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 NINE

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0829 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

LOKI

I knew she would not welcome it at all, but at this point her fear of that weighed against the fear already present in her mind would hardly add much to the problem. I could fathom a good guess is to what her concern was, and it was all but confirmed by the fact she practically started clawing through her dress to physically remove the vile memory from her skin.

I obviously could not let her do that to herself, nor would even if there was a choice. She was far to injured already.

Small and delicate in size is she is it did not take me long to overpower her efforts and force her frantic hands away from their assault on her abdomen. The part of it all that took me longer was just capturing her wrists because I made the point of gripping them only over the sleeves of her dress.

It comes as no surprise me that when she recognizes the touch of my hands, or hands in general, that she tries to free herself from them with greater earnest. Her reaction does not really offend me even if I will admit I find it upsetting. She is trapped by a fear almost exclusively felt by a woman. I do not have the right to be offended by her reaction, not when I am male.

She worries she has been raped, and why would she not come to such a terrible conclusion when her last clear memory is no doubt being trapped under a mans painful and aggressive hands.

With that particular detail mind in I do my best to keep my grip of her limbs a gentle one, but still not so gentle she can free her wrists from them and resume her assault on her own skin. It is a necessary moment of cruelty on my part and one I wish I did not have to employ, especially since it is making her cry.

It is a sound I hate so much when it is carried by her voice. It brings up such terrible memories.

My impeding presence in front of her is not helping her maintain a calm state of mind either, but with my need to keep her in the chair, and my hands weighting her wrists against the furniture's arms there really is not anywhere else for my form to be. It leaves her with the fruitless option of trying to push as far back into it's frame to get away from me, but beyond the barrier of the chairs back there is also the impassable barrier of a wall to prevent her retreat.

"No little one..." The words are spoken mostly to my ears at first. I am sure she hears them, but the first few are no more than sounds beyond her frightened state. "...No. What you fear, it did not happen. He did not have a chance, I swear to you he did not,..."

It is here I can feel the tiny shift in her demeanor is she finally registers the meaning of the words within my voice, and I hear one sharper breath amidst the rest. "...HE. DID. NOT."

Then all the energy she put into fighting my hold on her transforms into sobs of relief and joy as, to my great surprise she leans into me! Her body so overcome by the intensity of those emotions that her muscles weaken under their force suddenly and she lets her forehead rest against the curved leather of my jackets shoulder. I can feel the trembling in her muscles through the weight of her hands on my arms. Well still secured within the grip of my hold she has somehow managed to twist them around, and clutch awkwardly in her desperation at the ends of my sleeves.

I have to remind myself that however appealing the temptation her touch instills in me, or how inviting the idea seems, that simply because she choose me is the thing she anchored herself to for comfort in a moment of great distress, it does not mean I have her permission to touch her back. I can and do however still have the safer option of further reassuring words."You are untouched little one, undefiled, your honor is pure, you are safe here with me, you are protected now."

Beyond my voice, and beyond those damnable tears I still can hear hers, weak and broken though it is, reciting what sounds like a litany of thank you's to match each word from mine.

I both revel, and rage over those words at the same time. I am glad to see her calming down and regaining her wits, but I hate how I have found her so fragile and helpless that relief seems so heavy a burden to her now. They will pay for damaging what is mine.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

0831 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

NORA

He's never touched me, not once. Sure I'm aware of the fact he just held my arms down to prevent me from hurting myself, and prior to that he also caught me when I almost fell during the episode. But he hasn't actually touched me yet. As soon as he judged me calm enough that I wouldn't try to hurt myself again, his hands simply let go of my wrists, a sorrowful but somewhat amused smile on his face when I was the one who seemed almost hesitant to let go of his leather sleeves.

He has had gloves on the whole time, I notice now. Which may not count is that unusual for this man, they maybe a normal part of his attire. The part that does make it strange to me and really proves he knows is that even though he is wearing gloves, when he caught me by the wrists he didn't just grab them, first he reached higher, and pulled the cotton of the sleeves back into place, setting yet another layer between his leather and my skin.

"You know about it, don't you." The words could be a question or even an accusation of some kind depending on the tone I spoke them in, if I spoke them with a tone that is. The way I say them, they're really not much more than six words, spoken toward the general area of my hands, without me really looking at them or anything.

There's a audible pause in the sounds of his activity, coming from whatever he must be doing at the table to my left he has now moved to. "Yes..." Then the sound of his voice is replaced by the falls of his feet and the sight of his legs passing in front of me, and beyond as he takes up a position in the chair to my right. "...I know of you aversion to touch. I hope you will forgive me for that, if my knowledge of it offends you, but you were not in a state to tell me yourself."

I shouldn't have, and I knew it even is the unbidden sound left my lips, but I laughed. Aversion to touch? Aversion, like it's is simple as something I don't like? Like the taste of pickles or people with poor hygiene? No, aversion is the wrong word, its no weak a word for it. There's a much better one and it is one I have an substantial aversion to. That word is Phobia and I hate how it has defined my life.

It's always been about skin for me, the skin of strangers, and of friends and even my own skin. Every day of my short life, I've spent it agonizingly aware of this barrier separating me from the world, and secluding me from others. I'm so afraid of a thing that to most people doesn't even cross their mind. Handshakes, hugs, being held in someone's arms or just bumping into someone's shoulder on your walk down the street. It's just a touch to them, something so simple and inconsequential that they don't even acknowledge it with a thought!

It's not something that leaves them so scared they're breathless and shaking beyond any measure of control. Their lucky, but me, I'm cursed. It isn't fair to fear something like that, not to me or the people who care about me. I sometimes hate 'normal' people for that, even if that emotion makes me feel guilty and petty afterwords. I know I shouldn't, its not their fault that I have this affliction.

The laugh is not much more than half a sound. It only exists in the time it takes for me to bring up my hands and cover my mouth with a different kind of fear driving my actions. "I'm..."

"No." My eyes lifted the same time is my hands did to cover my mouth, so I was already looking at him is he spoke that command, and well I can't say the tone of his voice was particularly intense, I can say that about the look in his eyes. They were nothing but serious is they cut me off and continued. "I need no apologies from you my dear. I recognize the effects of stress easily enough when I see them..."

I had the intention of beginning another one of those automatic response, this time one of agreement, but he didn't even allow a break in his words long enough for me to fill is his hands came into view, holding within it the immediately identifiable shape of a bottle of pills "..., and those of pain."

He's leaving the decision up to me... I realized is he finished that sentence. He was presenting me with the right to make my own choice. He even goes as far is to shake the bottle, unsettling any preset order to the pills, and pour a few into his hand. It's a silent offer to prove to me that he is acting in good faith, showing me if it will make me more comfortable that he will take them is well, just to assure me in case I was suspicious, that they aren't some kind of poison.

He's deliberately going out of his way and giving me every consideration he can think of to make this situation less distressing for me. And I know I should take advantage of them, these considerations. He's right after all, I am in so much pain and he hasn't given me any concrete reason not to trust that his intentions are to help me, but... I can't.

I don't know why exactly, I just can't bring myself to accept it when I try. Something is stopping me.

"I..." What wants to come out of my mouth is another apology, but remembering his request from only a moment ago I quickly cut it off before it can form, and think about how to better start again. "...D-Don't take it pers-personally, really, I-I'm really s-so grateful, for all of this, but, I j-just can't yet, with everything that's hap-happened. I, I just can't."

"I do not mind your suspicions of me or what my intentions may be." Any protest I might have made against that is stopped by him shaking his head knowingly and waving it off. "If anything my dear I am glad to see that you do not place trust in a... stranger...blindly." I don't miss the odd inflection he places on the word stranger. "But you are clearly in pain, and I am not inclined to let you stay that way. So please, take them."

He lifts his outstretched hand a little higher in a gesture of encouragement, with an expression of gentle urging to match it. But despite telling myself once again that he's right and I'm really just being silly about this whole thing, my hand still hesitates, and drops back down toward my lap without claiming the relief of the bottle in its fingers.

This time, his request for me not to aside, I can't think of anything else to offer him but an apology, so I do."I'm really sorry. I cant? I'm sorry."

He offers me one in return. "Then I am sorry is well."

That catches my attention very quickly, and it is not in a comforting way.

My eyes had drifted back down to my hands with a sense of shame behind their relocation, but they shoot back up to meet his when I heard him say that. They just watch with a sense of confused dread growing within me is he poured the pills back into the bottle and recapped it, afterward letting it roll casually out of his hand and disappear unseen into the cushion of the chair as he rose up from it to his feet once more.

"I was very much hoping it would not have to come to this, but you leave me with no choice in the matter." Those words transform the sense of dread in me to something greater, but it wasn't until he actually put his hand on the handle to open the door and called for people on the outside to come in that it solidified.

No, no, he just said he knows I can't stand to be touched, he knows its a phobia, he knows what it is, so he wouldn't really do that to me, would he?

"P-plea-ease, I'm-m so-sorry,..." I sound very pathetic to my ears, once again whimpering out my words, and I probably look it too but I don't care about that right now. If it will make him change his mind I'll be the most pathetic thing to ever exist, and with that logic in my mind the pitying look he gives me almost seems like a blessing. "...I'll ta-take t-them." I plead once again before letting my eyes scour across the chair cushion in search of that bottle, but with no success.

His expression changes back to concern once again however as I stand up to get a better view of the chair from a different angle and continue my search. The movement made pain rocket through the nerves of my leg when I made the mistake of putting my weight on it, and I wasn't quick enough to stop the wince or shocked cry of pain that followed.

"You may believe you mean those words little one, but I doubt you will be able to honor them. I do not expect you will forgive me for this, but the opportunity has passed you by."

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

In spite of my habit of posting pictures to go with the individual chapters, I have none for this chapter since most of the physical things that can be shown in a picture were presented in previous chapters. I apologize to anyone who enjoys the visual aids, but promise that there will be more to come.