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 THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0702 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
DUNCAN
After doing what I did in that thrown together hospital room, I am not going to lie and say I wasn't worried when the boss walked over to me with an angry scowl and a purpose to his steps. Even when it turned out he wasn't there to kill me on the spot I didn't have a chance to relax because of what he told me to do.
Part of me wanted to question it, like it was supposed to be a joke, but the other part of me knew well enough that doing that would be like putting my hand in a junkyard dog's mouth.
Still when he walks away I'm left blinking in stunned silence. The boss really wants me to get his lady drunk. I've never had that request before.
Not wanting to piss him of by delaying her intoxication I went to my supply cache and grabbed us each a bottle, all the while trying not to let the mental smirk find its way out as I muse what the hell she must have done to get him to agree to this.
All the desire to smirk vanishes after I knock for politeness sake before I walk in anyways, and see her holding her wrist, with blood seeping into the dingy cloth held under her fingers.
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
FLASH BACK TO 0657 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
NORA
After Loki left I honestly didn't know what to do. All I really could do was look at my hand, and I didn't even want to do that. I couldn't make it move down and I couldn't take my eyes off it. I had magick, have magick? How? And what kind?
I've never felt any different than anyone else. But even as I have that thought I know its stupid. Of course I never felt any different than anyone else. Humans as a race aren't hive minded. We're individuals, nobody feels like anyone else, and why would I think the way I felt was any different if I thought I was one.
That thought scares me. When did I seriously stop thinking I was human? When did I start seriously start considering the possibility that the very species I self identify is could be wrong?
I am not ready for these thoughts. I'm really not. I can feel the reactions bubbling up again, and I know its not a panic attack, but the symptoms are damn close. It's why I seek out a distraction.
It doesn't take me long to find my kitten, and while initially I just intended to force my thoughts to something else, once they really notice Jareth I don't have to force them anymore, they fixate on that on their own, and with concern.
My kitten does not look well.
Thinking back the last time I really saw him was when Duncan bribed him out from under the bed with tuna. That was before I learned that not only had I not screwed up and gotten my friends killed, but I actually did something to help them. Then after that I have a vague awareness of him being near me while I slept but I've just had so much going on that I haven't been thinking about him.
I thought he was fine, just like he was last time I bothered to check. Now though, his fur has a dull greasy look to it instead of its normal well maintained state, and even though his eyes are closed I can see the redness and build up in them, mirrored by the dry residue in his nose as well.
What concerns me most as I kneel down next to the bed where he has created a nest for himself in the blankets is the the way I feel him shiver under my hand as I run it over his fur. Even his sleepily delivered meow as he tries to wake up for me comes out more like a stuffed up dry rattle. He hasn't looked this bad since Steve carried him in out of the winter streets of New York City
"Oh baby." Picking him up carefully I create a cradle for him with the cloak given that my hand is already through the arm hole for it I simply grip the fur trimmed edge to keep him from sliding out of it, and rest him in the space between my chest in my arm. His weight, however slight is enough to make the fabric dip and create a sling for him. One he really seems to like.
He nuzzles and curls into the material, his little nails poking through as he flexes his paws in delight, and lets out a broken purr. Its a sound that makes me happy and sad all at the same time.
Looking around the room I try to find anything I can use to help him, preferably some clean cloth and some water. I find some cloth easily enough. There's a small stack of thin cotton towels sitting on one of the tables. The quest for water however is less successful. All I can find in that category is the milk-tea and Loki's wine, neither of which seem suitable to wash a sick kitten with.
I feel horrible that I didn't notice. I was too busy being caught up in my own problems. I know the guilt is misplaced, I know there is almost no way I wouldn't have focused on myself first, given everything that's been happening. But he is my kitten, my little boy, I'm supposed to take care of him and I wasn't even paying attention and I let him get sick.
I don't know what's wrong with him, all I can think is perhaps he ate something he shouldn't have. Between me, Loki, and Duncan he has been eating, so its not that he is starving. But there's been stretches I haven't had him in view and this place is old, full of old things. There's any number of things that could make him sick if he ingested them.
He was happy with the idea I was giving him attention, up until I restrained his face gently in my hand and started to wipe his eyes clean.
"Shhh baby, just a minute more." I coo despite his annoyed chirps and the way his paws try to push my hand away.
Then the banging came at the door and his paws weren't just pushing in annoyance. Startled he kicked out and tumbled out of my hands to the floor, his claws finding their way effortlessly through the weave and rack painfully across my arm.
I only had enough time to shove the sleeve of the cloak up to keep it from getting bloody, and clamping the cloth in my had over the bedding blood before I turned to see the increasingly displeased glower from Duncan.
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0703 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
DUNCAN
She took one look at me and started to turn around and move the other way, which was smart of her because the second I shut the door and freed my hands of those bottles I had every intention of using them to grab her.
By the look of it she even intends to crawl under the bed to get away from me, not that I give her the chance. She lets out a surprised gasp when I catch her by the forearm, a reaction I question because she had to know this was coming after she was dumb enough to do that. Its also a reaction I ignore hauling her back up to her feet I use her stumble to my advantage and push her into the wall by the head board, letting my mass pin her in place.
"Duncan?!" She uses that name out of habit, keeping her voice to a sharp hiss instead of a yell despite the fact I can tell she wants to. "What are you doing? Let me go!"
"Not until you tell me where it is." I growl back. I really don't have time for this shit, and I'm really pissed I even have to deal with it. I thought we were pasted this sort of stupidity, though I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised. I said it myself, this girl is cracking under the pressure. I mean it's bad enough that I decided to risk breaking cover to help her, a decision that could not only get me killed but all the men I command. The question makes her settle down a little even if it makes the confusion grow.
"Where what is?" And it makes me roll my eyes.
"The knife lil hen, where'd you put it?" For a moment her eyes widen in realization before they tighten back up in indignation and she starts to struggle again. Her struggles become verbal as well when I refuse to let her go.
"Dammit Duncan. You idiot, look at my arm! Do those really look like knife marks to you?!"
Then all the moving the cotton freed itself from its stuck position to her skin, revealing a nice crimson smear and about five very clean lines. The thing about suicide attempts is they aren't very clean. When you cut yourself it hurts. When it's someone else is doing it they don't feel it and it's really easy to make a clean cut, but when the blades is in your hand as it drags through your skin its a lot less neat because you naturally want to jerk away and end up making multiple attempts.
I could consider the fact that there are five beading lines of blood is those multiple attempts, but even then every one wouldn't be so clean.
"Its from my cat asshole. And if you throw me around one more time to get your way I'm gonna scream."
Its more the daring delivery of that statement that makes me let her go, and less the realization she wasn't trying to kill herself or the threat in those words. She is definitely growing a backbone, and I got to say, I like that. It will certainly make things easier when we escape this place if I don't have to deal with someone who is nothing but helplessness and fear.
"Now help me find my kitten. There is something wrong with him."
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0705 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
NORA
I saw his reaction when he came in, but I ignored it because I cared more about my cat then him, and I was in such a hurry I didn't even consider how the situation would have looked to Duncan. Then he had his hands on me and was pinning me to a wall.
The shock, and my deep seated desire to not get anyone killed helped me choke back the sound that wanted to get out because I could feel the callouses on his palms scrap into the hollow of my elbow as he adjusted his grip.
I didn't understand why he was so upset with me until he asked where I put the knife. I asked him to do something for me after he killed me, and now he walked in on me with bloody wrists. He thought I was going to do the job myself, I realize. Then the thought repeats in my head, toned with irritation. After everything he really thought I was trying to do the job myself.
Angry, despite my understanding of his actions I try to jerk my arm free so I can show him how wrong he is firsthand, but he views my squirming as an escape attempt so I can either not ask the question or call for help, he doesn't understand. So it leaves me with the only option of using words.
They succeed in making him realize the damage beneath the tacky crimson smear on my skin and he finally seems to realize he was wrong, which just leaves me with telling him what actually happened. That is enough to finally make him let me go.
It doesn't make me any less offended by his actions, but I still have the bigger concern of my kitten, and since he is in here he is going to help me.
I shed the cloak the rest of the way to keep Loki's gift from getting bloody, both to not be rude, but only to avoid the chance it gets anyone else in trouble too. Loki could just as likely come to another mistaken conclusion as well and now that I know who Duncan is he is also on the list of people I need to protect.
After Duncan stopped being a jerk, an attitude I begrudgingly admit he had the right to given that he thought I was trying to slit my wrists, a mistaken assumption, but a reasonable one given the last time we interacted.
I had him help me reach Jareth by lifting the end of the bed up so I didn't have to crawl. Not that I had to crawl much. Jareth was still upset and sick, but he was also my kitten. The closer my hand got to him the quieter his rattling growls of protest became, until they switched to broken meows and curious sniffing at the scent of my blood. He even took a few cautious crawling steps toward me before I gathered him up in my arms, using another cotton rag to create a barrier between my blood on both of us and the dress.
I am greeted by the sight of a package of wet wipes in a man's roughened hand by the time I finish standing back up. My eyes quickly travel the rest of the way up the arm past the half smirk to the pair of blue eyes.
"Peace offering, sorry for grabbing you like that." There's a pause of silence before I too offer him a small embarrassed smirk, and free my other arm to take the wipes from him.
"It's okay. I'm sorry for sort of threatening to get you killed. I didn't mean that, it's just been really crazy in here."
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0707 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
DUNCAN
That's an understatement. Part of me wants to brush off her apology, it's unnecessary after all. I've had much worse threats made on my life, and those people were all serious about taking it if I hadn't taken theirs first. I didn't even take her words seriously. She's too nice of a girl to do something like that on purpose, not that I'm gonna tell her that. It would only make her angry.
The other part of me doesn't miss the way the stress invades her expression during that last sentence. Her lips stiffen in a firm line and her eyes close as she tries to contain the emotions cresting within her. I decide to make it a little easier by offering her a distraction.
"Yeah, I got that part..." I let my jokingly delivered words trail off just long enough for me to gesture toward the bottles on the table. "...when the boss told me to get you drunk. Gotta say, I've never had that order before."