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.
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DAY TWO
CHAPTER TWELVE
WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012
1302 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
NORA
"A wonderful...day." The words started out spoken in my dream, and faded into being spoken in reality, faltering on the last one with the realization that 'paradise' was only a cruel illusion built by my well-meaning subconscious to lose myself in, but would never last once my body has decided to open its eyes again.
I woke up. That should be a good thought, or even just a neutral one. It shouldn't feel like I'm shattering under it, it's just waking up after all, it's just a thing that happens. But I was dreaming of a normal life, and woke up to the nightmare again.
I just want my life back! My boring, simple, makes the coffee and files the paperwork life back! My jokes with the scientists and agents life back! My goes home to tee-shirts and toe socks and a marathon of Rachel Ray with a notepad and a sharpened No.2 pencil in my lap life back! I want any kind of my life that doesn't involve me opening my eyes again and again to the sight of this damnable room!
I did that five times before I finally gave up, opening my eyes to disappointment, only to squeeze them tightly shut again, praying that next time would be the time that they saw something else. I just wanted the view to be kinder, beyond that I wasn't to concerned with what it was. "This isn't happening."
"Afraid it is, Miss."
I didn't say that sentence is a question for anyone but myself, nor did I expect any sort of response because subconsciously I assumed, in the manner that I didn't really even think about it until now, that I was alone in the room again. Which was a really assumption stupid of me, and once again my startled reaction reminds my body it was in pain.
"Sorry, didn't pure techt tae scaur ye." The voice is familiar, and so is the face. He's a Caucasian, with a masculine face, his facial features stronger and prouder than a woman's would be. His jaw is mostly a square one, up until the point of his chin that turns into more of an oval, and with the presence of his trimmed beard looks even smoother around the edges. Fitting with his prominent features is a wide-set mouth, and nose, but not so wide to look disproportionate to the rest of him.
He's also a brunette like me but his hair looks more on the darker end of the color scale. I'd also guess, given the part that isn't pulled flat by the fact it's in a ponytail, that his hair has somewhat of a natural curl to it.
He's dressed just like the other man I saw, in that he is dressed for combat. Camo pants, leather boots, a simple olive tee-shirt and a tactical vest with a camo jacket for warmth in this somewhat frigid place, and even more telling is the fact he has his pistol resting next to him on the table. If I thought, no, knew, it wouldn't end horribly I might actually consider that a possibility, taking that gun, but I don't want the punishment know it will earn me.
He must have noticed my eyes glance at it, or maybe he just decided to address the possibility before I did something that stupid because he speaks again. "It's print specific darlin." He informs me, grabbing it by the slide and turning it so I can see the fingerprint sensor built into the grip on the other side. "An' yoors ainae oan th' list."
My reaction is sort of an automatic one since this is the man whose rough hands wrestled me into a restraining hold so they could put their needles through my skin, and I just unintentionally gave him the idea I was gonna try to shot him with his own gun! So you really can't blame me for starting to plead and apologize out of self preserving fright!
"Hey..." his initial response to mine is sort of automatic too, his hand comes up and he stands, but the sight of me cowering and the sound of my whimper stops him from advancing further, and seems to suggest he was either told, or guessed about my condition. Either way he stops moving closer. " ...Hey, hey, hey. Relax, yer nae oan 'at list either. Ah ainae haur tae hurt ye."
WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012
1304 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
?
MERCENARY
Well, I got my wish in terms of she didn't wake up screaming, even if she woke up much sooner than I expected but I don't really consider the stuttering fear any better. After her attempt to say 'right, yes, sure, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply.' a 'sentence' which should only be twelve words, but she managed to make it sound more like thirty, I realized I needed a new tactic and quick.
"Jesus, yer a timid wee lass arenae ye loove?" She doesn't really answer that, at least not in the verbal sense, but her body language is definitely giving me one. I can see her shrink back a little into herself at the endearment before she offers me a tiny but agreeing nod, no doubt afraid that if she didn't I'd get upset. She has victim written all over her.
It doesn't make any sense, sure she's a tiny little woman and she came in here looking like she took on a lawnmower and lost in the severest sense of the word. But if the company she came in with is any indication, and it's not hard at all for me to recognize that insignia on his coat, she's connected to S.H.I.E.L.D somehow. Sure, she went through some levels of hell I'm not privy to the details of, but she's had more then enough time, and treatment to recover.
So the behavior I'm seeing is all wrong even as a front. The boss and the bastard would know better than to buy whatever it is she's trying to sell, but the thing is, and this part makes even less sense, I don't think it's fake.
"Well, till th' boss says otherwise, mah jobs tae guard ye, sae Ah shoods probably gie ye mah nam. Duncan Blackwuid, at yer service Miss...?"
"N-Nor-a Nora El-laine." The stutter isn't fading as quickly as I would like, but she does demonstrate some courage in a different way. She starts asking me questions. "Are y-you gonna h-hurt-t me a'agian?" Even if there questions I don't like.
I can feel the tug of a frown appear on my lips at that one specific word, but just shake my head gently for her. "If Ah did afair Ah apologize, but nae. Lang is ye dae whit yer supposed tae Ah willnae e'en hae tae tooch ye."
She nods, the motion more of a tiny vibration than an actually distinguishable movement, and as she does it her eyes flit around the room so quick it only makes the resemblance of a little bird I have forming in my mind seem that much more appropriate. Come on sweetheart, you need to calm down. "A-An-d-and wha-t-t am I-I supp-po-posed to d-o?"
I leave her hanging on that question for a second, not because I'm trying to be mean or anything, I just have to remind myself that she is a mission, and you don't touch that. Figuratively or physically speaking. This one's lethal Duncan, you know better. The boss's woman always is.
Finally I open my eyes again and let out a shallow huff as I look at her only to remind myself given how pleading and hopeful she looks what a bad idea getting attached to her is. Don't do it, its a weakness. Instead I reach out to the table at my side and let my hands wrap around the little white bottle of pills. "Take these..." I pause just long enough to nod in the direction of the bowl of fruit and glass of water next to her bed "...an' eat somethin'." Before I toss the container to land on the matress at her feet.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012
1305 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
NORA
I did something wrong, I think. I'm not sure, but then again I am. His attitude changed, he didn't exactly get angry with me, the best term I can think of is 'short', he got short with me. The kind of attitude you get when something is bothering you, and you just want to get it over with.
I sort of want to apologize for whatever it was, but I'm not sure that's a good idea. It's so strange to be afraid of what an apology might bring, but I am afraid. I don't want to do anything wrong again, I don't want 'that' to happen again.
I'll do anything to keep it from happening again. Even take the drugs that they want to give me without question. Even if I don't know what they are.
That mystery is cleared up a little as I lean forward, as much as my body will let me at least in the painfully stiff state it is. Then, since it is still not quite in reach I let my fingertips roll the container back until I can pick it up. The label on the bottle says it is Demerol, and it might really be, or they just want me to think it is. Not that it matters, and not that I have time to think about it anymore.
I can hear the door opening, and now all I'm thinking is please no because he looks angry!
NOTES FOR THE READERS:
My previously unnamed mercenary is Scottish and therefore speaks with a Scottish accent for authenticity, but fear not, I will offer translations.
IN STORY: "Sorry, didn't pure techt tae scaur ye."
TRANSLATION: Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.
IN STORY: "An' yoors ainae oan th' list."
TRANSLATION: And yours ain't on the list.
IN STORY: "Hey, hey, hey. Relax, yer nae oan 'at listi either. Ah ainae haur tae hurt ye."
TRANSLATION: Hey, hey, hey, relax your not on that list either. I ain't here to hurt you.
IN STORY: "Well, till th' boss says otherwise, mah jobs tae guard ye, sae Ah shoods probably gie ye mah nam. Duncan Blackwuid, at yer service Miss...?"
TRANSLATION: Well, till the boss says otherwise, my jobs to guard you, so I should probably give you my name. Duncan Blackwood, at your service Miss...?
IN STORY: "If Ah did afair Ah apologize, but nae. Lang is ye dae whit yer supposed tae Ah willnae e'en hae tae tooch ye."
TRANSLATION: If I did before I apologize, but no. Long is you do what your supposed to I will not even have to touch you.