Incessant Interrogation
After having confined the weird black haired alien dude into a cell on some kind of gigantic airplane thing, you were seated in a control room at a glass table, pairs of eyes all staring at you, seeming ready to tear you apart in but a moment’s notice. To distract yourself from their obvious attention you diverted your gaze to observe your surroundings.
The ship looked wrecked, honestly. It was obviously being cleaned while you spoke—or waited that is—people bustling around with brooms in their hands, carrying broken down devices in their arms and all had similar devastated expressions on their faces.
With a shift of a door a man entered, obviously much later than the rest as you had been waiting for him. Or so you assumed. No one uttered even a single word, so guesses were the only thing you could cling onto.
His hand reached up to his nose, propping up the tinted glasses placed on it while his other hand clutched a little bag—presumably with food.
“So,” he began, seating himself down in one of the available chairs, “Now that Reindeer Games has been confined into another cell—hoping he won’t be breaking out of it anytime soon again—we should introduce ourselves.”
He placed his hands on the table, reaching inside the bag and pulling out a few blueberries, grinning before popping them into his mouth. His head turned into your direction and you could vaguely make out his eyes behind the orange glass while he was looking at you.
You still tried to refrain from reading anyone’s mind, not wanting to give them an excuse for executing you right then and there, should they manage to find out what exactly you could do. Common sense slowly crept back into your head now that the adrenaline was starting to die out and frankly, you were starting to freak out.
With a jolt you snapped out of it just as the man started to actually introduce himself.
“I’m Tony Stark. Also known as Iron Man.” A smug smile grazed his face, filled with pride as he awaited your reaction, your recognition. But got none.
He coughed to break the tense silence.
“Haven’t heard of me? Genius? Billionaire? Philanthropist?”
Nothing.
“The big tower in New York you crashed into was mine?”
Still nothing.
A dragged out, almost desperate sigh escaped the brunette’s mouth while someone else cleared their throat to interrupt his lament.
“You need to ignore him,” the blond man in a blue suit spoke up, words directed at you as the silver star shining on his chest caught your attention, “He’s not used to people who don’t immediately know and praise him.”
“Funny coming from you, Capsicle. Who runs around dressed like a flag?”
The man, Capsicle you guessed, just rolled his eyes, pondering whether he should answer the former man’s claim with a witty comeback of his own and therefore stoop to his level—but ultimately deciding against it.
“I’m Steve Rogers. Also called Captain America.”
Now that made sense. You very vaguely remembered having heard the name before even all the way back in your home country, where waving national flags outside of national holidays is seen as threatening and evil.
Apparently the American flag held up to some sort of holy standard in America? And having a hero embody it—even better.
You nodded, urging them to continue. Your mind was still so very clouded and distracted by everything that had happened, you deemed yourself lucky enough if you could remember just one of their names.
What was the first dude called again?
Metal Man?
A voice to the far right interrupted your train of thoughts.
“Natasha Romanov.”
She spoke the words with a curt nod accompanying the short statement of her name, sending her red locks bouncing on top of her head.
The man to her left continued,
“Clint Barton.”
They seemed so distant and cold, whatever signals you were subconsciously picking up almost chilled you to the very bone.
Spies? Assassins perhaps?
Were they getting ready to murder you should you not behave as you were supposed to, perhaps even as soon as they got their much desired answers?
Oh god, were you even going to make it out alive?
The man to the far left, who you actually remembered to be called Thor, repeated his former introduction. To appeal more formal you concluded.
Wait. He was what exactly?
You hadn’t quite listened to the titles when he had told them the first time, but now it broke through even the blurry haze of your mind like the sun piercing the blanket of clouds with its beams of blazing light.
A god-prince-alien thing?
Another?
The last man, who sat in the exact middle of the table directly across from you ripped you out of your confusion and settling exhaustion. Despite the first man’s confidence and tendency to the art of drama, the latter seemed to be the one actually in charge of this small assembled group of people.
You tried to discard the inappropriate—but hilarious—thought of the man as a pirate once your gaze fell on the black eyepatch covering one of his eyes.
As soon as he said your name all thoughts in your head fell silent.
“My name is Nick Fury and I’m the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the organization you crossed paths with today. For everyone’s safety I advise you to not disclose what we are discussing here. With anyone.”
You nodded with wide eyes—it seemed like mere advice but his voice made clear it was a veiled threat.
His hands moved on top of the folders neatly placed in front of him on the table and opened them up with a flick of his wrist, his eyes trailing along the lines and pictures as if to gather the gist of the written words. From where you were seated you thought you vaguely recognized a picture of you in the midst of his files.
What?
He began by reciting all of the information they had about you, which was much more than you thought they could have and your face paled with every second in which he continued to speak.
“That’s you. Right?”
Your thoughts spiraled so deep into panic it felt like they were bolting right downwards into the surface of the Earth and all the way into its very core—So deep in your state of panic all you could do was nod, albeit slowly and unsure. And above it all, terribly afraid.
But despite it all you still refrained from using your abilities, knowing that everyone was watching you intently as if waiting for you to try and do something. Especially the two people on your right worried you, feeling their stares burning holes right through your skin.
You felt so very small at this table, surrounded not only by adults (despite being of age yourself), but apparently some entire secret agency in a secret gigantic ship.
“I have to ask you to take off your mask and scarf,” the man continued, folding his hands on the table, “After all we already know who you are, so there is no further need for such measures, correct?”
His words almost faded as the ringing in your ears got louder, shaky hands numbly moving to untie the knot holding the dark scarf in place behind your head. You loathed the feeling of discarding your only sense of security and anonymity, grabbing ahold of your googles and almost agonizingly slowly pulling them off your head, before placing both items in front of you on the table.
You felt laid bare, naked.
Fury nodded.
“Please start by explaining what brought you to the Stark Tower. As we know you are no citizen of America.”
You bit your lip, voice shaky and raspy as you began speaking after such a while of keeping quiet, nervousness making it waver.
“I just wanted to go on vacation with my friend, really. I only wanted to visit America.”
The stares didn’t lessen and you felt your nerves giving away for a short jolt of confidence and annoyance. Of sass, perhaps.
“Apparently I was unlucky enough to choose the exact week in which aliens were scheduled, how should I have known.”
Your words laced with sarcasm prompted a quiet, veiled chuckle from Captain America and boisterous laughter from Metal Man.
Nick Fury ignored them and pressed on.
“So you just—heard of the attack and wanted to help?”
“Now that you say it, it does sound idiotic.” You gave a light, nervous laugh but winced as another surge of pain rolled through your veins.
“Ow—“
You composed yourself.
“Okay, so—The news I’ve seen on TV. People were screaming, the shaky camera, the cries...My mind just went kinda blank. And when they showed the Stark Tower I just thought the best way to end this quickly was to take out the leader.”
You folded your hands on the table, voice having grown quieter.
“You were busy enough protecting the citizens. Seeing this, my instincts just—kicked in. I was already in the middle of it before I understood what was happening.”
With your lips pressed in a tight line you kept your eyes glued to your hands resting on the glass top, refusing to look at anyone’s face to see their reaction to your story.
Again, Nick Fury continued.
“What about your abilities?”
Oh no.
“Apparently you came crashing through a window at the top of the Stark Tower, which offers the assumption that you can fly.”
Your palms started to sweat in anticipation. In terror and despair.
Why did you think that helping could be a good idea?
“Apart from that, our people found you and Loki in some weird trance when we went to retrieve the scepter. Could you explain what that was about?”
You could—but you really, really didn’t want to.
The thing was this:
For as long as you could remember you held a very specific set of abilities.
You first noticed your ability of Mind Manipulation when you had turned nine and accidentally brushed against someone’s head with your hand—and ended up with a memory of a mother that wasn’t yours singing a sweet lullaby to you when you were six.
You discovered your ability of Flight when you were eleven and had fallen out of a tree you had carelessly climbed even while the rain was pouring—and ended up floating safely to the muddy ground without a single scratch or any other injuries.
Yes, Mind Manipulation and Flight; these were your secret abilities.
But that was the case in point. They were supposed to be secret.
You knew how people carrying this kind of power were usually being treated, how they were seen and immediately pigeonholed, as if pushed into tiny little drawers of a wardrobe; as if everyone with Mind Manipulation was the same. The same, terrible monster who made people their very marionettes, forcing them to tend to every single assignment their mind had spewed right out of the depths, flaming pits and crevices of hell.
And who would even trust a person capable of finding out their every little secret? Everything they would have ever wanted to forget or ignore?
All your knowledge came right from the news obviously, from books and movies.
It was the general way humanity seemed to think, to function.
—and you just really, really didn’t want to be executed just because you held these powers.
Usually you didn’t even use them. Much.
With a tilt of your head, which felt as much as a death sentence as being positioned under the guillotine to your frantically beating heart, you dared to look up only to find all pairs of eyes staring at you, making you shrink back into the chair even more.
Maybe there was a way out of all this?
Maybe you could sacrifice enough of your already far too drained power to manipulate them into letting you out and—
As your eyes met Fury’s cold, calculating stare all what was left of your confidence and hope faltered; you deflated and you caved.
“Mind Control.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper but it carried an inner strength with it which made everyone in the room perk up immediately, especially the male agent to the far right, you noted with furrowed brows.
They gave you time.
Enough time to properly explain yourself, you vaguely noticed, but you chose to remain quiet, spiraling in your own personal hell in the tremendous panic enveloping you.
“We already know about that.” Fury continued on in a tone so matter-of-factly your blood ran frozen cold in your veins.
“—after all Loki managed to use his scepter to influence the minds of quite a bunch of our agents.”
Now it was your turn to perk up, mind growing blank as you tried to follow the implications of his words, his actual explanation turning into nothing but static background noise.
Did he not understand that it was you and not the scepter? Did he merely pretend not to?
There was literally nothing you would have rather done than completely disappearing from existence altogether, other than—perhaps—simply manipulating the agents in front of you into letting you go.
And forget all about this encounter.
But alas, you lacked the experience. Using your abilities on just one person had already sent you into a spiral of agonizing pain, but six people at once seemed difficult at best, whereas completely impossible in your current condition.
That stunt you had pulled earlier, merely out of a flurry of emotions was proof enough and you still suffered the consequences of your inexperience.
“The question at hand is—“
In just that moment your desperate prayers seemed to have finally been answered as a shrill alarm pierced the air all around you with its incessant noise, Fury calmly reaching into his pocket to pull out some sort of communication device.
“Yes?”
He stayed seated only for a couple more seconds before he stood abruptly, absentmindedly gazing at the half-broken wall to his right.
“We will be right there.”
With that he ended the call and slipped the device back into the pockets of his black coat, pointedly turning around. His focus shifted to each person seated at the table, you shrinking more into your seat as his look hushed over your eyes, pushing yourself so deeply into the fabric you hoped it might fuse you with it and turn you invisible.
No such luck, sadly.
His deep voice carried authority through the room as he spoke once again.
“I am going to report the results of our mission to the higher ups this instant. Romanoff, Clint, Stark, Rogers,” he took turns, looking at each person while he addressed them, “I have just received a call asking for our help in a matter regarding the safety of New York’s citizen. I will brief you with further details on our way.”
The others started rising from their positions around the table as well, leaving you behind puzzled and slightly afraid while your brain tried to follow everything that was happening so very quickly in front of your eyes. You looked over to Thor, who remained in his seat.
“Thor,” Fury continued on, answering your unvoiced doubts, “I have been informed that you do have a few questions of your own in regards to the incident. I need you to stay behind and ensure the safety of our guest, as well as keep check on your brother. I fear no one else might be able to.”
The way he said guest sent a shiver down your spine, for you felt far more like a war criminal or a prisoner, a convict walking your way to the gallows perhaps—anything but a guest. Thor nodded firmly and the two of you watched as the group took their leave.
You shifted slightly in the chair as the silence fell like a smothering blanket on the both of you, threatening to suffocate you should you not rip it open with a knife—with words. Fear ate away on your nerves as you let the seconds tick by in which neither Thor nor you said a single thing.
Until he finally took his eyes off the long since closed door, pitiful look falling on you—reminding you off a stray dog—and broke the quiet surrounding you, much to your relief.
You quickly pushed the mental image away.
“Would you perhaps agree to answering a few of my questions?”