The Cost of a Mortal's Captivity | Loki

Shots

Waking up has never been more painful. My surroundings confuse me, and I appear to be on a hospital bed surrounded by people who either fail to notice or fail to care. This must be a medical ward, and it's no wonder why I would be here. My left leg is sore, and my forearm feels like it's on fire. Damp air fills the dark, stone room, and busy chatter combined with confusion is enough to give me a pounding headache.

"She's up, Sung-ki," a seemingly disembodied voice informs. I recognize the name Sung-ki, at least.

"I'll brief her," Jo volunteers. "Go get Barton."

Jo's companion offers a casual "Yes, ma'am," and leaves.

I try to sit up, only to find that, given the pain, it isn't really an endeavor I care to pursue at this time. "I hurt everywhere," I announce.

"Could've been worse," Jo points out. "Well, it could have been worse for me. The bullet lodged in your arm, but if it had gone through, it would've caught my neck."

I stare at her. "So what you're trying to tell me is that there's lead in my arm."

"We got it out," she promises. "And we patched you up, but you have other injuries. Your leg was pulled out of joint, so we put it back in. Besides that, you've got three broken ribs. Those shouldn't take too long to heal."

I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath. It smarts. "Yikes."

"I'm actually impressed that you made it all the way here in your condition," she actually compliments. "I could've accidentally killed you several times. The car ride could've jolted your ribs out of place enough to puncture your lung."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

Jo rolls her eyes. "I'm trying. Your arm saved my life. I'm trying to make it up to you."

"Well, my arm thanks you for your respect, but I would rather not hear about the times I almost died pointlessly. You are not helping my anxiety issues."

"Sorry," she apologizes. "Once Barton gets here, we're going to figure out your future. Loki hasn't returned."

I find myself relieved at the fact. I've figured it out. Johnson is the epitome of the stereotypical agent around Loki because if he steps one toe out of line, he gets a spear up his rib cage. All of that had been washed from my mind until recently. I am less than pleased that fate has placed me in the custody of an egotistical maniac. I wouldn't call what he did to me anything less than kidnapping. 

Now, I have to get home, and not a home where Loki can find me again. I need to go West and South, to my family. I call them every day. They'll be worried sick when they don't hear from me. If this Barton character determines that my future isn't one where I leave this place and go home, I'm willing to fight my way out, broken ribs and all.

"Abigail?" I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me speak.

I make my slow and painful ascent to a sitting position to face the newcomer. Is it even a surprise to me that I'm greeted by ice-blue eyes that mark brainwash? It seems that nearly everyone shares the trait. "I'm Abby," I announce. "You must be Barton."

"Call me Clint," he instructs. "Loki's told us about you."

"Did he mention that he kidnapped me?" I question. "That's a detail that I missed up until recently."

Clint stares me in the eyes. "You lost the truth of the Tesseract..." he observes.

"I lost the what of the who?"

Clint shakes his head. "Look, I'm sorry. I really am. Maybe when Loki comes back, he'll give it to you again."

"You can't know for sure that Loki will come back, Barton," Jo interrupts.