Michael?
“Anything … dead … rebound … alive…”
You could hear the faint muttering of voices as your mind seemed to fade back to reality. Your eyes were still closed, and all you could see was black. As the ringing in your ears grew louder you wondered if this was death. You’d imagined hell as one big pit of fire and knives and songs by The Beatles, but so far it seemed far too… calm? Hell, of course, would be your destination; sure, you weren't a serial killer or anything too atrociously bad, but if you were to go by the book then your sins would be tantamount to murder - lust, greed, sloth, not to mention the many many sticks of gum that had somehow made their way into your pocket from the shop around the corner from your apartment. That, though, would assume that christianity was the one true religion; you had yet to consider that possibilities that the monks were right, or go forbid the mormon-
Your thoughts were stripped from you by a shock of cold against your stomach. If you were in a more lucid state you might have jolted up, but your head was still fuzzy and your eyes seemed to be held down by breezeblocks. The best you could muster was a groan.
“Is she?” You heard an unfamiliar voice come from beside you.
The cold shifted from your abdomen, and you felt the fabric of your top being pulled back down.
“Hard to say…” Another voice sounded out above you, the words becoming clearer by the second. “Consciousness is subjective; she may be able to hear us, but that’s not to say that she has any control ove-”
“I,” You interrupted, doing your best to lift open your eyes. “Am…” You looked around the room, the light hurting as you did your best to scramble to a sitting position. “Perfectly conscious.” As you hoisted yourself up you could almost feel the bedsheet beneath you tingle under your fingers, as if it was made of static. “Thank you.” Your eyes adjusted slightly to the light, and you could now match one of the voices to a face, the one that you had heard above you. He looked slightly disheveled, eyes big and round but his hair was unbrushed and eyebrows untamed. “And I have a name.”
“Right.” He chirped back matter of factly, toying with the stethoscope around his neck.
He introduced himself as Dr. Banner (you were sure that his name rang a bell) and explained that you had been involved in an accident. Apparently you had been unconscious for three and a half days and he was asked by Mr. Stark to make sure you didn’t die on company property. You chuckled at this which seemed to confuse him a little.
“What?” You said, the smirk fading from your face.
“No, nothing.” He replied, uncapping a needle and squirting out a spray of liquid. “It’s just that people involved in this kind of accident don’t usually spring out of bed and… laugh.”
“You find it confusing that I have the ability to laugh?”
“In a roundabout way, yes.” He injected the needle into a tube, which you only now realised was connecting you to an IV bag.
“And who is this?” You looked behind him where there was another man leaned against the wall, arms crossed across his rather buff chest.
“Ah, this is-”
“Rogers. Steve Rogers.” He stepped towards you, holding out his hand.
You reached out to shake his hand but as soon as your skin met his he winced, his hand jumping back against his chest. He gave a small yelp, which was a particularly comical contrast to his large stature.
“Sorry.” He looked back to you, shaking out his hand as a slight frown turned down his brow. “Static shock.”
“Well anyway, nice to meet ya, Rogers, Steve Rogers.” You smiled as much as you could, a little perplexed at his reaction to a ‘static shock’ that you didn’t feel at all. “You’re another doctor?”
“Doctor? No, no I’m not. I am-”
“Then you’re here because?” You cut him off. Despite his charming smile and stocky shoulders you weren’t sure that you wanted a strange man hanging around you while you were confined to what you assumed was a hospital bed, especially when you were pretty sure that you looked like crap.
“Oh, uh.” He looked to Dr. Banner, then back to you. “Good point.” He left.
“Right, well,” Dr. Banner continued, faffing around with one of the machines that sat behind the bed which had been beeping incessantly since you’d woken up. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, I guess.” You said, clasping your hands together. “Remind me, what exactly happened? You said there was an accident but I'm afraid you may have to jog my memory.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No, is that a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not, it's perfectly normal to forget the moments leading to being knocked unconscious.” He paused, looking away from the machines briefly. “What’s not normal is being so alert and, well, alive, so soon after regaining consciousness.”
“Right. Is that a bad thing?” You questioned, slightly worried.
“Um,” He turned back to the machine, unplugging and replugging a number of cables in what seemed like an entirely random order. “Of that, I'm not entirely sure, but I'm sure we'll find out soon enough.”
“That's reassuring.” You muttered sarcastically.
“The accident,” He changed the subject. “You were blasted by one of Tony's little pet projects, the reactor. It somehow became unstable and you managed to get yourself caught up in the middle of it all. I’m surprised that you’re…” He trailed off.
“Awake?”
“Alive.”
“Huh.” You contemplated this. Images started to pop to the front of your memory. You remembered your maintenance work on the reactor, and you remembered meeting two men, a blond and a brunette, though you couldn’t recall their names, and you remembered Tony being there? Oh yeah! The blond one did something and destabilised everything and you tried to stop it. You then remembered that you had a grudge against blondie.
You paused for a second, unclasping your hands and looking down to your palms. A Large circle sat in the middle of your right hand. The skin there was tight and smooth, and lighter than the surrounding skin. You traced it with your finger.
“What’s that?” Banner asked, peering over your shoulder.
“Oh, that's where I hit the button.”
“Button?”
“Yeah, the emergency stop button, not that it helped.”
He peeled himself away from whatever he was tinkering on, taking a closer look at your hand. “Scarring?”
“Yeah,” You winced, thinking back to the feeling of the white-hot metal singing your palm. “It was super hot, must've burned me when I hit it.”
“This happened when Tonys reactor blew?” He questioned, making you think that he may be a little stupid.
“No,” You frowned sarcastically. “Different reactor.”
Wholly unamused he grabbed a torch that was sitting on a table beside the bed, shining it on your hand and peering closer.
“You think it’ll heal?” You asked, mostly to relieve the awkward silence.
“It already has.” He pushed a finger to the centre of the circle, taking it away slowly and sighing.
“Oh, fab.”
“Yeah… I mean, no, not fab.” He chucked the torch back to the table, standing and walking round the bed to another tower of machines that displayed various squiggly lines.
“I dunno, sounds pretty fab to me.”
“Well the thing is burns like that would usually take a lot longer to heal. Judging by the scarring I’d say it’s second, maybe third, degree, and three days is an incredibly short amount of time for it to scar over.”
“Yeah, I guess.” You took in his words but didn’t really process them. Your thoughts were still a little muddled.
Dr. Banner continued to faff around with the machines, adjusting some wires and pushing some buttons, and you were left to shake off the sleep in silence. The truth was that you felt fine. Whatever had happened it clearly hadn’t affected you badly, or caused any major medical issues, and your three-day nap had evidently cured you of any after effects. You took this time to survey your room; It was small, with white tiles floor to ceiling that made you think you were being locked up as a science experiment, and the faint smell of rubbing alcohol seemed to hang around. The only lighting was that of three strip lights that beamed from overhead, casting you in a slightly uncomfortable light as you watched how the light reflected in the liquid of your IV bag. It was unlabeled, and you wondered what drugs they were pumping you with. That thought made you a little ill at ease, and you decided that maybe some fresh air would do you good.
“Well,” You broke the silence, hanging round the side of the bed to address Banner. “I’m feeling much better so can I like, leave?”
“Leave?” He said, slightly incredulous. “I wouldn’t say so, no. You’ve been in a big accident and I think the best thing to do now is just rest and let me monitor you so I can make sure that you’re okay. Like Tony said, ‘make sure she doesn’t die on company property’.” He chuckled.
“Cool cool cool,” You tapped your fingers together. “I get your point but I'm gonna go anyways, so.”
“Please do not.”
“Sorry.” You said as you wiggled the IV out of your arm, pressing your forefinger against the small wound as a dribble of blood fell down onto your elbow.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed, jumping down to the floor and taking a breath.
“Right,” Banner conceded, rubbing his brow. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out?”
“Follow me.” Consigning himself to being your caretaker he held open the door to the room.
“Thank you.”
You followed him out of the room and into a hallway, at the end of which stood the entrance to an elevator. He hit the button for the highest floor and as you stood there and listened to the non-descript composition that came from the speakers above you, you realised where you were.
“Are we still at Stark's place?”
“Avengers Tower? Yeah, we are.”
“The what now?” You questioned.
“Avengers tower? The tower for the Avengers?” Banner waved his hands around, as if you should have known what he was talking about.
“Avengers? What is that, like a boy band or something?” You tilted your head.
“No…” He rubbed his brow again. “No It is not.” He was about to finish his sentence when the doors dinged open, revealing a room that once again jogged your memory, jumping out at you as the room that those two men flung themselves out of a window in.
Stepping out into the open you surveyed the scene, which was well recovered from last you had seen it. The furnishings were all neatly in place, and the window had been repaired, leaving no trace of the previous scramble that had taken place.
There was a couch in the middle, and another facing the first, with a coffee table in the middle. To the far side of the room was a fully stocked bar, which you found incredibly enticing, but ultimately decided that whisky probably wasn't the best idea at this particular moment.
“Cap.” Banner greeted him with a tone of recognition, nodding his head to the man sitting on the sofa.
“Bruce,” He replied, standing. “Ah, hello again.” He smiled at you. You regarded him in the daylight, once again noting his undeniable attractiveness. If it weren’t for his clean-cut, wonderbread look you might’ve invited him for a drink, but he wasn’t quite your type.
“Ah!” You heard from behind, turning round to see Tony waltzing over to you. “There she is!”
“Mr. Stark, hello.” You said with a half smile.
“Here to blow up my reactor again, are you?” He asked in a half-joking tone. You would've taken it as an insult if it weren’t for the wide grin that he wore as he spoke.
“Afraid not, my days of destruction are officially over.” You shrugged.
“Good to hear,” He nodded, wiping an oily rag over his oily-er hands. “And you? How are you feeling? Back up and running?”
“It seems that way.”
“Brilliant.” He turned to Banner. “Wish I could say the same for my reactor…” He muttered.
Banner sighed. “Well, as I said Tony, the frameworks shot, not to mention the power that I’d need to restart it, I just-”
“Yeah, I get it.” Tony shot back, chucking the rag to the back of the sofa. “I'll mourn the loss of my precious reactor tomorrow, for today I have to-” He trailed off into a list of increasingly long words and mumbo-jumbo about his various machines and doohickeys, calling back to someone in the other room intermittently before returning to his incessant mutterings.
You turned to Banner. “So, you were trying to fix it?” You were curious as to what qualifications he had that made him your replacement while you were taking your lightning-induced nap.
“Trying, yeah. But, like I said, it's pretty beat up.” you winced silently as he spoke, knowing that if you’d taken the time to do a full repair earlier then none of this would have happened, and you wouldn’t have been forced into polite small talk with strangers.
“Well, I’d be happy enough to take a look at it.” You shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I could make it any worse.”
“Why would you do that?” He asked, and you weren’t too pleased with his condescending tone.
“Because you couldn’t.” You mocked his tone and he immediately realised how it came across.
“Oke doke.” He smiled awkwardly.
“Y’know,” Tony said from behind you, interrupting his own monologue. “I can lend you a shirt if you want.”
“Hm?” You hummed, looking down at your perfectly pristine top and wondering if he was insulting your fashion sense. “Does this colour not suit me, or?...”
“Um,” He pointed to your back, which you obviously could not see given that you weren’t an owl, but you tried to look anyway, and obviously failed.
“What is it?”
It was then that Roberts, Steve Roberts, decided to jump back into the conversation, leaning round to observe what Tony was gesturing to, before immediately jumping back to face you. “Ah, yes.”
“What?” You shook your head.
“It seems that your shirt has, uh, come apart, a little.” He meandered through the sentence nervously.
“Oh,” You chirped, feeling across your back and being met with the feeling of skin. “Oh, ah.” You said as you realised that nearly the entire back of your shirt was missing, and unfortunately the ‘backless’ look was very last year, so you’d be best changing as soon as you could.
“Huh.” Banner said, still staring in a slightly off putting manner at your back.
“What, are my pants gone too?” You were a little fed up with all the attention now.
“No,” you felt him prod you and you jolted away, sending him a scowl which he ignored, opting instead to keep staring at your back. “It’s just…” He trailed off.
“Oh my god does nobody here finish their sentences? What is it?” You turned around so that he was facing you.
“The same scarring on your back. The same as your hand.”
“Okay? And?”
“And like I said; that should be an open wound, not scar tissue this soon after the burn.”
“Well the heat probably singed it shut, either way I feel fine, I am fine, and I would very much like to go home if that is okay with everyone.” You raised your eyebrows.
“Not an issue with me.” Tony, who was now winkering with something in the other room, called over.
“No objections here.” Rogers said.
You looked to Banner, who paused before speaking. “Alright.” You took a step back before he interrupted. “But,if you start to have any adverse symptoms, if you feel unwell or… strange, call me.” He handed over a card that he fished out of his blazer pocket. “Just wanna make sure nothing bad happens.”
“Sure, if I die I'll make sure to let you know.” You took the card, stashing it in your trouser pocket. “Thank you anyway, Dr. Banner, for making me not die.” You gave him a smile which he returned.
You were two steps toward the door before you were once again interrupted, this time by Tony, who poked his head back into the room. “Here, take this.”
He threw over what seemed to be a shirt, which you thought was awfully considerate of him, especially considering his reputation for being less-than considerate. You reached out your hand to catch it but as soon as the fabric made contact with your fingers it was drenched in flames; a burst of fire as if it had been doused in gasoline and thrown into a furnace.
You jumped back and yelped, instinctively shaking your hand to dampen the flames despite that lack of pain. The shirt dropped to the ground, or what was left of it anyway, the threads swiftly wicking away and collecting as a pile of ash in front of you.
Though everybody was looking at it everyone stayed silent for a second, watching the last ember flutter away in front of you. You realised that you were clutching your hand to your chest, bringing it away and examining your fingertips. They were unharmed. Not a single scratch of spec of ash was there.
Banner finally spoke up, taking a step to your side. “Yeah, that’s not supposed to happen.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” You shot back, still staring at the pile of rubble on the ground.
You looked up to Tony, who was stationary, a bewildered expression painted across his face. “My shirt…” He uttered slightly sad.
The next three or so hours were dedicated to Banner's new experiment: You. He had put you through a battery of tests, poking and prodding you with various instruments, strapping multiple monitors to your various limbs and noting down the results, and asking you so many questions that you could barely keep track of the time. You maintained your position on the matter, which was that spontaneous combustion was a very real and plausible explanation for that shirt catching fire, but he didn’t seem to put much weight behind your theory, deciding instead to subject you to even more tests.
He seemed to believe that this most recent incident was connected to the previous incident (which was, of course, your shoddy engineering putting you in a brief coma, no biggie) and that you needed to be studied immediately. He had tested your blood, your brain, your bones, and even your spleen, but to no avail. With every result that came back within normal range he grew more and more frustrated, until he seemingly gave up.
Sitting in front of you he rested his elbows on his knees, hands grasped together at his chin. He stared at you for a moment, which in any normal situation would have been unsettling, but was made ten times more so by the chair he had you strapped to; it reminded you of a dentist's chair, that is if the dentist was actually an evil scientist and not a dentist at all. You sighed.
“Look, like I said about seventy million hours ago, it wasn’t me! I’m normal! All these tests prove that, so please, for the love of god, let me go home.” You groaned, hoping this time he would listen to you.
Banner let out a breath and considered you. “One more.”
“No more!”
“One more. Just one.”
“One?”
“One.”
“Alright then,” You said as he whipped away the various monitors that he had attached to you. “One more.”
“Follow me.”
You followed him through the halls. It was a strange introduction to the building, but not an unpleasant one. You envied it a little; there were so many rooms that served so many different purposes. You had visited the infirmary, of course, as well as a sort of living room, a bathroom, a room in which there was a weird sentient robot guy that did Tony's bidding, a ‘training’ room, and now you were being led to an indoor gym. You were a little confused; perhaps Dr. Banner was concerned about your body fat percentage or the fact that you couldn't climb three flights of stairs without getting winded, but whatever it was that he was about to put you through you weren’t looking forward to it.
He wheeled in yet another machine after you, attaching a monitor to your back (that was still exposed in your singed shirt, because apparently in this whole entire building there was only one extra shirt) and to your chest, before gesturing towards one of the machines.
“A treadmill?” You groaned, so not in the mood for a cross country jog.
“A cardiac stress test. It might highlight any cardiac abnormalities that could cause this sort of…” He paused, finding the right word. “Outburst.”
“Outburst.” You chuckled. “I’m not having a heart attack, Dr, and I'm not much of a runner.”
“You agreed to one last test, and I’m afraid it’s dealers choice.” He leaned on the machine.
“Right then.” You stepped up to the machine, consoling yourself with the knowledge that once this was over you could return to your home, and more importantly, your kitchen. You were starving.
Banner hit a button on the front of the treadmill sending you into a light jog as he booped some buttons of the heart monitor.
“Okay, this isn’t so bad.” You said as you skipped along.
“Hm? Oh,” He glanced up at you and then to the machine. “Sorry, wrong setting.”
He hit another button that you guessed was labelled ‘torture’ judging by the pain that it put you through. The pad beneath your feet immediately sped up, changing your light jog to a full on sprint.
“Bad! Bad! Very bad!” You called out in between pants as a stitch immediately bubbled up in your side.
Your complaints were ignored. Banner stared at the screen, ‘Um’-ing and ‘ah’-ing every once in a while.
After what felt like an eternity you were finally allowed a moment of rest. Panting like a wounded dog you sat on the floor, sweat drenching every inch of you and making you feel like a drowned rat.
“Well?” You probed, anxious to get home.
“All normal, I’m afraid.” Once again he looked confused, which confused you as to why he was confused, which confused the both of you even more; to sum it up, there was a lot of confusion.
“Great!” You exclaimed, hauling yourself back up to a standing position and stretching your arms, which felt like they had been hollowed out and filled back up with TV static. “I’ll be going then.”
“That was the agreement. Thank you for your patience, by the way.” Banner looked away from the screen for the first time in a while. “I just want to make sure nothing… untoward is happening. That everything’s normal.”
“Untoward?” You echoed with a tired smile. “I’m not gonna mutate into some great big monster and start smashing shit up, Doctor. And besides, all these fancy tests you did say that I am fit and healthy, so no worries there.”
Banner let out a hearty chuckle, though you weren’t sure what was so funny. “Yeah well, I guess you’re right.” He closed his notebook, tucking it away into his blazer pocket. “And you can call me Bruce.”
You smiled back at him, realising now that you were once-and-for-all released from being his lab rat, for now anyway, and should take the opportunity to escape whilst you still had it.
You bid him adieu and limped back through the corridors on your way to the elevator. Your legs were aching from the running, and you were cold from sweating. Most of all you wanted to put on a shirt that wasn’t half missing, and climb into your own bed and sleep for fourteen hours. You would return to fix whatever damage was done to the reactor, definitely, but that was a job for another day.
You rounded the corner, intending to pass through the main lounge uninterrupted and take the elevator down, but by your luck there seemed to be some sort of gathering taking place, and try as you might to slink around the edges of the room, you were spotted.
Tony called your name, abandoning his conversation with yet another strange man in questionable attire and trotting over to you. “There you are, so when are y- why are you wet?” He looked you up and down.
“I have just spent the better part of an hour running at full speed on a treadmill. I am sweaty and I am tired.” You replied, pushing out your words with whatever force you could still muster.
“Right, well,” Tony glazed over it, clearly ignoring the fact that you were in no mood to converse. “When will the reactor be operational again?”
“Huh?”
“The reactor.” He said slowly.
“Yes?
“When will you fix it?”
“Oh. I’m not sure. I’ll have to assess the damage first, and before I do that I’d quite like to sleep, to be honest.”
“Right then…” He stroked his chin in thought. “I could of course take a look myself, though that would set me back on the other project, not to mention the materials…” He muttered, quiet enough that he appeared to be talking to himself but loud enough so that you could clearly hear both him and the point he was making.
“Yes, alright.” You waved your hand at him. “I’ll be by sometime, uh, tomorrow I guess? Or maybe the day after. I’ll get to it when I get to it, but I will get to it.” You hoped this answer was satisfactory.
You weren’t afforded a response from Tony before he was called back over to the gaggle of whimsical looking individuals that had littered themselves about the room. There was a guy in a tightly fitted full black suit that ended at the shoulder, exposing one arm, which you thought was a little theatrical for an informal gathering, and a woman in a similar suit, with short red hair. Among them was Steve, who you had met, along with the blond. You were still having a hard time remembering his name, but you weren’t in a particularly social mood, and didn’t feel like re-introducing yourself to a man you hoped that you’d never again cross paths with. You scanned the room for the other one, the dark haired man that you’d met before you almost blew him, and everyone else in the building, up, but he wasn’t around.
“She lives.” You turned to your right and saw just the man you were looking for. He was smirking at you, head tilting to the side.
“She does.” You replied, gesturing to yourself in a feeble attempt at a pleasant social interaction. “She is also on her way out.” You nodded towards the door.
The man dipped his head as you turned, his eyes fixed on your back. “Do you make it a habit to walk around unclothed?” His eyebrows quivered.
“Long story.” Was your only response, now desperately trying to get out of the room before someone else tried to talk to you.
He huffed, unclasping his cape and handing it to you. You hadn’t even realised he was wearing one. It seemed to match the blond’s cape, but instead of a bright red his was a deep forest green. “It is cold out there.”
You took it, for no other reason but to shorten the interaction. “Thanks, uh.” You left an awkward pause where you would have said his name, if you could remember it.
He smirked again. “You do not remember my name?”
“Yeah, I do.” You lied.
“Well then…” He prompted.
You thought a guess would be the best bet. “Michael?”
He bowed his head for a second, raising it again to meet your eyes with an expression of un-amusement slapped across his face. “Michael?” He repeated, his tone flat and stony.
“Your name’s not Michael is it?”
“It is not.”
“Well then why don’t you just tell me your name, that way I don’t have to guess all the other millions of names and I can get home on time.”
“My name is Loki.”
“Loki.” You said back to him, pondering for a moment. You thought it was a nice name. “I never would’ve guessed that.”
He opened his mouth to speak but you had decided that this interaction was now over, and you were owed your escape.
You left without a goodbye, the fatigue in your limbs making you feel ten times heavier on your walk to the station.
You weren’t reveling in the thought of a train ride home, but at least you were on your way, and now nothing could stand in the way between you and your king size.
Standing on the platform you absentmindedly skimmed through the adverts on the opposite side of the train track, reading in great detail about the positive health benefits of oat milk, and how much cheaper it is to get a gym membership. You scoffed, vowing that never again would you step foot on a treadmill after today's events.
The train finally arrived, skimming to a halt and the doors jolted open. You took a seat in the carriage, having to make a conscious effort to keep your eyes open lest you fall into a deep slumber.
You lent your head back against the window, the gentle movement of the carriage and the click-clack of the train tracks serving as the familiar urban lullaby that often lulled you half asleep on the train journey home.
The train jumped a little, probably from a misaligned track or debris under the wheels, and your back was pushed further into the seat, sending out a small cloud of suspicious looking dust. You wafted it away as best you could, not wanting to inhale the dead skin cells of god-knows-who, but felt a little tickle in your nose.
You sneezed. Not an uncommon reaction to dust getting up your nose, but when you lifted your head and sniffed the few other people on the train were staring at you, wide eyed and shocked. A few of them whipped their heads away and went back to staring at their phones, save for the old man sitting far to your left. You glanced around the others, and though their attention was turned away from you it didn’t seem to be in the usual, self-interested way. They were ignoring you in the same way that you ignore the half naked guy singing out loud and brandishing a half-empty bottle, in the hopes that he doesn’t make eye contact with you. Still and un-blinking.
“Ma’am?” The Old guy said, his voice high and frail. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah… why?”
He looked over to the seat in front of you, nodding his head toward the window, and as you followed his gaze you noticed a pool of glass gathered on the seats opposite, glistening in yellow and blue as small puddles of fire licked up towards the empty window frame.
“Aw shiyt.” You sighed, digging out the card from your pocket and tracing the embossed lettering with your thumb.
-------------------------------
| Dr. Bruce Banner |
| M.D., Ph.D |
| |
| |
| (646-382-4571) |
-------------------------------
You thought back to his words “But,if you start to have any adverse symptoms, if you feel unwell or… strange, call me.” His voice echoed around in your head as if he were sitting next to you, mocking you.
Now you were no doctor but you would consider shattering a widow with a sneeze an ‘adverse symptom’, and you were beginning to feel a little… strange.
You would call him, just not before you got your much needed beauty sleep. Bed first, then back to being a lab rat.