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 TWO

CHAPTER SEVEN

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0715 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

LOKI

Well my killer has earned my wrath by demonstrating his capacity for violence on her flesh, he has redeemed himself somewhat by finding us a base of operations that can hide even the energy of the Tesseract from S.H.I.E.L.D's aerial eyes.

It is a 'Cold War' bunker buried deep in the earth, with at least three layers of lead above it, a material that he assures me will prevent the rise of the radioactive energy emitted by the cube from being detected. It also has a room, suitable enough for me to inhabit temporarily, as well as my guest.

She slept heavily but somewhat restlessly through the journey, a fact attributed due to her grievously injured state and the sedatives in her veins. The injuries were also why I ordered the doctor to make sure she stayed in that state of unconsciousness.

I did not want her to wake until we reached our destination. There was little I could do for her in the confines of that aircraft, or the back of that vehicle. Better she slept through the pain until something could be done to ease it a bit.

By my judgment the room is sparse and inadequate, though I will admit that short of creating it and furnishing it to my own specifications I would most likely find any room on this planet less than satisfactory.

Since it is only a temporary arrangement however it meets all 'our' immediate needs; it has at least five padded arm chairs, a desk and several small chests for storage, a dresser for the same purpose, and most importantly a bed big enough for two. At present it is only occupied by one though, since she is injured I surrendered the bed to her sole possession until she wakes.

The drugs forced into her system by the assassin of S.H.I.E.L.D, whose specific occupation I was not very aware of when I ignorantly sent him after her, did their job to keep her asleep for the trip. Then once we were here I had the doctor give her more for the pain I knew she must be in.

She had wounds that needed to be tended, and cleaning them would not a pleasant experience for her in any state. While the garments she came in could barely be considered clothes anymore and would need to be disposed of is well. Better that she remained blissfully unaware of what was happening to her then to wake in the middle of it to find multiple sets of male hands on her skin.

That decision however practical now leaves me feeling slightly disappointed. I want her to wake up. I want to speak with her. I want to see her eyes. I want her to look at me. I just...want something from her...I do not really care what.

She looks so different. I have seen her among the humans prior to this in my study of them, and am therefore familiar with the changes to her appearance, but against the last memory I have of her, she looks so very foreign to me now.

I remember soft waves in her umber hair, the strands clinging in weak desperation to the ruined shape that once was an ornate braid. Now she has cut the strands so short it only just touches her shoulders and the tips of her bangs are almost even with her lips.

I remember those too. When she ...left us... they were set in a hard line, and did not move from it except to hurl curses and angry words. They stung is was their intent, but I took them with a sense of pride, she would not give in to the will of others, she held dear to her beliefs. I had never seen her so strong, and it was when she was being driven away from me. Now though, her lips look soft, there is no tension or fury in them.

They look tempting, those full lips I remember, half open as she draws in shallow breaths. But not tempting enough that I might see her eyes open in fear of me.

I always found those eyes of hers appealing. They were or more correctly are forest green, but around her irises the striations are more of a sepia shade of brown while her pupils are encased in a darker ring. Given the people she came from, those suited her tribal heritage well, and they always looked so nice when she smiled.

They were calm when I last saw them, but at the same time they burned with hatred and grief. They accused me, and they may have been right to do so. I did not act quickly enough or well enough; it was my fault they took her.

I enjoyed the way her face was always so warm and expressive, even when she tried to restrain it. It was not when she left. It was cold and hollow, like there was nothing left for her to feel that could show on her features. She wasn't trying to hide her emotions because they did not exist anymore.

"You were right to cast blame Arnora." She counts among the very few people I would offer an apology too. "I am so sorry." If it was not for my raising her up like I did, she never could have fallen so far, she never would even have had the chance.

It is not my voice that causes her to stir slightly, so much as the effect of my fingers. Taking care not to touch her did not stop me from moving a lock of hair from her eyes, but that action came with a bit of consequence. The split in her brow had resumed leaking blood, and the liquid coagulated around some of the strands, making them tug at the wound.

I'll need to acquire more water and a clean cloth. The doctor took both on his exit as they were far too bloody to be of any use anymore, and I had been wrong in the assumption that they would not be needed. Though this small wound pales greatly in comparison to what we started with.

I do not trust the mortals congregating here to do it for me. Their expertise is in combat, I doubt it extends too much else beyond that. But I can't help but muse how strange this situation is, or my actions as I head for the door. It is an odd twist of fate that I should be attending to her needs now, that I am the one to care for her wounds.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0727 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

NORA

ASSAULT VICTIM

The knowledge that you're dreaming is a strange thing. You think it and you know it's true, but it doesn't really connect. It's like your mind only 'hears' the thought but doesn't understand it.

I'm dreaming. I know I'm dreaming, but it doesn't mean a thing to me. What does mean something is the state I find myself in. I'm walking in cotton ball fluff, and that is the greatest observation in the universe to me right now.

Expect it's wrong. I'm not walking in it, I'm swimming in it. When did that distinction happen, or did it happen at all? "Is it even cotton ball fluff?" Well that's a stupid question, of course it is what else would it be... "Nora"

Yes, that's what it is, Nora, not cot... No, Nora is me, it's my name. I have a name. I'm something distinct again. Is it again? Or has it just started? Was I something before? "Nora."

It's not just a thought word anymore. It's distinct, it has a voice, and it's not mine. I don't even know what my voice is, but it isn't the one I'm 'hearing'. I know this voice. It's his voice. Who is he though?...that's right. 'He' is Clint. I know Clint.

Clint is... what is Clint? I had a word there then it vanished. It was like the word I wanted to say was suddenly wrong, and being wrong it was ripped out of existence.I know it was important though, so that must be what Clint is, important.

So is who he is carrying. This one I know right away. It's my baby, my boy, my kitten, my Jareth. He's wearing his red striped pants with his also white striped button up, and his teal jacket over that, with a little orange flower tucked in his pocket. He looks so adorable, and I'm so happy to see him it makes me feel sad, yet I have no idea why.

But is he scrambles out of Clint's arms and runs over to me all I feel is joy, leaning down and scooping my little boy up is he meets me with a hug I spin us around in circles, laughing is he calls me his mama.

Even when I stop spinning I can't bring myself to let him go. I'm still crying and again I have no idea why. Even when I feel his fur start to fade away with gentle tingles I can't let go of him, I just bury my face in his shoulder and rock him softly side to side as I revel in just being able to hold this little bright eyed blonde boy in my arms again.

Again? What am I doing? Why am I holding a little boy? It is a little boy too, I can see that now. He's not a kitten at all, and he's certainly not mine. He can't be, not with his pale complexion. But oh is this little boy beautiful. He has dark lashes, and corn silk blonde hair, and his eyes look like blue jewels.

And he is speaking to me, though his mouth isn't physically forming the words, it's just smiling at me. The voice is still his, I know it is. "Ikke gråt mor, jeg er med alvene nå, akkurat som du sa jeg ville være." Those words are only sounds in my ears, I have no idea what they translate into, but they mean everything to me just the same. It's like I've been waiting forever to hear them, which makes no sense to me really, but I don't care at the same time. I just hear them, and I laugh, I'm that happy, and I hug his warm little body tighter.

But it's too warm. Something's wrong, this warmth isn't right, he shouldn't be so warm, I know it.

I still don't let go of him yet, I can't bring myself to, but as I lift my head up so I can look at him I don't know what I'm seeing, I just know that it's wrong. It's so wrong, it's not supposed to be this way.

He's cooking. It may be stupid, and it may be wrong, but it's all I can think. I can see his skin darkening. That pale white flesh of this boy has spots of brown appearing, welling up like tiny pinpricks of color, and spreading like ink in water over his skin. It even spreads to his hair. That corn silk color turning russet brown. It moves to his eyes too, making them aqua green instead of blue.

I almost dropped him in shock at what I was seeing, then realized something even more terrifying. I couldn't let him go!

I couldn't get him off me! The temperature was still rising, and his body was still darkening and I couldn't get him off, and he was laughing so innocently!

I didn't want to, he was just a boy, it was my responsibility to make him smile and laugh and take care of him, I had that sense and nothing ever felt more right than that. But now his body was burning me, and I was screaming for him to let go, I was so sorry for whatever I did, but he needed to let me let him go!

He was black now, and his skin was cracking, and as I turned to him for help I realized so was Clint's! Everything was black, and harsh, and jagged, and liquid like red crystals were leaking out of the cracks. I was going to burn in this place with them, and everything was so cold somehow. And the only sound I could hear was a multitude of voices screaming at me to 'just say it', and none of them were mine!

The first thing I did was hit the floor. Well, that's not exactly true. The first thing I really did was rocket into a sitting position with a hoarse scream, and then immediately after regret both of those actions. My head felt like it decided to roll down a mountain in a metal box while I was unconscious, and it was doing my stomach no favors. As for the screaming it made my ears feel like they were leaking blood.

The next action I took wasn't really intentional. After that senses rending moment I just sort of surrendered to the idea of not moving, but physics wasn't on my side and gravity never spared anyone. The next thing I realized was that I was leaning a little too much, and then falling.

I only had enough time to stick my hand out and save my skull from slamming into what looked like a concrete pillar, and felt like one too when it scraped off the skin of my palm. But well I managed to save my skull more pain, it didn't do much to help my side.

I had leaned too far out over the edge to stop my fall without considerable effort, and the one I had already put in wasn't the right kind either way.

The scraping sensation extended past my palm to my wrist and inner arm is the limb bent upwards due to the limited space and instead of my rib cage hitting the ground first, it made my hip the contact point is it suddenly slipped off the soft surface I'd been sitting on. I'm not sure if having my pelvic bone crash into floor was more painful, or the nerve-wracking sensation that appeared in my thigh after it did.

I've never been in this much pain before, at least not that I can recall. Everything either has this sort of dull heat to it from bruises that may or may not be visible yet, or that honest electric-like nerve pain from a more serious kind of wound. Even putting my arm elbow first through one of those hi-tech glass computer screens they have in the labs at S.H.I.E.L.D didn't hurt this much!

My back feels covered in bruises. The left half of my ribcage, my cheekbone, and my brow too. Even my throat feels stiff and sore from them. The discomfort has wrapped itself around the part of my spine that is my neck feels sore as well, and protests any movement I haven't even tried to make yet. My head is still throbbing with that dull ache, and I hope its not the kind that means I have a concussion but I just don't know because I've never had one before. I also think my sternum is bruised, or at least I hope it's only a bruise.

I can feel the sharp twinges of pain radiating in building intensity from the scratches over my shoulders and chest is each breath stretches my skin a little, the broken skin of my forehead and eyebrow protests too at each micro expression I must be making. My poor knees and hand also feel like they're stuck in some sort of heat source. And then there's the crest where my neck meets my shoulder feels like it's been burned is well but I know better.

Even my scalp hurts, though that is one of the lesser pains. But I forget about all of those in a moment of crushing observation, one that leads to them being buried under a blanket of fear. This isn't mine! I'm wearing something white, with a draping sleeve, and it's not mine! I'm not I'm in my own clothes, I didn't do this, I didn't put this on, this isn't mine!

None of this is mine. None of it at all! That's all the time I had for realizations, then the door opened, and I could see the skin of a Caucasian hand. No, please, not him again, please!

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0729 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

?

MERCENARY

I knew there was a woman in that room, hell we all knew. I mean, how do you not notice the sight of a woman wrapped up in a leather jacket wearing nothing but what looks a huge tee shirt, and blood underneath?

Then the door closed, the boss and that bright eyed scientist shut themselves in there with her. A few hours later the scientist passed through those doors, but of all the things he said, none of them made much sense, and none seemed to be about her. Then another hour passed, and the boss himself came out, seeking fresh water and clean dressings.

He also had me retrieve the other life form that came in just is bloody and broken is her. Nobody really knows what the deal is with this woman, but if he had us go through the trouble of kidnapping a veterinarian to save a cat's life she must be pretty important to him.

It also means this poor bastard, a greedy twenty something year old who got into the wrong business and just made the mistake of scaring her, is gonna die.

We came back to the door, and already fifteen feet from it we could hear the desperate crying from the inside, and see the guard that should have been there wasn't.

He threw that door open so hard that I could hear the tiny pings of concrete pebbles hitting the floor is the door recoiled back from its impact with the wall.

The guard who was supposed to stay outside the door and prevent any uninvited guest from coming in, was now in the room, and he spun around so quickly he almost fell as he tried to perform a salute and a sharp sir followed by an apology. He knew he was in trouble, at least he had that much sense.

But any appeasing his display of respect might have gotten from the boss was killed by the stupidity that rolls off his tongue. "I don't know what's wrong with her sir. I found her like this when I came in." The state he's referring to, now that I can see a head of brown hair, is cowering in the corner.

"Perhaps soldier, given that she is both trembling and pleading against your approach..." Oh, if I wasn't sure he was gonna die before, I am now. His tone is low and practically hissed through clenched teeth he is so mad at the dumb kid. This one is definitely done for. "...one would assume she is afraid of YOU. Or does your limited comprehension lead you to a different conclusion!?"

I don't need to hear the order spoken. I've been in this business long enough to know when it's implied, and before the fool can dig his grave even deeper I've set the box down, and occupied my hand with snatching him by the collar and practically throwing him out of the room.

The door only is closed for a moment before I catch him in the same spot by his collar and spinning him back around pin him to the wall and press the barrel of my silencer against the back of the his head before I watch the top of his skull bow out a little from the bullet, then let his body slump to the floor as I go to find someone to help me drag him off and bury him before the boss opens that door again. Don't want the lady to see it after all, or next time I'll be the body on the floor.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0731 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

LOKI

I hear the sound, however faint it is beyond the door because I was hoping to hear it. But for one who was not expecting it, it would be indistinguishable from all the other louder sounds of assembly coming from beyond that door.

It seems that soldier has some intelligence, at least enough to form educated guesses on what I will want and think ahead. That alone makes him a mortal worth keeping. I think I will assign him the spot that has just been vacated, but for the time being that concern is fleeting.

The more pressing concern right now is her mental well being, and how I wish to approach her.

Ideally I planned for her to wake to the presence of her kitten sleeping on the pillow next to her. Something comforting and familiar being the first living thing she saw when she opened her eyes, to instill in her the idea that this might be a place of friendly people and security, because what other manner of people would be so considerate?

I also planned to assume the non-threatening state of a sleeping guardian. I of course would be faking the slumber, but there is very little threat posed by someone who isn't even conscious and I thought it a good way to introduce myself. Especially since I would not even be 'asleep' in the bed, but having forgone that comfort and choosing the less pleasant option of sleeping in a chair, one is far across the room is its size would allow.

Of course the stupidity of a mortal boy forced me to change my plans. Well agent Barton has been quick and efficient in acquiring men for my cause, the urgency of the situation has made it more of a matter of quantity over quality.

For the moment I do little but stand there, pondering over my new options, and disregarding those that stand a poor chance of accomplishing what I want.

While I do this however I cannot help but observe her. She has fallen silent, at least in the way of words. I can still hear her taking sharp shallow breaths, unable to stop them given the nervous state she must be in. I can also tell, that while she has not lifted her head from the safety of her arms, that she is quite keenly observing me in every other way but sight.

When I finally come to a decision that leads to movement, it comes from me and her. I take a step, and I pause. She has gone tense and silent, even her breath has stopped from that single step. Then I take another step despite her fears.

I offer her none of the hostility I know she expects of me. What I do offer her is a heavy blanket of brown wool draped with great care to keep my hands a generous distance from her skin as I wrap it around her.

Then I place the open box, with her still sleeping pet inside it, in front of her. She does not see it, but a small smirk claims my expression as she tries to tuck her feet farther inside the walls of the blanket I just gave her, despite the fact they have no more room to move in that direction.

I do nothing else but that, and stand to leave. But at the door I pause for a moment to present her with a small verbal hook. "You have my apologies for the distress you have suffered. When you have calmed and are able, I will be outside the door awaiting your summons. No one shall enter but by your permission my lady."

Before I had little option but force my presence on her, no matter how gently I planned to do so. She would either wake to see me in the room, or see me walk through the door. Now, she will choose when it happens, and that will give her the illusionary sense of control.

That man's idiocy may actually benefit me in the long run. Pity for him I suppose, that I make no accommodations for stupidity. Better to remove it before it causes problems.

There is a confident undertone to my smirk, and it is not misplaced. Just before the door closed and its latch clicked I heard a small breathless sob come from her as she no doubt finally examines the box. That sound speaks of more promise and progress than any words could. I will not be kept waiting long.