch of space between his arm and my throat somehow. I'm not even sure how I managed to though because it's always been clear he is much stronger than me but it becomes very clear that the tiny breath and the single syllable I got out were more than he wanted me to.

He pulls the pressure forward, which would have been a relief if he didn't use the space as leverage to slam me back with even greater force. This time throwing a punch into my stomach and using the height and strength difference he has over me to lift me off the floor by my throat.

The combined effect of each of those attacks is quickly taking its toll as I feel myself blacking out from the dizzying sensation is my head slammed against the thick glass of the oven door, and his fist driving out the oxygen I already didn't have enough of to spare, as well is the pressure he is keeping on my throat cutting off the blood to reach my brain. All of this is going to make me pass out in a matter of seconds if I don't do something other than claw at his arms and kick my feet.

It's the sight of a needle that makes me react.

I didn't realize what I was seeing for a second, the desperation and dots dancing in my vision made it seem unimportant. I only had the vague awareness he held something small in his other hand, and that he took the end of it in his teeth.

Then my mind processed what my eyes saw. It was a syringe, and he was uncapping it.

If it was a conscious decision I'm not really sure, all I know is by the time I knew I was thinking it I already had the handle in my hand, and a second later it was him who cried out in pain, jerking back is I slammed a hot metal pot, and the equally hot split pea soup against the side of his skull.

I didn't stop to think about the fact that I may have just given a man who I consider a family member terrible burns to his face and a concussion. I didn't stop to think about the fact that my hand too felt like it was on fire because the part of the handle I grabbed onto was metal. All I cared about as my knees hit the floor was that I could breathe, I could draw air into my lungs again and that I had to get far away from him!

I couldn't get the traction I wanted on a tile floor covered in spilled soup but that didn't stop me. I just crawled over it, not paying any attention to the fact that it still held enough heat to scald my exposed skin in the process.

Desperation has a way of distracting someone from certain details. It wasn't until I reached the carpet of the living room and started to stand again I realized there was blood running down my neck, and I couldn't feel what it was leaking out of. The needle must have found its mark, and whatever was in it was already making my skin numb.

That's all I had time to process before a weighted forced collided with my waist and sent both of us crashing into the heavy armchair by the couch.

The whiplash of it made my face slam into the floor, stealing my ability to react for a few seconds and giving him the chance to get me in the position he wants me. By the time my muscles start considering doing what I wanted of them he has rolled me onto my back and moved to straddle my waist.

"N...!" I don't even get the full two letter word out before one of his hands stops trying to wrestle mine under control and opts for punching me in the side of the face to shut me up. After the stunning force succeeding in that he makes sure I won't try again, and clamps his other hand down whether viciously on my mouth.

He doesn't even bother trying to return to restraining my hands. What he does is worse, and more effective. I didn't see him uncap it but a second later his hand on my mouth wrenches my head to turn to the side right before I felt something break the skin again, and he wasn't gentle about it. I felt the needle hit bone and bow under the pressure, then I felt the needle snap!

This time I get out a yell. The pain of the needle gouging into my bone and the contents it carried forced to pool in the muscle instead of flowing through my blood was too much. Even his hand covering my mouth couldn't smother the sound completely, then a second later it stopped trying.

Clint's hand left my mouth, along with the rest of him. He was upright and swaying on his feet, yelling in pain and swearing as he tried to frantically reach something on his back! I realized just what it was when he turned a little in his panic to revealed a tan tail! Jareth?!

I'd forgotten about my kitten, not that anyone could blame me for that. I simply didn't think he was in immediate danger, unlike myself, and I doubt Clint was even thinking about him at all. But he must have stayed in the room the whole time, seeing what was happening to his 'mom', and once Clint got down on his level and made me cry in pain, he attacked him. Clint's gonna kill him if I don't do something!

I didn't see myself move, or have any consciousness of the fact I did. I just remember trying to get up again and failing when everything turning into a sea of disorienting black spots, but then it cleared and I was next to my coffee table.

Being thrown into the armchair must knocked it a good four feet to the side and opened up a path to the table. This wasn't a particularly conscious decision, all I knew was something I cared about was in terrible danger, and I had something heavy in reach of my hands that I could solve the problem with.

I don't know how I did it, I couldn't even feel my fingers at this point, whatever he injected me had managed to spread that far already but I had my hands on the wrought iron legs of that table and I had it moving.

It was swinging over the top of the remaining arm chairs, the weight of its momentum carrying it more than my strength or will and half a second after he threw something with a resounding crash into the bookshelf behind me, it collided into his chest with its own impact sound.

He managed to get his arms up a little to shield himself from the worst of it, but even prepared for it Clint is not immune to the laws of physics. Being struck by a fast-moving piece of metal, wood, and glass that weighed at least forty pounds was enough to knock him off-balance and send him crashing into the dining room set behind him.

I didn't let myself watch the rest, the second my hands lost their grip of the table my own momentum from swinging it kept me spinning around, making me stumble back to the floor even dizzier than before. But I still had awareness of one important thing, the only thing Clint would have thrown like that was my kitten!

He hurt my kitten. He knew I loved Jareth, he knew how important my kitten was to me, he even liked Jareth too, and Jareth liked him but still he grabbed him and threw him like a baseball straight into my bookshelf. He even looked happy went the books started to avalanche onto his little body. If I had time to feel sorry for attacking Clint that smile would have stopped me.

This time the crawling has more to do with the fact that really I can't stand, than that I don't have time to try. I can still feel my legs, the texture of the carpet is pretty clear against the skin of my burnt knees, but I can also feel my muscles weakening. It's like that sensation you get if your foot falls asleep, pins and needles and cold traveling through the tissues, and moving your body feels harder, like you're trying to move through thick mud.

That's what my whole body is doing, and I bet if it weren't for the massive amount of adrenaline pumping through my blood right along with it I wouldn't even be conscious now.

I'm going to die. It's a realization that isn't a realization. I know it, but at the same time it somehow hasn't sunken in as a fact. It's just the words of a sentence. I'm going to pass out soon, and S.H.I.E.L.D isn't here yet because my other useless panic button is in my bedroom, and Clint's going to kill me because I hit him, twice, and the energy is making him crazy.

That's how it's going to happen. S.H.I.E.L.D will get here too late, and I'll already be dead, but not my kitten. I can't do anything else but at least I'm going to save my kitten! That's all I care about as I knock books out-of-the-way with numb useless hands. My fingers don't even want to move anymore, and I can't keep the dots from advancing in from the corners of my sight, but I need to dig my kitten out!

My face suddenly rockets forward against my will. There is a press on the back of my skull, and a sharp tension at the roots of my hair again before my temple is slammed into one of my amethyst bookends, the uneven edges of its surface cutting stripes into my brow.

I didn't feel him jerk me back up by my hair, but I knew he was, and I knew it was him. I only had this vague realization I was moving, because the scenery was moving. I had been looking at a pile of books now I was looking at the ceiling and then his furious, slightly scorched face. I didn't get my kitten out...

Then the daze went away, driven out of me by a white-hot pain I had never felt before but still understood. I'd been stabbed! HE, my 'brother' just put his knife in my thigh! I couldn't see it, except for the very tip of its handle peeking out from behind the bulk of his form, but it just stuck there, buried in my muscles as they twitched around it, confused by the presence of this cold agony is it pinned me to the floor.

I screamed but he only let me get out the a single note of it before both his hands clamped down over my mouth again, trying to smother the sound and crush my jaw in the same move.

The scream seemed to take me with it. I felt myself sinking into myself, that's the best way I can describe it. Everything was still there, just as close and far away as I left it, but it was farther away at the same time. I was farther away and he didn't like that.

I think he had been talking to me. I recognized that his mouth was moving but couldn't hear anything. Then the pain came back, I think he shifted one of his hands and was twisting the knife. All I know is that whatever he was doing it sent waves of agonizing white heat through my nerves and made me scream again into the barrier of his hand.

Why wouldn't he just let me faint? He did this to me, isn't that what he wanted? So why? There were words again in my ears. I knew they were words, but my foggy mind still only understood them as sounds. My ability to translate them into something of meaning was gone but I didn't need that to understand the feel of his tongue on my skin.

I knew why he wouldn't let me faint now, I didn't want to know why!

Not that! Please, no! Not that! I was wrong! This isn't Clint! This isn't my brother! It wouldn't matter what happened to him. My brother would never do this, he would never go this far no matter how out of control he was. This isn't my Clint! My Clint knows!

I can't move anymore! Even if I didn't have his weight or hands holding me down I wouldn't be able to move, the drugs have conquered my muscles. I can barely even squirm as I 'don't' see him tear at my shirt with his free hand. All I can do is cry and scream inside as everything about me goes away and leaves me to this horrible end. All I can do is pray for someone who isn't here to save me! I didn't think I needed him here, I left him in New York because I was supposed to be safe here! I was supposed to call him...

Green? I can see green? When was green... so cold...?

TUESDAY, MAY 1ST 2012

2041 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D CIVILIAN SURVEILLANCE UNIT #7121482301 (STATUS: ACTIVE)

RAWLINS WYOMING

LOKI OF ASGARD

I had every intention of letting that agent give her a good reason to fear him if she did not choose to follow him out of that building on her own, but even I can tell the difference between a scream of simple fright and the scream born with a purpose.

I gave him leave to terrorize her while I dealt with the intrusion of her neighboring surveillance team, but not to do that!

I found him on top of her, his hand wrapped around the ruined cloth that once had been the collar of her blouse with his blade still sticking from her flesh is she lay still and quiet beneath him covered in her own blood.

Had his skills and knowledge been a little less useful to me I would have done more than haul him up by the sturdy material of his jacket and slam him into the wall so hard the structure of it displayed its weakness from the force I applied! I was careful not to jar his head too much but even though I only used one hand it still produced a radiating network of fine originating from a point hidden behind his shoulder.

But when I looked down at her and truly took in her condition the seconds it would have taken to kill him paled against the concern that these wounds would kill her. There was already a small but quickly spreading pool of blood forming beneath her impaled thigh. It did not appear that he struck an artery with that assault, but even I could succumb to the blood loss of such a wound if it was left unattended for too long.

Releasing my hold on his jacket I let his feet meet the floor again, half impressed and disappointed that he showed the sense to not resist me. I would have very much enjoyed being given a reason to change my mind about the continuing state of his mortality.

After what he did to her I just might anyways. "Get out." I give him that order just so I do not waste a valuable tool in an act of rage.

She is still somewhat conscious... That much is clear from the small whimper that leaves her as my fingers touch her flushed skin, seeking out a pulse. ...and afraid.

I do not fault her for that. She may have enough consciousness left to realize she is not alone, but I doubt it extends to very much beyond that. She can not even tell that I am someone different then the man who just hurt her even though her eyes are still open. I can see the sight of her irises are peaking between half closed lids, but they hold no sign of awareness in them.

It is probably better this way, that she is not aware. I have even less time now to waste then when we arrived for her. Even an organization as insignificant as S.H.I.E.L.D should have the sense to pursue me, and try to prevent me from taking her from them.

She is almost hot to my touch as I slip my arms beneath her back, first only to shift her gently into a seated position and then supporting her weight against a bent knee. Her clothes are absolutely soaked with blood, and the desert night is cold. And so am I.

I can already feel her frail body shivering from my touch alone. I will not risk making her precarious state even worse from something so insignificant is the cold night air. She is worth the brief loss of my jacket, she deserves at least that much.

She deserves some measure of peace too. That sentiment is why I brush my fingers over her eyelids and close them completely. She does not need to see where we are going, nor does she need anything to distract her mind from its induced slumber. The trip is going to be a long one, and not at all comfortable in her condition.

It also can not begin until this damnable blade is removed! "Forgive me little one..." The words are spoken in a whisper even though she has no chance of truly hearing them. Even when I grip the hilt of the dagger and remove it her reaction is disturbing, in the pronounced lack of it. She only lets out a shuddering breath is I pull the serrated teeth from her flesh.

Perhaps their drugs are stronger than I anticipated. Perhaps she will not feel this agony "...but I am afraid this will hurt. I will make it quick I promise you that." Or perhaps not. Even unconscious, she cries out at the press of my blue skin into hers and I hear the small sound of another life form crying with her.

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

This is going to be part of a series, which is obvious since I listed it is such, but in terms of chronological order, this takes place as the 5th story in the series. As you read on I am sure you will come to understand why I started the series at this section of my characters life.