All the Lonely People

Chapter 3

As Aliana came to, all she could hear was a shrill, incessant ring in her ears. Her eyes were met with blinding lights, and a cold, white ceiling. Her vision was blurry, but she could at least make out the shapes of sterile hospital equipment. Her heart rate started to rise. Was she back? Did that greasy, black haired creep return her to her imprisonment? She couldn't remember much of what happened before waking here. Most of her memories were a blur, flashes of moments that made little sense in the context of each other. What she could clearly remember before unconciousness overtook her was the man carrying her off towards a ship, and away from an angry crowd.

"How is she doing?" Now, that was a voice she had never heard before. It certainly wasn't Trask. She'd know that asshole's voice anywhere. This voice, though it had a commanding quality to it, was kind. She could hear the genuine concern in his voice.

"A lot better, that's for sure." Another voice answered. This one was also kind, intelligent, analytical. Where ever she was, where ever the greasy-haired man took her, at least she was safe. This brought a little bit of peace to her. "She's got a long way to go until she's back on her feet, poor thing was severely malnourished. I'll have to keep her under observation even after she wakes up to make sure her vitals stabilize."

"So no questions for the time being, I take it," another voice added. This one set Aliana a little on edge. Every word he spoke seemed to drip with sarcasm. She had known many people like that back at the complex, who used sarcasm as a defense against the dangers of the world. She had to admit, though, that even though they unnerved her, she did admire them. Their ability to appear as if every worry rolled off them like water on glass was something she craved.

"I think the tubes in her mouth might get in the way of that," a fourth voice answered, this one was female. Kind, but broken.

"How long until she wakes up?" a fifth voice said. This one...this one she knew. He was older now, more mature. There was a time when this voice would bring her peace, when she would feel safe around him. She wasn't sure about that anymore. Her faith in him, her belief that he would someday rescue her from her own personal hell, had been crushed years before. The complex had an excellent way of achieving such soul shattering despair.

"Honestly, Clint, I don't know. She was severely wounded when she got here. It's only been a month, give it time," the second voice answered. A month? That couldn't be right. Everything that had happened, Aliana was sure only happened a few days ago. There was no conceivable way she had been unconscious for a month. "I'm sure she'll be—" Slowly, Aliana began to fade into unconsciousness again. She fought against the impeding darkness. She wanted to stand up, to move her limbs, to do more than just occupy space. Despite how hard she fought, the darkness encompassed her and sent her back to the hellscape of her unconscious mind.

The weeks after bringing the woman, Aliana, back were hard. The extent of her abilities had everyone on edge, including Loki. He despised mind control. The experience of being forced into the woman's mind left a sour taste in his mouth. He liked being in control of all his faculties, thank you very much. After the events in Richmond, the Avengers expected a full report on what exactly happened in the city. Of course, with the main witness and suspect in a coma, getting the full story made things difficult. So, Loki sat starring at the blinking cursor on a white screen. For the past month, he had tried to finish the report. Yet, every time he opened the file, he was at a loss for words. He wished he could find the right words to describe the power-crazed "god." It would make his job easier, put this entire endeavor behind him quicker. And yet, here he sat, in front of a blank screen, the blinking cursor taunting him with every second he did not write.