Fallout
The industrial carpet is harsh underfoot as I follow Thor down the hall to a set of stairs. Up two flights, then Thor opens the door to a conference room. Nick is waiting with Steve and Tony. Good thing I had a nice nap. Nick hands me my phone and purse, telling me that my overnight bag hadn't been recovered. And just when I would have loved a change of clothes.
Tony smirks at me. "Nice outfit, Oompaloompa," he says crisply.
I roll my eyes, but I'm pretty relaxed and not really wanting to get caught in escalating snark. "I wasn't there for fashion week," I point out. "And it beats the hell out of one of those backless hospital gowns you get on Earth."
Steve laughs. "Do you remember that time when you were being treated? They gave you too many painkillers and you flashed the entire--"
Stark flushes red and opens his mouth to retort, but Nick inquires about how I'm feeling. "Pretty good," I say. "Ribs are still broken, but they'll heal fine in time. On the one hand, my skin is no longer impervious; on the flip side, my fireproof...ness is now limited to my front torso, arms, and hands."
Nick thinks this over and nods. "That's good to know. Makes treatment easier in the hopefully unlikely event you need it in the future. Why don't you tell me what happened, from your perspective." So, thanks to my memory which is still supercharged, I can repeat what the steward said word for word. Nick, Steve, and Tony exchange glances.
"We think one of the pilots was in on it too," Tony says abruptly. "One of the crew said you were over the Rockies, right? Well, the area you actually crashed in is west of the Rockies. It's two million plus acres of undeveloped land. If you'd decided to walk for help, you'd probably have been lost out there. I don't really know what the purpose of misidentifying the position of the plane would be other than to deceive somebody else about where you were. It makes me think that either there were two agents on board who didn't know about each other, possibly because neither one was trusted much, or there were two groups interested in acquiring you, because the first we knew anything was wrong was when the plane didn't show up on time."
"Either way, it's unacceptable," Steve said.
"From now on, you don't get to fly unless it's with one of the Avengers in a quinjet," Nick said sternly. "Or by Bifrost travel." Thor nods.
"So I guess the next step is you telling me I have to stay on campus," I said glumly. Before all this, I'd been planning a trip to Great Britain for next spring. I hadn't seen that country yet, or France. I'd wanted to take the Flying Scotsman and explore the north, then swing through Ireland too. I'd also been looking into traveling the full route of the Orient Express, ending in Istanbul. I'd finally pulled my head out of my lab to explore the world around me, only to have it severely limited again, this time not by my desire. For the first time, I wondered if my abilities were worth the isolation.
"For the time being," Nick said baldly. "We're going to have a dentist and other specialists join the medical facility in Seattle. And you can take some trips into the city if you've got a couple of the team with you." I slumped abruptly, then sat up with a wince and a hand to my side.
"So I'm pretty much stuck," I clarified. "Nobody comes out west for more than a couple hours, and only individually."
They exchanged glances. "We'll work on that," Nick promised. I held my tongue, then some of the lab rats popped up and I was off to tour the facilities. They, like most labs, don't have footwear for visitors, so I put on some shoe covers. The labs were in good shape, but obviously too small for the all the work going on. They were really excited for the move west, and I could tell them a lot about the huge new state-of-the-art complex, showing some video I'd taken on my phone before I left. Just before I was due to be returned to Nick, I asked if there was any chance of a shower. After some consultation, I was shown to the medical facilities, where in exchange for a quick exam and update of my medical file, I was given a set of scrubs, a pair of socks (they didn't have spare shoes either) and shown to the showers. One of the doctors provided me with soap, shampoo, and conditioner. Heaven. Absolute heaven. And some of my bruises were turning colors, so while I might be multicolored for awhile, I was healing. I was glad to escape the oversized gown, but kept the corset-y thing since it really helped. It went on under the scrubs, though.
Back in the conference room, Nick was waiting with Scott and Peter, who were going to escort me to Seattle. They were in their suits, but I thought that was overkill. We were going in an armed quinjet, after all, but Nick didn't care. Sigurd and Torburn were waiting for me, and the five of us said goodbye to Nick and we walked to where Hawkeye was waiting in a quinjet. The flight was shorter than by jet and I helped Peter with some homework, answered questions Clint had about the helicopter I'd crashed, and managed to entertain Scott with a tale of the whole mess. The books Odin had given Thor for Loki were in the quinjet as well. I took advantage of my escort and had Peter and Scott take the books down to Loki's cell. I didn't ask Clint, mostly because he still held a well-deserved grudge about Loki's mind control.
I sympathized; while Loki no longer had the Glowstick of Destiny, he was behind really good containment so Clint wouldn't be able to smack him a few times. Ultimately, the guys just dropped off the books with the guard outside, and the three Avengers flew back to New York. I trudged over to the cafeteria, famished. It was early and we were the only customers, so the waiters got to indulge their fondness for the dogs with petting and cooing, and they dined on stake tartare. I had the salmon.
We went back to the suite, and I flicked on the TV while the dogs took naps, tummies full. My thrill over being rescued, healed, and reversion to mostly-normal skin had faded with the news of my protection. It wasn't Nick's fault that the bad guys were after me, but I still felt like a prisoner now that I knew my options were severely curtailed. I hadn't been this depressed since Messi had quit international play.
There was no point going to my workshop to distract myself; what with the ribs, I couldn't do any physical metalsmithing, and I couldn't push electrons for another 30-odd hours, as warned on Asgard and confirmed by the doctors in New York. Finally, I changed into some normal clothes and went back over to the cafeteria. And down the stairs.