Chapter 1
He’s a very punctual man. She’s learned this much in the last several days, though she’d be lying if she said she learned much more than that. She tries to level her breathing, tries to will her racing heart to slow as she shuts the closet door with caution and sits in a crouch. The digital clock on his stove said that it’s three minutes past six, and she has no doubts that in two more minutes he’ll be walking through the door. She lowers herself all the way down and pulls her knees against her chest, breathing deeply though her nose and exhaling through her mouth.
In the grand scheme of things, she wouldn’t say that things aren’t going according to plan, that isn’t the problem here, but rather the problem is the lack of a plan to begin with. Bellona never imagined herself to be free from S.H.E.I.L.D. confinement, but she also never imagined that she’d be a lifetime prisoner to start with. Before that, she never saw herself being without her sisters and, even earlier, she never knew she’d be free from the facility. So the problem isn’t things not going according to plan, it’s that she worries for the master plan she’s being manipulated into. The one she can never seem to pick up on.
She leans her head back against the wall and shuts her eyes, embracing the wave of serenity that washes over her. She knows she can’t keep doing this forever, she’s truly surviving on borrowed time, but she isn’t sure how familiar of a face she is and she doesn’t know how many will be looking for her. She’s sure they’ve realized she’s escaped by now, and it won’t be long before they alert some mutant team or another for assistance. She isn’t exactly what you’d consider a petty criminal.
The doorknob to the apartment she’s hiding in rattles and she holds her breath. It’s strange, she usually feels a heightened sensation of anxiety in the minutes leading up to this part, but she never seems to feel it when he actually comes inside. Instead, she feels a sense of calmness. Security. The hinges creak and she hears him step inside. He’s right on time, she thinks. As usual.
She turns slowly, peering through the slants in the vented bi-fold door. He takes his shoes off just inside, something else she’s noticed he does quite regularly, and drops his keys on an end table beside the sofa. She watches him as he reaches down to the coffee table and grabs the remote, turning on the T.V. but keeping the volume muted. She doesn’t understand the point of it because he also never sits to watch, not usually, but it’s something he does anyways.
He slides his jacket off and unbuttons his shirt before walking towards the single bedroom. As he does, he passes right in front of her. Bellona watches intently, taking in the details of him to try and observe as much as she can. To try and learn. She shuts her eyes when he pauses by the closet, and she tries to breathe in deeply. As a product of a product of The Weapon X, she should be able to sense him. To smell him. To register his particular pheromones, his individual mark. As always, she’s disappointed when the only thing her nose can recognize is the mustiness of the closed in closet. Even at that, she couldn’t describe it as anything other than ‘stale’.
He pauses for only a second, and she briefly wonders if she can hear him breathe in just a little deeper- deep enough for her average ears to hear- but then he’s walking again and she’s sure she’s only paranoid. Not that it would be a far reach in thinking the son of Wolverine would certainly be able to smell her hiding here, but she’s clinging to the hope that maybe the heightened senses missed him like they missed her, or that maybe it’s not as intense of a power as the facility always made it seem. His footsteps disappear after a moment and she hears him shut a door. It’s a strange thing to do, given that he lives alone, but so are a lot of things he does.
Now that he’s in the back half of the apartment, Bellona relaxes a little more. She isn’t sure exactly what day it is, but she knows it’s either Friday or Saturday, and that means he should be going out soon. That’ll buy her some time here, she can stretch her legs and unwind, maybe try to figure some things out. She wedges herself into the corner of the closet, away from the door, and sighs. She isn’t entirely sure what she’s hoping for here. She doesn’t know what her next move will be, but she’s going to have to make it soon.
She’s been here, squatting in Daken’s apartment that is, for a week. It was last Saturday when she managed to track him down and tail him back to this place. It took a lot of research on her part to find out where he lives, and it turns out he lives in a lot of places under a lot of different names, but his most recent is this New York studio apartment just outside the city. It was a perfect location for her, it wasn’t far from where she broke out from, and it was much easier to follow him than she thought it would be.
It was somewhere around a little after midnight when she spotted him. She didn’t have to worry about blending in because she followed him to a street that seemed to house endless amounts of clubs and bars, so it was nothing to stand next to a crowd and go unnoticed. He was across from her on the other side of the road, leaving a seedy looking place. He looked over his shoulder and waved at someone, she wasn’t sure who, and pulled his keys from his pocket. It was then that she started to follow.
It wasn’t hard, especially not at first. There were so many people talking loudly and stumbling around that she was able to weave in and out and close the distance to a respectful gap without him even so much as glancing in her direction. She practiced the things she learned in her training, stepping when he stepped and only where he stepped too, until they made it to the parking lot. She started to get nervous then, wondering how she’d continue to hide, how she’d manage to end up wherever he was going, without him noticing her at all, but that ended up being relatively simple too.
He pulled the keys from his pocket and clicked a button. Across the lot, headlights lit up and a car chirped in response. Daken continued to walk a methodical path, straight down the isle, while Bellona used this as an opportunity to get ahead. She ducked between cars and zig-zagged her way to the black sportscar she knew belonged to him. When she was two cars away from it, she looked over her shoulder. His pace was slower, he certainly wasn’t in any hurry, and he walked in the open with his arms by his side. She smirked as she army crawled across the pavement, sliding up to the charger and easing the rear driver’s side door open.
It was all working out perfectly. He had enough luggage in the back for her to be able to hide on the floorboard behind the driver’s seat, and all she needed to do was tug a tarp over herself. She had moments to spare before she heard the door open and felt a shift as he got inside. The engine roared to life and she breathed a sigh of relief. He turned the radio on at a low volume before backing out.
The drive to his apartment wasn’t very long, if she had to guess she’d say it was a ten to fifteen minute time span. The hum of music and vibration of the tires lulled her into a strange sort of relaxation. She was exhausted, having left the prison less than twelve hours earlier, and she knew even then that she had to get a plan together, some form of grand escape or at least an end goal, but in that moment all she wanted to do was find someplace safe to rest. To regroup. And the universe had pointed her in his direction.
They bumped along in silence and she was almost drifting off, as dangerous of a game she knew it was, but his cellphone ringing startled her awake again. She held a hand over her mouth and prayed he didn’t hear the small gasp that had emerged.
“What is it?”
His voice was as soft as it was deep, and he had the faintest trace of some sort of accent. She inched forward slightly and lifted a part of the tarp to see if she could figure something out, anything at all.
“Not tonight,” he said, and he seemed to articulate more than someone naturally would. She’d almost think he wanted to be heard, but that wouldn’t make any sense. “No, I’ll let you know.”
And that was it. The conversation was over, whoever is was on the other line had to be disappointed. They had to feel dismissed, ignored, something. He was abrupt and authoritative and he seemed demanding in only those few words he’d exchanged and she wondered if whoever it was got to actually say anything back to him. For some reason, the realization made her feel a gravitation towards him. The rest of the ride was quiet and calm. Bellona let her body lay limp as she embraced the idea of being carried away.
It wasn’t until the car parked that she realized she needed to think of how to get out. She could stay under the tarp for some time, but then she wouldn’t know how to get inside of where he was. On the contrary, if she moved before he was inside she would risk him seeing her. She’d only just escaped and she had no intentions of going back. She inwardly cursed herself at her own sloppiness, her own amaturity. The car creaked when he stepped out and she took a deep breath.
She ultimately decided to merge both ideas together and meet them in the middle, counting to 300 before she slowly peeled the tarp back and sat up. Her body ached with fatigue and now a sort of stiffness that she knew would take days to work out, but she had little time to dwell on it. She leaned over, peered around the seat in front of her, and she couldn’t have painted a more perfect scene. At the same time she looked, the blinds in a second story window were being pulled down and she knew that it was him. Who would have ever thought that fate would play out in her favor? Bellona Kinney, the faulty nonmutant clone of a clone, finally rolling a lucky dice. She beamed as she eased the door open and crouched low to the ground. She could wait in the lot for a little while before she’d find a way to sneak inside. He’d surely be fast asleep by then.
While she waited, she decided to pace the perimeter. Daken lives in a rather large apartment complex on the higher end of middle class it would seem. The building isn’t new, but it isn’t rotting from the inside out either. The landscape looked well-kept and maintained, she observed the flowers that lined the edges. It was certainly a better sight than S.H.E.I.L.D. accommodations, and definitely better than the facility. She took note of the fire escapes that lined the edges of the building, the one closest to his place in particular.
As she made her way to the back, she slowed as she heard several voices. When she got closer, she heard the sound of splashing too. A large in-ground pool in the back held three small groups of teenagers. Chronilogically speaking, they were probably around Bellona’s own age, though she’d never consider herself to be like them. She buried her hands in her pockets and ducked her head down as she walked over the threshold of grass changing into cement.
Fluorescent lights made it impossible to hide, but she hoped she could blend with the shadows. The converse shoes she managed to dig out of a mall dumpster scuffed the pavement and she pulled her hood up over her hair. It isn’t to be discreet, it’s too late for that, but it’s a physical effort to shut down any chance of conversation.
“Hey!”
She tightened her fists. It’s a constant effort to remember what normal means in the face of regular humans, but she couldn’t help but feel defensive at being addressed. Not only would making acquaintences lower her chances at successfully hiding out here for a while, but she also simply didn’t want the company.
“Hey, girl!”
She gritted her teeth and walked faster. All she needed was for security or someone’s parents to come chasing after her and ask if she was okay, or worse- call the police. She bit her bottom lip as she passed the pool and shrugged deeper into the folds of her pullover, grateful for the protection it provided. She could hear mumbling behind her, followed by cackling, but she forced herself to ignore it. She couldn’t be weighed down by that, not in this moment.
She didn’t slow down until she turned the corner to the opposite side of the building. Even though she was sure there had to be some kind of security around this place, some type of camera system that was constantly recording, it felt good just to be away from people. Away from curious eyes. She walked until she got to the next corner, and then she paused. This would be the front of the building, the part that would grant her entrance to Daken’s apartment. She could feel her heart race in anticipation of what she knew she’d have to do.
She still wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it either. The back balcony overlooked the swimming pool, so she couldn’t get in through there as long as people were swimming. At the same time, she knew it was impractical to expect to get in through the front door. As far windows, it was a similar situation. Front or back, no side entrances, and she’d have to figure out where his bedroom was. His living room. She didn’t even know his schedule, nor his lifestyle. She didn’t know how she’d do this.
She almost considered the option of simply knocking on his door. It’s not that it’s what she wanted to do, but it almost seemed to be the safest option. She could introduce herself and explain her dilemma. From what she knew of him, he couldn’t be one to judge her. She pondered her options as she knelt low to the ground and inched her way forward. When she saw his door open, she made a quick move to hide behind the tall shrubs.
She held a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle any sounds her breathing would make, though she was unsure if it would help at all. She watched as he shut the door and turned to descend the stairs, and she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t lock the apartment. Things were working out perfectly. She crawled forward a few paces on her hands and knees in the small space between the shrubs and the building while she watched him walk away, back to the car she had just escaped from. She would almost think things were working out too perfectly, but she couldn’t let the idea worry her then.
She waited until the black charger left the parking lot entirely before she held her breath and darted for the stairs, the ones that he took just moments before, the ones that went straight to his front door. She could only pray that he didn’t have his own camera system set up as she reached a shaky hand out and turned the door knob, falling inside and shutting it with a force before she breathed a sigh of relief.
At the time, she was hoping for maybe a night. If she could make it until morning, she’d figure something else out. She rehearsed this idea in her head as she crept into his kitchen and grabbed a banana from the countertop. Surely a single man wouldn’t occupy every space in an apartment, even one of a smaller size. She could find a neglected closet, some corner in a room that she could tuck herself into for a few hours. She’d find a way out before the sun rose and then she’d come up with a better plan, a better way to make full contact with him. A better way to ask for his help, his alliance even.
She peeled the banana open and took a large bite to soften the gnawing of her stomach as she looked around. It looked like what she’d expected it to, perhaps it was a little more cleaned up and organized, but that wouldn’t bother her plan. She spotted the entry closet in the living room immediately, already having decided that if nothing else worked she could hide in there. She was small enough, as well as desperate enough, to fit herself into any place she would need to. She didn’t know how long he’d be gone, but she decided to continue to look around anyways. The more hiding spots, the better.
She took another bite as she wandered down the short hallway, noting a full-size bathroom on the left, a closet on the right, and one more room with a door slightly ajar. She glanced once over her shoulder before she took a cautious step forward and eased it open the rest of the way. His room was on the other side and it, like the rest of the small space, was impeccably clean. He certainly seemed to live minimilistacally and, for a moment, she worried that maybe it would be a little more difficult to hide after all.
A bed was centered perfectly against a long wall with a nightstand by its side. The nightstand held only a small lamp and a book, while the desk adjacent to it held a laptop and several notebooks. Bellona frowned as she flipped through some of the pages, though the vertically written characters were impossible for her to decipher. While she could somewhat speak in several languages, just basics, reading them was something she was never taught. At least not to this extent. She shut the cover and pushed it back to where it had been, looking once more around the relatively empty room before finding her way back down the hall.
It would be a challenge, but she could manage one night. If she found somewhere to hide then, she could be set for the coming hours and still find a way to sneak out before he woke up again. The small quarters would be a challenge, she wasn’t sure how she could move without him hearing her, but she remembered the fire escape she spotted outside earlier. Even if he sees her leaving, he wouldn’t be able to catch her on the way down. It would give her a headstart.
She was dropping the banana peel into the trashcan when she heard the familiar sound of a car locking. The single chirp seemed to echo around the apartment and suddenly everything seemed a lot smaller than it was. She moved quickly and headed straight for the entry closet in the living room, struggling to fold the door open and get inside. His footsteps grew louder the closer he came until they paused for a moment, her signal that he was just outside the door. She shut the closet and crouched down on the ground just in time for him to come inside.
She held her breath and tried to slow the pounding of her heart as she peered between the vented door panel, grateful for the view they granted her. She could see him clearly from where she was, but she was certain he wouldn’t be able to see her. The living room light was flipped on and she leaned closer to the part of the closet that was hidden, but still where she could watch. Daken didn’t seemd phased at all. He showed no sign or indication of knowing that she, or anyone, was there. He removed his shoes by the door, laid his jacket across the arm of the sofa, and turned the T.V. on with the volume muted. He walked in the space between the back of the sofa and the wall, right in front of the closet where she sat, and she shut her eyes when he did. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, and he didn’t open the door. She heard his footsteps until they disappeared into the kitchen.
Initially, even only moments before, she told herself she would only get some rest and then find her way out. She knew it would be impossible to hide in such a small place with only one person and not be found, she couldn’t expect anything long term to come from this. However, the longer she waited for Daken to sleep the more it didn’t make sense to try and leave. She wasn’t sure what it was he had cooked, but something savory filled the air and made it feel warm. It felt safe. She watched him as he lowered himself onto the sofa with his back towards her. She watched for at least an hour, or at least it felt that long, before she wedged herself back into the corner.
Now that she was here and somewhat protected, she was able to realize how exhausted she really was. Her body was sore, her throat ached, and her head pounded. Her hair felt oily and her skin was grimy. It had been a long, stressful day filled with unknowns and she was still very unsure of her future. She knew that this freedom wasn’t absolute, and that it was very fragile. She felt her eyelids get heavier the longer she waited. At some point, the volume on the T.V. came on as a low murmur and the light was turned back off. A creak from the room just outside indicated that Daken was still there. For some reason, it gave Bellona a sense of security. She told herself she’d sleep just a little and wake up before dawn, but the slumber she slipped into was deep and intoxicating. With her knees hugged to her chest and her chin on her knees, she fell asleep.
It’s similar to how she feels now, sitting in the same corner of the same closet listening for Daken’s next movement. She didn’t intend to stay more than a night, and certainly not more than a day. It’s been a week and she still isn’t sure what she’s hoping for, but she knows that she’ll have to do something else soon. She finds it almost impossible to believe that he hasn’t noticed her yet, not after this much time and not with him living alone, but he hasn’t. He hasn’t found her and with each day that passes, she feels like she could keep stretching this out.
She sighs softly and settles in further, letting her body slump until she’s laying down on her side with her knees to her chest. Her body still aches and her stomach is almost constantly hungry, but it isn’t so bad here. It’s still better than being in confinement and it’s definitely better than being at the facility. With her face against the floor, she can feel the faint vibrations of someone walking. It might be him, or it might be one of the neighbors. Her average senses could never be sure and the thought unsettles her.
She lays this way for several moments until the vibrations get stronger and she knows that it’s Daken. Still, she doesn’t move, she only tilts her head towards the door and narrows her eyes to see if she can see him from where she is. At first, she can’t, and she decides he must be in the kitchen, but then his shadow slides across the floor. She holds her breath when he walks by, and she swears that he slows down anytime he’s near her. To start with, it seemed to be a natural movement but lately it seems more intentional.
He pauses for at least three seconds, his shadow stills and half of his body blocks the light. She doesn’t dare to move, because if she isn’t caught now then that would be a way to get caught; instead, she makes the slightest adjustment to back herself closer against the wall. If he opened the door now, there’s nothing around her to hide under. The closet is small and he doesn’t have many belongings, only some shoes and coats. He’d see her as plainly as she can see him, laying in the floor with one of his sweaters pulled over the clothes she’s been wearing for a week. What a sight she’ll be.
He moves again and she let’s out the breath she held, shutting her eyes to savor the moment of security. She takes several deep breaths before she eases herself into a sitting position, taking in her surroundings. As she does, she can’t help but feel that strange sense of luck come over her again. She’s found a few other spots around his apartment, but this closet tends to be where she spends most of her time. The biggest reason is because he never seems to use it. She hasn’t seen him open it even one time; not with her in it and not even during the couple of times she watched him from another place. She’s always safe here.
He’s moving around the living room and she’s patiently waiting him out. He’s been home for what has to be a little over an hour now. She can’t be sure if it’s Friday or Saturday, but it has to be one of them, and she’s hoping that means he’ll be going out soon. It’ll give her a little more freedom to roam around and find something to eat, as well as a little time to gather her thoughts on what comes next. She leans her back against the wall and shuts her eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion at the idea of being on the run again. On the other side of the door, his phone rings.
“What’s up?”
She leans over and looks between the slants in the door. He’s sitting on the sofa with his back towards her. There’s a few feet of space between them but she can still hear his voice clearly.
“I’m home,” he says with only the faintest trace of an accent emerging. “I haven’t done-” he pauses. “No, I haven’t.”
Bellona bites her bottom lip and leans the side of her face against the door, straining to make out the enunciation of his low voice.
“I suppose I could.”
He has a way, she’s noticed, of answering with as few words as possible. Most people have a tendency to repeat or paraphrase the question back either for clarity, or just to demonstrate they had been listening. Daken does not. He’s discreet in a way that would normally make her nervous, but she seems to always be calm when he’s in the room. The drive to overthink evades her.
“No.” His voice is stern. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now.”
It’s now that she starts to feel a little lightheaded. A little lightheaded, and her throat feels tight. Her throat feels tight, and she starts to feel short of breath. Short of breath, and her body trembles. She tries not to choke as she wills herself to not wonder about what he could be talking about, or who it is he’s talking to. Her hands clench into fists and she grits her teeth together. It’s been a week, she reminds herself of this again. On the other side of the door, Daken seems to hesitate.
“Now isn’t a good time,” he says. “Not to talk. Meet me in fifteen? At the spot.”
She fights to regain control while he stands from the sofa. As much as she wants to watch him, to make sure he’s at a safe distance, she pushes herself back into the corner instead. She hugs her knees against her chest and buries her face in her arms. It might be exhaustion, maybe dehydration, possibly minor starvation, but whatever it is makes her feel terrible. She’s almost tempted to open the door, to call out his name and reveal herself and ask for help. Because this won’t last much longer. She can already feel herself giving up. She needs to figure something else out.
From the living room, his shadow hovers again. She’s tucked away but she can see it glide across the floor, stopping right before he completely passes her. She feels like she’s to a point of panic that she could almost pass out, or cry, or something, but instead she feels an abrupt shift to the kind of calmness that she’s almost willing to bet she’s never felt before. She breathes in deep, her lungs expanding after feeling clenched, and she sighs at the relief that washes over her. On the other side, Daken’s shadow lingers for a few more moments. She should try to listen to see what it is he’s doing, she should try and get close enough to see him without him seeing her, but she suddenly feels content where she is and the drive is no longer there. She rests her head back against the wall and shuts her eyes, focusing only on breathing until she hears his footsteps walk away.
For the next ten minutes, she listens to the sounds of him getting ready. She doesn’t know who it was he was talking to or where it is they plan on meeting, but her curiosity feels muted- unwillinginly ignored. She stays in the corner of the closet with her face resting against her arms folded around her knees. He’s mostly quiet, at least to her human senses, and she has a hard time knowing exactly what it is he does. She hears his light footsteps, the opening and closing of doors, she hears general rummaging around but the rest is a mystery. He coughs once. He passes the closet several times, though he never stops, and right before he leaves she hears the jingling of keys. He mutters something under his breath at the sound of something dropping, and then the door opens. It opens, then shuts, and then she hears the click of the lock. If she was a perfect clone, a good project, a success, she may be able to hear the sound of him getting in his car and the car leaving. But she’s not, and she can’t, so she counts to 300 instead before she dares to open the door.
The apartment is as it usually is when she has it to herself; still and quiet and peaceful. Her body aches as her limbs stretch and the first of couple steps she takes are shaky. She rests her hands on the back of the sofa, the one he’s always sitting on, and takes a few deep breaths to gather herself.
He lives alone, so she thinks it’s strange that he always leaves the kitchen light on when he leaves at night. She makes her way there now, making a deliberate effort to walk lightly in case he would somehow realize she was here. He leaves the light on, and he usually leaves some things out until he returns home. Things like food. He cooks a lot, usually something light and lean, and he’s organized with the way he leaves it. The first few days she was nervous to take a few bites, but her hunger oveerruled her judgement and he hasn’t seemed to notice so far.
She walks to the stove where he still has a stockpot on an eye, which she can’t help but notice is set to simmer- another strange thing to do for someone who is otherwise quite methodic and not at all forgetful or sloppy. She glances once at the door before she reaches in and picks up a single noodle, slurping it into her mouth. Like with previous days, she tells herself at first that she’ll only take a couple of bites, only enough to stave off the worst of the hunger pains, but the seasoning of the broth and the smell of the ramen makes her lightheaded in a deseprate sort of way.
She scoops her hand into the mixture, as undomesticated as it is, and opens her mouth wide against her palm to take in as much as possible. The blend of pasta, vegetables, and chicken is comforting in a way as she swallows it down. For the first time in 24 hours, as she can only manage this when he’s gone, her stomach ceases to contract and grumble. She repeats the motion again, dipping her entire hand into the pot and bringing to her mouth. Broth dribbles down her chin but she can’t be bothered to wipe it, not while she’s on limited time. She manages a few more handfuls before she walks to the sink, washing her hands and then wiping her face. She uses the same papertowel that dries her hands and mouth with to wipe up the drops of ramen on the floor and stove. The clock says its almost eight o’ clock. He’s been gone only a few minutes, so she can assume she has at least an hour before he returns.
Bellona knows that Daken is quite punctual, a man of strict order, and in the last week she’s adapted to the same sort of discipline. She has to if she wants this to keep working out. She walks to the bathroom and leans into the shower, cutting on the water with a haste. The sooner she does what she needs to do, the sooner she can relax in peace. Her clothes pool in a grimy pile beneath her and she’s eager to step into the warm spray of water, sighing softly as the tension of her body eases.
She allows herself this luxury until she counts to 60, and then she starts moving again. She isn’t particular with what she uses, she’s never been given the opportunity to be, so it doesn’t bother her to use the bar of soap to lather over her pale, scarred skin. He has an array of more expensive looking bottles, but it would be too much of a risk to use much of it. With her skin sudded and soft, she rubs the bar between her hands and works her hands quickly through her hair. The white blonde strands look nearly opaque when they’re wet, but they fall in a thickness around her face and body. The neutral smell of original dove washes away the sweat that’s been clinging to her.
She stands under the stream and tilts her face up towards the water, closing her eyes. It’s comforting in the same way she imagines human contact would be- warm like how hugs look when she’s seen others receive them. It cascades down her sore and stiff body, travels down the long lengths of her hair, down to the drain where it washes away trace amounts of herself, along with the bubbles contaminated by all of her imperfections. She breathes out slowly and looks down at the drain, down at the water until it runs without any reminiscent suds. She stands still until the temperature drops just a little before she finally reaches to shut it off, and she misses the sensation instantly. She misses the warmth.
The towel she uses is the one that he used early this morning, she knows because it’s still slightly damp and it’s hanging in it’s usual space. For Bellona, this part is stressful because as she rings out the moisture from her hair, she has to make sure that no loose strands are left behind. It would be easy for him to catch her that way, and she’s assuming she’s done a good job so far. She rings her hands around the towel and twists until water drips onto the mat under her feet, and then she opens the towel and inspects it for evidence. She couldn’t be lucky enough to get the claws, neither the animallike senses, and she also wasn’t graced with dark hair. Generally, her existence was a great learning lesson for Alchemax, and not in the way of improvements. When she looks at her fogged reflection in the mirror, she’s reminded of this and it makes her stomach twist.
She puts the pullover, leggings, and socks she’d worn previously in the corner of the closet she hides in. She wears his sweater, one she found in the same closet, instead. She isn’t sure if it’s always been his, it’s black and loose fitting and feels like something of a high quality, but she isn’t sure if it looks like anything else she’s seen him wear. Regardless, it’s generous fabric lays nicely over her slender frame and it’s the most comfortable she’s felt in a really long time. The cuffs fall past her fingers and the hem rests almost down to her knees, with a wide neck that doesn’t make her feel like suffocating. Now that she’s clean, she couldn’t imagine putting her week-old outfit back on. Not yet at least.
She shuts the closet door and walks to the sofa. It isn’t the first time she’s sat on it, she usually does when he isn’t here, but it feels just as nice as the first time. Of course, anything would after being cramped in a corner for days. The soft fabric is cool from the running of the air and the cieling fan blowing. Against her still-warm skin, it feels nice. Relaxing. She reaches for the remote and turns on the T.V., unmuting it as she does. Daken tends to keep it on a channel that plays mostly dramas, something she imagines a normal person her age would probably enjoy, and she finds it odd that he seems to enjoy it too. She doesn’t mind it though, it’s nice to almost forget about who she is or what she’s doing for a little while.
With her stomach full and her body clean, with the soft hum of air blowing and the balance of the firmed fluff of the sofa, Bellona lets her body slump to one side. She rests her head against an oversized throw pillow as she feels herself being absorbed into whatever show is playing. She knows she has time, he’s only been gone for around half an hour, and she isn’t ready to go back into hiding just yet. Besides, the longer she’s here the more comfortable she seems to get. She doesn’t feel the urge to run and hide like she used to. Not to the same extent.
She brings one hand beneath her face while the opposite finds her lip, and she begins to chew her thumbnail mindlessly. Her legs bend and she settles onto her side, stifling a yawn as the colors flash in front of her. It’s been a week since she’s left S.H.E.I.L.D. confinement, and it’s been years since she left Alchemax, but she doesn’t ever remember laying on a bed as comfortable as Daken’s couch. It’s the perfect amount of firmness with just a little give, just enough for her body to sink into. Under the folds of the sweater, she feels the right balance of warmth with enough coolness to level it all out. Her body doesn’t seem to hurt as bad either. She yawns again, this time bringing her hand from her mouth to rub the fatigue from her eyes. They feel heavy and lax. She starts to wonder if she should find her way back to the closet, but the T.V. flashes in front of her and she feels like she’s in a sort of trance. She still has time, she knows that she does. Daken is predictable and punctual and structural. He wouldn’t come home early any more than he’d come home late. Bellona knows this. She knows that she has time. Plenty of time.
She measures it in the same way she always has, and that’s by counting in increments of 300. Give or take, it should be about five minutes. She does it three times, to 900, and then she starts losing track. She restarts from one, and then she tries to pick up wherever she last remembers, but her body feels heavy and her brain feels numb. She stretches her body out, extends her legs as far as they’ll go, and she brings the pillow down so she’s properly laying her head on top of it. She restarts again, begins counting from one, but the last thing she remembers is repeating nine a few times before she drifts off.
The sleep she has is the sort of sleep she doesn’t remember, the kind that’s so deep she almost thinks she was out for just a moment. The jerking movement of one of her legs is what startles her senses and brings her back, and she briefly forgets where it is she’s at. She opens her eyes and feels a temporary wave of parlyisis overtake her body as she realizes the depth of the mistake she’s made.
The T.V. is on an entirely different channel, she knows because of the logo at the bottom, and the apartment is much darker than it was when she first laid down. It’s late. Very late. She’s on the sofa just as she was, even in the same position, but there’s a large blanket draped over her that she definitely remembers not having before. Her heart pounds and her muscles start to quiver. She starts to sit up, the front door is only a two to three step sprint away, but a shadow looming over her makes her stop.
“Careful now,” his voice is as deep as it is soft, and it’s a unique combination of alluring, comforting, and unnerving. She freezes, wide eyes lock in on his frame as it comes into focus. He leans over the back of the sofa and reaches a hand down.
“Bellona, right? Or Bell? Bella? Anything like that?” His fingers brush her cheek, she notes the softness of his skin and the warmth that radiates off of him. “No need to scurry off. You’ll be fine here. I already know what’s going on.”
~~~