Chapter Five
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"So, let's start at the beginning…"

I sighed, hung my head. I knew Dr. Siwa was trying to help me out, but one could only repeat the same story over and over again until she went crazy. But I obliged, since at least Siwa was here to help me find answers.

Dr. Siwa's office hadn't seen many changes over the one year that I've been here now; I still sat on the far-right couch cushion; still preferred to play with the squishy stress ball amongst the other items laid out on the coffee table for me; The soft blues and grays of the room remained, with their hint of gold in the old artifacts and tchotchkes. The only thing new was Dr. Siwa's notebook, now a soft green color; and the potpourri, gentle and slightly pomegranate.

"I know this is frustrating," Dr. Siwa smiled sympathetically, noting my reaction. "Memory is, even at the best of times, a fickle bitch — pardon my French." That got a bit of a laugh out of me, so he continued, "It's unreliable, it's malleable, and even without amnesia, perfect recall is incredibly rare and difficult to prove besides. But going over your experience multiple times may help weed out details that might be incorrect, and of course help give us a clearer picture of what happened. And what you felt is just as important as what you've seen and heard."

"Well, I was scared, panicked," I said, with a shrug. Between that and my hunger and exhaustion, there was little space left over in my brain to experience anything else. "Disoriented. I just want to know why this is happening. If someone did this to me. Or if I'm just..." I made a twirling gesture around my temple.

"Now, Mia, we both know you're not crazy, nor are you going crazy," Dr. Siwa admonished lightly. He never liked that word, nor any other implications of it.

"But doesn't psychosis start to present at this age?"

"Yes, sometimes, but you don't present enough symptoms for me to consider it," Dr. Siwa replied in a measured tone. "More importantly, what you are experiencing seems to be neither a hallucination or a delusion. It's a gap in your memory, and many things could be the cause of that. It's my job to figure out what, exactly, and see if we can work it out from there."

"What do you think it is so far, then?" I couldn't hide my nervousness. Because even if it was a psychotic disorder, something that would normally be treatable with medication — it wouldn't be treatable for me. And after two days stewing this (lack of) information, maybe it was starting to get to me.

"Well, from what you described of your last similar experience to this, with the boat," Dr. Siwa gestured with his hand. "And from what I know of your past, my best guess right now is that it's a result of trauma. This is not an official diagnosis, merely a working theory, but I have discussed with you how in times of a traumatic situation, we may not only disassociate, but our minds will also simply block the memory, compartmentalize it, and tuck it away, because it knows you and your body cannot function if you have to consciously live with it. That's not to say there aren't any terrible side effects of this, it's merely one of many involuntary coping mechanisms our brains can do for us."

"So, you think something happened to me in those three days," I said, slowly, trying to keep myself calm as I said it. "Something bad."

Wanda's observations, about there being no memory to retrieve at all, didn't hold a lot of weight with Dr. Siwa. Probably because he didn't know her like I did, and probably because psychic powers weren't an accredited form of diagnosis and therapy. He could only judge what he himself could observe. That didn't change the fact that I believed Wanda, and if indeed that memory was truly gone, completely erased, then I figured I had a lot more to worry about than just a traumatic incident.

"Something you shouldn't have been made to experience," Dr. Siwa corrected, in that infuriatingly gentle tone that was way too kind. "I can't know what it is, but whatever had happened, it may reveal itself in other ways. I want you to take careful stock of yourself in the coming days and weeks, Mia. If you notice anything new about yourself, your behavior that wasn't there before. That seems to have no logical origin. It may be an unconscious reaction of your mind to what you can't remember."

I nodded. There had been no physical clues to whatever happened; I came away with a relatively clean bill of health from the doctor. Even a rape kit, just in case.

I had asked for it privately, when I first got back home, while the FBI agents were still there. Aunt May had decided then and there to take me to the hospital instead of waiting till morning, which meant I had gotten back home even later. I hadn't known for sure, but I just wanted to cover all my bases. I would've healed too fast for there to be any exterior evidence.

It came back negative, both me and my clothes. It was one less thing off my mind.

But only one.

"Do you notice anything different about me?" I asked. Maybe I could get a head start on this if I knew what I was looking for.

Dr. Siwa only shook his head, his braids swaying. "It's too soon to say, and an hour of interaction hardly compares to your own experience. Or even what your family or friends might see. If they say something, take note of it, and we can discuss it next time we meet."

I made a face but nodded anyway. I wasn't sure if my friends would say anything — it was just as likely they might not say anything at all, because if I was acting weird, well, there was a pretty obvious reason as to why.

But hopefully, if something was really wrong, they'd say something.

~o~

Going back to school was not the blessing of normality I'd hope it would be.

Aunt May had decreed that I wasn't going back to school until Dr. Siwa okayed it (he did), so I was a shaking, vibrating mess of a teenaged girl by the time I finally went back. Two days. Two whole days, my perfect attendance ruined, and now everyone was whispering about me again.

Some kids were nice, like Flash or Liz. Just said they were happy I was back, that I was okay. Others, like Courtney from gym or Danny from English, snickering and sharing rumors. Like I tried to run away from home. Went on a mad bender and ended up in jail, hence the missing days. Among other things they thought I couldn't hear from across the room.

At least APUSH was quiet, a small class meant kids were less willing to whisper when it was easier to tell everyone apart. And also, the many, many videos we got to watch insisted on silence, and a nice audio that washed out everything else for me.

The classroom was dark, the lights switched off for the old movie we were watching. A 1940's German propaganda film depicting the rise of the third Reich and featuring the many known faces of their upper echelons. This one in particular was lauding Germany's technological strength, featuring such acclaimed figures as Johann Schmidt (pre-skin sloughing) and Baron Heinrich Zemo, who for some reason got to keep his fancy noble title during the Reich. Probably because he was rich.

I shouldn't be surprised, not really. It had been like this when I first got back home in November two years ago. This was less bad, I supposed, since I wasn't literally coming back from the dead. But still. I had worked so hard to build a good reputation for myself, to be more than just the dead girl that came back buff, and how easily it fell away! Did I really give off such criminal vibes?

Maybe the buffness was a part of it. And the tattoo. And the scars. And the worn clothes, torn jeans, multiple piercings, and black nail polish. There was only so much a girl could do. I didn't dress WASP-y enough to deserve sympathy instead of suspicion.

At any rate, I was being left alone, and that was what mattered.

A hand tugged at my sleeve.

Well, mostly.

I looked over at Howie sitting next to me. His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he signed, "Did you really go missing?"

I sighed, glancing at the interpreter dozing in the far corner of the room, given a momentary break with the film subtitles. Howie wasn't allowed to "talk" during films, but since signing was quiet, Mr. Johnson usually let it slide. I was the only one Howie really talked to anyways, and I was even quieter.

I half-paid attention as the film depicted in scratchy black-and-white film and dubbed-over German as Heinrich, stocky and looking like a brick shithouse in a white lab coat, helped the Red Skull develop his infamous laser technology. Less than ten years after this film was made, both would die at the hands of the Howling Commandos.

Moving my hands so it wasn't too obvious that I wasn't paying attention to the film, I replied, "Yes. Just for a few days. I'm okay now."

"What happened?"

"I don't know." I wasn't going to beat around the bush for Howie. He was thirteen now, a big boy. If he could decide for himself he wanted to go to Midtown to finish his high school degree, then he was big enough to hear the truth from me. "Still trying to figure that out."

"Anything I can do to help?" Howie asked, his expression hopeful.

I couldn't help but cast him a soft smile. Howie, who always looked on the bright side, who always wanted to help. Whose Iron Vitruvius prototype came with flotation devices and medical aid rather than weapons. I wished I had an answer for him, because there was nothing Howie hated more than having nothing to do, than feeling useless. I felt that on a deep level myself. But I could only shake my head. "Nothing for now. But thanks."

Howie Stark was doing pretty well for the most part in school, and I supposed my treatment was better than his. Along with his last name, Howie was visibly shorter than everyone in the school, no growth spurt in sight — and tripled by his intelligence and complete blindness to teasing meant that he had a big ass target on his back. Howie was naive enough not to see it most of the time, but I knew that sometimes the pressure got to be a lot.

But he wanted to graduate and go to MIT next year (or Julliard… or Columbia… he hasn't decided yet), and this was how he wanted to do it. I guess Tony decided Midtown was prestigious enough for his tastes (and filled with enough friendly faces) that he allowed it.

Still, I may or may not have engineered my personal situation so that I could share classes with Howie, who was in mostly junior and senior level classes, on a syllabus of his own; Peter as well. He got science and chemistry; I got history and home economics. That was a mixed back. History was totally fine, but Howie nearly had a conniption when we were cooking together and I broke the dry spaghetti noodles to fit into the pot. He got detention for cursing me out in Italian.

Least to say, Howie preferred I didn't handle pasta. I preferred he stayed away from anything that was flammable or explosive.

"Let me know," Howie replied, his attention completely on me instead of the film. He was probably the smartest kid in school, but that didn't change the fact he had the attention span of a squirrel. "Me and Dad are working on this machine that can reconstruct memory in digital space — it's still in the testing stage, but it's completely harmless and he might let you use it if we ask nicely. And if he doesn't, I can sneak you in anyways. Dad's been getting a lot of conferences with this Ross guy lately."

"Ross?" That name piqued my interest. As in, General Ross? The guy chased Bruce Banner across the world?

"Dad won't say what it's about. Just some Avenger business," Howie got a cross look he usually got when butted out of adult topics. "Doesn't want me anywhere near Secretary Ross. I think he thinks he's protecting me, but I don't know from what. Isn't Ross supposed to be one of the good guys? He's not HYDRA."

"He might not be," I said, wishing I could imbue as much irony into my hands as I could into my voice. "Just because he's not HYDRA doesn't mean he's a good guy."

There was plenty of evil before HYDRA, and there would be plenty evil after. Not that I thought General Ross was evil necessarily, I'd never met him, but I knew his reputation well enough. He was no friend to superheroes. The fact that he was now Secretary, filling the shoes of the illustrious Alexander Pierce, did not give me hope.

The class ended with Mr. Johnson assigned a paper with a topic of our choice, regarding Allied war tactics against the Axis, and off we went. All things considered, the day was normal. Aside from a few weird looks and those goddamn whispers, I could almost pretend everything was normal as I carved a path through the crowd for Howie.

Give it a few days, I knew, a week or two, and everyone would have forgotten all about it.

~o~

I wasn't surprised that Peter was waiting for me at my locker when the final bell rang.

"I hope you're here with good news and not just because you're worried about me," I said lightly as I put away my textbooks and pulled out my backpack. I had a bad feeling I'd be a victim to some helicopter parenting in the future, but helicopter cousining might be the bigger surprise.

"Me? Worried? Psh," Peter smacked the air as if dismissing the thought. "You're the last person I've ever worried about. Not when you've got a knife on you at all times."

"I do not," I lied.

"Sure," Peter grinned, seeing right through me. Only the truly foolish would ever believe a lie I said. "Anyways, yes, I do have good news. Rabbi Appel hooked me up with a gig next Friday, I'm getting paid to take photos of the Ravens' game this weekend. And I got an extra free ticket if you're interested."

"Yeah, you know me, big Ravens fan," I said, wondering if Peter was pulling my leg. I knew who the Ravens were. That was Faraday High, one of Midtown's rivals, up in Astoria. I also knew one of their quarterbacks, who also happened to be Appel's grandson. "Isn't that where Matt goes to school?"

"Maybe."

Well, it was little wonder where the Rabbi got his tip to hook up Peter, then. But I just shrugged, remembering to be delicate when I slammed my locker shut. The last one had dents in the shape of my fingers. "Well, that's nice of him. Guess it couldn't hurt to go. Going to football games is a normal thing for every teenager to do."

"You've never been to a football game in your life." Peter pointed out with a barely concealed laugh.

"Neither have you!"

"Unless I'm getting paid," Peter replied with a grin. "A hundred dollars for the whole night, that's way more than minimum wage."

"I don't suppose that also counts for food and drink,"

"Jokes on you, I bring my own food to games," Peter said, as we started walking out. I pretended not to notice how he kept looking around as if someone might snatch me away right in front of him. "But I'm sure if you asked Matt, he'd get you something."

"Really?" I blinked at him in surprise. Peter said it like it was a joke, but I had no idea where he was coming from to begin with. "Why would he do that?"

Peter stared back at me, then looked away. "Uh, don't worry about it. I'll save some food for you, just in case."

"Please, I can pay for myself. You're already got me a free ticket." I didn't want Peter spending his money on me, not when he was trying so hard to save up. For a car, for college. For his future. I had a bit of savings, not to mention the small allowance I got from not one, but three parents, which added up to a nice sum no matter how much I kept telling them to keep their money. I wasn't even sure what Dad did for a job nowadays, but he was clearly getting paid if he could afford to give me five dollars every week. At least my piggy bank was happy. "Besides, it'd be nice to see Matt. Especially after how much he helped me."

It was Rabbi Appel who suggested his grandson help me study for my bat mitzvah. I had been nervous at first, considering Matt had even more jock vibes than I did, but he turned out not so bad, and clearly helped me enough where I felt ready for the next step.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd be happy to see you, too," Peter said, again in that tone of voice that sounded like a joke. But when I looked at him in question, he just shrugged and smiled like it was nothing.

Whatever little in-joke he was hiding, I wasn't in the mood to go hunting for it. The day had worn me out, having to deal with the reaction of being back, of teachers wondering if I was some delinquent on the edge of another stunt. If I could run away and risk FBI involvement without blinking an eye, what else could I do?

Together, we headed down to the subway, just the two of us. Ned had his D&D club today after school, and MJ had her painting project to work on, the one she neglected all weekend. The silence that fell between the two of us wasn't unusual, I was comfortable with the companionable quiet that often settled between Peter and I. But this time, it felt a little different. Tense, with unasked questions.

I could ask, I knew. But I had a feeling Peter would make himself known, if I was a little patient.

And I was right.

"So, Mia," Peter said at length, in his Way Too Casual voice. "Everything is okay, right?"

"Yeah?" I asked, frowning at him. It was such a weird question, and I wasn't sure what he was referring to. Was this what Dr. Siwa asked me to look out for? "I mean, after everything, I'm okay. What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just —" Peter rubbed the back of his head nervously, tried for an unconvincing smile. "Just wanted to make sure that you were, you know…. Happy. Here. At home."

"Happy?" I repeated, now even more confused than before. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I, er, I dunno, just wondering, that's all," Peter said, in that same voice that spoke more than what he was saying. All too innocent, all too insecure. When he caught my look, Peter winced. "It's not… anything bad, I'm just — I just want to make sure you're okay. That you didn't leave last Friday because you wanted to."

"And, what, I wouldn't remember why?" I asked, skeptical, trying very hard not to be offended. And maybe failing a little. Did Peter really think I'd want to run away? "Is this because of what everyone else is saying about me?"

Peter flushed a little, averting his gaze. "I just wanted to check in on you, that's all. Cross that off our list of explanations. If you say you're happy, then — I believe you."

That last part sounded sincere, and while I still bristled, I backed off a little. Maybe it was the thought of Peter being susceptible to rumor, or me thinking that he knew me better than that. Of course, I was happy. I was happier than I've been in a long time, at least until the event happened. Everything in my life was stable, I had plenty to look forward to, no demons to hide from.

And now everything felt just a little less certain. That maybe the ground I walked on wasn't as sure as I thought it was. It was startling to settle again, but still. The shake-up, and Peter's question, had me second-guessing everything.

It left me with a seed of doubt. Had I left of my own volition? It would explain why I would have dumped my backpack, wouldn't have answered my phone. Which I still didn't have.

If I had left, why? Where was I going? Why did I end up on a bridge so close to home?

And why couldn't I remember?